Behind the Royal Mask

Lord Percival

Beatrice tugged a tunic off the drying line, shaking out its fabric before folding it, lost in her task beneath the fading amber glow of the evening sky. It had been a long day of keeping her head down, fitting into her disguise as one of the manor's workers. She could sense the watchful eyes of the other servants, each cautious not to step out of line.

A rustle of steps drew her attention. Derin approached, and held out a folded newspaper. "Look at this," he murmured, handing it to her with a quick glance over his shoulder.

She took the paper, her gaze landing on the front page headline that read: Crown Prince Declares New Decree to Aid Commoners. 

She read every word carefully. The decree outlined the prince's plan to regulate grain trade, allowing the government to purchase grain in bulk and sell it at reduced prices directly to the common people. The traders' monopoly would be restricted, and profits would no longer be as steep.

"My, my," she whispered in admiration, "Who knew the prince would finally get the courage to do it?"

"It's bold, isn't it?" Derin commented, his tone tinged with something between admiration and surprise.

A faint smile touched her lips. "It's surprising." She tried to keep her tone neutral, but her chest warmed with pride, a feeling she quickly pushed aside. "The nobles will be fuming."

As she continued reading, her gaze fell to a smaller headline near the bottom of the page: Accidental Fire Destroys Lord Wilkes' Warehouses.

The smile that crept onto her face this time was different. She didn't have to ask to know that this was no accident. She knew the Vigil's handiwork when she saw it, and a deep sense of satisfaction filled her.

"Wilkes had it coming," Derin muttered with a smirk, glancing down at the empty clothesline. "We should head back inside before anyone notices us talking out here." He nodded toward the clothes basket. "Let's get these folded and delivered."

Beatrice snapped out of her thoughts, quickly finishing the last of the folding. They gathered the clothes, each carrying a neat stack as they slipped into the manor. The walls, cold and bare, echoed faint sounds of distant voices.

They took the clothes to a small room just off the servants' quarters, where clean laundry was stored until the higher-ranked staff could distribute it. Beatrice felt the weight of the day lifting slightly now that her task was nearly done. But before she could relish the moment, a commotion in the hall drew her attention.

"Sounds like someone's furious," Derin whispered, his eyebrows raised. "Want to check it out?"

She nodded, her curiosity piqued. Together, they made their way down the narrow corridor toward the main hall. As they neared, Lord Percival's raised voice became unmistakable.

"Has he lost his mind?" Percival's voice boomed, echoing off the walls as he paced furiously near the hearth. "This decree will ruin our profits! Years of careful investment—my investments—wasted at the whim of that spoiled prince!"

Beatrice and Derin edged closer, positioning themselves with the other workers who had gathered along the edges of the hall to watch the spectacle.

Lord Percival was in a full rage. His face had flushed crimson, and he waved the newspaper as if it were a weapon. "He thinks he's a hero of the common folk, does he? This...this stunt will cost us a fortune! I am not going to just sit back and allow this nonsense to continue."

The shouting grew louder as Percival resumed his rant, hardly noticing the way his staff shrank back, unwilling to meet his eye.

Finally, his gaze settled on Beatrice. She barely had a second to school her expression before he barked at her, "You! Girl! Bring that—" he waved impatiently toward a heavy bundle of ledgers and documents on a nearby table, "—to my chambers. Now."