Mercer made his way through the corridors of the Ferrers residence with a letter in his hand.
It had arrived that morning from the Imperial Military Academy, addressed to House Ferrers on the matter of the Grand Duke’s younger son. Mercer had no intention of leaving something like that on a tray with the ordinary correspondence. He would deliver it himself.
The household was going about its morning duties around him. Two maids carrying fresh linen stepped aside to greet him, and he nodded to them and walked on.
At the study door, he knocked. "Captain Mercer, my lord."
"Come in."
Mercer opened the door and stopped.
Eleanor was sitting on the arm of Edmund’s chair, leaning in close to her husband. Edmund had an arm around her waist, and from the smile still on Eleanor’s face, she had just finished kissing him.
For a moment, Mercer simply stood in the doorway, unsure whether he ought to back straight out again.
Edmund looked up at him without letting go of his wife. Eleanor turned toward the door with a far more amused expression.
Mercer fixed his eyes firmly on the bookshelves. "My apologies, my lord. My lady. I didn’t mean to interrupt."
"What is it, Mercer?" Edmund asked, straightening a little.
Eleanor didn’t move at all. "You might have warned me before you let him in, Edmund."
"You heard him knock."
"I was busy."
Edmund gave her an exasperated look, but there was no real annoyance in it. Mercer kept studying the bookshelves.
"A letter has arrived from the Imperial Military Academy, my lord," he said. "Concerning Young Master Owen."
That got Edmund’s full attention. He held out his hand, and Mercer crossed the room and gave him the envelope.
Edmund looked at the seal, then broke it. Eleanor slipped off the arm of the chair and into the seat beside it, leaning over to see.
Edmund read it carefully.
"Well?" Eleanor asked.
"He’s been granted the opportunity to sit the entrance examinations," Edmund said.
Eleanor’s face lit up. They had been waiting for the Academy’s answer ever since Owen’s awakening, and after what had happened at his ceremony, neither of them had been entirely sure what it would be.
Edmund looked satisfied too, though more quietly. "It isn’t admission," he said. "He still has to pass the examination. But after his training and the Mowbray operation, I’m glad they’ve given him the chance."
"He’ll be thrilled," Eleanor said. "He’s been expecting to follow Gareth there for as long as I can remember."
"Shall I send word to the Young Master in the capital, my lord?" Mercer asked.
Edmund thought about it for a moment. "No. It can wait until he’s home. He’s there to represent the house at the Princess’s ball. There’s nothing in here that needs to interrupt that." He folded the letter and handed it back. "Keep it with the other documents waiting for him."
"Yes, my lord."
"I’ll tell him myself when he gets back," Eleanor said. "I want to see his face."
Mercer bowed and withdrew. As the door was closing behind him, he heard Eleanor’s voice.
"Poor Mercer. You should have seen his face."
"Eleanor."
"What? It was very funny."
Mercer shut the door firmly and walked away a good deal faster than he had come.
In the Imperial Capital, the morning and most of the afternoon had passed quietly. Now, with the time to leave drawing close, Owen stood in front of the tall mirror in his suite while Agnes got him ready.
He was wearing the outfit chosen for him before he left home: the dark charcoal coat with its silver embroidery along the collar and cuffs, the fitted shirt, matching trousers and polished black boots. The Ferrers crest sat clearly on the coat.
Agnes checked how the coat lay across his shoulders and straightened the collar with her good hand. Then she stepped back and looked him over.
"Your arm, Young Master," she said. "Hold it out."
He did. She adjusted the cuff, which had been sitting very slightly crooked.
"You’ve inspected nearly every stitch I’m wearing," Owen said.
"You’re representing House Ferrers at the imperial palace," Agnes said. "It deserves more care than a walk to the market."
"I have been to formal occasions before."
"Not one hosted by the Imperial Family." She tugged the cuff once more and seemed satisfied. "So hold still."
Owen held still. He wasn’t really impatient, and he suspected Agnes was enjoying having something to fuss over.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Better," she said. "My shoulder still hurts if I stretch too far, but I rested all of yesterday, the way you told me to. I can manage this much."
Owen noticed how carefully she lifted her injured arm, but he didn’t start the argument again. "Leave anything heavy to the inn’s staff. And keep resting while I’m gone."
"I will, Young Master." She glanced at him. "And you’ll remember what the physician said about your ribs."
"They still ache now and then," Owen admitted. "But I think an evening of talking and dancing will be easier on them than fighting monsters."
"That depends entirely on how you dance."
When she was done, Owen looked at himself in the mirror. The clothes were elegant, and the crest left no doubt about who he was. He was satisfied.
His thoughts turned to the evening ahead.
He knew how to conduct himself at a formal gathering. His family’s standing was nothing new to him. What would be different tonight was the sheer number of people he didn’t know.
Gareth had said the ball was a chance for young nobles to make connections beyond their own lands. Owen liked the sound of that. He knew people from Ferrers territory, and lately he had come to know the Mowbrays and the Ashcombe sisters. But he had never been anywhere with so many important families at once.
He wondered what the other heirs would be like. What kinds of armaments they carried. Whether he might actually make a few real friends.
Mostly, he hoped the evening would be enjoyable, and not just one formal introduction after another.
A knock came at the door, and Hugh stepped in when Owen called for him.
He was in his full military uniform, with the Ferrers insignia and his rank properly displayed. His injured forearm was still bandaged beneath his sleeve.
"The carriage and escort are ready, Young Master," he said. "The soldiers are back in their formal uniforms, and the coachman is waiting outside."
"Is everything arranged?"
"The carriage is ready, the route to the palace is settled, and the escort can leave whenever you like." He paused. "The young ladies are nearly finished. They’ll meet you downstairs."
"Good," Owen said.
Agnes gave his coat one last look, then nodded. "You’ll do."
"Thank you, Agnes."
"Enjoy yourself, Young Master. Behave properly. And try not to get into any trouble."
"I have no intention of causing trouble at the Imperial Family’s ball."
Agnes gave him a look that suggested she hoped he would remember saying so.