The Bonaventura manor gates opened to the sound of hooves and carriage wheels. Ezekiel stood with Lanastha and Edric at the top of the marble steps, Rue lurking at his shoulder as usual.

Two black-coated riders led the way, bearing the snake banner. Behind them rolled an elegant dark carriage trimmed with gold. When it stopped, the footman leapt down and opened the door.

First came the Duke.
His hair was the same rich dark brown as Lanastha’s, though streaked with silver, and his red eyes scanned the courtyard like a general assessing a battlefield. His posture was stiff, commanding but when his gaze fell on Ezekiel, something softened immediately.

“So this is my grandson,” he said, voice deep and firm. 

He descended the steps with surprising speed for a man his age and crouched so he was eye-level with Ezekiel. “You’ve got Ermes’ hair… and our eyes. Good.”

Ezekiel swallowed. “Y-yes, sir.”

The Duke chuckled, the stern lines of his face breaking into warmth. “No ‘sir.’ Call me Grandfather. Or better yet, just call me Duke if it annoys your mother.”

Lanastha sighed. “Father.”

“Daughter,” he replied mildly, standing straight again.

 “We’ll talk later. I have things to say you won’t like.” His crimson gaze sharpened. “The Emperor has gone quiet. Too quiet. And the lesser nobles are acting strange. Eyes open.”

Before Ezekiel could ask what that meant, another voice rang out.

“Lana!”

A slim woman with bright blonde hair swept up in curls stepped from the carriage, her pink eyes glittering. She wore a pale rose gown and looked entirely out of place among the black and crimson banners until she smiled, and the whole courtyard seemed to warm.

“Mother,” Lanastha said curtly, though her voice softened almost imperceptibly.

The Duchess ignored the stiffness and immediately bent to hug Ezekiel tightly. “And this must be my darling grandson! Look at you so serious, just like your mother. We’ll have to fix that.”

Ezekiel froze. No one ever hugged him except Rue in moments of danger and Rue didn’t count because he never admitted it. “I… hello.”

“‘Hello,’ he says!” The Duchess laughed like silver bells and kissed the top of his head. “You and I are going on an outing today. I want to see how you behave outside these walls.”

Before they left, the Duke drew Lanastha aside, his voice low and grim. Ezekiel caught only fragments as Rue pretended not to listen.

“…too many questions about the boy…”
“…spies in the capital sniffing around…”
“…if the Emperor’s silent, he’s planning something…”

Lanastha’s expression didn’t change. “Let him plan. If he touches my son, he dies.”

The Duke grunted. “That’s my girl. But don’t get reckless. Snakes die fastest when they play in the sun.”

The Duchess insisted on dressing Ezekiel properly: black boots, a tailored vest, and a crimson cravat he thought made him look ridiculous. But when she beamed at him, he decided it was worth it.

They rode in a simple open carriage no Bonaventura banners, no guards close enough to draw attention. “Sometimes,” she explained, “it’s nice to walk among people without them bowing every five seconds. I used to sneak out all the time when Lana was little.”

“Did she like it?” Ezekiel asked.

“Of course not,” the Duchess said cheerfully. “She glared the whole time. Just like she does now.”

They stopped in a bustling town square, full of shops and a fashionable restaurant. The Duchess led him inside, humming under her breath. Servants bowed slightly but didn’t seem to recognize her.

They had just been seated when a noblewoman at the next table 

 overdressed in too many ruffles and jewels 

wrinkled her nose at them. “I didn’t know they were letting strays dine here.”

Ezekiel stiffened. “What?”

The woman sniffed. “Some country brat and his mother playing at nobility, no doubt. No crest on your carriage, no guard clearly impostors.” She turned back to her friend with a laugh.

Ezekiel’s fists clenched, but before he could speak, the Duchess leaned forward, her pink eyes sparkling dangerously. “My dear,” she said sweetly, “if you don’t recognize me, that’s simply proof you haven’t been invited anywhere worth going.”

The woman froze, blinking at her. “I—”

“And this boy,” the Duchess continued, laying a gentle hand on Ezekiel’s shoulder, “has more Bonaventura blood in his veins than you have sense in your head. So kindly shut your mouth before I decide to remind you why we still hold the Emperor’s leash.”

The noblewoman went pale and stammered something incoherent, grabbing her friend and leaving so fast she nearly tripped over her skirts.

The Duchess winked at Ezekiel and sipped her tea. “See? Easy. You don’t have to shout to make fools scurry.”

Ezekiel grinned for the first time that day. “You’re just like mother .”

“Thank you, darling,” she said warmly. “But don’t tell her I took that as a compliment.”