Caldur sat alone in the council chamber, the cold stone beneath him doing little to mask the silence that stretched into an hour beyond the agreed time. No fire had been lit. He did not call for one. He remained seated, alone with his thoughts.
At length, the great doors creaked open.
Lord Laurence Norbury entered first. The Lord Magistrate was two and sixty, a tall, gaunt man with silver hair brushed back and a face worn with the lines of long service. He walked slowly, but with the dignity of one long accustomed to judgment. His robes, dark velvet trimmed with gold, rustled faintly as he crossed the chamber. He offered no greeting—only a slight incline of his head—before taking his seat.
Some minutes passed before Lord Quentin Mortimer arrived. A man of six and thirty, soft-faced with thinning hair and a fretful air. He smoothed the sleeves of his fine doublet as he walked. Quentin had a habit of tugging at his sleeves when he spoke. He was a spineless fool who never had a standing but followed the wind, just like now as he entered with Lord Everett Sinclair, who was the lord of finances. Everett, lean and pale, walked like a man always in thought, his dark eyes flicking around the room with calculation. He carried himself with the calm sharpness of someone who knew where every coin in the kingdom went.
The rest of the council trickled in shortly after, speaking in low murmurs among themselves, offering Caldur neither greeting nor glance. Their silence spoke louder than words.
Caldur ground his teeth. His hands were clenched tight in his lap.
In four years seated upon this council, never had he known such disrespect. When Victoria had ruled, they were never late. They were always present before her, seated and silent, awaiting her command. And when she entered, they rose—all of them.
Now they shifted in their chairs like men who wished to be elsewhere, as though something in the chamber offended them. As though he did.
His gaze moved across the table and halted on the vacant chair to his right.
It stood apart—not equal to his own, yet unlike the others. The arms were carved with the crest of House Elmsford, the wood darker than the rest, the cushion stitched in green and silver. It was a seat of consequence, a seat that bespoke influence.
It belonged to Lord Thurston Elmsford.
His bitterest rival.
He had always felt rage in the past when he was forced to look at Victoria at the top of the table with Thurston on her right—looking like the powerful couple they were born to be. It grated on his nerves that Victoria never showed any interest in trying to uplift him in the council. He always sat as the royal consort, which literally was the one who is in the council because they didn't want to hurt his feelings. No real power, just a presence whose opinion was never requested and thoughts never appreciated. It was always Victoria and Thurston. Their word was law. Their decisions were final.
He had not truly expected Thurston to attend today's council. Thurston was an Elmsford—prideful to a fault. Yet Caldur could not help the sting of his absence. He knew that if Thurston had stood beside him, the rest of the council would have answered his summons at once. The proof was plain in their disregard of his letters. Had they borne the Prime Minister's seal, they would have drawn attention as swiftly as if they had come from the queen herself.
He knew what lay ahead. He would need Thurston, whether he liked it or not.
But Caldur, too, was a man of pride. He would not go crawling to him. If Thurston wished to see reason, let him be the one to lay down his pride.
"Can we finally begin this meeting?" a voice cut through the quiet.
Lord Herald Beaumont leaned forward, his tone sharp, impatience dripping from his tone. "It is clear Lord Elmsford shall not be attending."
The second son of the Duke of Bramwell, Beaumont bore himself like the soldier he was—broad-shouldered, square-jawed, and ever ready to speak his mind. As Lord Marshal, he commanded the armies of Malveria. His voice carried weight Caldur could ill afford to dismiss.
Caldur swallowed his irritation at the tone that was used. Whilst he didn't like the outright disrespect he was getting, Lord Beaumont was another matter. He controlled the military of Malveria, so his support was most paramount.
"Of course, then," he said, clearing his throat. "I presume most of you know why I called for an emergency council meeting."
Some nodded grimly, others offered nothing. Lord Sanctum, as ever, gave no hint of thought behind his expression.
Caldur's gaze lingered on Lord Edward, the lord sanctum and the High Priest of the cathedral. A tall man robed in white and gold, his silver beard resting upon his chest, his eyes half-closed in silent thought. His presence was unexpected. He was a man who answered only to the divinity—and to the queen.
He leaned forward, his hands folded before him on the table.
"We must contain this news," he said. "The queen's disappearance must not pass beyond these walls."
A heavy silence fell.
Then came a sharp breath from Lord Everett.
"I fear it is already too late," he said, his voice low but certain. "I heard the tale before I read your letter. My wife overheard the servants speaking of it. It is spreading already. We cannot stop it. We can only shape it."
Caldur's jaw tensed. He had expected as much. It did not make the hearing of it easier.
The people adored Victoria. Her vanishing would send ripples through the kingdom—ripples that could turn to waves.
"I want more soldiers stationed throughout the countryside," he said. "Let the people see the crown's strength. If they believe we have lost control, fear will follow—and fear brings chaos."
Beaumont scoffed.
"My soldiers are not nursemaids," he said coldly. "If this is the work of rebels, then rebels must be found—and broken. Dragged into the square. Hanged, publicly. Let the people know what becomes of traitors."
Before Caldur could speak, Lord Edward stirred.
"I agree with His Majesty," the priest said calmly.
Beaumont looked shocked at that. Even Caldur was surprised.
"We do not yet know who is behind this," Edward continued. "It may not be rebels. It may be something far worse. Until we are certain, we must preserve peace. The people must feel safe. Order must be maintained."
Caldur gave him a slow nod.