Spring sunshine was truly something that could not be beaten in regard to being the perfect accompaniment to a sweet floral tea blend. The sweet spot of the season in which the rain showers began to subside and the flowers were just starting to come to life again made the perfect backdrop for an outdoor tea... while planning how to overthrow a prince.

With the staff too busy with other matters to supervise two kids chatting, Arabella and Alistair had made themselves comfortable at a table in the garden. Arabella's eyes flowed between each newspaper title laid out across the table, each one from a variety of companies and the majority of which she squinted her eyes at, finding no familiarity in the names.

"That's because the papers you read are probably all made for the aristocracy," Alistair answered her question while flipping through one of his own. He then raised a brow at her. "Do you think everyday people care about which daughter is marrying which Duke? Or what Viscount is going through which divorce?" Finally, he tapped at one of the papers left on the table, disapprovingly. "It's all just mere puff. Nothing that's of use to us."

Arabella frowned in thought and let her eyes follow the article he was referencing. Seeing it now, she remembered that incident as Viscount Fitzwilliam's 3rd divorce. An old man with far too much money and a taste for women much younger than him. Her nose scrunched unconsciously in disgust. But if she remembered correctly, with divorce number 3 out of the way, that would make way for wife number 4, the one who finally outlived the old pervert and took him for all he was worth: Harriett Fitzwilliam.

She filed that tidbit in her memory right next to her information about Yvette Salvatore in information to follow up at a later date.

In the meantime, she brushed Alistair's hand away from the paper and pointed at it herself, "Maybe so. But for someone aiming for the very top of the food chain, you're very dismissive of the aristocracy. Those on the royal council whose votes we're hoping to win are part of it." To prove her point, Arabella dug through the pile of papers to find some pages that had caught her eye earlier, listing aloud as she flipped through. "Duke Salvatore, Viscountess Hawthorne, Duchess Kane, Marquess Powell, Duke Berbrook..." And to solidify her point she slapped the newspaper in front of him. "Just like that, their names are at least mentioned. Don't dismiss the power of gossip. Slowly winning their favour over the years by relying on the information is the safest bet."

Alistair's expression held no room for convincing, "Playing it safe is what led to that other timeline..." He furrowed his light brows. "I'll never play it safe again."

Grimacing, Arabella came to the realisation that getting along with Alistair would be more difficult than she first anticipated. Judging by his reckless actions on the ship, he was serious about never playing it safe, "Has no one told you about what happens when you fly too close to the sun?"

Noting her grimace, Alistair laughed slightly to lighten the mood, shining her a charming smile, "Haha, don't give me that look. Has no one told you that fortune favours the bold? Flying at all is a better outcome than staying rooted to the ground forever." Arabella's clear lack of amusement, caused him to laugh awkwardly before regaining his composure. Brushing a hand through his white locks, his eyes turned much more mischievous. "Anyway, You want information? I have a sense I know where to find it. And it would prove much more valuable than anything these gossip columns could provide."

He leaned in closer across the table, as though there was anyone here who could possibly hear him and hushed his voice, not breaking eye contact for a second, "Have you heard the name, 'Winter', before?"

Cautious but intrigued, Arabella quirked a brow, "...I don't believe so." Inside she questioned if that was even a name. Was he making things up?

"I wouldn't have expected you to," Alistair sat back down on his seat. "She's an information broker. No one knows her real name, even those that she chooses to deal with. And believe me, she is very 'choosy'."

Even though he sounded earnest, Arabella couldn't stop scepticism from rising in the back of her mind and leaking into her tone, "Really now. And you know her... how?"

"Did you buy the story I gave the night I snuck into the banquet? Did you really buy that I scaled the walls of the palace?"

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Arabella knew damn well to stay silent and take a sip of her tea in response. Primarily because the thought of him struggling to scale the palace gates and somehow not getting caught amused her to no end back then and that was enough to convince her. She was a little disappointed to hear that the miraculous athletic feat was not true.

"That woman would have had my head if I mentioned her. Besides, when the flame burns too close for her liking in the capital, she flees to the country, waiting for things to cool down." Alistair reached for the forgotten plate of cookies and chomped into one. "You take one wild guess where that is."

The earldom. As hard as it was to believe, Arabella couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity with that. Biting her tongue, she raked through her memories for an answer to the deja vu but failed to find it. 'Winter' was not a name she recognised, let alone one she believed she had ever heard. But something nagged at the back of her mind that this wasn't her first time interacting with such an entity. Her failure to find the meaning, caused Arabella to furrow her brow as she spoke, "Well, you're bold, I will give you that. But how do you know for certain where she is right now?"

The question caused Alistair's violet eyes to light up with an impish glow, his lips spreading into a smug smile as he grasped one of the papers to point at a headline. Arabella looked at him pensively before, letting her eyes fall to the newspaper and reading through the article. It detailed the arrest of an infamous scamming duo in the capital. According to the story, all of the money went missing despite both scammers having been caught. Arabella squinted at the smug-looking boy before her.

"That sound's like Winter's work," Alistair smiled in a self-satisfying manner. "One of her 'services' includes hiding the goods for criminals when they're caught in exchange for a fair share of the bounty. That is if they ever get released at all." With a knowing look, Alistair leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, his tone growing slightly serious. "If the story is in the papers, then that alone is too much heat for her. My guess? She's waiting it out in the earldom."

Processing his words, Arabella looked at the paper one more time. His theory made some sense, and there would be nothing to lose even if he was wrong. After a moment, Arabella smiled slightly, "Alright. I vote in favour of your plan." As out there as it was, having someone like that on her side with connections so wide she managed to sneak someone into the palace didn't seem to have any downsides. "How are you planning to approach her?"

"Oh, not me! You!" Alistair's exclamation was only met with a bewildered face from Arabella and he laughed casually, waving a hand in dismissal. "I probably should have opened with that!" When Arabella's shocked face morphed into a sharp glare his laughter subsided and he once more grew serious. Leaning in again, Alistair's violet eyes seemed to sharpen in a way that seemed uncharacteristic of him. "The message that I want to send will come off stronger, coming from you. Trust me."

After a long pause, Arabella sighed and reluctantly answered, "Tonight then. It's not difficult to sneak out of the estate through the servant's quarters." Alistair let out a boyish grin that Arabella couldn't help but find infectious enough to elicit a small smile out of her too. But in coming to her senses she coughed the smile away and stared him down blankly. "...Don't forget about what I told you earlier, though. We can't rely on outside forces too much. You're only going to be here for a week until Olivia leaves for the academy, so we're making use of that time." With a proud smirk, she pulled out the schedule she had prepared and laid it in front of the boy much to his dismay. "I don't want to follow a stupid King, so we are both on a strict studying schedule. Starting today."

The look of despair in Alistair's eyes was unmissable, but with a frustrated sigh, he quickly picked himself right back up again. The boy withheld a pout and scratched at his head of white hair in a lazy manner, though his tone did not match his demeanour at all, "If that's what it takes. Anything to be King."

His delivery made Arabella pause for a brief moment. It didn't go ignored by her that with every mention of his aspiration, he failed to elaborate on why. Let alone why he always proclaimed it with that razor-sharp determination as though he knew something she didn't. But she wouldn't pester him to elaborate, not this time. The last time she did that, he ended up having to confess something deeply personal to quell her anger.

Not like it mattered much to her what his motivations were anyway. It was in her best interest that he remained this determined in reaching his goal.

"Lady Arabella... I have some news for you."

Arabella turned in her seat to find a pale-looking Carol approaching her. The maid was fidgeting at the hem of her apron and slightly dewy as though she had run there. After a long while of watching the girl fidget, the ghost of a smirk made its way to Arabella's lips. It seemed Aubrey had completed her 'first assignment' as Arabella had requested and it seemed to have worked beautifully. Arabella feigned a warm smile, "Why don't we go to the drawing room, Carol? If you came all the way here, I'm sure it is important." She stood from her spot. "Just allow me to say goodbye to my friend here. Wait for me, will you?"

The frazzled maid swallowed visibly and curtsied before scurrying away and towards the manor.

Alistair squinted slightly at the devilish smirk on Arabella's features, "I'm guessing you had something to do with her expression."

"Perhaps. We'll see soon enough," Finally Arabella smirked confidently at him, pinching gently at her skirt and bending into the perfect curtsy. "Now, excuse me while I go tend to the fruits of my labour."