T, Since I never received a reply on potential financial aid from the Greenlands, I shall assume once more that bad news travels faster than the good.

Sebastian's first reaction was to pinch himself in the arm, to wake up from what was hopefully a fever-induced dream. He was still on The Plains, hallucinating due to lack of water—it was the only logical explanation for what was going on. There was no way he could actually be the future King of The Greenlands.

Yet, after he had dug his nails into his skin, he still remained in the King's office, surrounded by large open books and papers full of small text. All he had wanted for his birthday was a sword, or a horse, or both. Instead, he got an entire kingdom.

"I can imagine it's quite overwhelming." The King crossed his arms in front of his chest, his voice soft but determined. "News of your arrival is no doubt travelling fast. I wouldn't have wanted you to find out from some stranger."

Sebastian cocked his head, swallowing the thoughts before they managed to slip off his tongue. The same blood may run through their veins, but the man in front of him was as much a stranger as the rest of the Sundalers.

Sinking back into his chair, the King exhaled a deep breath. "I'm aware that it's far from ideal. Bran was supposed to tell you a long time ago, but he always postponed it—said he would wait until you were a man before sending you here."

"That's why you were expecting me. And why Father..." Sebastian lowered his head, clutching his hand to the ever-growing hole in his heart. 

It all made sense now. Father being all secretive these past few moons; suddenly shredding letters into a thousand pieces before throwing them into the fireplace, the long meetings with Master Frederic late at night in Laneby's hall, and why he had been so sad the day before the hunting trip that had changed his life for good.

Sebastian clenched his teeth, biting away the tears that were welling up. The King and the General were still the two most powerful men in the kingdom, and he didn't want to seem weak in their presence. It mattered very little that he was now number three.

"Your father was a great man, Sebastian. You'll hear many rumours and tall tales about him, especially from people who hardly knew him. Don't believe their nonsense." King Thomas scratched his ear, moving the black jewel a fraction of an inch as he touched it.

Sebastian averted his gaze. He shouldn't stare. The General muttered something in disapproval, but the King took no notice of it, luckily.

"But, Your Majesty, what happened between you and Father?" He didn't know if it was indecent to ask questions, but he did so anyway. "How long have you not seen each other?"

"Long. Too long." The wooden floor cracked as the man shifted in his seat. Sebastian yawned, waiting for the King to continue talking, but all he got in return was a faint smile. "Why don't we continue our chat another time? You must be exhausted."

He nodded. All the muscles in his body craved sleep, but after everything, he wasn't sure if he was ready to close his eyes. His mind buzzed with questions that needed answers, yet at the same time, he shouldn't be disrespectful either. The King may be his uncle, but he was still the King; his avoiding the questions made it clear that he did not want to talk about the past.

"George will escort you to your chamber. You won't have to walk far." The King rose from his chair, turning his back on him. His shoulders shook as he sighed, the window reflecting the contorted face of a grieving man. Perhaps his father—Sebastian's grandfather—had also told him that real men didn't cry.

The General patted him on the shoulder. "Come, follow me, your chamber is just at the other end of the hallway."

Sebastian's head spun as he stood up, his feet instantly protesting. Grinding his teeth, he waited but found that he had no other choice but to obediently trail behind the General. Every step felt like one too many, like the weight of the whole world was resting on his shoulders and crushing him down.

And this time, there would be no Father to teach him the tricks of the trade. He was dead, just like the other Lanebyers that they had found in the river. Nor would he ever see Mother, Lucy, or Emily again. The pain of the truth numbed him. 

It couldn't be true. It just couldn't.

Near the end of the corridor stood a freckled woman with a blue rose in her dark brown hair. She too found it necessary to bow. "My General, the Prince's room is ready. If Lord Sebastian wishes, I can still prepare a hot bath for him."

"No, I'm fine." Sebastian shied away behind the General's back. He didn't need anything but the loneliness of his own thoughts; to process what had happened, and what was still happening to him. The diamond-encrusted tub, or whatever the royal family bathed in, could wait.

"As you wish, My Lord." She bowed again, which made the whole situation even more embarrassing. "Shall I help you change for the night?"

"I think that's for the best," the General said in his place. "I will leave him in your care, Lady Viviane. The King and I have urgent matters to attend to."

"Of course, General. I will report to Her Majesty when he's asleep."

"Thank you." The man gave a quick nod, before turning around and strutting back to the King's office.

The paintings on the wall became blurry as Sebastian tried to picture himself on the King's chair, dealing with all the problems in the kingdom. Sweat formed on his forehead and his cheeks grew hot. He wouldn't know what to say or do. How could he ever be a good King?

"Why don't we check out your room, My Lord?" Lady Viviane's long eyelashes fluttered against her abnormally rosy cheeks. "It used to belong to your father. I think you will love it."

"I'm getting his old room?"

"Yes, you'll be the first person to sleep in the chamber since your father. We haven't changed a thing in over fifteen years—apart from the bedding, of course."

For Father's sake, Sebastian wanted to love it, but he couldn't possibly imagine this was how his old man had lived. The entire room was as big as his house in Laneby. In the left corner stood an enormous double bed, covered with green satin sheets and more pillows than he could count. Above the bed hung an ensemble of shields and swords, all in gold or silver. 

As if one would ever need them in the middle of the night with all those soldiers walking through the streets of Sundale.

The other side of the room was entirely decorated as a living room, with a table, chairs, two leather couches, and a desk that was a precise copy of the one in the King's study—minus the books and heaps of papers. The closet next to the door was larger than that of his parents and twin sisters combined, and he didn't even own any clothes.

He stood still in front of the lavish tapestries on the wall, that depicted the various stages of the battle between Theo and his twin brother, Leo. Sebastian shuddered at the coronation scene. King Theo had been the first King of The Greenlands all those hundreds of years ago. He would be the next.

"You're not much of a talker, are you, My Lord?" She leant over, her fingers ready to unbutton his shirt.

He jerked away. "No, I'm fine. I'll do it myself." Once his friends had made it to the capital, she would no longer call him quiet. Mother always used to say that the four of them made more noise than a herd of hungry goats. "And I know they call you a Lady, but my name is Sebastian. You don't need to say 'My Lord'. I won't get offended if you don't".

Lady Viviane kept smiling. "But that's how it should be. I am very proud of my title—His Majesty gave it to me for my services to the royal household."

"That's weird." He undid the two top buttons of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Helping the royal family bathing or getting them dressed hardly seemed like something that should be rewarded with the title of 'Lady'. Mother, now she had been a real Lady. She helped out everybody in Laneby who needed it; poor or rich, it didn't matter to her.

"It's how it is, My Lord." She took the shirt from his hands and folded it on the bed. "Your cousin, Lady Alana, came by earlier. She's really looking forward to meeting you. Poor thing never had any siblings of her own. His Majesty and Her Majesty tried for so many years, but they never got another baby after her. Lady Alana is a woman now, thirteen, and growing more beautiful by the day."

Sebastian sat down on the bed and yelped as he pulled his shoes off. Thirteen his cousin was; a year younger than Lucy and Emily. Father should have sent the both of them to court to keep her company. They always complained that they would have preferred another sister instead of a brother.

In return, Father lectured them of how a Lord should always have a son. Without an heir, war rules freely as feeble men decipher who should be the next in line. That's what he used to say.

Sebastian had laughed in the past, even stuck out his tongue, but the memory didn't bring any smile to his face now. That's why Laneby had been attacked; to eliminate him and Father.

But why? It didn't make any sense. Father was the older brother. He kicked his shoes under the bed. "Lady Viviane, do you know why my father didn't become King?"

"No, I don't, My Lord. I was but a little girl when he left Sunstone Castle." She handed him a pyjama set that she had taken out of the closet, silk and Greenlander green. "Some say he was banished, but I don't know if that's the truth. People say so many things."

"Banished?" He put on the shirt, the sleek fabric gliding over his body. A banishment would explain why Father always sent Master Frederic to Sundale, instead of going himself.

"If you wish to know more about it, you should ask His Majesty." Lady Viviane lit the five candles of the candlestand, then closed the curtains, making the room as dark as possible. Through the cracks still beamed the red light of the setting sun. "I've placed milk and biscuits on your desk, in case you get hungry at night. I will stay with you until you are asleep."

"You don't have to. My mother never did either." The silk pants were an inch too short, yet still felt as though they could slide off as he threw some pillows aside and got beneath the sheets.

"I have my orders, My Lord. Good night."

"Night." He laid down, his head sinking in the pillow. "My Lady."

The flickering light of the candle betrayed Lady Viviane's whereabouts as she meandered through the room, humming a melody that sounded like the lullaby that Mother used to sing when he was small.

He closed his eyes and remained as quiet as possible, to get her to think that he was sleeping. The humming stopped soon, and not much later, she and the candlestand left the room.

Through the walls, her voice was barely audible but Sebastian still heard fragments. "... sleeping, Your Majesty... poor thing."

He expected the baritone voice of the King to reply, but sat up when a woman replied, more loudly, "Thank you, Viviane. How is my husband? He seemed very upset when Stephen came with the news. He and Brandon were once very close."

Sebastian didn't care about the rest of the conversation. The tears that he had held back came pouring out, soiling the silk shirt and the satin sheets. If he and the King had been close, then why had Father been banished? And why did everybody in Laneby have to die? Was it all because of him?

Kicking away the sheet, he flung the pillows out of the bed, frustrated by their softness. The luxury didn't mean anything to him. He just wanted Mother and Father to hold him in their arms and tell him that it had all just been a stupid nightmare, that there was nothing to be afraid of.

But he was afraid. Of Nick never wanting to see him again when he found out about Abby. Of Fox's secret getting exposed, and the King having to kill him as a result. And Alex... she would still be his friend after everything they had been through, wouldn't she?

He didn't want to miss their arrival. Keeping half an eye on the door, he sneaked out of the bed and opened the curtains. The windowsill was so large that two or more people could easily fit. He bit the pain away as he placed one foot on the stone and heaved himself up.

A view on the River Faith. Perfect. The God of Charity had sent his regards. Sebastian sat down against the cold stone wall. From here he would be able to see his friends arriving in the city, especially Fox's red hair would be visible from this distance. There was no way it would still be black.

The cloudless and starry night turned him into an icy lump. Still determined to complete his guardly duties, he huddled his arms around his knees. Nothing or nobody was going to make him budge from his spot. He had to see his friends and talk to them before they decided to never speak to him again.

The door creaked open, the burning candles revealing the face of Lady Viviane. There was some panicky mumbling and stumbling before she halted by the sill. "My Lord, what are you doing up there? Get back to bed."

"I don't like the bed. It's too soft." He rubbed his eyes, blocking out the bright light of the candles. Why couldn't she just leave him alone?

"Then try the couch, My Lord. You really need to sleep."

"I'll sleep here."

"Then at least take these." After putting the candlestand on the table, she headed for the bed and grabbed the sheets and a handful of pillows. "The nights can be dreadfully chilly. I wouldn't want you to catch a cold."

Sebastian shrugged as she placed them on the windowsill. He didn't need her, or her worries. She wasn't his mother.

It didn't stop her from piling a dozen more pillows on the sill, before putting the plate of biscuits and the glass of milk by his side. "Don't forget to eat and drink, My Lord. We all want you to grow healthy and strong."

He didn't touch them. Healthy and strong; nobody cared about his happiness.

Then he would have to create it for himself. When she had finally left, he pulled out the white duvet from its satin prison. He closed the curtains and stood on his tip-toes, binding one end of the satin sheet to the curtain rod and the other to a convenient hook right above the window.

He crouched down, rearranging the pillows until they barricaded the entrance to the sill. Nobody would bother him here, as Lord of his own pillow fortress.

Nobody but Abby.

Her ghost didn't care about walls of pillows or stone. When he did close his eyes, she was there, staring at him with her bloodshot eyes and screaming that he would be the worst King in the history of The Greenlands; that he would be banished just like his father. He should have just stayed in Laneby, to be perished by the flames along with everyone else.

He woke up with a start, tears streaming down his hot, feverish cheeks. The air around him had suddenly become too thick to draw in, which fed the force of his unstoppable tears.

Outside the sun was peeking over the horizon, announcing the beginning of a new day. Another sunrise that the Lanebyers would never see, and it was all his fault. He couldn't even be a real man, so let others quibble over who should rule the land. The world would be a better place if he had never been born.

The God of Wrath made him reach for the glass of milk and he smashed it against the wall, its shattering glass splinters quickly spreading across the sill. It didn't stop the tears from flowing, nor the thoughts from haunting his mind. Good, virtuous people had died while he was still alive. What kind of game were the Gods playing?

The curtain flew open, the intruder unloosing the knot with which the satin sheet had been tied to the rod. The annoying softness landed right on his head. He tore it off and kicked it away.

"I don't need anything, you stupid Lady. Go away!" Not wanting Lady Viviane to see him sobbing like this, he buried his face in one of the pillows. "Leave me alone! Just leave me alone."

"Tom... Tom! Come here." Sebastian was nearly deaf to the woman's wailing. She didn't sound like the chambermaid, but he didn't care. "Didn't you listen? Viviane said he was on the sill. I think he's hurt. There's so much glass everywhere."

"Maybe I should send someone to wake Healer Mark up?" Through his sobs, Sebastian recognised the King's voice. That meant that the other person was the Queen. The woman he had heard talking the night before. The wife of his uncle. His aunt.

"Healer Mark said he's as healthy as a fish," she hissed. "That's not it. You should talk to him. If anyone understands what he's going through, it's you."

"What do you want me to say, Crys? Bran spent hours on this sill, moping and sulking. He just wanted to be left alone."

"I think it's time you set a few things right, Tom. You're not your father, and Sebastian isn't Brandon." She sounded desperate. "Please, talk to the boy. I beg you. Do it for me."

"Alright." The King groaned, undoubtedly pushing himself onto the sill. "Good thing I'm not wearing my uniform yet. He did turn it into a mess."

"Who could have guessed that there would one day be a room worse than your office."

"That's organised chaos, darling. Here, take this, before I cut myself."

"Of course, dear."

Glass pieces clinked softly to each other. Still clutching the pillow, Sebastian glanced at the King cautiously picking up the splinters one by one and handing them to the Queen. She was a frail but gracious woman, with auburn hair in a bun, who wore pearls the size of marbles around her neck.

Apart from the excessive jewellery, his aunt and uncle seemed so ordinary all of a sudden.

The King's light blue eyes met his as he turned around. "Hey, there. That's quite the castle you built here. It's not the first in this spot—your father and I used to do it all the time." He pointed at the top of the window. "That's why you have that hook over there."

"Really?" Sebastian's voice barely made a sound, drowned by his own whimpering.

"Yeah, we didn't like the bed either. Definitely too soft." The King put on a smile as he sat down, keeping his free ear on Sebastian's side. He cleared his throat. "So... how are you holding up?"

"Not so well." Sebastian shrugged and sobbed at the same time. "Your Majesty."

"You can call me Uncle Tom. I'm not at work yet." The King gestured at the bright red shirt and black trousers that were the opposite of the rather bland uniform that he had been wearing the night before. He turned around. "And that's your aunt, Crystal."

When she smiled, another wave of uncontrollable tears sprung out of Sebastian's eyes. He didn't want an aunt and an uncle. He wanted his mother and father, but the Gods had taken them and now he would never see them again.

"Hey." The King threw a pillow to the other side of the sill and scooted closer. "Hush. Want to talk about it?"

Along with the tears poured out the thoughts that he had kept inside of him. "Everybody is dead because of me. It's my fault that my friends have no home or family anymore, and I don't even know if they are still alive. I am so tired, but I don't wanna sleep and I want to stop crying but I can't. And... and... I miss them all so much."

"Hush. It's all gonna be okay." The King scooped him up, pulling him into his arms. For a split second, Sebastian tried to wiggle loose, before giving in to the foreign but soothing embrace. "I am so sorry for what happened to you. I'm afraid you've become a pawn in a game that is played by few but has a lasting impact on many. Don't you dare blame yourself. Blame me instead for not having a son of my own, and for not protecting your family and Laneby any better. If anyone has failed, it's me. Not you."

"If Father had been King, he would have never let this happen." It was the God of Pride talking, but Sebastian let him. It was a good way to get the answers that he needed.

"Maybe." The King chuckled uneasily. "Your grandfather decided I was the better fit. He might have been wrong."

"But why, Uncle Tom?" The words 'uncle' and 'Tom' felt strange as they rolled off his tongue.

"Ermm..." His chest rose up and down as he sighed.

The Queen answered instead, "If I remember correctly, William deemed this country unprepared for a King as... progressive as your father."

"Yeah, that's why Bran voluntarily gave up his rights as heir, which I had to restore when I realised I wouldn't have any other children but Lana." The King rubbed his hand over Sebastian's arm as he let out a loud sob. "Much to Bran's dismay, I should add. He liked being Lord of Laneby."

"I don't understand much of it." Sebastian wiped away the sticky remnant of his tears. "But he was the best Lord of Laneby and the best father in the world. I miss him so much, and there's nothing that makes this pain go away. I just wish he were still alive."

"It's okay to cry, Sebastian." The King huddled him closer, in his big broad arms. "I am praying that he's alive too. We'll see what the Gods have in store for us."

The soothing warmth of his body enveloped him. Uncle Tom and Father were different, yet so alike. Their voices sounded the same, and there was even a hint of Father's shaving cream in his uncle's scent. Maybe it was all the figment of his drowsy imagination, but he felt brave enough to close his eyes again, like there was someone there to fight Abby's ghost with him.

"Is he asleep, Tom?" The Queen asked after a while."Can you put him to bed?"

"Close. But not there yet." His uncle brushed his hand over Sebastian's forehead. "Are you sure you wanna fall asleep like this, Sebastian?"

"Hmm... call me Seb."

"Alright, Seb, but I've got a bit of a problem here. I've got a kingdom to rule."

Sebastian shifted his head and grabbed his uncle's wrist, forcing him to stay. "No, you don't. Not right now."