The harbour master collected fines worth 24,778 pieces of gold. The Scorians and Jade Islanders have little to no Humility, yet a growing number of countrymen speak in favour of simplified trade laws. I don't see it as a priority.

Sebastian stood at the richly filled breakfast table in the dining hall, not a trace to be seen of the ball apart from the immense amounts of leftover food. While he waited for Uncle Tom and George to arrive, he stretched his arms in front of him, feeling every sore and bruise related to his uneventful flight down the staircase in the throne room. He yawned, his mouth wide open and the sound catching Aunt Crystal's attention.

"Manners," she hissed.

He shrugged her disapproving glance away. In less than half an hour Master Paul was expecting him in the royal garden for his daily sword fighting lesson. Normally, he always looked forward to the Sword Master's unconventional training methods. Rescuing innocent eggs from under tree roots or from in between rows of flowers was the only time of the day he was allowed to go wild without anyone telling him to calm down or behave more like a prince.

After what had happened to Uncle Tom's ear, he preferred to skip the training and disappear to the safety of his sill, where he couldn't hurt anyone. Not that it was a real option. He was a Prince; certain things were expected of him, like being an excellent swordsman.

"They can't have forgotten, can they? It's tradition to have breakfast together after the ball," Lana grumbled. Not even the thick pancake-like makeup could conceal the dark circles under her eyes. She hadn't gotten to bed until the sun was already rising. "It's already bad enough that I woke up from the wretched sound of that infernal army bugle, but Papa and George should have been here by now. And they promised to be here. George told me he likes the stews better when they're a day old. Where are they, Mama?"

"I don't keep track of George's whereabouts, darling, but your father left the warmth of our bed long before daybreak," Aunt Crystal said with down-turned lips. "Don't ask me why, and if it were up to me, he would have slept in as Healer Mark advised him to. But when does he ever listen?"

"Honestly, Mama, if you weren't there, Papa would never go to bed at all." Lana snorted. "George agrees with me on that, you know. Just yesterday, he –"

"There's a lot of talking about George, darling. Should I be informed of something?" Aunt Crystal arched a mischievous brow, to which Alex shot her head at Lana and stared at her, her nose all wrinkled in disgust.

Sebastian chuckled and said in a sing-song voice, "Someone's in love with Ge-o-orge."

"I'm not." Lana stomped her heel against the marble floor, a slight blush appearing on her pale cheeks. "We had a lot of fun, dancing. That's all."

"You'll still marry him." Sebastian raised his head to the ceiling, bored with waiting. He didn't even know if what he was saying made any sense, but he needed to do something to pass the time. Teasing his cousin was a fun way to do so.

"Don't listen to the gossip of old hags and spinsters, Seb." She peered at him through narrow eyes. "You're too small to understand politics."

"I'm almost as tall as you are."

"Right, you two, that's enough," Aunt Crystal whispered as loud as a whisper could be. She gestured at the serving girl approaching them with a jar of steaming hot liquid.

The blonde girl was roughly the same age as him. She had started working in the kitchens a few weeks before his arrival in Sundale. Many moons had passed, but each meal she still looked at them with the fright of a rabbit getting hunted down. Whenever Aunt Crystal or Uncle Tom addressed her, she turned so white Sebastian feared she would instantly pass out where she stood. One silly evening, not too long ago, when neither of them could remember her name, he and Uncle Tom had dubbed her Pale Rabbit.

"His Majesty wishes to inform you that he shall remain in his parlour with the General," she said, her voice shaking as much as the jar in her hands. "He has requested a fresh batch of Scorian brew and some biscuits for their guest."

"A guest? They're meeting with a guest?" Lana muttered. It was almost a snarl.

The look on her face told him that she was having a serious battle with the God of Wrath, and quite understandably so. Uncle Tom had left the ball so early, and now he wasn't showing up to have breakfast with his family. He too felt abandoned.

"Thank you, Evelyn. I suppose this means we can start eating too." Aunt Crystal beckoned them to sit down, which Sebastian did immediately. "I would like to have some tea."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Pale Rabbit turned whiter than the table's cloth. Her tongue nearly showed as she concentrated on filling his aunt's cup. Part of him wanted her to spill liquid on the table, or on his aunt's dress.

It was mean, but it would be funny. And he could use a good laugh to get through the day, to not let his nightmares of Laneby haunt him throughout the day too. Twice he had woken up in a sweat, feverish and terrified of Abby's corpse that kept on reviving, blaming him for her death. The second time he had not gone back asleep again, too afraid to meet his subconscious a third time.

"Evelyn, if you have any Scorian Brew left, give some to my friend here." Lana bumped her elbow into Alex's side. "Gotta prevent her from walking around like the living dead today. The feast is over. There's no mask to hide behind anymore."

"As you wish, My Lady. I'll be right back." Pale Rabbit put the jar of tea on the table and left.

"I could have asked that myself, you know." Alex let out an uneasy chuckle. "I didn't wanna take any because she told us she's gonna bring Scorian Brew to your father. What if I drink it all, and there's nothing left for him?"

"Alex... Alex... you gotta remember that you live in a castle now. There's always plenty of anything." Lana took a scoopful of deer stew and dipped a piece of bread into the sauce. "Besides, in the unlikely event that there's no more Scorian Brew, Papa needs a sleeping draft, not something that will make him run up and down the main stairs for no apparent reason."

"I've already given up." Aunt Crystal picked some smoked herring from the plate in front of her. "If your father believes he can distract himself with work and an abundance of that spicy Scorian drink, I'm gonna let him. Any effort to convince him otherwise is wasted, though I do curse him for being a stubborn muttonhead yet again."

Sebastian sniffed. Mother sometimes used to lightly slap Father and call him her favourite muttonhead. Tears jerked at the memory, threatening to come out, but real men didn't cry. He picked a grape from the cheese platter and quietly munched on it. He didn't intend on eating that much more, his stomach still full from yesterday's feast.

"I know," Lana announced with a wild wave of her hand. "We should get some of Healer Mark's sleeping draft, mix it with biscuit batter, and bring that to Papa. Guaranteed fail-safe method to knock him out."

"You can't," Alex protested. "It's against the Healer's code to administer potions without a patient's approval."

"Don't be such a bore, Alex. I was just kidding."

Sebastian's fingers darted to the other grape on the platter. "And it would be treason."

"That's a big word." Lana waggled her eyebrows, a taunt of a smirk. "Where did you learn that, Sebby?"

"Don't call me Sebby! I'm the Crown Prince."

Lana shrugged. "I'm the daughter of the King. I can call you what I want, Seb-by."

"You did that on purpose!" he yelled.

"Yes, so? Can't handle some teasing anymore, cousin dear?"

"No... Yes." It sounded like a trick question. He threw the grape into his mouth. Still chewing, he stood up and pushed the chair back under the table. If breakfast was going to be like this, he had no intention of staying. He wasn't hungry anyway.

"And what do you think you're gonna do?" Aunt Crystal asked, her voice stern yet with a dash of concern.

"I'm leaving."

"You're not. Sit!"

The guard by the door glanced up. By the vacant stare in his eyes, Sebastian could tell that Lieutenant Peter hadn't seen much of his bed either. He would let that work to his advantage. He grabbed the back of the chair, pretending to obey and sit down again.

In the split second that both Peter and Aunt Crystal looked away, he dashed off. Not to the door, but to the exit via the kitchens. He nearly bumped into Pale Rabbit, who held the Scorian brew for Lana and Alex, but managed to avoid her altogether by sliding against the wall.

He scratched his back and got a few extra bruises, but it was worth it. If the other three men didn't have to be at breakfast, the women would survive without him. He looked over his shoulder, but Peter wasn't following him.

That had gone smoothly. Perhaps too smoothly.

He descended into the kitchen, which was a busy, always smoky, place where half a dozen people were at work. Oliver, the head cook, was taking biscuits out of the oven. And the other five exchanged weird glances as he passed by. They were either scrubbing plates or rubbing the glasses from the ball dry with a cloth.

"Is there anything you require, My Lord?" Oliver asked.

"No, just passing through."

He exited through the kitchen door and ended up in the main hallway. There stood Master Paul, his sword hanging from his side. He was chatting to Lieutenant Stephen, but cocked his head and waved at Sebastian, as if to call out to him.

So he approached them. The Sword Master nodded at him. "How was the ball?"

"It was okay. I prefer sword fighting to dancing. Less hassle."

"Had some trouble with the lassies?" He grinned.

"A bit."

Master Paul brushed his knuckles over his head. "Then let's fight to get all those frustrations out. A good work-out session, that's what you need, My Lord."

And thus Sebastian got a little excited for his training session. Things had ended weirdly with Alex last night too. He had chatted with her as often as he could, even tried to get her to dance with him, but she remained stiff, even a tad cold. At least, she should have tried to somewhat enjoy the ball. No, instead, he had been doomed to entertain too many women he did not care about, side-by-side Lana and George, who had kept the rumour of their impending marriage alive. For whatever reason.

The Sword Master patted Lieutenant Stephen on the shoulder, a signal to end their conversation, then the Lieutenant went out. Master Paul looked at Sebastian, his lips tight. "You're missing a very essential piece in order to practise, My Lord."

Sebastian gasped, his mouth still half open. He didn't have his sword with him of course. Normally, he first ate breakfast, then went to his room where Lady Viviane would have put the weapon ready on his desk.

"I'll go get it. I'll be back before you can say all of Uncle Tom's titles."

"I have a far better challenge." The man smiled, leaning closer. "For every minute you need, you'll do ten extra pushups. How's that?"

"I'll fly if I have to."

Sebastian raced up the stairs, not a trace of fatigue left in his muscles. Let others complain that this wasn't princely behaviour. As future King, he needed to be fit too, and he couldn't train if he were to dawdle up the stairs like Nick carrying too many of his boring books.

"Oh, here you are, My Lord. I was coming to fetch you." Lieutenant Patrick blocked his way, ruining his workout.

"I can't. I'm in a hurry." He tried to slither underneath the Lieutenant, but the man pushed him back.

"His Majesty requires your immediate presence in his parlour."

"What for? I've already started my lesson with Master Paul."

"I'll tell him you'll run a little late."

The God of Wrath was creeping into his mind, but the Goddess of Patience reminded him that the Lieutenant was but a messenger. He didn't deserve the scolding. So Sebastian gritted his teeth. "Fine. Thanks, Patrick."

Once he was in the parlour, he would tell Uncle Tom what he really thought about not appearing at breakfast and only wanting to see him when he needed him. Yet as he went in, George and Uncle Tom only quickly turned their head towards him before shifting their attention back to a balding man with a long twisted beard that almost poked him in the chest.

"So, in short, you'll operate for us up north. Keep your eyes and ears open," George said.

The man nodded. "Any news, I'll write back to you."

"Good." Uncle Tom clapped his hands, rubbing them. "It's great to finally have an ally in Moondale again. We'll both come stronger out of this arrangement. I promise you that."

Sebastian tilted his head. What in the Seven Hells was happening here? And why did they need him?

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Emotion filled the man's voice. "It's such a unique opportunity–fulfilling my life's dream of doing business in all five kingdoms."

"If you can assure the safety of mine, I'll make the necessary recommendations to my in-laws far up north and my friends down in the south. Soon every child will play with those ingenious marbles of yours." Uncle Tom turned to him. "Lord Sebastian's already a big fan of your work. You played with your marbles all evening, didn't you, my boy?"

"Yeah." Sebastian croaked. It was a lie, but he wasn't going to expose Uncle Tom, not in the middle of what seemed like an important deal. In truth, the glass balls hadn't left the corner of his sill. He had become too old for playing with such childish things.

"Fantastic!" The man grinned widely. "Don't you agree that my marbles roll better than those boring clay ones?"

"They do." He played along. Whatever speed those marbles would roll with, it would never replace the fun he and Fox had had, crafting their own.

"Pardon my bluntness, Your Majesty, but your nephew seems far shyer than little Prince Felix," the man remarked.

"Oh, Mallard, you have to excuse him. It's not every day you get to meet the maker of your new favourite toy." Uncle Tom yanked him closer to his side, a fake intimate moment. "Isn't that right, Seb?"

Close to snapping, Sebastian eyed George, who understood his signal and stood up. The General laid his hand on the merchant's arm. "His Majesty and His Lordship are busy people, Master Mallard. I propose we continue the meeting in my office, finalise the financial aspect of the deal."

"I understand, General. No need to bother them with such technicalities." Mallard stretched out his hand, expecting Sebastian to shake hands with him, so he did. "It was an absolute pleasure meeting you, Lord Sebastian. I assure you that you'll be able to play with those marbles for many years to come. They don't decay."

"Thanks," Sebastian mumbled.

He watched George and the toy maker leave, then glared at his uncle, waiting for him to start explaining. Instead, he slurped down the black liquid in his cup, a cheeky smile dangling on the corners of his mouth.

Sebastian crossed his arms. "You seem very cheery."

"Why shouldn't I be? I've wanted a new spy in Moondale for over a year, but it isn't easy to find someone who can work there without raising suspicion, and who will always hold our interests in high regard. Mallard is perfect. He'll do anything to expand his toy business to wealthier regions than Silvermark."

"So that was what that whole thing was about?" He didn't understand why his uncle needed him for. The deal had already been struck. "I don't mind playing along if I must, Uncle Tom. But next time inform me instead of throwing me in the deep, unprepared."

"Understood, My Lord." Uncle Tom pulled him into a playful hug. "Come here, you seem upset."

"Because I am." Sebastian pressed his cheek against his uncle's heart, the heavy thumping of his heart apparent. He wasn't the hugging type, but he needed one now. "You weren't there most of yesterday evening, you failed to show up this morning, and just as I was gonna start my own day, you ruin it. Master Paul is expecting me, you know."

"Paul will survive waiting a little while longer. He knows I'm a busy man." Uncle Tom planted a kiss on his head. It was a distraction; he knew that. "Seb, I heard you yelling at night, crying even. Are you having nightmares about Abby again?"

"No." The lie came out of his mouth so quickly. Admitting that he had would mean admitting that he hadn't spoken to Nick about what had happened. There was hardly ever any time, and if there was, he couldn't. The wound was still too fresh, too deep. He would rather let his friendship with Nick die out like a slow-burning candle than risking it all with one confrontation.

Uncle Tom rested his chin on his shoulder, cheek against cheek. "Anything else you wanna tell me?"

Sebastian shrugged. He didn't feel like sharing what had happened between him and Alex during the ball, or what that strange old Lady had said about Father. Nor did he wanna complain about Lana being mean over breakfast. There was this unspoken tension between him and Uncle Tom that no real or fake hug could clear.

"Alright then, big boy. I won't force you to share your secrets." Uncle Tom ruffled his hair. "Got a minute or two left for me to show you something else?"

"Only if you do twenty pushups for Master Paul in my stead."

"I'll consider it." He laughed and reached for a scroll on the floor, on the other side of the couch. "Now you may have heard that some men in my army are growing restless and are causing havoc in the streets to cure their boredom. Can't have that, of course, so George and I have been brainstorming about potential solutions. There's this one idea that I think you'll really like."

"That I will like?" he repeated. Sealing off the library would increase his chances of seeing Nick longer than the half-an-hour dinner each night, but that couldn't be the plan. It wouldn't stop the soldiers from fighting; on the contrary, one cadet would instantly join their cause if that ever happened.

Uncle Tom rearranged a plate of biscuits and the two empty cups before spreading the scroll across the table. A large oval-shaped building with a sandy meadow in the middle appeared on the paper. "Nothing is definite yet, but we're toying with the idea of reinstating a tournament for the army lads to show off their skills."

"Why was it abolished?"

"Too many casualties." Uncle Tom licked his lips. "But with a few tweaks here and there, we should be able to overcome the biggest risks."

"Can I join too then? Show everyone how well Master Paul has been training me?"

"Er... I'm afraid I can't allow that. It will be safer than a couple of centuries ago, but not safe enough for you." Uncle Tom put his hand on Sebastian's cheek as he turned away in disappointment. "Come on, Sebby. Watching the lads compete will be spectacular too."

"I don't understand." Sebastian's voice cracked. "Why are you even showing me this if I can't join? It's not fair. You've been in the army, and you're King too now. I wanna be like Nick, have guy friends my age."

"Second sons, third sons... they join the army. But a Crown Prince never does. It's the law."

Sebastian jerked his head away, his face aimed at the walls. "You make the law."

"If you think mumbling will make me change my answer, then you're mistaken," Uncle Tom gnarled, clearly annoyed that Sebastian had said something he couldn't hear. "It is and will always be no, for as long as I live."

"You won't be able to protect me from everything." He gestured at the bruises on his arms. "Look at me. I still get hurt, and that's alright."

"It's not alright. You have to outlive me–there's no other option. It's gonna be you who has to rule this country after me. Not Ariel, nor that crybaby Felix." Uncle Tom tapped his finger against Sebastian's chest. "You!"

"I understand, but why continue my lessons with Master Paul then, if I can never show anyone how skilled I am? Maybe I'll run head-first into a tree and accidentally kill myself!" he snapped. "Or don't let me sleep on the sill. I might put my foot in the wrong place and fall off. You know what, Uncle Tom, I'll never take the stairs anymore. From now on, the Lieutenants will have to carry me everywhere. Much safer!"

"Seb, stop it." Uncle Tom rubbed his ear, wincing in pain. "I won't stop your lessons with Paul. You're a future King, a person our citizens can look up to. That means you have to look fit and tough–show the people that you are physically capable of ruling this country."

"So it's all a show then? I'll just have to grow muscles so I'll look like you."

"Yes, appearance is everything. Which is why I wanted to show you to the marble merchant, so he has an image of you in his head when he does his work for us."

"And what work is he gonna do? Is he gonna find Fox?"

Uncle Tom snorted. "Don't be daft. He'll provide the necessary information to ensure our kingdom remains our kingdom."

"So he'll betray his own king?"

"That's the essence of it, yes."

Sebastian remained silent, unsure whether he should just leave or say something in return. The sound of the pendulum clock filled the room. Each tick was a step further away from Laneby and each tock a step closer to walking his uncle's shoes. Time was the merciless ruler, never stalling or looking backwards, always moving straight ahead, claiming every life in its path.

Whether he liked it or not, he had a role to play in this game with rules that were still unclear to him. He had to learn them, step by step, until he was ready for the day that Uncle Tom would no longer be there.

His lip trembled at that thought, but real men didn't cry.

They did pushups.