7

You find Beaumont, Dominique, and Asher dawdling on the gravel drive outside with a middle-aged man wearing rough, practical clothing. His graying hair is pulled into a ponytail. Asher looks happily windswept.

"This is Degen," they say. "I've been getting a tour from him. And the pets are here!"

Degen bows. "Your Highness," he says quietly. "May I show you out to the field?"

As you follow Degen across the estate, it's strange how short a time you've been here, and yet how long it feels since you saw your…

You've owned her for a couple of years now. She's:

The kennels sit close to the stables, on the edge of the Archambault grounds. Excited barking erupts as you approach. Dominique rushes to the first kennel to start petting a little long-haired sausage dog through the wire, but the dog nips impatiently at his fingers.

"Here," Degen says, pointing to the next kennel. Your dog jumps up as she sees you; above the cage door sits a gleaming sign where her name proudly reads:

Gooseberry snuffles your hand happily as you open the cage, wagging her tail. She's already wearing her collar, and looks comfortable in her new home.

"She missed you," Asher says, rubbing her ears affectionately.

In the opposite kennel, Beaumont is murmuring gently to a nervous-looking shepherd dog. They move slowly and softly, and after a few minutes, the dog licks their hand.

"Bring the dogs out to the field," Degen calls. "We'll do some racing practice this afternoon."

You stride out.

Next

The fields stretch out as far as you can see until they become blankets of bright blue gentian flowers. You throw a ball for Gooseberry, and she surges forth eagerly. Degen calls for your group to line up and toss balls for each of your dogs, timing their speeds. Beaumont's dog takes some coaxing to run, but once she warms up, is eager to race.

Out here, the air tastes clean. Compared to the lowlands, it's fresh and bright.

You grit your teeth as the wind whips around your face. Gooseberry picks up the pace; she's not the most agile of animals, but she's eager to please. Beside you, Asher claps and cheers, and pets Gooseberry each time she returns.

Close by, Beaumont is calling crisp commands to their shepherd dog; when they see you looking, they raise a hand in a brief salute to you.

"Your dog's a lovely animal," they say. "Congratulations."

"She's a good one," you say, ruffling Gooseberry's ears.

Beaumont snorts with amusement. "She knows what she wants to do, and does that," they say. "I can respect that."

They reach down to rub their dog's belly. Their expression is uncharacteristically warm.

"Patch can be like that, too," they say. "Though I'm not having the same trouble as the Honorable de Saint Martel over there."

On your other side, Dominique is indeed suffering. His sausage dog—whose name, you can hear from Dominique's remonstrations with him, is Lightning—is not listening to him, and is more interested in playing with Gooseberry.

"Can I help you?" Degen calls.

"I'm…fine…" Dominique says but then Lightning growls at Gooseberry, lunging to try to steal her ball.

You crisply call Gooseberry to your side and move a short distance away from Dominique and Lightning. As you carry on, Degen sighs and comes to help Dominique with giving Lightning some remedial training. "It's all right to need a hand," he says.

"I know, but…" Dominique says, but you do not hear the rest of what he says; the wind snatches his voice away.

Next

The dogs have enough energy that you can get on with agility training through the afternoon. It's nearly sunset when you bring them back to the kennels. You lead Gooseberry inside, nearly colliding with someone as they're striding out.

"Hey! Excuse me!" snaps the person.

You blink, recognizing the newcomer immediately. It's Prince Javi of Zaledo. The younger child of the Zaledoan monarchs. Standing here in Archambault uniform, his golden eyes narrowed and glaring at you.

Javi tuts and turns to his bodyguard, a middle-aged woman with impressive muscles. "Can you believe this?" he says testily. "I suppose I shouldn't expect Prince Irad Motahhari to conduct himself properly, anyway…"

Beside you, you sense Asher's tension. Though Asher called out Beaumont's brusque manner yesterday, they have no such standing to snap at a royal.

For your part, you're not at all surprised to see that Javi is immediately making everything about himself—nor that he's being so hostile. The last time you saw him was at the Zaledoan Prince Rosario's wedding to Potentate Darian of Jezhan. As with most weddings, tensions ran high, especially with Javi.

Each time you interacted, Javi looked down his nose at you and said something in Zaledoan that you could not translate. The interpreters would rush to fill you in, but it made conversation stilted and awkward. Then, when you gave your official congratulations in front of everyone, things came to a head.

When it was time for the toasts, you rose at the correct time and called for quiet for Rosario and Potentate Darian. But Javi and his companions wouldn't stop chattering. First you glared in his direction, which didn't work; then you paused meaningfully, and he ignored you.

Rosario and Potentate Darian gave you sympathetic looks, and Rosario ended up coughing significantly. Javi fell silent straightaway, making it clear that you had no authority in the situation. It was so unfair.

To add insult to injury, you had to endure Rosario's parents and your mother chatting over your head about how you and Javi would make a wonderful match. The worst part is that it's true. Politically, at least. A second heir marrying a second heir: it's perfect symmetry.

And now you have him glaring at you here in your kennel. His gaze shifts over your shoulder, and he flashes a bright smile.

"Apologies," he says, and sweeps past you to greet Dominique.

You ignore Javi entirely and lead Gooseberry to her kennel, taking some time to play with her. Javi's buttering up Dominique outside, but that doesn't matter. You know where you stand.

Javi leads his own dog into the kennel while Dominique murmurs admiringly; when you emerge, they're both cooing over a tiny, fluffy black-and-white butterfly dog; the large ears give the breed its name, and this one is particularly small and yappy.

"What's his name?" Dominique asks, stroking the dog's ears.

"Silver," Javi says, a note of pride in his voice. "I've had him since I was little. I wasn't about to leave him alone at home."