Book One: The Marigold's Larkspur ~ A tale of mystery, magic, and obsession.

Chapter Two

As Cressida passed through the entry point archway, a sense of unease settled upon her. She stole a glance back at the distant table where the nobles were now engaged in frantic whispers, their expressions filled with trepidation. She turned the corner, and they were gone.

With Prince Callidus taking the lead, the trio formed a triangle-like formation, their footsteps resounding through the grand, deserted hallway. It was the same hallway she and Quail had been ushered through the moment their carriage was parked and the horses were led to the stables. Their modest entourage of servants, stablemen, coachmen, guards, and cooks were left to unpack and get settled while Quail and Cressida had to regrettably make friendly with the Ashlarian elite.

"So, Your Highness," Quail began. He picked up his pace so that he was side by side with the prince. "What is it about Eflian culture that fascinates you so much that you'd be willing to kick the poor steward out of his job?"

"Several things." Callidus answered after a brief pause. "The music most of all. As well as the art, and people."

"People like me, you mean?" Quail asked, craning his neck to look the tall man in the face but Callidus kept his gaze fixed straight again. After a beat, it became clear that he was not going to respond and Quail fell back into place beside Cressida, shooting her a confused glance.

She decided to save herself from the impending awkward silence. "Your Highness, have you ever been to Eflia?" she asked, adopting a lighthearted tone. "We may be small, but I dare say we might rival Ashlar in architecture. Afterall, they say we are the birthplace of fine art and beauty."

Callidus turned his head to meet her eyes, "That is without question."

Cressida felt the peppering of heat on her cheeks, and she laughed. "Well, I for one had no idea Ashlarians were so skilled in hospitality. I've felt nothing but care since we've arrived."

"Too cared for." Quail muttered under his breath. "I've had to visit the water closet this entire time, but instead they made me drink tea. Which hasn't helped."

Cressida asked, half-jokingly, "Is that why you've been so irritable today?"

"No," Quail responded, half-serious. "That would be my personality."

They passed by the hallway that would have led them to the foyer, venturing instead through a well-lit corridor of dark brick. Cressida slowed her pace, matching Quail's, and whispered to him, "You know, you could have excused yourself at any point."

"And leave you alone with those wolves?" he scoffed, "I think not."

"They were not wolves. I would have been fine," she replied, her tone softening. "You worry too much."

"Worrying too much was part of the job requirements when I applied all those years ago. Your mother made sure of it."

Cressida raised an eyebrow, "And here I thought you never applied yourself to anything."

"I don't need to apply myself. I have what's called natural genius." Quail pointed at his grizzled temple. "It just took me seventy years to realize it." He paused. "Ah, besides. I couldn't have found the water closet without the help of our esteemed guide."

Their banter momentarily faded as Quail redirected her attention to Prince Callidus. It was then that Cressida realized she had been joking with Quail as if it were just the two of them.

"Yes, ah, thank you again for your assistance Your Highness." She said, a flush of embarrassment warming the back of her neck. "The Grand palace is truly lovely, but I could easily imagine myself getting lost."