A Bullet Or Two

Chapter 7.1: A Visit from the South

Upon arriving back at the townhouse, Delilah was greeted by the hollow halls she had grown accustomed to throughout her childhood. Few guards were stationed at the entrance and Gregory was absent, most likely having returned home for the night already. 

Exhausted from that evening's events, she brushed her concerns aside and hobbled up the broad staircase, through the empty halls, until she reached her room. The white of daisy petals coated the walls and hid behind the yew wood cupboards and vanity that filled the space. 

Slumping against her bed that rested central in the room, Delilah let her mind drift in and out of consciousness. Forgetting completely about the cloak that wrapped her shoulders and the boots that still hugged her feet. For once, she did not sleep in fits. Delilah did not dream of the man that tainted her soul. Nor of his blood seeping into her skin as it dripped from the gaping wound at the back of his head.

Rather, she floated through dreams - drifting from a forest of pines to a temple broken and wrapped in ivy, and occasionally a masked man with a metal hand would speak to her. His face was too blurred and his voice unheard for her to recognize him.

And then she was awoken by the sounds of dawn. Birds serenading outside her window were joined by the crack of whips and the knocks of hooves against gravel. Her head splintered with every noise. "What do I owe your current state to?" Darragh's monotonous words pulled her from her morning lull. She blinked once and then again, straining her eyes to see her step-father looming at the edge of her bed. Delilah spluttered hair from her lips and attempted to speak, although her dry throat made her words hoarse. "My apologies, Sir. I returned late into the night and had little sleep." 

Very early on in her youth, Baron Franklyn established his distaste for lies. How they tasted foul in his mouth and coarse in his ears. Lying was for those with nothing and who are nothing. He reiterated that over and over to her. More so after her father left when she was seven. And those words were partnered with what Darragh called lessons. No dessert after dinner, at first. Then confined to her room for days. And sometimes, when lies slipped from her lips - when Delilah hid the tests she failed or how she ruined her dress while out in the woods - Darragh resorted to more...brutal lessons.

Many years later, Delilah remembered those lessons and had never lied to him since.

"And why, in Saol's name, were you late?" Although he remained motionless, poised, and stern at the edge of her bed, Delilah braced herself. Her pulse rose the longer he stayed.

"I, erm, I visited The White Hare." She avoided his eyes. Wrung her cloak between her fingers. "I needed some...some rest before walking back." She wanted to argue that she drank nothing. That her condition was entirely from the stress of witnessing a protest challenging the Franklyn barony. But, she did not mention that last part. Delilah remained bitter and uneasy over the entire uprising that was hidden from her. That he thought her too weak or incompetent to know of the issue. "Look at me." Baron glowered down at her. Distrust cracked his usual composure. "Did you forget where we are going today?" 

Delilah shook her head in disagreement.

"Then I expect you downstairs within the hour, ready to go." Dismissing her transgression, Baron turned to leave and was almost out of the door when he addressed Delilah one last time. "And you will not touch any drinks other than water while we are there unless I say so."

Delilah nodded, gritting her cheek between her teeth at his assumption.

Once the Baron had left, Delilah, alone again, flipped over onto her stomach and screamed into her pillows.

---

An hour later, Delilah was clambering into a carriage with her step-father, and by midday, she was in Cornswald. While eager to spend the few days she had remaining with her cousin before she was caged to East City, a bird - draped in black and gold -, Delilah's trip to Cornswald was strictly business. Another necessary event where she was on display for the entire kingdom to watch her every move.

And watch her every move they would. The next day possessed the coronation dinner that only occurred every few generations. Until a new heir had arrived and reached the grand age of twenty-two. One where the barons of the four Quarters would converge and welcome the successor. 

Only, this time, the barons would not meet again. An ambassador from the west attended in place of Smacallves' Baroness and the Northern barony had made their absence known through a brief letter delivered to the townhouse a couple of days prior.

My sincerest apologies to the future Baroness.

The Vilhelm Barony cannot attend your coronation dinner, but our blessings are with you on the fine day. Once you have settled, I invite you to my own home – so we may meet.

Baron O. Vilhelm.

"More money saved, my dear," was all her step-father said.

Though both the Vilhelm and the Bertha baronies would be missing from the merriments of the grand dinner, the Southern Baron had been ecstatic towards his invitation, pledging to arrive a day early. And he kept to his promise, with Baron Franklyn's scouts informing Delilah and him of Sangredan's ruler being minutes from arrival with his sons.