Madison drew in a deep breath of frigid Northam air as the doors to the expansive manse opened before her. Lawrence took her left hand in his, before draping it casually over his right forearm. He placed his left hand atop hers, obscuring the massive ring beneath. The gem paired perfectly with the outfit she had chosen for their event today, something to brace against the last remnants of winter before spring would hopefully make its late arrival. The cold front that moved through Thebes had rendered her first choice insufficient to stave off the chill. A dark black peacoat fell almost to her feet and was tied neatly at her waist, cinched tight against the wind. She wore elegantly crafted cowhide boots in a deep black to keep the slush from penetrating to her toes.
Bright blue gaze flicked upward, sensing his presence before she saw him. For someone she would have recognized anywhere, he was striking different. Madison could not keep the surprise from her eyes, even though she kept the rest of her features smooth. He looked just like him. He was his father’s son in more than just name now.
He was the perfect heir. And her stomach roiled. Where was Remy?
Madison turned her gaze to Lawrence, genuine affection sliding across her face, as she just needed somewhere else to look to keep the nausea at bay. Remy’s voice was perfect and entirely wrong. She gave him a curtesy, dipping her head in affirmation. Before she could raise her attention to the doctor, the other man stole it. She scrutinized him quickly with a slight narrowing of her eyes. The huntress could not help but notice the deep olive of his skin and the molten gold of his eyes. He stood both perfectly straight but with an air of casual confidence she knew she couldn’t master if she had a thousand years under Elora’s tutelage. This is what came from power, from bloodlines. The perfect soldier. The perfect general. A compliment to the perfect heir. She’s never seen anyone quite like him and yet the predator in her immediately recognized the monster in him. Like wolves circling each other, she inclined her head just so. Though she had heard enough about the General that her option was already firmly entrenched, something felt off. A handsome devil - the worst of Northam, she reminded herself.
Despite this, she gave him her hand. The High Commander’s servant arrived before she could speak in reply, leaving her to withdraw her hand and sidestep closer to the Terril heir.
“What do you say, darling?” Lawrence beamed down at her, giving her hand an affectionate pat. All high-class grace and charm, despite his immense dislike for Remy and even more for Quinnley Belvedere. “I know this meeting caused quite the interruption in our plans for the day but I promise,” his voice dropped low and sultry but not quietly, “I will make up to you later.”
Madison blushed appropriately, casting a side glance at Quinn. “I don’t want to be an imposition on you, General Belvedere. I’m certain you must have more important things to do than to show a commoner around Wymberly.”
“Now, Maggie,” Lawrence withdrew his hand and then hers from his arm. The brilliant ruby was on full display then, catching the electric light of the Wymberly hall. “You will be a Terril soon enough and I’m certain the general would be more than delighted to escort you around.” A servant moved up them, taking both of their coats and disappearing with them without so much as a whisper. Madison smoothed the thick, blood red velvet of her dress. The drop basque waist paired with the classic A-line skirt allowed for movement and subtle fullness as it brushed against her calves. Thin straps held up the ensemble, giving it an elegant feel without being overly formal. The warmth in Wymberly would keep the chill from her shoulders as they walked. “Now, Commander Walther, why don’t we proceed so that I can return to the much more pleasant tasks that await me?” He kissed Madison’s cheek before gesturing for the High Commander’s son to lead them along.
Lawrence’s apprehension was carefully kept under wraps, so that neither Remy nor Madison would know how difficult he found this situation. Clover needed another 5 days to finalize her arrangements, to ensure that their team could move against the troops escorting the goods. Undoubtedly, the Commander would want them in hand within 2. He had looked at it from every angle and there was one possibility he had devised but it would be readily remedied if the Commander was as thorough as rumors had said.
As they departed, Madison clasped her hands in front of her. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, general. I have heard so much about you.” She smiled brightly to anyone else looking on, but another predator would surely notice the bite of her words.
It was her. It was her, but…someone new, a version of Madison Gallow he hadn’t met before. Remy’s throat tightened. Had he been brave enough to meet her gaze again, he might have seen the subtle flash of surprise in her azure eyes—and she might have seen the surprise in his. But he couldn’t look at her, not directly, not until he was certain the shock of being in her presence again was hidden completely from his expression. He knew how he looked, standing in military blues between his father and General Belvedere. No amount of telling himself it was a necessary evil soothed the feeling that he was betraying his huntress all over again.
No, not his. No matter how much time passed, no matter how often he reminded himself that their connection was forever severed, he couldn’t quite accept that she belonged to another. But even that felt wrong. Madison Gallow had never belonged to anyone but herself. Remy had considered it an honor to be chosen by her, and a privilege. Lawrence Terril could never understand that, could never feel what Remy felt for her. How could a Terril understand what it was like to survive the mountain Cold? To carry all his belongings on his back? To freeze and starve and fight the elements every moment of every day?
It took all of the doctor’s mental fortitude not to react to Lawrence’s crass commentary. His stomach turned at the nickname—Maggie—and worse, he felt the deep burn of anger kindle a flame behind his ribs. His gray eyes snagged on the ring she wore on her left hand, the biggest ruby he’d ever seen; blood red, ostentatious, catching the light like a wound. A wound he wanted to stitch up and bury beneath gauze. Her crimson dress did little to disguise it, nor did it disguise her lean frame or strong bare shoulders. He allowed his gaze to linger, snagging on the ring once more, then flicker up to meet hers. And he smiled. A warm smile, perfectly convincing, perfectly polite. But his eyes remained stormy.
“Yes, Mr. Terril, let’s proceed,” he agreed. “Our business is time sensitive. And I would hate to keep you from your prize.” He glanced once more to Madison, then turned back to Lawrence. “My father appears not to be using his study. Let’s convene there.”
“And let us convene as far from there as possible, Miss Sterling,” Quinn quipped, flashing a dazzling smile at Madison. He offered his arm to her, tossing a suggestive wink to Lawrence as the two other men headed for the study. If he noticed the bite to her words—and he certainly did—he made no show of it. Rather, he planned to embrace it if he could. This mystery woman had been the talk of the upper social echelons since her unexpected debut all those months ago. Remy had been disappointingly tight-lipped about the exact nature of his connection to her, but Quinn was nothing if not a bloodhound. This was not an opportunity to be squandered. “Let’s start to the east, shall we.”
The general led the Sterling woman slowly down the corridor, their feet light on the marble tiles as they strolled together. The sprawling Walther residence was more estate than mansion, more fortress than manor. Quinn may have grown up at Avondale, but he and his twin sister Maria had spent plenty of time within these gilded walls during their childhoods. He knew its layout as well as anyone outside the Walther family, knew where its meeting rooms ended and its quarters began, knew the preferred routes for guests as well as the maze of servants’ corridors. It was part of his job as a high-ranking militia officer. And it certainly came in handy as the formerly-highest-ranking operative for Clover.
“Tell me, Miss Sterling,” the general drawled, his voice all genuine charm and curiosity. “What sort of commoner are you that you would consider a visit to Wymberly an unwelcome disruption to your day?” A crooked smirk tilted his lips. “Or beyond all evidence to the contrary, is Lawrence Terril’s company just that good?”
The path to the High Commander’s office was not long, meant to be easily accessible to those that arrived for such meetings on the personal estate – even if it did double as a fortress for the highest-ranking family in the nation. Lawrence kept his gaze on the heir’s back, as their heights were equal, even if their fashion sense was not. The casual militia uniform did nothing to separate him from his position and Lawrence thought absently how dull the whole color scheme was.
The door to the study opened wide for them both and he walked without invitation to the usual seat he often occupied when meeting with Gregoray himself. However, he did not sit. While the Terril might poke the bear from time to time with less than subtle jabs, he was no fool. He knew where all the power resided in this room. He knew that without so much as an explanation that the other male in the room could end his life, seize his assets, destitute his sister, and imprison his fiancé. And he knew that this office was chosen with purpose, not just because the High Commander had been pulled away.
The next High Commander, indeed.
“How can I be of assistance?” He asked, rounding dark eyes on the sandy-haired man. Lawrence examined him then, more fully, evaluating his posture, beard, face. Everything about him was perfectly assembled. The little that Madison had told him about her time with (supposedly) this man before him, did not align with what he saw now. What he knew of his fiancé, as irregular as she was compared to the rest of polite society, would not fit together with the Commander.
---
The halls of Wymberly were warm, and she could smell wood fires in various rooms – the sweet scents of local trees burning to ash in the hearths. At first, she could not shake herself from the storm that had raged in Remy’s eyes – so familiar to the tempests that had roared to life on the road together. But the dazzling sun that was Quinnley Belvedere soon drew her to her present situation.
“Magnolia, please, General. Despite my months with the Terrils such formality grates against my skin.” Elora had walked her through how to hopefully set the military man beside her at ease, even if she didn’t have much expertise in the matter. She could not fail to notice the jab at Lawrence, and it made her laugh before she could stop herself. It was a quick bark of a thing, even as it was genuine and sweet.
He likes beautiful things, the Executioner, so you shouldn’t have any difficulty in that department. But be careful. For years he frequented Catherine’s and even the most seasoned harlots would render their services free of charge to spend a night with him.
“And what evidence do you have with the prowess of other men, General?” Crystalline blue eyes captured his, one brow raised in challenge even if her features remained as innocent as a babe’s. “Not all commoners are the same. As I assume not all Generals are of the same stock. Or are your interactions with those of lesser station so limited?” Bold, Madison, reign it in. You’re here to do reconnaissance, not stoke the ire of a mass murderer.
“It is grand indeed.” She admitted after a momentary pause, “And the honor of such an opportunity is not lost on me,” even if it entirely was (Madison did not understand the hype of walking around an old building), “but between the two of us…” she motioned a hand to the space around them. “Is a house not a house?” She leaned slightly to catch a glimpse of the cracked door of the room nearest to them. It appeared to be a small meeting space. “What makes Wymberly any different from The Davenport?”
The study was cooler than it ought to have been, considering the healthy fire blazing on the hearth in the center of the room. But maybe it was just that Remy’s blood had run cold with fury. His heart drummed a deafening beat in his ears as he took his seat across from Lawrence, and this time it had nothing to do with the act he had to maintain.
This was worse. Remy couldn’t seem to blink away the flash of the gem on Madison’s left finger, and the word ‘fiancee’ echoed in mind like a thunderclap. Like a curse. The ache in his chest sank deeper into his gut, and he wanted to vomit. No, he wanted to run out of the study and take Madison in his arms, to sweep her away from all of this and disappear back into the woods. The passion they’d felt in the library that snowy night all those months ago…surely she did not feel the same with this man sitting in the armchair opposite him. Surely not enough to commit her life to him, to surrender her name and her purpose and her morals.
Morals. He might’ve laughed at that. Here he was, playing the villain the world thought he should be. His father’s perfect son. And yet…somehow it was easier to slip into that role in the presence of Lawrence Terril.
“Before business, it seems congratulations are in order,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging beneath his skin. “When are you and Ms. Sterling to be married?”
That’s the least of our concerns right now, Remy heard Quinn say, as if the general were here with him, listening in. He was keenly aware that lives hung in the balance if he couldn’t reasonably delay this shipment for Clover without arousing suspicion. The danger was that he had to play it as if he wanted it sooner. And for that, he had to put Madison out of his mind. The doctor cleared his throat and scribbled a note on the papers strewn in organized piles before him on the desk. It didn’t matter if Madison never knew he’d been on her side all along. All that mattered was the present mission.
“Last week your office gave notice of the arrival of our next munitions shipment,” Remy said. “I was told we would have had an update by now. Do you have any more information for me?” He underlined a date on the note in front of him, but left the pen poised in his fingers. “I’m sure you understand we need it as soon as possible.”
———
“Magnolia.” He tasted the name, letting the syllables linger on his tongue. “Of course commoners aren’t all the same, any more than those of high station. Insipid though many of them may be. And I should know. I’ve known both…intimately.” A smirk tugged at his lips. There was more to this woman than met the eye.
“Mr. Terril’s father was a close friend of the High Commander’s, as I’m sure you know.” He pursed his mouth thoughtfully, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his amber eyes. “Only Mr. Terril and a privileged few others could get away with calling a visit to Wymberly an ‘unwelcome disruption’ to their day.” The general paused, the mirth in his gaze sharpening to a predatory edge. Quinn was nothing if not observant, and he could see in the way she carried herself—in the way she guarded her expression—that she was a wolf in a fine velvet dress.
“You seem to make quite the impression on Northam’s highest, eh?” A long, calculated pause. There had been whispers of a wild woman who had been captured along with the commander’s son in the woods, but no one, save for the soldiers in the squadron at the time of Remy’s rescue, had any real information beyond the grapevine. Remy’s own recount of that day had been tight-lipped and cautious. The general couldn’t blame the man for keeping things close to the vest, but sometimes omission was not the protection it made itself out to be. Plenty could be gleaned from a story crafted too carefully, and Quinn suspected there was far more to this narrative than the Walther heir let on.
Still, he let his question hang in the air, unclear to whom exactly he was referring—Lawrence or Remy.
He flicked his bright gaze back to Madison. “I’m speaking of Mr. Terril, of course,” the general clarified, the innocent drawl of his voice a direct contradiction to the expression in his eyes as he regarded her. She was undeniably beautiful, with an edge coming through that he didn’t often encounter in women of the upper echelons of society. But he, too, was a weapon—perhaps the most infamous in Thebes—and he would not hesitate to clash blades with Lawrence Terril’s fiancee. In fact…he would enjoy it. Whatever her mysterious history with Gregoray Remington Walther II.
Quinn followed her to the half-open door, peering over her head into the meeting space within. A fire crackled on the hearth inside, and he reached around her—leaning close, close enough to catch a breath of the perfume on her neck—and pushed the door fully open. When she stepped inside, he lingered behind and paused in the doorway like a protector, like the soldier that he was, hands clasped behind his back.
“The Davenport is a fine estate,” the general conceded at last. The room they were in now was modest, a space designed for mixed company, for otherwise prying eyes, for those close enough to the High Commander to be invited for meetings but not close enough to be part of his inner circle. “But compared to Wymberly, the Terril house is a bumpkin shack in the countryside.” His words weren’t kind, but his tone was considerate. “Even compared to my own Avondale, in fairness. Wymberly is much more than a house, Ms. Sterling—Magnolia. It’s a palace. But more than that, it’s a fortress. Guests are treated to a very curated view of it, for security purposes but also for privacy. Especially now that our heir has returned, I’m sure you understand. I’m afraid the Mother’s Lament would await me if I showed you any of the Commander’s personal wing.”
He watched her carefully, but his smile was bright. “You’ve heard so much about me, but I’m afraid I don’t know much about you. Where are you from, Magnolia? What brought you to Thebes?”
