The Brandywines

The dining room of the ducal estate had seen better days. The table itself was old but well maintained, its surface polished smooth by generations of use. Sunlight filtered through tall windows overlooking neglected gardens slowly being reclaimed from years of mismanagement.

The Brandywine family sat together on one side of the table while Percival occupied the other, a leather notebook resting beside his plate. Every few minutes the aging castellan would jot something down in neat handwriting before returning his attention to the conversation.

The atmosphere remained pleasant.

Almost suspiciously pleasant.

"Lord Brandywine," Percival said with a polite smile, "I understand your holdings have grown considerably over the years."

James beamed with obvious pride.

"That they have. Hard work and a bit of luck."

"A bit?" Jessica asked with a teasing laugh.

James chuckled.

"Fine. More than a bit."

The table shared a few laughs.

Percival smiled warmly and made another note.

"How much land does your family currently cultivate?"

"Just under three thousand acres," James answered without hesitation.

Percival's quill scratched across parchment.

"Remarkable."

"It wasn't always ours," Jerry added proudly. "Most of it was abandoned after the mines started closing."

"Many families simply left," James said. "Couldn't blame them. Hard times make people desperate."

"Fortunately," Jessica added, lifting her wine glass, "my husband had the foresight to see opportunity where others saw failure."

James grinned.

Percival nodded thoughtfully.

"Quite fortunate indeed."

Another note.

The lunch continued.

Conversation drifted from weather to harvests and labor before Percival casually returned to business.

"What crops occupy most of your fields these days?"

"Hops," James answered immediately.

"Hops and barley," Jerry added. "Mostly hops."

"Profitable?"

"Very."

James looked almost offended by the question.

"The most profitable crop I've ever planted."

Jessica smiled.

"The merchants practically fight each other for contracts."

Percival nodded.

"And who purchases these harvests?"

"Several merchant houses."

James began listing names.

Percival dutifully wrote each one down.

"And the goods remain within Silver March?"

The family exchanged amused looks.

James laughed.

"Gods no."

"Most of it leaves the region," Jerry explained. "The larger cities pay far better."

"Understandable."

Another note.

Percival turned a page.

"What occupied those fields before the hops?"

"Wheat mostly."

"Potatoes too," Jerry said.

"Some turnips," James added.

"Vegetables don't pay nearly as well."

Percival looked mildly surprised.

"Your records suggest food production remained your primary business roughly fifteen years ago."

James nodded.

"That's right."

"What prompted the change?"

James shrugged.

"The market."

"The market?" Percival repeated.

"People wanted hops."

"And paid more for them," Jerry added.

"Much more."

Jessica smiled proudly.

"It was one of the best decisions James ever made."

Percival nodded.

Another note.

The scratching of his quill seemed strangely loud.

Jill quietly pushed vegetables around her plate while Jenny watched Percival more carefully than the others.

The young girl noticed his questions never seemed random.

Each one connected to the last.

Each one built upon information already gathered.

The castellan never challenged anyone.

Never accused anyone.

Never disagreed.

He simply listened.

Then asked another question.

"And crop rotation?" Percival asked pleasantly.

James frowned.

"What about it?"

"You used to rotate several fields according to these records."

"We still do."

"To what degree?"

James considered.

"Less than we used to."

"Why?"

"Hops are valuable."

Percival nodded.

"And repeated planting has not reduced yields?"

"Some."

"But profits still increase?"

"Every year."

Another note.

Percival's expression never changed.

Jerry leaned forward enthusiastically.

"We've actually had our best year yet."

"Have you?"

"Absolutely."

The young farmer gestured animatedly.

"We expanded another two hundred acres last year. Added new drying houses. Hired more workers."

Percival smiled.

"Congratulations."

Jerry straightened proudly.

Beside him, James looked equally pleased.

The Duke's approval clearly mattered.

Everyone at the table seemed eager to demonstrate their usefulness.

Everyone except Jenny.

The youngest Brandywine had stopped eating entirely.

Her eyes drifted between Percival's notebook and her father.

Then to the Duke.

Then back again.

Something about this conversation felt different.

The questions sounded harmless.

Yet somehow the castellan now knew:

Who purchased the harvests.

Where the crops were shipped.

Which fields no longer produced food.

Which merchants financed the contracts.

How much land the family controlled.

How dependent they had become upon export markets.

And how little of their production remained within Silver March itself.

All without asking a single hostile question.

Percival closed his notebook with a satisfied smile.

"A fascinating discussion."

James laughed.

"Happy to help."

"Indeed," Percival replied.

The old castellan's gaze briefly shifted toward {{user}}.

His expression remained courteous and professional.

Yet there was something else there.

The look of a man who had just found exactly what he had been searching for.

The conversation had drifted away from farming and trade.

Much to James Brandywine's relief.

While he had been happy to discuss his business, even he found Percival's endless questions somewhat exhausting. The old castellan had finally set aside his notebook, allowing lunch to become a far more pleasant affair.

Jessica Brandywine took immediate advantage of the change.

"So tell us, Your Grace," she said with a warm smile, "how are you finding Silver March thus far?"

The question drew everyone's attention toward {{user}}.

Even Percival looked mildly amused.

Jessica's blue eyes sparkled.

"I imagine becoming a Duke comes with certain challenges."

James chuckled.

"Certain challenges? The poor man inherited half a kingdom's problems."

"A quarter of a kingdom's problems," Jerry corrected.

"Half."

"Quarter."

"Half."

Jessica rolled her eyes.

The mens' argument immediately died beneath a single look from her.

"Regardless," she continued smoothly, "Silver March is fortunate to have someone willing to shoulder such responsibilities."

Jill nodded enthusiastically.

"Very fortunate."

The words escaped a little too quickly.

Jessica noticed immediately.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

"Oh?" Jessica asked innocently.

Jill suddenly found her plate fascinating.

The young artist carefully avoided eye contact.

Jessica's smile widened.

"Jill has been quite interested in the new Duke."

"M-Mother."

"What?" Jessica asked.

"You have."

The young woman turned crimson.

Across the table, Jerry immediately grinned.

"Oh, this should be good."

"Jerry."

"I'm just saying, she's been asking questions."

"I have not."

"You absolutely have."

Jill looked moments away from dying from embarrassment.

Jessica appeared delighted.

"What sort of questions?" she asked.

Jill buried her face in her hands.

James laughed loudly.

Even Percival seemed to be enjoying himself.

Jerry leaned back in his chair.

"How old is the Duke?"

Jill groaned.

"Jerry."

"Is he married?"

"Jerry."

"What's he like?"

"Jerry!"

The young farmer looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

Jessica covered a laugh behind her wine glass.

Meanwhile Jill's face had become nearly the same color as the tablecloth.

"Those seem like perfectly reasonable questions," Jessica said.

"They are not."

"They are."

"They absolutely are not."

Jessica ignored her daughter entirely.

"I've always believed a young woman should take an interest in important matters."

"Mother."

"And important people."

"Mother."

"And there are few people more important than a Duke."

The room erupted into laughter.

Everyone except Jill.

Who looked ready to crawl beneath the table.

Jessica finally relented.

Mostly.

She reached over and patted her daughter's hand.

"My daughter is an artist, Your Grace."

Jill immediately looked horrified.

Jessica continued without mercy.

"A very talented one."

"Mother."

"She spends most of her days painting."

"Mother."

"Landscapes."

"Mother."

"Horses."

"Mother."

"Handsome men."

Jill nearly choked.

Jerry burst into laughter so hard he nearly dropped his fork.

Even James couldn't keep a straight face.

Jessica smiled serenely.

"What? It's true."

Jill looked as though she wanted the earth to swallow her whole.

Percival quietly sipped his tea.

The old castellan had apparently decided this was significantly more entertaining than agricultural economics.

Jessica's attention shifted back toward {{user}}.

"Perhaps she might paint your portrait sometime."

The suggestion landed with all the subtlety of a battering ram.

Jill froze.

James blinked.

Jerry's grin widened further.

Even Jenny finally looked up from her meal.

Jessica remained perfectly composed.

"It would be an excellent opportunity for practice."

Nobody at the table believed that for even a second.

Least of all Jessica.

The woman was already imagining the possibilities.

A friendship with the Duke.

Influence.

Prestige.

Status.

Perhaps more.

After all, Jill was beautiful.

The Duke was young.

Unmarried.

And important.

Very important.

Beside her, Jill slowly lowered her hands from her face.

Unlike her mother, her thoughts were considerably less ambitious.

She wasn't thinking about politics.

Or influence.

Or status.

She was thinking that the Duke was kind.

That he listened when others spoke.

That he seemed genuinely concerned for the people of Silver March.

And, admittedly...

That he was rather handsome.

The realization only made her blush harder.

Jessica noticed.

The smile she gave her daughter was positively predatory.

"Oh dear."

"Mother..."

"I believe she likes the idea."

The following morning brought unexpected visitors to the ducal estate.

Percival had barely begun organizing reports from the previous day's luncheon when one of the guards announced the arrival of two members of the Brandywine family.

The old castellan exchanged a curious glance with {{user}}.

"At this hour?"

The guard nodded.

"The younger son and daughter, sir."

Percival's eyebrow rose slightly.

"Show them in."

Several minutes later, Jerry and Jenny Brandywine were escorted into the study.

The contrast between the siblings was immediately apparent.

Jerry stood confidently despite looking somewhat uncomfortable inside a noble estate. His clothes were clean but practical, the attire of a man more accustomed to fields than courts.

Jenny looked as though she hadn't slept.

Dark circles hung beneath her eyes.

A leather satchel bulged beneath one arm.

More importantly, she looked nervous.

Very nervous.

"Lord Percival. Your Grace."

Jerry offered a respectful bow.

Jenny followed half a second later.

"We apologize for arriving unannounced."

Percival gestured toward a pair of chairs.

"Nonsense. Please sit."

Jerry immediately obeyed.

Jenny remained standing.

The old castellan noticed.

"So."

Percival folded his hands.

"What brings you here?"

The young girl swallowed.

Then carefully placed her satchel upon the desk.

Ledgers emerged first.

Then trade reports.

Then shipping manifests.

Then several pages covered in handwritten calculations.

Percival stared.

Jenny stared back.

"I think something is wrong."

The room became very quiet.

Jerry shifted awkwardly.

"Jenny—"

"No."

The girl shook her head.

Her voice trembled.

Not from fear.

From uncertainty.

"I think something is very wrong."

Percival's expression remained unreadable.

"What makes you say that?"

Jenny opened one of the ledgers.

Her finger landed on a series of figures.

"I kept thinking about your questions yesterday."

Percival said nothing.

Jenny continued.

"About the crops."

She opened another book.

"And the merchant contracts."

Another.

"And the food shipments."

Jerry sighed.

"She's been doing math all night."

"I have."

Percival looked faintly impressed.

Jenny turned another page.

"The numbers don't make sense."

"How so?"

The young girl hesitated.

As though saying the words aloud might somehow make them real.

"Silver March produces less food every year."

Percival nodded.

She continued.

"The population is shrinking."

Another nod.

"That should mean prices stay stable."

Percival remained silent.

Jenny's fingers tightened against the ledger.

"But prices aren't stable."

Her voice grew quieter.

"They're increasing."

Another page.

"And imports are increasing."

Another.

"And merchant loans are increasing."

Another.

"And somehow the same families keep making money every time shortages happen."

Jerry frowned.

"That's just business."

Jenny looked at him.

"No."

The response came immediately.

Far too quickly.

Far too confidently.

"No, it isn't."

For the first time Jerry seemed uncertain.

Jenny opened her final notebook.

Pages of calculations covered nearly every inch.

Cross references.

Estimates.

Supply projections.

Trade routes.

Percival slowly reached for the book.

The further he read, the more impressed he became.

The girl wasn't guessing.

She'd actually done the work.

Not perfectly.

Several assumptions were incorrect.

A few figures were missing.

But the overall conclusion remained disturbingly accurate.

Jenny watched his face.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Dreading.

Finally she asked the question that had clearly haunted her all night.

"I'm wrong."

Percival looked up.

Jenny forced a nervous laugh.

"I have to be."

Neither Percival nor Jerry answered.

The silence seemed to stretch forever.

Jenny continued speaking simply to fill it.

"Maybe it's greed."

Her eyes dropped to the figures.

"Or incompetence."

She swallowed.

"Or coincidence."

Her voice weakened.

"It couldn't be intentional."

No one spoke.

Jenny looked up.

"It couldn't be."

This time it sounded less like a statement.

More like a plea.

Jerry finally found his voice.

"Of course it couldn't."

The young farmer laughed nervously.

"The council wouldn't do something like that."

Jenny looked at her brother.

"They wouldn't starve people on purpose."

"They wouldn't."

"They couldn't."

"They couldn't."

The conviction in Jerry's voice sounded increasingly forced.

The room fell silent again.

Percival slowly closed the ledger.

Then opened it once more.

Then closed it again.

The old castellan looked genuinely impressed.

Not by the numbers.

By the person who had assembled them.

One lunch.

One evening.

And she'd managed to uncover enough information to start seeing the outline of the entire scheme.

Remarkable.

Finally Percival leaned back in his chair.

His gaze shifted toward {{user}}.

For the first time since the siblings arrived, uncertainty appeared on the old man's face.

Not uncertainty about the facts.

Those facts were becoming clearer every day.

No.

The uncertainty concerned something else entirely.

How much should they know?

Jerry still believed the Elder Council were honorable men.

Jenny desperately wanted to believe the same.

The truth would destroy that belief.

Percival's fingers tapped lightly against the closed ledger.

His eyes remained upon {{user}}.

"Your Grace."

The old castellan spoke carefully.

"We appear to have a young lady capable of following a trail wherever it leads."

Jenny sat perfectly still.

Jerry looked confused.

Percival continued.

"The question is no longer whether she can discover the truth."

His gaze never left the Duke.

"The question is how much of that truth we are prepared to share."

Music drifted through the grand hall while dozens of nobles, merchants, and influential citizens mingled beneath glittering silver chandeliers.

The Elder Council had spared no expense.

Servants moved through the crowd carrying silver trays laden with wine.

Musicians performed from a raised balcony.

Laughter filled the room.

On the surface, it was a celebration.

Beneath the surface, it was politics.

Every conversation carried purpose.

Every smile concealed ambition.

Every handshake represented an opportunity.

At the center of it all stood {{user}}.

The Duke attracted attention the way a bonfire attracted moths.

Merchants wanted contracts.

Landowners wanted favors.

Councilmen wanted influence.

Everyone wanted something.

Especially tonight.

Across the ballroom, Percival was currently trapped by several members of the Elder Council.

The old castellan wore the expression of a man enduring a lengthy dental procedure.

Merchant Bradley Bower seemed particularly interested in monopolizing the conversation.

Percival's suffering was almost impressive.

Jessica Brandywine noticed immediately.

And smiled.

Perfect.

The Duke was momentarily alone.

Rare.

Very rare.

She seized the opportunity.

A crystal wine glass rested comfortably in her hand as she approached.

The golden-haired woman moved with the confidence of someone long accustomed to drawing attention.

A faint blush colored her cheeks.

Whether from wine or calculation was difficult to determine.

"Your Grace."

Her smile was warm.

Perhaps a little warmer than usual.

"I was beginning to think half the city intended to speak with you tonight."

She glanced toward the crowd.

"Then again, I suppose that's the burden of being important."

The music shifted to a slower tune.

Jessica took a small sip of wine.

"I hope you've been enjoying yourself."

Her gaze briefly drifted toward the council members surrounding Percival.

"Though I suspect poor Percival is having significantly less fun."

The sight earned a quiet laugh.

Jessica took another sip.

This one noticeably larger.

Or at least it appeared that way.

When she spoke again, her tone had softened.

Less political.

More personal.

"I've been meaning to ask something."

Her blue eyes met {{user}}'s.

"Have you given any thought to my suggestion?"

The question arrived so casually it might have been mistaken for harmless conversation.

Almost.

Jessica tilted her head.

"My daughter, I mean."

A playful smile touched her lips.

"Jill would faint if she knew I was asking."

That much was probably true.

"Though I suspect she'd recover quickly."

The smile widened.

"Especially if the answer was favorable."

The music continued.

The crowd swirled around them.

Jessica waited patiently.

Watching.

Measuring.

Evaluating.

Always evaluating.

When no immediate answer came, she laughed softly.

"Oh dear."

She raised her wine glass slightly.

"Perhaps I was too direct."

Not an apology.

An adjustment.

A different approach.

She leaned lightly against a nearby pillar.

Elegant.

Relaxed.

Comfortable.

"Still."

Her gaze lingered on {{user}}.

"You can hardly blame a mother for trying."

Another sip.

A thoughtful pause.

Then came the real question.

The one hidden beneath the first.

"Unless, of course..."

Her smile turned mischievous.

"...the problem isn't Jill."

Jessica looked away for a moment as though considering the possibility for the first time.

"Perhaps Your Grace simply prefers older women."

The statement floated between them.

Light.

Playful.

Entirely deniable.

Jessica even laughed afterward.

As though the idea amused her.

Yet her eyes remained attentive.

Watching for the smallest reaction.

A raised eyebrow.

A smile.

Discomfort.

Interest.

Anything.

The woman was a master of social maneuvering.

Information was information.

Even silence revealed something.

"Though I must admit," she continued lightly, "that would complicate my plans considerably."

Her fingers traced the stem of her wine glass.

"Not ruin them."

A beat.

"But complicate them."

The smile she offered afterward was dazzling.

Practiced.

Dangerous.

The smile of a woman who had spent years climbing every social ladder available to her.

She loved beautiful dresses.

She loved expensive jewelry.

She loved being admired.

Most of all...

She loved rising.

And standing beside a Duke was considerably higher than standing beside a farmer.

No matter how wealthy that farmer happened to be.

A burst of laughter erupted from the far side of the ballroom.

Jessica glanced toward it briefly.

When she looked back, her expression remained perfectly composed.

If anyone had overheard the conversation, she could dismiss it as harmless teasing.

If the Duke showed no interest, she could blame the wine.

If the Duke showed interest...

Well.

That would be a very different conversation.

Jessica lifted her glass once more.

The faint smile never left her lips.

"Civilized society would probably expect me to be embarrassed for saying such things."

Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Fortunately, I have consumed just enough wine to claim poor judgment should anyone ask."

Whether that wine truly explained her boldness remained an open question.