Chapter 1943: Chapter 1943

Miss Windsor held no love for Queen Isabella. In her world, the queen was responsible for the deaths of her parents. So, she paid the astonished old monarch no mind, leading the flower girls directly onto the stage. Latest content publıshed on ɴovelfire.net

She was radiant, her spirit soaring, for she had finally found an opportunity to truly shine. The queen she once was and the Jessica of today shared a similar aura, yet a fundamental difference separated them—a distinction born from the status of a monarch and that of a demigod.

She simply stood at the podium, gazing down at the crowd, and people instinctively sensed the young woman's commanding presence. Presence is an intangible quality, difficult to define, yet undeniably real:

"Viscount Williamette will return shortly. For now, I will take his place."

Too stunned—and recognizing a familiar presence about this Jessica—Queen Isabella did not object at this critical juncture. She caught a fleeting glimpse of her younger self. Back then, she had been several years older than Jessica when the late king suddenly passed away, leaving the Middleton line without an immediate heir. After a series of negotiations and political bargains, she, a woman with no Middleton blood, had ascended to the throne.

Back then, she mused, she had probably been just as radiant, just as full of fire.

"Please wait. Where has Viscount Williamette gone?"

The old queen remained silent, but the young Duke Rochester behind her spoke up. He was Her Majesty's most loyal supporter and had played a key role in misleading Jenkins during Queen Isabella's recent "accidental poisoning."

Miss Windsor didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stood on the dais, looking down at him. An invisible pressure, the kind exerted by a superior, emanated from her gaze, making Duke Rochester deeply uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to speak, intending to shatter the atmosphere the young woman had created, but Miss Windsor preempted him, speaking at precisely the right moment:

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and coupled with Miss Windsor's compelling, unyielding presence, even Duke Rochester offered no further protest.

He leaned forward, intending to speak with Queen Isabella, but caught a startling expression on her face:

"Your Majesty, you're... crying?"

Queen Isabella gave a belated shudder and hurriedly raised a handkerchief to her eyes.

"It's nothing. Pay it no mind. Let's listen to Jessica's speech. She brought all those children on stage for a reason, one we are not yet privy to..."

Even Salsi II, sitting beside her, could see just how much the ever-composed queen had lost her poise.

Miss Windsor didn't know much of Jenkins's original plan for the speech. Fini had intercepted her on her way over, insisting that she and her friends be allowed on stage.

Jenkins had arranged the part for Fini and the flower girls in advance, ensuring it could proceed smoothly even in his absence.

But while Miss Windsor had managed to keep the speech going for now, she couldn't replace him indefinitely. Jenkins had to appear. Otherwise, no matter how successfully the tulip scheme was exposed, it would mean nothing for his claim to the throne.

Meanwhile, Hathaway, who had also been given a task by Jenkins, was only just arriving. Her destination was farther away, and her carriage had just pulled up to the "Three Violins Club" in eastern Nolan.

The last time Hathaway was here, she had brought Jenkins and Briny for a concert, which was when Jenkins had stumbled upon a meeting of the Music Cult. They hadn't relocated their base of operations because of it; the club remained the Music Cult's primary stronghold in Nolan.

Hathaway hurried into the club. She was a familiar face, so no one stopped her.

She went straight to the exclusive members' area on the third floor. This time, instead of heading to the rehearsal room at the end of the hall, she turned down another corridor and pushed open an imposing set of golden double doors tucked away behind the staircase.

Behind the doors lay the club's largest office. However, its owner had redecorated with such a casual flair that it now resembled a showroom for musical instruments more than a place of business.

Behind a solid brown wooden desk, the only piece of furniture hinting at the room's original purpose, sat Miss Lydia Bernreuter, who held the de facto rank of Archbishop. She was engrossed in a sheet of music.

Hearing the door open, she tilted her head, peering around the upright score stand toward the entrance. Her earrings swayed with the movement, and a flicker of surprise crossed her expressive eyes:

"Hathaway? What's the rush? I heard your footsteps all the way from downstairs. I told you, you can give your verbal report on the incident in the eastern suburbs whenever you have time. If you want to skip it altogether, that's fine too. It's not like that treasure was ours, anyway."

She set down the score, came around the desk, and took a cup and teapot from a side cabinet to pour Hathaway some tea. Hathaway downed it in a single, unladylike gulp and thrust the porcelain cup back into Miss Bernreuter's hands.

"There's something very important I need to do, and I need to gather everyone to help."

"Have you finally decided to ask us to perform at your wedding? That would be wonderful! I'm particularly fond of the violin concerto in D major!"

"But it's my wedding, and I want a traditional wedding march... Oh, but I'm not here to talk about that today. Are Stevel and Harms around?"

"Of course, of course. I'll go get them right away."

Miss Bernreuter, having had her little joke, left the room and quickly returned with Miss Stevel.

The Music Cult was small, with few members. Its decision-making core consisted of four people: Lydia Bernreuter, the archbishop without the official title; Hathaway and Miss Stevel, who served as the cult's liaisons for the continent's west and east coasts, respectively.

The last was Miss Breli Harms, the "Composer of the Score," who was also the vessel prepared for this generation's divine advent. She happened to be out shopping, but the three of them were more than enough to make any decision.

"What is it you need to do? How many people will you need?"

Miss Bernreuter asked.

"The more, the better," Hathaway replied. "I need to enchant an arrow."

"What kind of ritual?"

"It's not exactly a ritual, but you could call it one. It's a special piece of music. Oh, not just any piece—it's B-01-5-0224, the 'Song of Nature'."