Echoing these thoughts came the drumming tempo of heavy boots.  Such a sound usually provoked the drawing of a sword, but not now.  Montmercy knew these steps intimately well.  Sure enough, Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Marcoux, and Senior Captain Grim Warwick, were panting as they appeared in the doorway to the ruined hallway.

    “Where’d the bloody bastard go?” the near-feral Warwick snarled, hands tight and ready on the trigger of his bayonet-tipped rifle. He stalked forward like an agitated lion, his unruly, copper-red mane twitching with each swift swish of his head, keen eyes scanning the room for danger.

    “It is finished, Grim,” Montmercy calmly declared, shifting attention to the other officer.  “Colonel Marcoux.  I need a satchel for this.”

    Montmercy stepped aside, pulling back a corner of cloak.  A lonely, horned monster head sat on the floor in Montmercy’s shadow, its remaining human features even harder to discern.  Both men stared.  Unspoken questions were still on their faces as Colonel Jacques Beron joined them from behind.

    Silently cataloguing every detail of the scene, Beron’s shrewd eyes soon met Montmercy’s.  “That what’s left of Baron Kilhaven?”

    “Yes, Colonel.”

    Beron nodded.  “A fitting end.”

    In the pre-dawn at the palace, servants were helping Regent Konstantine into a fine satin coat.  He stared at his gold clock on the mantlepiece as another servant lay a heavy wig of long, silver curls upon his head.  Not so long ago, it would have amused him that the stately wig and his crop of golden hair were finally becoming the same shade.  But not now.  Each trivial sign of aging had become oppressive. This was yet another tally that his days of influence were numbered.

    After a lifetime of loyal service to the Crown, it was rather disheartening that enough political rivals had banded together to hurry that timeline along through this infernal coup...

    And were desperate enough to turn to witchcraft’s darkest arts to make it happen.

    A quarter to five, the clock chimed. The servants bowed away and departed.  Adrian Konstantine’s grave face reflected back at him in the mirror above the fireplace. He stroked his trim mustache and beard.  Warrior pride of yesteryear was still evident in the firm set of his jaw, and thankfully not diminished by the lines of crow’s feet that decorated his eyes.  He had never been a vain man, but he always had been proud of the strength he possessed since youth – strength he dared not reveal was ebbing.  Not now.  Not ever.  Not until the young Dauphin received his Divine birthright as the anointed King of Duna’Liet.  Giving the royal lad a peaceful kingdom, an orderly government, and an easy crown was the Regent’s greatest concern.

    Greatest concern?  No.  That wasn’t true.  Not if he was being truly honest with himself.

    Konstantine reached out, touching the charming pair of support figures to his clock.  Examining the youthful man and woman clad like demi-gods in the stylized armor and robes of antiquity, the Regent still had not decided the meaning of the noble pair.  Were they defenders of precious time?  Defiers of time’s passage?  Or was their golden hour ever threatening to come to an end?  Considering the fate of the clock’s giver, it was hard not to consider the unhelpful thought.

    The timepiece was the last birthday gift from the late Grand Duke.  Gregoire Montmercy had given it to Konstantine prior to turning over the title and duties of Contra’Vagus over to the next generation.  The Regent smiled nostalgically.  Now Gregoire was a man who defied the fates, who could carry on despite the battering of time and misadventure!  The Regent saw much of his old friend in the son and heir, Edouard-Gregoire Montmercy.  Bold, daring, the very same mischievous smile ever playing on his lips.  But even Gregoire succumbed to time’s cold march...

    So could the current Contra’Vagus in this dangerous ordeal.

    Konstantine prayed with furrowed brow.  It had been too long since the last report from Corps d’Noir.  Each tick of the clock was another cut to his peace.

    Then he heard a single, crisp knock.  Not from his chamber door, but from the wall an arm’s length away.