Peregrine closed his eyes and reached through the bond.
Whenever Fenrath manifested, Peregrine could fuse his senses with his familiar’s mana, seeing and hearing whatever the Sovereign-Tier beast perceived as though he were there himself.
His consciousness slipped into Fenrath’s senses.
The first thing he saw was Bianca, clutching some book close to her.
She was unharmed and already walking away from the auction hall, her deep-blue gown trailing behind her as Fenrath followed at a respectful distance.
Peregrine released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
She was safe. Whatever had happened, she was safe.
Then, through Fenrath’s eyes, he spotted the familiar figure hurrying toward her.
That mouthy friend of hers. Fiona. Bianca turned toward her, said something Peregrine couldn’t hear, and then looked back at Fenrath.
"Retreat."
The moment the command left her lips, the connection snapped. Peregrine’s senses returned to the council chamber.
He was still standing by the door. For a moment, he remained there.
Then he turned around and walked back to his seat as though he hadn’t just interrupted a royal council meeting, announced that his little wife was in danger, and walked out in the middle of an important discussion.
He sat down, leaned against the tall backrest, and resumed his previous position with the same leisurely ease.
Not a single strand of his silver hair was out of place.
Marquis Theodore de Villiers, seated to Peregrine’s left, leaned slightly toward him. His long, curly brown hair nearly brushed the sleeve of Peregrine’s coat, while amusement glimmered in his brown eyes.
"The Duchess is safe, I presume, Your Grace?"
Every eye in the council chamber turned toward Peregrine.
Nothing changed.
His expression remained perfectly stoic. His posture remained relaxed. Not a single muscle in his scarred face betrayed what had just happened.
He simply placed his right hand on the council table, the sleeve of his coat pulling back enough to reveal the intricate Ignis Weave covering his arm. The blackened lines shimmered faintly against his skin, a permanent testament to the power required to summon a primordial beast.
He looked exactly as he always did.
Regal.
Aloof.
Terrifying.
And yet every person in the room was wondering the same thing.
Had they all collectively hallucinated the words my little wife coming from the mouth of Duke Peregrine de Valois?
More importantly, they were wondering whether Theodore had a death wish.
The Marquis had not only addressed the Duke directly, but had also leaned into his personal space with the sort of casual familiarity that would have earned anyone else a cold stare at best and a trip to the healer at worst.
Theodore, however, knew better.
He was looking at the Duke’s face.
Everyone else saw the same intimidating scar, the same unreadable amber eyes, the same expression that could make hardened generals reconsider their life choices.
Theodore saw something else.
Peregrine wasn’t frowning. His lips weren’t pressed into their usual severe line. His eyes weren’t cold.
In fact... The man looked suspiciously pleased.
Theodore almost sighed aloud.
Ugh.
His best friend had the face of a devastatingly handsome war god, made even more imposing by that scar, and yet somehow managed to look like a man who had forgotten how facial expressions worked.
Such a pretty face, looking so manly with that scar...
Theodore’s gaze lingered on Peregrine for another moment.
Too bad he has no idea how to express what he’s feeling.
He mentally searched for the right word.
It’s like... what was it?
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Constipated.
Yes. That was it.
Emotionally constipated.
Peregrine tapped one finger against the table. The atmosphere in the council chamber changed instantly.
Theodore straightened.
Whatever amusement had been lingering in his eyes disappeared. He knew that particular gesture. Peregrine might have been relaxed a moment ago, but now the Duke of Valois was fully present.
"The scholars must investigate the sudden increase in Rogue activity," Peregrine said. His voice was calm, but the command carried through the chamber with unmistakable authority. "If they are connected to our enemies, then the palace itself may be at risk. I’ll ward it."
The King studied him for a moment before nodding. "I’ll have them begin the investigation."
Peregrine rose.
The next moment, he closed his eyes.
The air around him shimmered. Mana rippled through the chamber, distorting the space around his body until his figure blurred and vanished entirely.
No one moved. No one was surprised.
Peregrine possessed a primordial beast as his familiar. There were things he could do with that power that even Sovereign-Tier summoners could not comprehend, much less replicate.
Less than a minute later, the air warped again. Peregrine reappeared exactly where he had been standing.
"It’s done."
That was all he said.
There wasn’t a bead of sweat on his brow. Yet in less than a minute, he had completed a warding spell that would have taken a dozen of the kingdom’s finest spellcasters days, perhaps even a week, to construct.
Peregrine returned to his seat and looked toward the King. Then he held out his hand.
The King raised an eyebrow. For all his years of ruling, he had learned that there were very few things capable of making his nephew impatient.
Apparently, this was one of them.
He glanced toward the box the royal servant had been carrying and fought back a smile.
Of course.
The only reason Peregrine had tolerated sitting through this tedious council meeting was sitting inside that box.
The Treasure of the Sea necklace set.
The King had heard the rumors surrounding the auction. He had even wondered who would eventually claim the famous necklace.
Judging by the Duke’s current expression—or rather, the complete lack of one—he had a fairly good idea.
"My payment, Uncle," Peregrine said.
There wasn’t even the slightest hint of embarrassment in his voice. It was not a request. It was a demand.
The King chuckled and gestured for a servant to bring the box over.
Peregrine accepted it, opened the lid, and looked at the necklace inside. For the briefest moment, something softened in his eyes. Then he closed the box.
To everyone else, he looked exactly as he always did: stiff, cold, and utterly unreadable.
Only Theodore saw the faint curve at the corner of his mouth.
Oh, he’s pleased.
Theodore nearly laughed.
Peregrine rose and walked out of the council chamber with the box in hand. His carriage was already waiting outside.
"Valois House, Your Grace?" his squire asked as Peregrine approached.
Peregrine paused. Then he looked toward the carriage. His wife had already left the auction hall. She should be on her way back to Valois House. Peregrine stepped into the carriage, carrying the necklace set like a man carrying the spoils of war.
"The Royal Auction Hall."
The carriage rolled away.
Inside the carriage, Bianca sat in silence, staring out the window without really seeing the passing scenery. Fiona had tried several times to coax an answer out of her, but Bianca hadn’t responded to a single question.
Finally, she turned and clasped Fiona’s hand.
"Fi... Your uncle is a monk at the Soleil Mount Monastery, isn’t he?" she asked, her voice suddenly serious. "How did he get in?"
Fiona stared at her.
"Get in?"
"The monastery. I mean." Bianca tightened her fingers around Fiona’s hand. "I need to know how to become a nun."
Fiona’s mouth fell open.
Bianca had never been more serious in her life.
Divorce was not a thing in Lysaria. Whatever had happened at the auction, whatever Peregrine thought of her, there was no simple way for her to end their marriage and walk away.
But she could disappear. She could go to the mountains, take her vows, and never have to see him again.
The thought hurt so badly that she almost laughed.
"I’m going to the mountains," Bianca said. "As a nun."
Fiona blinked several times. "Bee... did your husband—"
"He doesn’t know." Bianca looked down at their joined hands. "I just want to leave."
"But..." Fiona hesitated, clearly trying to decide how gently to deliver the next piece of information. "You’ll need his consent signature."
Bianca looked up.
"Why?"
"Because you’re married."
"Can’t I leave if I want to?"
Fiona stared at her, still struggling to understand how the conversation had somehow reached this point. One moment Bianca had been at an auction, and the next she was planning to abandon everything and become a nun.
More importantly, her friend seemed genuinely unaware of the problem.
"Married women need their husband’s permission to—"
"He won’t care," Bianca interrupted.
The words came out with such certainty that Fiona’s expression softened.
Of course.
Even this required Peregrine’s permission.
She had spent three years as his wife, waiting for him to notice her, waiting for him to come home, waiting for him to look at her as though she were more than a duty he had been forced to fulfill.
Bianca turned toward the window before Fiona could see the tears spill over.
"Get me the consent form."