“How do you feel, Arte?”

“Urp…” Artemisia hid her pale face behind her fan. She’d never been motion-sick in her life before, but something about the uneven motion of the carriage made her stomach churn. It also didn’t help that she was wracked by nerves.

Emile tutted sympathetically. It was just the two of them in the carriage; Christopher had chosen to travel by horse, eschewing the carriage for the fresh air, despite Emile’s complaints that he would smell of horse. Artemisia wished she knew how to ride so she could join him, although she doubted Emile would have let her, especially in the fine gown she wore. It was made up of pale pink and blue silk layered together, and silver beaded embroidery created a facsimile of the night sky across the bodice. Artemisia tugged at the string of pearls around her neck, tighter than what she was used to.

“Remember, Countess Selwyn has dark hair, and usually wears a cameo necklace with the symbol of her house, which is…?

“A tree – a pine tree,” Artemisia responded, slipping into the cadence of a student. “The Selwyn lands are mainly tree plantations, and they supply most of the softwood throughout the Lindt duchy and the larger administrative area.”

“Correct.” Emile gave Artemisia an appraising look, before sighing. “You’ve done your best. We just need to hope that that is enough. If you feel too pressured, well, you can fall back on the excuse that you are still recovering from your illness… which, I suppose, isn’t untrue.”

Artemisia huffed a rather fake laugh. “I’ll endeavour not to shame the family name.”

“Appearing a little ignorant or forgetful will do nothing to your reputation,” Emile said, in a tone that seemed to imply that Artemisia’s reputation wasn’t the best.

No need to make that face, I’ve been able to figure that much out. Artemisia tapped her fingers against the seat anxiously.

She glanced out of the window. The carriage was passing alongside the edge of a small town, where people were beginning to light up lanterns as the evening shadows lengthened. “What town is this?” she asked.

“Oh,” Emile paused to look out of the window. “I’m not sure myself, perhaps Topher might know.” She opened the window and called out to Christopher, who was riding a few paces ahead. His horse fell back to trot alongside the carriage.

“This is Blackbier,” he replied once Artemisia repeated the question. “On this road, it marks the border between the lands under our direct administration and the lands managed by the Selwyns.”

“I see.” Artemisia pretended to look disheartened. “I was hoping it might be Fernstal. I heard it was a very pretty place.”

Damn it, there goes the chances of Fernstal being an easy stopoff.

It was Violetday, the equivalent of Earth’s Sunday, and the manor was quiet. A large portion of the servants, including Elise, had the afternoon off, and most of the family was occupied with their own business. Emile and Christopher had taken Elspeth to the temple for some sort of ceremony, and as for the duke and duchess, Artemisia had no idea.

Facing the boredom of an entire afternoon to herself had finally given her the motivation to pick up the steadily growing pile of letters that she had so far been avoiding. However, all too soon she found herself confronted with the very reason that had made her so reluctant to deal with them.

An innocuous-looking letter lay on her desk: simple, slightly off-white paper and adorned with a plain seal. It seemed awfully boring, and yet, for that reason it was not… as it was identical in paper type and seal to the previous letters from Georgio Gloriosa.

Artemisia laid her head on the desk and let out a curse, glad that Elise wasn’t there to look scandalised. Part of her was tempted to throw the letter to the hounds and be done with it, but the more sensible part knew that would only put the problem off, not solve it.

With a sigh, she broke the seal and unfolded the letter. “Let’s get this over with.”

As she read, Artemisia’s scowl deepened, and it was as if a shadow fell across her face. The letter was mostly full of useless compliments and pleasantries, enquiring after her health after the accident and reassuring her of Georgio’s worry for her safety. But, to her chagrin, a few lines stood out as particularly annoying.

You will be attending the upcoming soirée of Countess Selwyn, will you not? Perhaps you would consider a short detour as you return from the Selwyn estate? There is a most magnificent inn by the name of The Lord’s Oak in Fernstal, and I may find myself there on the night of the soirée…

“The bastard,” Artemisia muttered. “How does he know about that?”

Indeed, the soirée, which was three days from then, was to be Artemisia’s first (re-)introduction into society. It was supposedly a small gathering, but attended by a large proportion of the local nobility and even some of the more prestigious gentry. Emile had decided it a suitable event for Artemisia to finally put her skills into practice… and Artemisia only hoped that Emile was right.

I would have preferred more time to perfect my etiquette, but then, I feel as if I could practice for another six months and not have it all quite right. My conversation skills are lacking too – but anyway, back to the matter at hand!

“The Lord’s Oak in Fernstal,” Artemisia read again, committing the name to memory. She wasn’t familiar with the town, but assumed it would be in the vicinity of the Selwyn estate. She stood and began to pace back and forth as she planned how to act.

Should I go, or should I not? I would much rather not, but that would give Georgio reason to suspect me. Or would it be better to just call this off entirely? That would be one less worry for me, at least. I’m sure I could put him off me somehow.

This will be the first time the two of us meet since this whole seduction business has begun, right? If I act completely differently to how I’ve come across in the letters, it should put him off, and then we can put the whole thing to rest.

...Is this… reverse-catfishing, perhaps?

“Fernstal is further south from here.” Christopher gave Artemisia a bit of an odd look. “But yes, it is indeed picturesque. The buildings are all built in the old style, and they have a large oak in the centre of town claimed to be older than the empire. It’s quite the sight.”

“Oh, how quaint!” Artemisia clapped her hands together. “I’d love to see that.”

Okay, it’s not too far. It could be worse.

“Perhaps we could take a trip there someday,” Emile said.

Christopher nodded. The conversation over, he spurred his horse on, although he gave Artemisia one last searching look.

Did I sound suspicious? Surely he would put it down to pure curiosity… surely.