Behind the Royal Mask

The Vigil

Before dawn had broken, Beatrice moved swiftly, her cloak clasped tight around her shoulders. The dim glow of her candle flickered, casting shadows across the chamber as she prepared for the departure. This escape—temporary though it was—felt like a breath of fresh air after days trapped in the castle.

Elara entered the room, her hair tied back. "Are you certain you don't need me to come along, my lady?" she asked softly, her voice laced with worry. "Perhaps I should be there to assist you."

Beatrice shook her head, putting on a somber expression that she'd been practicing. She looked down, as if in grief. "No, Elara, it's best that you stay. I... I have to go alone. My uncle... he was a dear relative, even if distant. I must honor him by attending his funeral. You understand, don't you?"

Elara's face softened, sympathy overcoming her worry. "Of course, my lady. I'm so sorry for your loss. I'll let Prince Caelon know immediately; he'll be disappointed, but I'm sure he'll understand."

Beatrice gave a solemn nod, pressing a hand to her chest as if composing herself. "Yes, tell him I'll return in a few days. I wouldn't want him to think I'd abandon my duties here for too long."

As Elara left to pass on the news, Beatrice quickly slipped out of her chamber and hurried through the dim corridors. The servants were mostly asleep, and the few who were awake gave her no more than a respectful bow, oblivious to her true purpose.

When she reached the courtyard, Derin was waiting, his face grim but his eyes betraying a spark of understanding. "Ready, Bea?" he asked, his voice low.

She nodded, allowing herself to exhale fully for the first time that morning. "More than ready."

Derin led her to the carriage, a simple, unadorned vehicle that would look like any other to the casual observer. She recognized the coachman at once—a Vigil member she had met a few times before. He tipped his hat with a nod, eyes glancing briefly around to ensure no one was watching.

Beatrice climbed into the carriage, settling against the cushioned seat with a sigh of relief, feeling the tension melt from her shoulders. She was finally leaving the castle's oppressive stone walls, if only for a few precious days.

Despite this, she had a lot she had to take care of while outside. She had conjured up the story of a deceased uncle because she wanted to look into what Caelon was planning with Lord Percival. And she was going to do it with the help of Vigil. She had informed Alaric about her leaving the castle for some days through a secret letter that she had sent through Elara.

 Beatrice slumped back against the seat and gazing out the window as the castle grew smaller in the distance. None of them uttered a word and they rode on in a comfortable silence, as dawn began to creep over the horizon.

***

By early afternoon, Beatrice arrived at the Vigil's headquarters, "the Fort." She had exchanged her restrictive dress for a simpler tunic and trousers that allowed her to move freely, the rough fabric a welcome relief. As she stretched her arms, working out the stiffness from days of playing the noble fiancée, a sense of familiarity and purpose washed over her.

Derin came up beside her, nodding toward the door. "Shall we? They've been waiting a while."

She took a steadying breath. "Let's go."

Inside, the Fort was a buzz of activity. Members of the Vigil—toughened men and women, each marked by the struggles and stories that brought them together—milled about. Some sat around tables, nursing mugs of lukewarm coffee or patches over fresh bruises. A group in the far corner was deep in laughter, nudging each other with friendly insults and jokes, while others, more solemn, watched from their places by the walls.