"Watch where you're going!" Caldur hissed, instinctively reaching out to steady himself as the other man stumbled back.
Oscar bowed low at once, clutching a folded parchment in one hand. His eyes went wide. "My deepest apologies, Your Majesty."
Caldur narrowed his gaze. "And where are you rushing to with such urgency?"
"A letter, sire," Oscar replied, holding it up. "From Lord Norbury."
The name alone made Caldur's spine stiffen. He didn't take the letter immediately.
"Who is it addressed to?"
Oscar hesitated a moment too long. "To you, sire."
Caldur's lips tightened. Norbury had never addressed anything to him. All letters had always gone directly to Victoria or Thurston. Caldur's jaw ticked. The fact that he had now sent something to Caldur—and only Caldur—meant one thing.
He already knew.
Caldur's voice dropped. "I told you to keep the news under control. How has it spread so quickly?"
"I'm sorry, Your Highness," Oscar stammered, bowing again. "Those near Hartfield have already caught wind of it. The villagers speak freely, and riders talk. It was impossible to contain."
"Heavens " Caldur muttered, rubbing a hand over his temple.
He felt the pressure pounding against his skull again, sharper than before. It was only a matter of time before the message reached Belvaris—and once it did, any control he still held over this court would vanish.
Oscar straightened. "Shall I leave the letter in your office, sire?"
Caldur took a slow breath and plucked the parchment from the his hand. "No. I'll keep it."
Oscar bowed again, preparing to leave, when Caldur's voice cut through the silence.
"What were you even doing in the queen's quarters?"
Oscar froze. "Ah… well… Lord Thurston is in the palace."
Caldur's head snapped toward him. "Thurston? At this hour? What is he doing here?"
"I don't know, Your Highness. He's in the queen's drawing room."
Caldur stared at him. "The drawing room?"
Oscar gave a nervous nod. "Yes, sire. I believe… perhaps the queen had scheduled a meeting with him in advance?"
"In her drawing room?" Caldur muttered.
His frown deepened. The thought of Thurston waltzing into Vitoria's chambers sent fresh heat to his face. What business did they have together so early? What did they have to talk about in private thank can't be said in her office.
He waved Oscar off with a sharp flick of his hand. "You may leave. I will see him shortly."
"Shall I inform him—?"
"There's no need. I'll handle him myself."
Oscar bowed once more and turned away.
Caldur had barely taken two steps forward before another figure appeared at the end of the corridor—and for a moment, his irritation surged.
He was prepared to snap again, to issue another rebuke.
But then he saw the face. Those cold, unreadable grey eyes.
"Lord Thurston," Caldur said, voice dry. "Out and about already, are we? You're oddly early today."
Thurston said nothing at first. He came to a stop just a few feet away, studying the king's expression. Then he said quietly ignoring all pleasantries, "I heard what happened to Victoria. Is it true?"
The use of her name, spoken with such ease and familiarity always grated on Caldur. He smothered the urge to lash out. He forced himself to inhale calmly.
"Wherever did you hear that?" Caldur asked instead.
"Just answer the question." Thurston hissed impatiently.
Caldur stiffened, offended not just by the demand but the tone.
"I will not answer anything until you speak to me with respect."
Thurston stared at him like he had grown another head. "Respect?" he repeated. "You think that's what matters right now?"
He stepped closer, grey eyes flashing. "Victoria has been taken. Gods know where. And you're worried about how I address you?"
"You think I'm not concerned?" Caldur's nostrils flared. "Do you think this is easy for me? That I'm somehow enjoying this mess?"
"Then where was my letter?" Thurston snapped. "Why wasn't I informed the moment the report came in?"
"There was no need to involve you immediately. I was informed late myself."
Thurston looked ready to strangle him. His mouth twisted. "No need?"
Caldur's hands curled into fists. "You presume too much."
"No," Thurston said flatly, "you underestimate how far your negligence can go."
He looked past Caldur suddenly and gestured toward a maid standing down the corridor. The young woman approached hesitantly, eyes darting between the two men.
"Get Sir Cedric," Thurston ordered. "Now."
"He isn't in the palace," Caldur said, voice clipped.
"Then where is he?"
Caldur hesitated.
A flicker of worry crossed Thurston's face.
"Is he dead?" he asked.
"No," Caldur said firmly. "He's not. But he didn't go with her. She gave him leave three days ago."
"That can't be," Thurston muttered. "Victoria doesn't go anywhere without Cedric."
"She did this time."
"And the guards she went with?"
"In the dungeon. Being questioned." Caldur replied.
Thurston exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair, briefly turning away. The movement was uncharacteristically unguarded.
The man was shaken, Caldur realized.
And it made him both satisfied and unsettled
"Any news on where she was taken?" Thurston asked, turning back, voice strained now.
"That information," Caldur said sharply, "will be shared at the council meeting."
"When?"
"In a few hours."
Thurston fell silent, jaw tight. When he finally spoke, his voice was low.
"And who," he said slowly, "will be officiating this meeting?"
Caldur straightened. "I will. In her absence, I am in charge."
Thurston's expression didn't change. But he chuckled.