Journal Entry - Obtoxicullous

Praised be the day that I am no longer held to my contract with such beasts, as it has brought me more trouble and grief than if I had just set upon the task myself! Were my instructions not clear that even the infantile minds of these brutish wolf men could possibly conceive them? Perhaps this was my own doing. In my eagerness to seize the King's heritage, I resorted to the swiftest method instead of the most assured. The Utsi would have carried out the raid on the carriage so swiftly and quietly that it would have been as if it were not but plucked from existence, never to be seen again. But these werewolves! I've already heard rumors spread of their fumbled tactics, and now panic spreads across the north of Lorellian like wildfire. Their appearance has raised most suspicion and questions that will take many months to see laid to rest and forgotten, a mess that I will not soon forget!

And what could be worse? Well, but of course, they failed to get both twins or even their mother, so that even I must have some appreciation for the sheer expanse of their idiocy. And then do they return with heads hung low and eyes to the floor in a show of shame for their inadequacy? No! They brashly waltz into my tower, heads held high as if heroes deserving of my praise.

I may have taken some joy in lashing them with words if it would not have been a complete waste of time and breath! So that is it, then. I shall have to suffer their failure as my own, for the ability to comprehend it is beyond them. But did it stop there? No, for next, they presented me with their prize, one of the twins, and they'd not so much as scratched him. Once more, the blame must be mine as I had not taken the werewolves' paternal instincts into account, for if I had, I would have realized how unreasonable my request was for them to kill the infants. However, now the boy's fate lies with me, and... perhaps not all is lost? I am, after all, nothing if not adaptable.

***

Journal Entry - Obtoxicullous

I've sent the infant on with the wolves. They are witless, yes, but even I must admit that they own all the necessary skills to raise him at least for a few years. He'll learn the ways of survival and the forest, and when he comes of age I'll settle him with someone who can teach him how to survive in the political halls just as easily as the forest.

But this is the last time I'll call upon werewolves of Thornbrook...

***

Ardaik 16th - La'Trest, Lorellia

"So this is where the two of you slunk off to," Gautier said as he slipped into the guest room of the Baron of Causter, William Toussaint. He hadn't allowed Toussaint and Sebastien to converse for long before he'd joined them.

The prince had likely followed Sebastien there from the busy grand dining room, where the majority of the courtiers still sat, enjoying desserts and after-dinner wine with the king and queen, discussing what could and should be done about the attack on the capital, and who would be held responsible for it.

"Make sure that door is closed," Sebastien hissed, pressing circles into his temple. He was seated in the armchair nearest the room's fireplace, avoiding sending a glance at the mirror hung over the room's vanity days of being aboard those disgusting ships had sucked the life nearly out of him. Even now, freshly groomed and in clean clothing, he was aware that he looked drained of warmth and color and felt as spry as he presently looked.

Toussaint swirled his glass of wine, batting his lashes toward their intruder. "You shouldn't be in here at all, actually," the blond baron stated.

"I won't stay long," Gautier replied with a mild shrug.

After a short roll of his eyes, Toussaint continued, "If Artus was aboard a ship, why didn't you just bring him to me?"

Sebastien's jaw tensed further. "I made every effort to." Had they not been interrupted by the damned merchant ship nor the Merchant's Guild... "We were apprehended by a fleet outside of your influence. I was nearly able to arrange it since the Guild Emissary agreed on a heading to Causter, but the Admir-"

"Which Guild Emissary?" The baron moved closer, nursing his drink while watching the fake Artus like a hawk.

"A younger man. In his thirties, perhaps," Sebastien said. "Flavien Narcisse Vidal...the Second, I believe."

"Ah." Toussaint nodded. "Vidal."

"A member of your cohort?"

Toussaint's expression soured, and he sighed. "No. No, that one is a touch too lawful and idealistic to fit in with my preferred company." As he explained, he watched Gautier begin to chew idly at his short nails. "Your highness."

Gautier glanced at him, his boredom seeming to be momentarily forgotten. "Where is my dear brother now? Not dead, I hope, because I want to see his lovely face when he beholds mine." the prince chuffed out a laugh.

"With the Serellians, according to Sebastien."

Gautier raised a brow. "Well, that could prove to be quite problematic for us. Couldn't it?" he said, looking at one man, then the other.

"Quite," Toussaint agreed.

Sebastien stood from where he was seated, unable to keep himself from pacing the short distance between the door and the fireplace. "Are the king and queen even aware that you are not Artus?"

"It doesn't matter," Toussaint stated, while Gautier simultaneously answered, "They are."

"What matters," the baron said, raising his voice slightly as a signal to the younger man that he was not to be spoken over again. "Is that they clearly are trying to pass him off as the prince to you and to the rest of the court."

"I am a prince," Gautier reminded.

Sebastien turned sharply. "You're not the crowned prince."

"An irrelevant detail, gentlemen," Toussaint pressed. "For now-" he paused for a moment as footsteps in the hall passed the door and waited for them to fade before continuing. "For now, we act convinced. I'm sure they intend to keep Gautier around as long as they believe that the rest of us think the Viotto line is still somewhat secure. Meanwhile, they'll scramble in secrecy to find the son they raised to take the throne."

"And if Artus is discovered before you make your move?" Sebastien asked, "Or returned by the Serellians?"

A languid smile stretched across Toussaint's face. "Leave the matter of the crowned prince to me. If there's anything I'm well accomplished at, Charles, it's securing and escorting valuable commodities off to wherever I decided they need to be," the baron said with a sweeping gesture of his free hand.

Gautier yawned dramatically. "I suppose I've dottled long enough... Wouldn't want to make mother worry. Do inform me through Sebastien if you happen to get your hands on Artus."

Sebastien couldn't say he particularly enjoyed the way the words slid off Gautier's tongue as he tugged on one of the cuffs of his jacket, giving them both a pointedly false smile before exiting the room.

It was still difficult for Sebastien to wrap his mind around the mere existence of Gautier, alive and grown, standing in the castle. Despite Lady Vivienne's attempts to keep "Artus" sequestered, Sebastien had noticed the distinct lack of resentment for him that had been brewing in the prince's eyes since the day he'd lost his temper and struck him aboard the ketch.

Toussaint had confirmed the true identity of Gautier to him but provided no further detail on the nature or circumstance of the lost prince's return to La'Trest, nor where he'd been for the last nineteen years.

"I should be going as well."

"Just a moment, Charles." Toussaint set down his glass, then rotated it slightly as if it were an art piece, or perhaps he just preferred the minute way it changed the light from the lamps and fireplace, refracting through it onto the table. "Would you wager it were possible that Lady Evelyn knows Artus's whereabouts?"

"I'm unsure of how regularly Duchess Fontaine interacts with her cousin if that's what you're inquiring," Sebastien said flatly.

"It was a thought."

"I suppose it is possible...Baron De-Saint Pierre's eldest son was with us on the ships and behaving quite suspiciously just before he met a misfortunate end."

"Oh." Toussaint tapped his lips as he half-circled the advisor. "Did you inform his majesty of this?"

"I've not."

"Hm. I wouldn't put it out of mind then that the good lords and lady of the western province aren't orchestrating movements of their own."

"The Duchess is not at all the only one of them who are more than close enough to Serellia to have ties there."

"Indeed... Vested interests abound..."

"Perhaps."

"Well, I suppose we shall be in touch again very soon," Toussaint said as he politely opened the door for Sebastien as the advisor approached. "Do be sure to keep a close eye on his highness. I can assure you, he'll prove valuable to us both."

Sebastien's thin lips formed a tight line. "...I should hope so, Lord Toussaint."

On his way back to the grand dining room, Sebastien locked eyes with Emmanuel De-Saint Pierre. "Leaving?" he asked, noting that the baron was clearly on his way to the main entrance.

Emmanuel paused to face Sebastien, along with his personal guards and attendants. "Yes. I've contributed what I'm able, and I'm afraid I have much to see to at home that I wasn't entirely prepared for."

"My condolences, De-Saint Pierre," Sebastien said, allowing the impression of a sympathetic frown to shape his lips. "The pain of losing a child is one I've not endured. Much less, the loss of a son."

"My first son," Emmanuel stated, voice tightly restrained. "...Now stewardship of Boreven will have to pass to Reginald when he's of age."

Sebastien joined the baron on his amble through the elegant double doors leading out into the front courtyard. "I was unaware that you had another."

"He's eight...my wife's favorite child," he mused while his grief-laden gaze traced the fountain's shape and continued into the sky. The bright sun beat down on them, made comfortable by the cool fall breeze blowing south.

Sebastien watched the noble like a keen-eyed bird studying the wiggling of a worm in the grass, noting the way his jaw seemed to be working on words he couldn't quite form. "Perhaps that shall render her easier to console, then."

De-Saint Pierre nodded, the blue of his eyes becoming glassy. "It's far too beautiful of a day."

"Hm?" Sebastien tilted his chin upward.

"Lovely, fair weather...for the day that I had to learn that my Rowan is gone. That I'll be returning home without even his bones as proof that he was ever alive..."

"The Saints...make confounding decisions." Sebastien stopped as De-Saint Pierre's carriage pulled up to meet them. "Have a safe journey back, De-Saint Pierre."

The baron climbed into his carriage before nodding and leaving Sebastien with a brief parting wave in return.

As Sebastien passed the fountain on his way back into the castle, he took a moment to regard the sparkling water. A slight chill scaled his spine.

Though he had little reason to doubt otherwise, a pull in his gut once again reminded him of how very much he hoped that De-Saint Pierre's troublesome boy was indeed beneath miles of silver-capped waves—long lost to the merciless might of the Central Ocean.