Lord Nicholas seeing the scene and how this respected guest was being respectful to Arthur finally believed Arthur was the New Head of the Guild. His face turned in to a frustrated look. The wealthy cloth that he was wearing just dropped still hitting softly on the polished stone floor, but he ignored it. All this incidence was too all real to be like a game Lady Philippa was playing. All this could not have been a coincidence. He turned to Gideon. “Kneel, you miserable whelp! Kneel!” Lord Nicholas’s voice was like a ragged high-pitched screech, that was devoid of the baronial authority his voice usually carry. He pointed a trembling, jeweled finger at his son, Gideon. Lord Gideon who was in a heavy velvet and a golden chain that was meant for noblemen, stood frozen, his jaw locked. He was not ready to knee to Arthur as he was not ready to believe Arthur was the New Head of the silver hand guild. His pride was about to be crushed in front of all this noble guest. He hissed. H

Next morning! The atmosphere inisde the Guild office was filled with parchment and ink from ledgers and writing material blend with a metallic tang which was a faint smell of metals from the mithril and iron from the sample brought into the office this morning. Arthur passed through the main hall, his dark riding coat hitting around his boots, his mind already on Argent and Wine Trading Co. The building was already up. Next on his list was the inaugural and opening ceremony. His hand landed on the wooden door but it was locked. Weird! He reached out into his pocket and brought out a spare using it to open the door. His eyes landed inside the chambers but her desk was empty. Arthur stopped dead. The usual early morning smell of ink was not there. Even the silver-inlaid inkwell he’d gave her last winter was not on her desk. The air inside the chamber felt cold, vacant. He didn’t need anyone telling him that Philippa has not checked in for today. His voice sounded through the

The air in the Peckham manor was filled with tensed. Lord Aethelred paced around the hall. “It is her fault, I say!” Aethelred’s voice sounded as he swung his arm towards Elara, who stood near the hearth. “Had she not abandoned her duty to be Arthur’s wife, had she simply held herself and treat him like a true loyal wife would, then none of this would have happened to us. Even the family standing would be better." Maren nodded. “Aye! The Citadel project was our only hope. Now he won't allow other lords to invest in it and he won't change his mind on the 80/20 split. It all because of your disloyalty, Elara." A low murmur of argument continued to sound in the hall. The Peckham had tried to approach other lords for the Citadel project but it kept getting rejected because of Arthur. “They speak true, Elara,” Godric muttered. “If you had stayed by him, the 80/20 split would not even have been spoken of. He would've agreed to the project. But now, he is the Head of the Brotherhood o

“It’s all your fault!” Maren’s voice sounded through the manor as the air inside were still. "My father was humiliated in the market today, and it is on your head, Elara!” In the centre of the threadbare rug, Maren scolded Elara. Elara stood in the doorway. “Stop your scolding, Maren. It's not on my head.” Elara’s voice was low. Maren’s head snapped up, her pretty face blotchy and twisted. “Stop? How can I stop? We are finished! And you dare tell me to stop? It’s your fault as much as any of ours! You fawned over him at your wedding with Gideon just the same, simpering and batting your lashes. And still he never accepted you back.." A muscle ticked in Elara’s jaw. She stepped fully into the room. At least I was trying!” she shot back, throwing Maren’s own wretched plea back at her. “What did you ever do but try to seduce him? You think that wins a man like that?” “You had him!” Maren cried, her voice climbing again. “He was your husband for six years! Six! If you had only been l

“Marriage.” The word sounded through the big hall chamber, making Arthur’s frowned to deepened the more. The council voice that sounded was not a question but it was a verdict. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows as he forced his eyes to focus, the pounding in his skull was not helping as it matcher the voices of the Council of Elder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Each sound and pound finalized his fate. The light from the high wooden windows landed on his eyes as he squinted them close for a while. The murmurs of the assembled nobles were starting to become a n angry bees.. Arthur tried to stand straighter, but his legs gave way. The strong, steadying grip of his man-at-arms, Gareth, was the only thing stopping him from fallen to the floor.What happened last night? His memory was completely empty after the first sip of that cider drink he took last night. Now, this? “To Lady Elara Peckham,” the Elder continued, his voice dry. “It is the judgment of this council that you shall be wed by