"Late for what?" Nick frowned.

The pendulum clock had thrown him out of the blissful world of 'Lucas and The Horse Lords', and back into his own. He patted the leather couch, then the silk cushions. His mind hadn't deceived him; he was still in the King's office, and his only daughter had really spent the last couple of hours reading him that hilarious story.

"Dinner." The Princess flung the book onto the coffee table and slipped back into her diamond-coated mules. "We have to hurry. Mama hates it when I'm late."

Nick stood up, carefully swiping the biscuit crumbs from the cushions into his hand to put them back on the empty plate. King Ariel's scroll silently scrunched with every muscle he moved. If only the Princess didn't have her eyes all over him, he would have shoved it under the couch and pretended it had never happened.

God of Patience, the King could never find out.

"Leave the crumbs." Princess Alana grabbed his arm to drag him along. Since she was in too big a hurry, he barely managed to step into his shoes and was forced to leave them untied. "Papa will think he did that. It's Mama you need to worry about. Believe me when I say that you don't want to get on her bad side."

"It's fine. I believe you."

They sprinted down the corridors, rushed through the empty hall, and jumped down half the steps of the spiralling staircase. Nick spent most of the time looking at his own feet. He wasn't Fox; he wasn't going to trip over his laces and fall flat on his face.

The Gods may have spared him from that embarrassment, but not from panting like a dying man when she halted in front of a colossal door framed in carved golden ivy and sycamore leaves. The richness of the castle kept on astounding him. It was hard to imagine that Lord Brandon—    who preferred the freedom of the deep forest to his own home—used to live here.

The Princess hummed in disapproval, studying him from head to toe. "Hang on. You can't go in like this."

"W-what?" He froze when she crouched down and tied his shoelaces. No God or Goddess could save him from blushing so much his cheeks stung from the heat.

She rose back up, then wiped the last of the crumbs of his jacket. He shuddered as her fingers softly brushed over the side-pocket in which he had stuffed the scroll. On her lips curled a mocking grin that slowly grew wider. "Nervous?"

"A little."

"Don't be. It's just dinner. You do know about Papa's little ear problem, don't you?"

Nick nodded. Captain Jonathan had informed him that he shouldn't address King Thomas when the ear covered with an obsidian stone was facing him. Apparently, the injury was a touchy subject, though Nick didn't understand why; being partly deaf surely didn't make him a lesser monarch.

"Then nothing can go wrong. Leave Mama to me." She turned away from him and twisted the golden handle before he had the chance to do that for her.

Clearly, he wasn't made to be chivalrous.

He entered the enormous tree-high hall, which was lined with marble columns and a giant window on the eastern wall that looked out on the rose bushes in the garden. Above the frame hung a large golden cuckoo clock, its pendulum swinging rhythmically. 

Five past six. Not that late.

The only person present was a woman who seemed like an older and paler copy of the Princess; she could only be Queen Crystal. Sparing them no glance, she picked up one of the silver forks that had been laid out on the long wooden table carved with the same sycamore leaves. "You're late. Again."

The Princess gave her a dismissive blink and shrugged. "So is Papa."

"Your father has a kingdom to rule over, darling. You don't." She put the fork back on the satin sheet and turned around, inspecting him like he was one of the pieces of silver. "At least you brought Nicolas with you."

The letter scrunched as he lowered his head. "It is an honour to meet you, Your Majesty. My name is indeed Nic-Nicolas. My father was Frederic of Laneby."

"I remember him. A man of few words, but a good negotiator." The Queen pushed his chin up, her delicate fingers caressing his skin. "I apologise dearly for all that has befallen you. No child should have to endure what you have experienced. I sincerely hope that this castle will bring you the warmth you desire, Nicolas, son of Frederic."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I'm sure that it will." In between her kind words, she confirmed what he had already suspected. Since Seb was too young to be a Lord, the duty to be his and Alex's guardian had passed on to his uncle. Unless the King decided that he and Alex belonged in one of the many orphanages in Sundale, they were going to live in the castle until they were wed. 

Not to each other, of course.

"Now remember not to be late next time." She raised her finger, pointing at him. "My daughter may find traditions dull affairs, but they are important. Dinner is the only time of the day we can pretend to be a normal family." She pinched her lips as the Princess faked a yawn. "Alana, please, we've got a guest."

"I didn't do anything."

"Those tricks don't work on me, darling. I was once a teenage girl just like you." She let out a graceful snort. "More importantly, do you know if George will join us for dinner?"

Nick's heart skipped a beat. Momentarily he was convinced that his brother would walk right through that door instead of the General. He would give anything just to spend one last meal with him, teasing his parents as they taught Abby all they were not supposed to teach her, like how to burp the alphabet, or eating without hands.

"Humph... I guess so." The Princess played with the diamond on her bracelet. "I don't care."

"So we no longer prefer more seasoned men, do we?" the Queen jested. "I'm afraid you will have to. Half the country's expecting a marriage."

The Princess' lips turned into a pout, her eyes bulging out like marbles. "Now you're just embarrassing me on purpose, Mama."

"It's what mothers are supposed to do, Alana." The Queen faced the table once more and clapped her hands. "Nicolas, why don't you sit on the second right chair? Then young Miss Alexandra can sit next to you."

Nick shuffled towards the table. The chair screeched loudly across the marble tiles and echoed loudly against the walls. He was inches from sitting down, but straightened his back again when both Queen Crystal and Princess Alana remained standing.

The Princess chuckled. "Oh, sorry, Nick. There are so many rules here at court—most older than this very castle. We don't sit until Papa does. I'm not sure why we do it. It's such a stupid rule because he's always late too."

"The rule exists because it shows that we respect the King." Queen Crystal articulated every word, calmly but surely.

The Princess blew a strand of hair from her face. "Papa knows I respect him even when I sit down."

"You already sit down enough. A little standing won't hurt you."

Their bickering reminded Nick of all the times that people had forced him away from his books. Grandmother Bessie used to say that he would get a crooked back and neck before his twentieth birthday, whereas George claimed that he was born an old man, but that his body wasn't aware of it yet.

He clenched his teeth to hide a whimper. The past was a story made out of memories, and this was the real world. Standing still meant going backwards, and that was not where he wanted to go.

He shifted his focus to the back of the hall, from where servants brought in platters of food, the smoke rising and filling the air with the smell of roasted meat. As they placed them on the table, his mouth watered.

Like with the books in the library, he didn't know which dish to eat first. The baked salmon steak had a nice crust, but he also wanted to find out what the chicken wings had been marinated in. It looked like bean sauce, or perhaps that spicy Scorian sauce that Father always raved about.

While he waited, more dishes arrived. He couldn't wait to take a bite of the deer stew in cranberry sauce, and licked his lips as a bowl of soup was put in front of him. He sniffed. A broth of beef and fresh carrots. His favourite!

Perhaps the standing up wasn't so bad; it might be the only way to prevent him from turning into a Nick-sized cannonball.

"Mama." The Princess cackled. "Do I even want to know why you requested the kitchens to cook for the entire city?"

The Queen waved her daughter's remark away. "I don't know what our guests like to eat. What if they have the same aversion towards vegetables as your father? I want them to have enough choice, so I asked Oliver to cook everything he likes."

"Have you taken a good look at Oli lately?" The Princess puffed her cheeks and curled her arms a few inches from her bosom. "He likes everything."

Nick could already picture his future as cannonball-shaped head chef of Sunstone Castle's kitchens, when the main door swung open and in walked the King with Seb, Alex, and the General following his trail. They kept a steady pace, and none of them were talking.

Alex still looked as gorgeous as before. She should wear dresses more often instead of hiding her changing body behind baggy shirts and oversized trousers. Not that he could say that to her without fearing for his life. She may be a girl, but she could easily beat him in a fight; even when constricted in the world's most uncomfortable dress.

Next to him, Princess Alana groaned as the King kissed his wife on the lips, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her close. "I missed you," he mouthed.

"Rough day?" The Queen put her hands on his back and leaned over to his free ear. While he darted his eyes to Seb taking the chair next to him, he nodded discretely. She rubbed her thumb along the strong line of his jaw. "Spend tonight with me, Tom."

While Princess Alana mimicked the sound of a barfing pig, Alex was staring at the scene with partially opened lips. Nick frowned as she sniffled and wiped the drying streaking of tears from her cheeks with a silk handkerchief.

He didn't know what he was seeing. Alex using a handkerchief, instead of her hand or the sleeve of her shirt. His remark must have finally sunk in, even if had been harsh. Too harsh.

"Alex, you can sit next to me." He tapped the empty chair on his right.

He didn't get the chance to ask how her meeting had been. The King released his wife and turned to the table, his brow furrowed into a questioning look. "Crys, I didn't invite the army over for dinner. Why does the table look like you did?"

"I told you so," Princess Alana sung.

"I may have exaggerated." The Queen brought her hand to the pearl necklace around her neck. "Must be my northern blood. I'd rather have too much food than guests leaving with an unsatisfied feeling."

"And then you complain that I'm getting fat," the King said with a straight face. A playful smile appeared as he sat down—a cue for everyone to take place at the table as well—and picked lamb chops from the platter in front of Seb.

"No, darling. I complain that you eat too many biscuits."

Laughter erupted from most of the company; even Seb was sniggering, but not Alex. Biscuit addiction or not, King Thomas had muscles that most warriors in Laneby could only dream of. Surely those divine pieces of dough couldn't be that bad.

Nick embraced the God of Greed and filled his plate with the largest piece of salmon steak, and topped it off with a mountain of broccoli. Alex was only taking some broth. "Don't you wanna try the stew?" he asked.

"I doubt it's a lady-like meal," she hissed, silently enough so only he heard it.

He stuffed a forkful of fish into his mouth. She clearly wasn't in the mood to talk. Anything he said would result in more snapping, which wouldn't benefit either of them.

"Tom." The Queen touched her husband's arm, to which he turned his good ear to her. "Don't you think it's time Sebastian's arrival is made public knowledge? He could be presented to the Sundalers, make them excited about their Crown Prince."

"Present me?" Seb's voice rose to a high pitch. He dropped the chicken wing he had been dissecting instead of eating.

"It's just smiling and waving, Seb." The Princess stuck out her chest, cocked her head, and put on a very fake smile. She twirled her hands about in a circular motion.

"Alana, that's enough." Her mother slapped her daughter's hands back on the table. "Could you please behave?"

"I was just making a joke to cheer Seb up. You don't have to be so overdramatic, Mama."

"Yeah, come on, Crys. She's partly right." The King took the lamb chop into his hands. "During official ceremonies I am but an actor on stage. We do it because the people expect us to. There at least a hundred things I'd rather do that would make an actual difference to their lives."

"People like to be fooled, Thomas," the General remarked. "A drop of attention makes them believe they are important."

"Thank you, George." The Queen prodded her husband. "See. That's why it needs to be done."

"I get it, but that doesn't mean it has to be done today." King Thomas turned his left ear away from the Queen, making a clear end to the conversation.

Nick scooped his fork full of broccoli. Not being able to hear what others were complaining about had its perks, even though the General was right. Had Grandmother Bessie been here, she would have been standing in the front row to wave back at the royal family. It would have been her favourite topic of conversation for many weeks to come.

When his plate was empty, he filled it for a second round of chicken wings. Just as he was about to take a bite and taste the mysterious sauce, Captain Jonathan marched in, his face set in a grim line, and his fist balled.

Standing still at the King's left side, he lowered his head. "I apologise for disturbing you, Your Majesty. I'm well aware you and Her Majesty treasure your time together. One of the Serjeants reported a brawl in the Sunshine inn. Lieutenant Stephen and Peter went in to arrest the drunkard."

"Throw him in the dungeon, Jonathan. Let him stay there for a night or two. Why should I be concerned with a drunken oaf?"

The Captain glanced at Seb, lowering his head even more. Nick leaned forward and squinted, hoping to catch most of what he was saying. "... no ordinary drunk... sorcerer... Silvermark... the death of your brother."

Seb's head trembled as he grew a little pale. "Is he the one from Laneby, Captain?"

"He's a Scorian man, not a Jade Islander," the Captain said, more to the King than Seb, "but he's a threat towards the safety of this city—this nation even. I wouldn't be here at this hour if I didn't believe it needed to be addressed right away, Your Majesty."

The King ran his hand over the obsidian stone, exchanging facial expressions with the General: a raised eyebrow, returned by a sideways glance, General George gesticulating at Nick, and the King nodding. "I will receive him in the throne room in ten minutes."

"Aye, Your Majesty."

The Captain skulked out of the hall, after which King Thomas forcefully threw his cutlery on his place. He looked at Seb, then Nick. "Boys, I'm sorry to announce that dinner is over for you two. You're coming with me."

"Where are we going?" Seb asked.

The General stood up, putting down the goblet of wine he had just finished. "I'll fetch your sword, Thomas. I'll be there in five."

"Papa, can I come too?" The Princess folded her hands and begged. Of course, Alex immediately demanded the same thing too.

"No." The Queen's pointy finger nearly hit her daughter. Almost simultaneously, she grabbed the King's arm. "Tom, I don't like this. The boys have been through so much already. They're little bear cubs who have lost their mother. Don't do this to them."

If Nick hadn't been chewing on a spicy piece of chicken wing—definitely marinated in that Scorian sauce—he would have yelled that he was neither little nor a bear cub. The God of Gluttony had spared him from Wrath, and with the Queen's sour grimace, that was for the best. Some sins were more dangerous than others.

"Bear cubs can stand blood." King Thomas shoved his chair under the table, beckoning Seb and him to follow. "It won't take long. We'll be back by the time dessert is served."

"But Papa!" The Princess waited for her father to turn his head. She seemed more eager than Seb to come along. "Alex and I want to watch too."

"Lana, it's for your own good that you stay here. These are serious matters." He laid his hand on Seb's shoulder. "I am not forbidding you from attending a ball. Why are you so upset all of a sudden?"

"Because you take Seb and Nick, and you didn't even consider me. I'm your daughter!"

"That's right! You are my daughter, not my son."

"Neither are Seb and Nick," she mumbled. 

Either King Thomas didn't hear, or he deliberately chose to ignore her remark. It didn't matter. Those that weren't partly deaf definitely went for the latter option.

Instead of stuffing himself with more food, Nick found himself running through Sunstone Castle again. He huffed. Princess Alana had been a far more pleasant companion than the King and Seb, who were marching a lot faster than he could keep up.

"Uncle Tom." Even from a distance, the tremble in Seb's voice was apparent. "What's going to happen? Why can't Lana and Aunt Crystal come too?"

"I'm going to execute that man."

Seb gasped. "Why?"

"He's a magician. Don't you think he deserves that?"

"I guess."

Nick inhaled a sharp breath. No magician should be allowed to walk Greenlander roads if they were using their powers for the wrong purposes. Since this man had caused trouble, his death was justified.

A dozen guards had gathered in the throne room, which its walls and floor darkened with the same obsidian as the King's jewel. On every quarter of the round pillars hung sconces in which torches burnt, providing the only light in the hall. Half of the room consisted of a platform, on top of which stood the actual throne: a large obsidian construction with carved horseheads as armrests, and dark green cushions that bore the white sycamore.

Fourteen steps it took King Thomas to walk up, each step decorated with the face of the Gods. A virtue alternated with its corresponding sin. The King's feet landed on all of them.

"My Lord, Young Master Nicolas." The young Lieutenant that the General had chatted with earlier bowed. "I will show you where you must stand."

He guided them to a sideway aisle, with high stone chairs, from where they had an excellent view on the throne. Four more guards were standing there, two with iron lances, and two others with loaded crossbows. Their arrows were made out of iron, their heads hooked and drenched in a green goo. Poison.

Seb was fidgeting with his fingers, his eyes set on his uncle, who was pacing around the top platform. Since nobody was speaking, Nick did not take his chances. He and Seb would have the rest of the evening to talk about this.

It didn't take long for the General to arrive with an iron broadsword longer than his legs. He walked up the stairs. Before handing it over to the King, he kneeled and lowered his head.

Princess Alana had been right. This castle had many silly traditions with no real value, other than pleasing those who cared about such matters.

The King and General exchanged a few words, after which the General came down the stairs and took his place next to Seb. He nodded, which was King Thomas' cue to take his place on the throne.

The rest remained standing. The rule of the dining room didn't apply here. It made sense, the guards had to defend King Thomas in case the magician lashed out.

With his hand resting on the broadsword, the King snapped his fingers. In the back, two guards opened the giant gate-like door.

The Captain yanked in an old bald man with skin darker than the throne room itself. He was chained, one around his neck and iron shackles covered his hands like gloves. Unless the Captain kicked him against the back of his knees, he refused to go any further.

A hundred forty feet he had to walk until he was standing in front of the platform, yet at this pace, it might as well have been a thousand. Captain Jonathan lost his battle with Patience and dragged him along, not caring when the man fell and was unable to get up again. 

The closer they got, the stronger the pungent smell of rancid ale became. Nick rubbed his nose. The contrast with the delicious odours of the dining table couldn't be bigger.

"He's bald. How do they know he's a magician?" one of the guards carrying a crossbow whispered to Lieutenant Stephen.

"Men without facial hair and Silvermark, always the clues you have to look out for. Now hush."

Together with a guard, Captain Jonathan pulled the magician from the ground, forcing him to sit up on his knees and keep his head low. "Kneel before His Majesty, King Thomas, third of his name, Lord of Sundale and the Great Jade Sea, son of King William the Diligent."

"Half-Ear ain't no King of mine," he slurred.

"Who do you bring into my castle, Captain Jonathan?" The King remained seemingly unaffected by the insult. "Who is it that disturbs me on a fine night like this?"

"He claims his name is Pyrrhus, Your Majesty."

"A Scorian name, yet it has come to my knowledge that you were coming from Silvermark. Tell me your tale, Pyrrhus. What business does a Scorian man have up north these days?"

"Don't expect me to lie, begging for my life." The slur was gone, replaced by a deep voice that raged through the hall like a fierce thunder. "I left Scoria decades ago, since my homeland does not appreciate the powers that the Gods have given me."

The Captain jerked his head up, now forcing him to look at the throne. "Of course not. They are but false gifts from the Gods of Sin."

"Then why leave Silvermark? You are free to live there," The King remarked. "You didn't have to come down to my country and threaten my people."

"Your country? Your people?" A gob of spit flew out of the magician's mouth. "I won't ever recognise your power. The only man worthy of ruling The Greenlands is King Ariel."

The scroll in Nick's pocket grew heavier and heavier. He should have never taken it. Whatever was in that letter, it couldn't be good news. An army of many versus an army of magicians. If King Ariel wanted, it wouldn't take many moons before he was the one ruling from the obsidian throne. Laneby had been a one-man job.

"The law is clear. Ariel rules north of the Horseshoe Mountains." King Thomas stood up from the throne, the broadsword tight in his hand. "Here, I do. If that displeases you, then you shouldn't have come here."

"It was never my intention to stay here. The years are rapidly catching up with me, and I wish to see my homeland one last time before I greet the Gods. I had to do it now. Soon the autumn winds will conquer both land and water, making the Jade Sea practically impossible to cross before spring reappears."

"Liar!" Captain Jonathan smacked him in the head. "Why return to a land where your kind is not welcome either?"

"As much as I value King Ariel, I could not last another winter there. My weary bones have become too old to fight the northern cold. If I must go, my wish is to die in the shimmering Scorian sun instead of the frozen darkness of Silvermark."

"You're not the first with that wish, Pyrrhus." As the King walked down the platform, Seb averted his gaze. He was shaking, which Nick found a strong reaction. The magician was a stranger who had broken the law. Whether he lived or died wouldn't make any difference to their lives. "Fire Magicians, especially. Speaking of which, did you pass a village called Laneby a few days ago?"

"Any information I have I will take to the Gods." A smile appeared on his face. An actual smile. Nick clenched his fists; that magician deserved his fate. "I have to congratulate King Ariel for finally making a move. I may never see the world united in the name of all magicians, but if any man can do it, it will be him. He's the Lion of the Gods, after all. The saviour of the mages."

The King snorted, glimpsing at the aisle where Nick was standing. "I do not care about Ariel. Have you, or have you not taken part in the destruction of Laneby, and the death of my brother? That's all I'm asking you."

"That information is more valuable to you than to me." The man struggled free from Captain Jonathan's grip and turned his head towards Seb, who took a step back, only to bang into the stone chair.

"Then give me one good reason why I shouldn't just shove my sword into your hateful heart." King Thomas pressed the tip of the blade against Pyrrhus' chest.

"Because it is not my heart that is full of hate. If you wish to kill me, do so, for I do not fear death. The Gods won't judge me when I enter their gates, but they will judge you, and your time is running out, Thomas, son of William."

The Captain yanked the chain to expose the magician's neck. King Thomas clenched both hands to the sword and rose it above his head.

"I can't watch this." Seb's voice was but a squeak as he closed his eyes.

Nick bumped his elbow into his friend's side. "You have to. You're a man now."

"Exactly, don't you dare look away." The General's whisper was a direct order.

"Well... well, Half-Ear. Looks like the child is your soft spot." A smirk appeared on the magician's face as King Thomas hesitated and looked at Seb. "You think you're all impressive, with that ancient Scorian haircut and iron broadsword. I sense a fear in you. Deep down, you are but a frightened little boy, scarred and unable to take the decisions daddy had no issue taking."

"I should have chained your mouth shut." The Captain kicked Pyrrhus in the side, then looked at his King. Nick would have done the same. It didn't make any sense that King Thomas was letting the magician speak so much in the first place.

"One last thing," Pyrrhus said. "About fifteen years ago, interesting rumours reached Moondale. Whispers explaining why your brother couldn't sit on that pompous chair of yours."

"Whatever you've heard, it's not true." This time it was King Thomas himself who shoved the magician's head down.

A boisterous cackle resounded through the throne room. "Or maybe you don't want it to be true, Sire."

With a rapid blow, the King slashed his sword into the magician, blood splashing as far as Wrath's step as the head plunged to the ground. It rolled several times before coming to rest in front of the step dedicated to the Goddess of Temperance.

Out of what seemed to be raw frustration, King Thomas plunged his sword into the magician's heart, causing a river of blood to flow freely onto the floor. As the piercing smell of death reached Nick's nostrils, he understood why the tiles in the throne room weren't as white as the rest of the castle. Humans bled as much as game.

The King repeatedly slammed his boot into the magician, then crushed his body to tug at his sword.

"Thomas, leave it. It's over," the General shouted. "Let the men take care of the mess."

Clutching both hands around the handle, the King managed to yank out his blade, yet instantly dropped it to the floor. He shot his blood-smeared face towards the aisle, panting heavily. He looked ferocious. "Bring the boys to their rooms. Order Master Richard to prepare my horse. I need to get out of here, George, out of this bloody castle!"

Nick turned to Seb, whose cheeks had lost all colour as tears plummeted down, creating his own pool of bodily fluids. His watery eyes met Nick's briefly. He didn't need magic to guess what Seb was thinking: one day that would be him standing there instead of his uncle, wielding that very sword.

King Ariel's scroll burnt in his pocket, screaming to get out. He had to face the inevitable. Whether it be weeks, moons, or years, the day would come that the Captain of Sundale would drag in Fox.

And kill him.