The Duke's Bed Warmer

The library was quiet. Lord Ashby’s chair was empty; he had apparently taken his tea elsewhere today.

Alina sat at the long central table, the visitor logs Emeric had delivered an hour ago spread out before her in stacks.

She read every single thing, cross-checking and comparing each detail carefully.

Most entries were normal routines like kitchen deliveries, military dispatches, servants visiting their family in the town, and so on. There was nothing unusual or suspicious.

But she kept reading. And finally one entry caught her eye.

A courier had departed from Ravenmoor the afternoon of her briefing, towards the south. The log had listed the sender as "household correspondence" which was Audrey’s domain.

Alina’s fingers froze on the page as her gaze moved to the last line.

Destination: Aldmere.

Her breath slowed. Emeric was at the next table, pretending to read a book but in reality, he had been watching her for an hour. She hadn’t asked him to stay but he had stayed anyway.

"Found something?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied. "I need to see Lady Talbot."

The garden was alive with chatter when Alina arrived. Lady Talbot was supervising the uniform production while the others were scattered across the garden, cutting, stitching, and measuring.

Alina immediately went to Lady Talbot.

"There was a courier," Alina said, pulling her aside. "He left from Audrey’s household the afternoon of my briefing. His name is Garrett and he rode to Aldmere. But he made an unscheduled stop along the way. I need to know where."

Lady Talbot’s eyes narrowed.

"Give me some time," she said, without asking anything.

Lady Talbot’s network was faster than any official intelligence channel. By afternoon, she had the information and went straight to the library, where Alina was still studying the visitor logs.

"Garrett made an unscheduled stop at a waypoint village thirty miles south. He stayed there for an hour."

"What’s at the waypoint?"

"A tavern," Lady Talbot replied. "And a man who receives messages for people who don’t want their messages traced."

Alina went quiet. Audrey’s courier had either dropped something off or picked something up there.

The pieces began aligning. A maid from Audrey’s household saw Alina walking in the restricted corridor, that information reached Audrey. Then Audrey sent a courier in the same afternoon who stopped at a waypoint village.

"I need to go to Maren’s office," Alina muttered.

"The spymaster’s office?" Lady Talbot stared at her. "Without the duke’s permission?"

"I don’t care about his permission."

"I don’t think she is in the castle right now," Lady Talbot said.

"I can wait."

Alina returned to her work, stitching a uniform sleeve when Audrey arrived in the garden. She walked through the garden gate carrying a basket of embroidery supplies in her hand and sat down on an empty bench.

"I was getting bored inside," she said. "I hope you don’t mind."

The women tensed slightly, but Audrey smiled warmly at them. She praised Lady Brennan’s stitching, asked Marguerite about the production schedule, and admired the fabric Lady Carlisle had chosen for the collars.

Then she turned to Alina.

"Your stitching is perfect even when you’re upset," Audrey said.

Alina kept her eyes on the sleeve she was working on.

"My caretaker taught me a woman’s hands should be steady even when her heart isn’t."

Audrey smiled and began sewing.

"Austin can be cruel when he is afraid," Audrey said quietly. "He closes doors and builds walls, and the people outside freeze while he decides whether to let them back in."

Alina’s needle paused.

"You sound like you’re speaking from experience."

"Years of experience," Audrey said and looked at her. "But don’t worry. He’ll come around. He always does. The question is whether you’ll still be standing when he opens the door."

"I’ll be there."

Audrey smiled faintly and touched her arm to comfort her. Alina’s gaze dropped to her hand.

It was the same hand that held the knife and offered the bandage.

Alina smiled back and resumed stitching.

At night, instead of going to Austin’s room, Alina went to Maren’s room. She knocked twice and the door opened.

Maren stood in the doorway, surprise flickering on her face as she saw Alina.

"I didn’t leak the intelligence," Alina said. "I can prove it. Let me in."

Maren stepped aside.

Alina entered and spread the evidence on her desk. Maren read everything with a neutral expression. Then she cross-checked everything with her own files.

"I know about this village," Maren said. "It’s been flagged for two years and is connected to Voss’s network."

"Audrey’s courier stopped there for an hour on the afternoon of our briefing."

"The courier didn’t need to carry the whole intelligence findings...you know," Maren said. "A warning would’ve been enough."

"So it was a warning?" Alina asked. "Not the full leak."

Maren nodded and looked at Alina.

"You did this in three days," Maren said. "Without any training. Using a kitchen maid and a merchant’s wife."

"And a visitor log from the archives."

"Who got you the log?"

"Emeric Ashby."

"You have your own intelligence network."

"I have friends."

Maren smiled.

"I need to verify this information independently," she said. "Don’t tell Austin yet."

"Why?"

"Because he’s sleep deprived and guilt ridden right now. Go back to your sewing circle and act normal. I’ll handle everything else."

"How do you know he is sleep deprived?"

"His morning briefings have deteriorated lately. It’s either insomnia or something worse. Since there’s no injury, I’m assuming it’s insomnia," Maren told her. "He also went to the kitchen at two in the morning last night and tried to bake something. The result was removed by staff as a potential hazard."

Alina stared at Maren.

"He tried to bake?"

Maren didn’t answer.

"Go back. I have work to do."

Alina walked back through the corridors feeling relieved, after days of struggling. She wasn’t the accused anymore. She was the one investigating the truth.

When she entered Austin’s room, it was empty. She went to the bed but paused when something on the bedside table caught her attention.

Lying beside the silver hairpin was a honeycake. It was small and slightly burnt. It looked like it had been made by someone who didn’t know how to bake but had tried anyway.

She stared at it for a moment before picking it up. It was still warm. She hesitated, then took a bite and regretted it immediately.

It was the worst thing she had ever eaten. The outside was hard and the inside raw. The honey was clumped in some places while absent in others.

"I’m going to puke," she muttered under her breath, coughing as she quickly put it back on the table.

She sat down on the bed and reached for the water, drinking quickly.

After a minute, she picked up the honeycake again and finished it. When she was done, her fingers were sticky and her mouth tasted of burnt honey and raw flour.

She didn’t know if the honeycake was an apology or a peace offering. But she knew he had made it for her, despite not knowing how to.

Because he wasn’t a man of words. This was how he spoke instead.