Still fanning herself from her earlier overexertion, Gwenivar lounged in the sitting room of her apartment at the Annex. The open windows of her second-floor room allowed the cool evening breeze to circulate in the chamber. After Solace had been abruptly wheeled out of the dining hall, Gwain and Charlotte had exited. After all, dinner was finished, and they would not be getting control of the room again.

And all Gwenivar could do was laugh.

She had laughed until her face was red, and tears leaked from her eyes. She’d laughed so hard she’d started coughing and could barely stop. Elliot had tried talking to her, but she couldn't gather herself to respond.

Finally, with a huff of, "This is not a laughing matter," Elliot left her to complain to his faction members.

Even now, she broke into snorts and giggles at the absurdity of the situation. Everything had been so carefully planned and coordinated over the last year. They'd plotted and schemed, made alliances, promises, and payouts. They’d gathered the independents and Loyalist diehards, only for everything to fall apart the night of the Crown Competition announcement.

Gwenivar had taken the opportunity to leave, heading for the Annex, where she would be living for the duration of the two-year competition. Now, she lounged in more comfortable clothes, though she remained dressed to see people, fully expecting to have guests until late in the night.

"Gwenivar, are you chilly?" Lavender asked as she came into the room with hot water for tea.

"I'm a bit hungry. I could hardly eat at dinner," she admitted.

Lavender steeped the tea and got a tray to bring snacks to the table. "I couldn’t believe my eyes. He was eating by himself, talking to the queen... Surely, he’s an imposter!"

"I'm not so sure," Gwenivar said. "Her Majesty was far too excited at tea."

A knock at the door interrupted them both, and Lavender left the snacks to answer it. "Lady Petunia is here to see you."

"Send her in."

Immediately, the fashionista hurried in, fancy skirts hiked to rush across the distance between the door and the couch. She wore the widest, wild-eyed grin Gwenivar had ever seen. Petunia ungracefully dropped into the seat across from Gwenivar. "It's him," she said without preamble. "I looked at him head to toe, and it's him. And he's insufferable!"

Gwenivar snorted and covered her mouth. It took a moment to get her mirth under control.

Lavender sat next to Petunia. "You're sure that isn't some imposter?"

"Absolutely. He has that freckle at the edge of his left eye and the small missing spot on his right eyebrow. Only people who have looked at him closely would know about it. Would an imposter bother to replicate something that small?" Petunia sat forward to take one of the sandwiches Lavender had set out. "Besides, his mannerisms and voice are practically identical to His Majesty. In my opinion, it is very hard to fake not just looks but voice. How would they have found someone so perfect to imitate His Highness? I told him he's to come to the tea social."

Gwenivar lifted a brow as she sipped her tea. "What would be the point of that?"

"To test him. He put on a good show of behaving like a person, albeit barely civil, but what is he really?"

"I would like to see as well," Gwenivar said.

Petunia gasped, eyes wide. "You'll come? Fantastic! I'll make sure everything is comfortable for you."

"Thank you." Gwenivar inwardly regretted saying anything. Petunia had planned on having the tea social under the gazebo, but if Gwenivar was coming, Petunia would change everything to make sure Gwenivar didn't get sick.

"Speaking of," Lavender said, "It has gotten far too chilly." She stood and went to the windows to close them.

Gwenivar sighed softly. She had been enjoying the fresh air, but her lady-in-waiting was right. Being exposed for much longer would cause her to catch a cold. She’d already coughed blood twice today. She didn't have the luxury of time to be ill. She needed to strategize and determine who would likely join the prince's new faction. Plenty of people supported her because they believed she could be manipulated. With Solace being new, he might be a far better candidate for such machinations.

"In your estimation," Gwenivar asked Petunia, "How weak-willed does he seem?"

"Right now? I'm not sure. He's done as he was told by the queen. She prodded him to stand when the announcement was made at dinner. I believe his maids insisted he see me this evening. If he can be pushed around by his maid, then he might be easily led."

Lavender sighed as she returned to the couch and took a seat beside Gwenivar. Petunia had taken up the entire other one with her skirts. "Wonderful. Viscountess Opera will switch to supporting him as soon as she hears that."

"However, he doesn’t shy away from bluntly telling people to leave. As for Opera, we hardly need her anyway," Petunia said dismissively. "She has no real power."

"She has assets we need." Gwenivar leaned forward, collected a few finger sandwiches on her plate, and sat back to eat.

Lavender poured herself a cup of tea. "Duchess Wenkels is probably going to want to support him, regardless of whether he's an imbecile, or perhaps especially if he is. She wants someone with royal blood on the throne. If she can control him, that would be in her best interests. Elliot is only her second pick."

"Further issue is your socialite group, Petunia," Gwenivar said.

"I am far more fascinated by the prospect of cultivating fashion from a business standpoint," Petunia said. "You remain my candidate, Lady Gwenivar. My followers... well, they are like little sheep. They will go where they're led as long as they are entertained."

"Then we should continue to entertain them," Gwenivar sighed. "It frustrates me that while we have the larger number of voices, those with power remain on Elliot's side."

Lavender shifted in her seat. "I believe regardless of what kind of person Prince Solace turns out to be, it benefits us."

"How so?" Gwenivar asked.

"If he is weak-willed, those who just want a puppet will support him. That removes the distasteful people from the Progressives but mostly weakens the Aristocrats. Those who are overly ambitious will flock to him and begin quarreling over who gets to bend his ear next. If he is strong-willed, the Loyalists will reform as a party. We will still have the numbers while the Aristocrats will have been split."

Petunia nodded along. "That's true." She brushed crumbs off her chin when her cookie unexpectedly crumbled between her fingers. "His appearance is advantageous. And everyone knows Queen Charlotte favors you. Now, if you wed Solace, your position would be absolutely solid."

Gwenivar couldn't help the look of disgust that crossed her features. "He's a child."

"Is he, though?" Petunia pressed. "He hardly seemed childish when I spoke to him. Churlish, yes. I believe he called me a bitch as the door was closed." She pressed her lips together and sat back. "I suppose I do see your point, though. I'm not sure I could bring myself to wed him either." She shivered. "It's unnatural... suddenly becoming a whole person out of nowhere. Does that mean we should keep all the other soulless alive, too? On the off chance that they'll become a whole person sometime in the future? What a waste!"

Lavender snorted, nearly spilling her tea in her flinch of disgust. "It's like making a sandwich with everything except the meat and hoping one day you'll complete it. What do you do with the sandwich in the meantime? It's just bread with condiments, sitting there getting soggy."

"Please. People are not food." Gwenivar covered her mouth in disgust as she was inadvertently reminded of the time they'd resorted to eating the dead when she was Willow. They'd tried their hardest to keep people alive, but with their potato supply dwindling... She looked up at the ceiling to remind herself that those times were in the past. She was no longer that person. She was Gwenivar Lorraine. She was fighting to keep times like those from repeating because of the greed of a few. “Lavender.” She stood and went to her desk, writing a quick note. Gwenivar folded it and handed it to her lady, “Please take this to Duchess Wenkels.”

“Of course.” Lavender took the note and left.

“What’s that?”

“I’m asking to meet her,” Gwenivar said cheerfully. However, with Lavender gone, Gwenivar decided to speak with Petunia about the other topic of concern. “Did you hear what happened to the Western Barracks today?”

Petunia looked up from selecting another cookie. “The roof caved in. That unsightly mess is finally going to be cleaned up.”

Taking her seat again, Gwenivar said, “I’m going to try to save Sir Owen.”

Petunia set the cookie down and sat back. “He assaulted Sir Salvage.”

“I suspect that isn’t what happened at all. The Finance Office has rejected repair requests for twenty years and pocketed the money. I only have four years of evidence, but it is clear that Sir Owen is being framed.”

“Sir Owen is a waste of air,” Petunia dismissed and selected her cookie. “If it weren’t for the capable people under him, nothing would get done.”

“Do you not think it’s a talent to find capable people and allow them to thrive?” Gwenivar asked.

“If that’s what you want to call his blatant laziness,” Petunia retorted. “Lady Emerald is dating Baron Greene’s son. I told you about that, right? She said she sees Sir Owen at Baron Greene’s house all the time.” The woman flipped her fan open to use it. “She said Sir Greene defends the man until he’s breathless. Claims he might not do paperwork, but what he does do is invaluable to everyone in the Western Barracks. I couldn’t imagine what that could be since no one will admit to what Sir Owen does with his time except drink.”

Gwenivar couldn’t help but feel there was something more going on. She’d never paid much attention to the Barracks Captain before now except to hear variations of the rumors Petunia had just repeated. But hearing about the loyalty of the Western Barracks men was new. Why would they defend a man that useless?

The man she’d spoken to that morning didn’t seem entirely incompetent. Sir Davis’ desperation was genuine. I'll interview a few Western Barracks knights tomorrow, she decided. Hopefully, they would be more truthful if she told them what punishment would be coming for Sir Owen.

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