#year 1495

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Eliot could not recall a time when he had ever been formally commanded to Jocelyn’s presence. He had been his guard and companion and lover for many years, but Jocelyn had never explicitly sent for him. Generally it was because when he was needed, they were already together. Yet for the last few years, Jocelyn had been distant. Someone who did not know him well might posit that this was related to his marital status, but Eliot knew it was not a woman who had drawn his attention away. In any case, it seemed to have returned, albeit in a strange way. 

When Eliot arrived at Rosenshire Castle, he went to the formal receiving chamber, whereupon Jocelyn informed him that he was to be made a baron for his “years of service protecting His Grace, the Duke of Illyria.” Furthermore, upon Sir Martyn Grancourt`s retirement, he would become the captain of the ducal guard. It all seemed rather absurd to Eliot, but he was hardly in a position to complain. 

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Alianor couldn’t help but feel somewhat melancholy about her upcoming marriage.

She wasn’t overly concerned about the prince; he was rumored to be rather handsome and jovial. Yet leaving her brother with all his new responsibilities troubled her for a reason she couldn’t quite name. She knew he was capable, especially with Elysabet at his side, but it was less certain if he knew that he possessed this capability. 

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In Illyria, the transition of power from one monarch to another, father to son, was always a strange thing. The custom had always been to have a celebratory feast before entering a formal mourning period. Politically, this was a precarious thing: to appear too downcast would suggest disapproval of the new duke, but too much joviality would invoke whispering about dishonoring the dead. 

This time the feast was peculiar as always, as some people truly mourned for the late Duke Lovell Rosenshire, while others were looking forward to some young blood on the throne and at court. Overall, everyone was pleased that Jocelyn had successfully negotiated a peace treaty, to be held together by the union of Jocelyn’s younger sister Alianor and the young Prince of Courbonne. Relations were smoothed over even further when Valerian married the Prince’s illegitimate half-sister, Jehanne Duroi. 

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Elysabet entered the family chapel one evening and was surprised to find her husband there, down on his knees praying. A messenger had arrived earlier, and Jocelyn had rushed away from dinner to speak with him. Elysabet had assumed he had retired to his rooms afterwards with some of his attendants, but it seemed she was wrong. 

She crossed herself, but did not kneel. Instead, she sat in the first pew; after a few moments, he joined her. 

“I’ve received a letter from your father,” he began. 

“My father? Not yours?”

“Yes... It seems that the Duke has been gravely wounded, and is too weak to even dictate a message.”

“Oh, Jocelyn. I am so sorry. What does my father say of the war, then?”

Jocelyn laughed - a sad, choked sound. “He bids me go to them at once, with reinforcements. He writes, in as blunt a manner as always, that although my father shall soon die, the war can yet be won if I only have the stomach and courage for it. However, Valerian’s agents tell a very different story. Apparently the Prince of Courbonne’s armies are decimated, and ours even more so, from the ague. All fighting has essentially halted, for now anyway.”

“Will you sue for peace?”

“I would think first to negotiate for it, to preserve the reputations of all. But I do not know what I will have to offer him to accomplish what I wish.... And I have another problem - Lady Eglentine came to see me earlier. Apparently she is with child.”

Elysabet gasped. “How could she be so foolish? Who is the father?”

“No one suitable enough to marry. So I must find someone for her, and quickly.”

“There, at least, I may help you. I will identify a suitable nobleman for Eglentine to marry and inform her and her brother of our choice.”

“She will not be pleased with any you choose. And neither will Valerian, I imagine, although he’ll be more quiet about his dissatisfaction, I suspect, since I plan to take him with me when I leave.”

“No matter, they will have to agree. And I shall arrange it all quickly, and we may say that you and her brother wanted to see her wed before you left.”

Jocelyn sighed heavily. “I do thank you, my dear. I did not think I could resolve this in my current state of mind.”

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On March 4th, 1495, Lady Eglentine Acren married Antoine Perroy, the new Earl of the Marches, in a quiet ceremony in the private chapel at Rosenshire Castle. 

It was not the great political match that Eglentine and her brother Valerian had envisioned. However, it was respectable and had certain potential, especially considering Antoine’s new position and the particular respect given to his family after the deaths of his father and brother while fighting alongside Duke Lovell. 

As soon as the ceremony was concluded, and the couple had been put to bed, Jocelyn and his men left for Courbonne, in the hopes that they would arrive before his father’s impending death.

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At the beginning of the new year, Molly received a troubling letter from her sister. While Molly’s fortunes had improved considerably in the last few years after her marriage to Martyn Grancourt and the birth of their daughter, her sister Ivetta had grown discontent with monastic life. Now she had written to Molly to plead with her to visit Whitewood. 

However, Molly feared damaging the fragile reputation she had rebuilt in recent years. Rumours had been circulating about immoral behaviour among the nuns at Whitewood. Although locals were grumbling about the insult to their faith, the monastery, and its abbess in particular, had been protected until recently by the late duke. Nonetheless, Molly eventually decided not to answer her sister’s plea.