Golden Arrow - Chapter 2

2. The Queen’s Command

The Queen’s words as she neared death carried great impact. And the place hit hardest by that wave was none other than the Duke of Devonshire’s household.

“I’m delighted that your son and my distant relative will be wed,” the Queen said as she propped herself up in bed with the help of a lady-in-waiting. Her voice carried a faint hissing sound, as all her teeth had fallen out.

“I am deeply grateful for Your Majety’s grace.”

The 8th Duke of Devonshire, Ares Cavendish, had entered the palace at the Queen’s command. Hearing her words, he ground his teeth internally before reluctantly bowing his head in response. He was the final player in a bomb-passing game. The Queen had thrown the bomb, and the nobles had passed it around, only to hand it over to him at the very last moment.

“It brings me great joy to fulfill my long-standing wish, even if it’s in this way.”

“It is a great honor for my family as well.”

The lineage of the royal family of Ingrint had ended about a century ago, leaving the King of Scotlin to rule over both nations.

While the King of Scotlin governed both countries, over time, the royal authority naturally detached from its Scotlin roots and assimilated into Ingrint. This was inevitable, as Ingrint was politically and economically dominant over Scotlin.

“I hope the Cavendish and Stuart families will take the lead in striving for unity between the two nations.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty.”

Southern Ingrint, where Brighton Island is located, had a centralized political system. In contrast, northern Scotlin operated under a tribal federation system. Apart from sharing the same language, the two nations differed in religion, climate, culture, and national character. Ongoing discord and friction between Ingrint and Scotlin seemed inevitable.

The people of Ingrint looked down on Scotlin, while the people of Scotlin loathed Ingrint for its history of invasion, plunder, and conquest. As a result, anti-government activists in Scotlin persistently demanded independence and fought for it. Though Ingrint used military force or conciliation to hold Scotlin in check, disputes never ceased.

“If only I had just one child left…”

The Queen trailed off, squeezing out nonexistent tears.

Queen Anne, having outlived her husband and children, had no heirs. Once the Queen passed, Brighton Island would likely have to bring over the King of the foreign kingdom of Prosen as its ruler. A foreign king governing Brighton was almost certain to fail. The Queen, therefore, was deeply concerned about the potential fragmentation of Ingrint and Scotlin after her death.

For this reason, she enacted a union law between the two nations and encouraged noble marriages as an example.

Of course, the nobles were unwilling to give up their children so readily. In the end, with death looming, the Queen decided to enforce her long-held wish. She ordered a marriage between the prominent families of Ingrint and Scotlin. In particular, she hoped for offspring from the three major noble families of Ingrint.

The leading noble families of Ingrint were the Earls of Spencer, the Marquesses of Winchester, and the Dukes of Devonshire. Whether fortunate or not, Spencer and Winchester had no unmarried young men or women of marriageable age. While distant relatives existed, the two families cunningly agreed that the marriage must involve direct descendants. Naturally, the Duke of Devonshire’s son ended up bearing the yoke the Queen had thrust upon them. That son was none other than Deimos Cavendish, the Young Duke.

“Take care of Psyche, that girl,” the Queen said with a kind smile.

It was a ridiculous statement. The Queen, in her sixty years of life, had never met Psyche Stuart, nor even her parents.

The Stuart family of Scotlin was a branch of the royal family. Although the family’s origins dated back to the distant past, they could still claim noble blood with enough insistence. The issue was that the only surviving member of the family was Psyche Stuart.

“You won’t be stingy with her dowry, will you?”

The only daughter of her parents, Psyche had been left to guard the Stuart family’s Galloway estate alone after their deaths. Naturally, her life was one of poverty. She couldn’t secure a proper dowry, which was why, at eighteen years old, she remained unmarried. No one had proposed to her because of her lack of wealth.

“Of course not,” the Duke denied, though he couldn’t help feeling a pang of resentment. Marriages between nobles were determined by predicting the glory the union would bring to both families.

Although Psyche Stuart would bring a title and land as an only child, what use were a meaningless Scotlin earldom and a barren, worthless Galloway estate?

“I will ensure that the wedding gifts are not lacking. So, rest easy.”

A sly Queen.

The Duke barely restrained himself from rubbing the back of his stiff neck, managing only a slight smile.

“We cannot simply marry them off without preparation, so it would be better to bring the girl to Lydon and introduce her to society first. There will soon be a royal ball, and she can make her debut then, don’t you think?”

The Duke was startled by the Queen’s suggestion.

“Are you saying she hasn’t had her debut yet?”

“Indeed. She’s been alone without parents to look after her. I heard her father passed when she was sixteen.”

In Brighton, it was mandatory for noblewomen to have their debut at the age of sixteen. Exceptions were made for injuries, family deaths, or other unavoidable circumstances. In such cases, the debut could be postponed to the following year.

Psyche’s father, the late Earl Stuart, had died of a chronic illness two years ago when she was sixteen. Consequently, Psyche had not been able to make her debut while in mourning. The following year, she could have had her debut, but she lacked the funds.

This was why, even now, at the time of the marriage command, Psyche had not been formally introduced to society. Rumors of her being a ghost had arisen because of this. Almost no one knew anything about Psyche Stuart, who had no opportunities to leave her estate.

“Which is why,” the Queen’s tone grew more subtle, “your family should take responsibility for safely bringing Psyche Stuart here. I cannot allow a noblewoman to make such a long journey from the remote Galloway estate to Lydon all by herself.”

Delegating tasks without lifting a finger was the Queen’s specialty. The Duke had witnessed her sly maneuvering countless times—shifting responsibilities, avoiding blame, and taking credit.

Suppressing a laugh, he nodded. “I shall see it done.”

“Don’t just send servants. Someone trustworthy should go. Why not send your son, the groom himself? This would be a good opportunity for him to acquaint himself with his future bride.”

The Duke’s mind grew restless. There was no way Deimos would agree to go. He was an infuriating son, someone the Duke would have gladly kicked into the middle of the Doven Strait had he not been the legitimate heir born of the Duchess.

“Of course, you’ll let her stay at your estate until the banquet, won’t you? I’d love to bring her to the palace and keep her close, but I’m granting you the special favor of allowing her to bond with your family in advance.”

The Queen delighted in watching the Duke’s clenched fingers turn white as he bowed his head. She was barely holding back laughter, relishing the opportunity to toy with the head of a family that, backed by Parliament, had a power base rivaling her own as the monarch of Ingrint—her lifelong adversary.

“You’ll also need to prepare her for the ball. She must have lived a hard life without her parents, and she likely doesn’t have a single decent outfit to her name.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“I hear the Cavendish family is even wealthier than the Queen herself. Why don’t you loosen that tightly clenched fist this time?”

Indeed, the Duke of Devonshire’s family was rich. Beyond the substantial taxes generated by their inherited estates, their wealth had grown over generations of bold ventures into business. The Cavendish family wielded influence across all industries in Ingrint, something the Queen was well aware of.

‘There’s Cavendish above the Queen,’ went the not-so-joking joke that circulated on Brighton Island. When she ascended the throne as a young Queen, this joke had enraged her. From that point on, she had been at odds with the Cavendish family throughout her reign.

But now, as a Queen on her deathbed, she had learned how to strike her rival more elegantly. Delivering a blow to the source of her lifelong inferiority complex—the Cavendish family—under the guise of the noble cause of uniting Ingrint and Scotlin through marriage.

This ostensibly beautiful justification had also enabled her to persuade the Archbishops ahead of time. Using religion as a snare, she ensured that the Duke would find it impossible to slip away from her command.

“Yes.”

The Duke’s response, carefully concealing his emotions, made the Queen smile broadly. Her wrinkled lips stretched wide to the point they almost touched her ears.

“Come closer.”

As the Queen extended her hand, the Duke crawled toward her on his knees. Then, he reluctantly pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. The Queen, smiling in satisfaction, withdrew her hand with a flick.

“Now you may leave. You have many tasks to prepare for your future daughter-in-law.”

“I am most honored, Your Majesty.”

“And do not forget—your family is being closely watched by both Ingrint and Scotlin.”

With that, Queen Anne closed her eyes and sank back into the soft cushions. Her frail face was as pale as a blank sheet of paper.

The Duke of Devonshire rose to his feet. He lingered for a moment, glaring at the Queen’s face before slowly retreating from her chamber.

Has she gone mad in her old age? The Duke thought. The Queen’s whims were nothing new, but this particular command was outrageous. It was not enough that she had somehow secured the Archbishops’ approvals, but she had also made the marriage decree public across the land. Her audacity was infuriating. The Duke trembled with anger.

As long as the Queen lived, her orders could not be ignored. Even with Parliament restraining her, the Queen was still the Queen. If she set her mind to something, nothing was impossible—at least within Brighton Island.

Thus, the Duke intended to humor the Queen appropriately without upsetting her. He would subtly stall for time until the Queen died and then withdraw. Alternatively, if Psyche, or Psycho—or whoever that woman was—and Deimos were forced to marry, he could intervene and arrange for their divorce before they had any children. Such things were within the power of the Duke of Devonshire.

But the cunning Queen must have anticipated his intentions. That was why, with a voice trembling from old age, she had set traps everywhere—commanding that his son travel to Galloway to bring the girl, that she stay at their Lydon mansion, and that they fund her attendance at the ball.

Just thinking about Deimos’s inevitable outburst made the Duke’s head throb. But for now, he had to deal with the situation. The Duke’s carriage cut through the thick mist, heading for his mansion in Kensington, where his family awaited. A more arduous battle lay ahead.

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