73 civilians lost their lives. Countless women and young girls were raped. The damage is in the city undoes 80% of the profit the harbour made this year. We cannot continue like this. Good tidings, Lord Simon.

Uh oh. Nick ducked against the stable wall as a carriage passed him by, its heavy wheels rolling through a deep puddle at the side of the road and splashing him wet.

He spat and spluttered. Just his luck. Now his bag and uniform would smell like he had been wallowing in a shallow pool all day instead of cramming a year's worth of notes in preparation for the annual army camp in the royal forest.

But he had no time to lose. He grabbed his bag tight and pushed against the door of the stables. As if his life depended on it, he sprinted down the corridor, jumped over stacks of hay and avoided an inconveniently placed pitchfork. The Gods couldn't taunt him like this, not at one minute to six.

Sloth was whispering to give up already—he would never arrive at the dinner table in time—yet he resisted His temptation. If Queen Crystal was a gunpowder bomb about to explode, his mission was to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible. People and weapons weren't so different.

He darted up the steps, his breathing heavy and cheeks hot. At the top, he undid his bag and placed it in the corner. Best-case scenario, a servant would find it and bring it to his chamber. Worst-case... He exhaled deeply and shrugged... He wasn't planning on packing any books anyway; his backpack would torture him enough already.

He straightened his back. Late or not, he would walk in with dignity and honour, as was expected of a future General.

Not that he had ever seen any of the officers with a dirty uniform, but he couldn't go back to his room and get changed. It would take far too long and his stomach rumbled with hunger. He hadn't eaten since the shared breakfast with Billy early in the morning.

As he entered the dining hall, he pretended not to notice Lieutenant Michael standing by the door and walked on, gazing over the heads of his castlemates—he could hardly call them family. They were all there, their cutlery already clinking against their porcelain plates. The Goddess of Kindness hadn't granted him with a busy King and General.

Princess Lana smacked the table, her voice teasing. "You owe me a coin, Sebby. I told you he would come."

From the other side of the table came a groan. "Damn the Gods. I was so sure the army would keep him forever tonight."

"Language," King Thomas muttered. "Sit down quickly, Nick. We've only just started."

"Not so fast, Tom." The Queen grazed her hand over her husband's. She looked at Nick scornfully. "Which pathetic excuse do you have for me this time? Care to explain why you present yourself late and looking like this?" She gestured at his uniform.

"It's the day before the camp, Your Majesty." Nick lowered his head, acknowledging her authority. Combined with a good explanation she would have to let him go, wouldn't she?

"And?"

He glanced up, her upper lip full of contempt and her eyes relentless. Did he really need to explain that Jasper had ordered him to learn all battle strategies in human history by heart because Bart and his extensive knowledge wouldn't be there? Why would she care that his wife was days from giving birth to their first-born child and that Captain Jonathan had pardoned him?

"Lost your tongue." The Queen shook her head with short, disapproving shakes. "I should send you to your room without dinner, Nicolas. I bet that will teach you a lesson."

"Mama, stop nagging," Princess Alana interfered. "He does more in a whole day than you in a whole week."

"Which is more than you do all moon, Alana." The Queen laid her hand on her husband's arm. "Don't you have anything to say, Tom? Look at the state of him—there's mud on his nose too. Is this how you want your men to present themselves? In Ice—"

"We're not in Ice." King Thomas sniffed, putting a halt to her rant. "Take off your shoes, Nick. Then, please, sit down and eat."

Nick rubbed his nose extensively and wiggled his toes. Squish, squish. He socks were drowning in a deadly concoction of sweat and water. "Are you sure you want me to do that, Your Majesty?"

"Better not, Uncle Tom." Seb held his hand against his cheek, whispering loudly, "When Nick's feet get wet, they become so toxic that their smell instantly kills butterflies. It's not worth it."

"Little Nicky, a silent but effective assassin." The King smiled, to which Queen Crystal mumbled something incomprehensible. "Leave them on and take your seat. I'm well aware of the hectics a day before the camp. The Academy turns into a real madhouse, isn't that right, George?"

"Hmm... yeah." He took a spoonful of soup, then beamed at the King. "Especially when your assistant is a complete oaf."

"Oaf or not, we still won that year." The King pointed his fork at the General. "Completely crushed the other patrols."

"We only won because the Lieutenants were scared of losing their job. I never counted it as a victory." The General laid his eyes on Nick before continuing talking to the King. "I repeated to Jonathan that I want nothing of the likes with Nicolas. If he misbehaves, he can peel potatoes again until..."

Gods, no. Nick filled his plate with a large boar rib and some savoy cabbage. After the stir he had caused during the Feast of the Dead, Captain Jonathan had made him peel a hundred potatoes every morning for a hundred days. Ten thousand potatoes later, the punishment was officially over. After the camp, he could sleep half an hour longer and spend more time with Billy.

"Enough already," The King put a stop to the conversation Nick had abandoned. "There's been another complaint, George. Healer Mark informed me that he saw a young Serjeant of sixteen who claims he was forced to disembowel a defiant Earth Magician. Her only crime was to cross the border. George, can you investigate why she wasn't sent back, or killed in a more humane way?"

"The men from Whitepeak always come home with the strongest of tales," the General said in between two slurps of soup. "It's our biggest stronghold in the mountains. And winter brings the most desperate of cases. Only the maddest of them all dare to risk their lives to come south."

"I wish you would investigate."

"I'm not saying I won't. I—"

"Want no politics over dinner," Queen Crystal interrupted them. "This is the only moment during the day that we can be together as a family."

Princess Lana elbowed Nick. "Which makes George what—our pet dog?" She giggled.

He hid a chuckle behind his hand, almost choking on a piece of cabbage as he pictured the General on a leash, barking at every passer-by. His laughter turned into a cough so he reached for his cup and drank until the itch in his throat disappeared.

"It's no laughing matter. Family is important." The Queen raised her voice, but before Wrath overpowered her, she found the God of Patience within herself. "A black raven came from Bigtown today. Mother brought me the dreadful news that Princess Panthera passed away unexpectedly. Prince Felix is gravely ill and still fighting for his life."

George dropped his spoon into the bowl, his eyes shooting at the King. "Curse the skies. Ravens arrive from Ice, but no word from Silvermark in over three moons. He has become a liability instead of an asset, Thomas."

"Who are you talking about?" Seb asked.

Alex's mouth dropped open. She alternated her gaze between the General and the King, which Nick found peculiar. Did she know something that he didn't? That even Seb didn't?

"You did tell him to use a raven, didn't you?" King Thomas touched his ear. "And to tell him to write to Mary."

"Yes. I know how to give instructions to a spy."

"Thomas, George, a Princess of Silvermark died. Mother believes she was murdered—possibly poisoned. Do you two have anything to say about that?"

"Must be a tragedy for King Ariel and Queen Cobra?" General George said matter-of-the-factly.

The King drank from his cup of wine. "Then Ariel finally knows what it's like to mourn the loss of a child."

"I don't know what's going on." The Princess leant forward, frowning. "But Silvermarker or not, Panthera was a sweet girl. I have fond memories of me and her dancing and playing in the royal garden when we were little. George has the empathy of a carrot so I'm not surprised. But you, Papa—why are you so stoic?"

"Because your Grandma Feline is the type of person to see intrigues where there are none. Illnesses are not uncommon during wintertime, especially not in a country plagued by poverty. As long as nobody in this room is dead nor dying, then I don't care. I have enough to deal with already." He turned his head and took a large bite from a giant rib.

"But you two have nothing to do with this?" Queen Crystal asked, loud enough so the King would hear it too.

King Thomas threw the rib on his plate with a thud. Still chewing, he reached for his napkin and wiped his fingers clean. He glanced at the General, who merely shrugged, then he turned his head back to his wife. "Darling, I love you. But these insinuations have to stop. I don't harm children, nor do I give the orders to harm children, unless they pose a threat to the well-being of this kingdom."

"I want to believe you." The Queen bit her lip. "But I can't. I just can't."

"One question." The General cocked his head, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Does Queen Feline's letter mention Ariel's bastard in any way? I know you northerners like to pretend the little one doesn't exist, but he does."

"Yes, talking about intrigues... Ariel's shame." The King prodded Seb. "Remember his name, Sebby?"

Seb raised his head to the ceiling, frowning in thought. "Erm..."

Nick snorted. He wasn't gonna wait for his friend to study every golden curl in detail, hoping there would be an answer hidden in plain sight. This was the most interesting conversation in moons, and it needed to go on. "His official name is Lycaon, but because he's no Prince nor a nobleman, many believe he doesn't deserve a name in the old tongue. That's why he goes by Wolf. Nobody knows who his mother is. Apart from King Ariel, I may hope."

"Ni-ick! I was gonna say that, you nosy know-it-all." Seb pounded the table, then clutched his arms to his chest. The Goddess of Envy held him tight. He could be such a sore loser.

"I think it's impressive." The King gave him a compliment, but when Nick didn't react, he turned back to his wife. "So, darling, does the letter mention the wolf cub at all?"

"As healthy as fish in clear water." She screwed her lips into a tight pout. "This doesn't mean anything. Why is there a man up north working for you?"

"He's gathering information," the General said.

"Hmm." The Queen continued looking at him and her husband with accusing eyes.

And quite rightly so, a local spy was the first key to successfully understanding the enemy. If he was a converted spy, then he could attack without ever being a suspect.

Nick licked the grease off his fingers. If he were the General, he would have done the same. Lure a man close to the magicians or King Ariel himself, pamper him in the castle, and reward gold in exchange for information about Fox. He had read all about it in Virtues of Warfare. The book was over a thousand years old, but the strategies described by Lord Yanus had stood the test of time.

Something did worry him, though. King Thomas may not order the killing of innocent children, but what if Fox became a threat? The man had asked him the questions so many moons ago, and it still haunted him. There was no good answer—either he would have to live with the death of a friend, or risking the wellbeing of the kingdom.

"Crys, honestly." The King had turned to his wife. "I have nothing to gain from killing Ariel's daughter. I even agreed with you the other week that Panthera would be a good potential match for Sebby. It would be... might have been a solution to bring peace and prosperity to the mainland."

"What!" Seb stood up from his seat, his eyes wide with the power of Wrath. "You two were planning on marrying me off to a Princess of Silvermark! How dare you? Her father is responsible for killing mine. The only thing Ariel wants it to kill the both of us, Uncle Tom. He wants to steal the throne!"

"Sebastian, sit down, come on," the Queen urged. "It's a complicated, political mess. Ariel is desperate. He's looking for ways to restore the wealth in his kingdom, boost his economy. He's..."

"... a murderer, Aunt Crystal!"

"Sebby, hey, nothing was set in stone," the King tried to calm him down. "It was just an idea of Grandma Feline."

"But how could you even consider such a plan!" Seb yelled. "And when were you planning on telling me? I'm a man, Uncle Tom! That means I get to have a say in who I shall marry. You can't do such things without informing me!"

"I can because I'm the King!" King Thomas grabbed Seb by the arm, his nostrils flaring. "You're acting like a child, Seb. For Humility's sake, you're the Crown Prince. If you believe you can marry for love, better think differently. It won't ever happen. The wellbeing of this kingdom will always be more important than your own."

"I don't care! I'm glad Panthera died! It was a sign from the Gods that they didn't approve either." Seb tore himself away and stormed off.

With a mouthful of boar meat, Nick elbowed the Princess. "One gold piece, he's gonna cry on his windowsill."

"You too have the empathic skills of a carrot," she hissed.

"He's a Puddingbrain," Alex agreed.

Nick kept quiet. He knew when to pick his battles, and this wasn't one worth winning. He and Seb, however. After the camp, he would use his two weeks off to have a good chat with his friend about Abby, man-to-man. It was long overdue.

"A very different topic." The General poured himself another bowl of soup. "Are you all set for tomorrow, Nicolas? Packed and everything?"

"Almost."

It wasn't a lie. He had planned on what to pack and what to leave behind. In essence, the hardest part was already done.

Princess Lana chuckled. "I'm sure Nick is still trying to find ways to fall on his sword so he doesn't have to go."

Nick smiled sheepishly. She wasn't wrong. The army camp was supposed to be the highlight of the year, but whoever had come up with the idea to put a half a dozen men in a small tent had never heard of the concept of personal space. Or pets that needed their daily dose of apples and stories.

He still had no solution for Billy. None of the stable boys could read, and if by a miracle of the Gods, Ol' Dicky could, the Stable Master wouldn't have time to read to Billy twice a day. The royal horses were a chore on their own.

Too bad his horse wasn't a mare, or he would have set up dates with several stallions to make sure she was pregnant so he could stay at home too.

"I know you're gonna miss Bart," the King said. "It's not only a good opportunity for Jasper to show the officers what he's capable of, but also for you to convince some people that you are the right man for the job. Normally the young Cadets just tag along, but I would be terribly disappointed if you didn't use your barrel of knowledge to bring your parol the victory it deserves."

"I will do my best, Your Majesty." Nick nodded.

King Thomas was trying to get into his good books again, as he had tried all winter long. Nick let him talk—it was easier to agree than to openly defy him. He was well aware who the King was referring to: Captain Jonathan. If having the highest grades of all first-year Cadets wasn't enough to convince the old Captain, then nothing would.

"Pack enough warm socks," the General muttered. "That's the only advice I can give you. The nights are treacherously cold."

"And, for the love of the Goddess of Temperance, please don't be as disgusting as the other men around this table and change your underwear." The Princess crinkled her nose in disgust. "I'm still traumatised by Papa's stories."

"Clean underwear is not a priority when you're at war." The King grinned as he glanced at the clock. He stood up. "I'm sorry to skip dessert, but I have an appointment with Lord Simon later tonight about the Jade Pirates roaming the south-western coast, and I still need to prepare. Care to join me, George?"

"Sure," the General replied without hesitation. "I have other matters to discuss with you anyway."

The Queen grabbed her husband by the arm, to which he turned his head. "Darling, don't forget to write your condolences to Ariel. I'm aware of the current political instability, but it's the most decent thing to do. Panthera was only a year older than Alana. You would be devastated too if something were to happen to her or Seb."

"I would. You're right. I need to write something." He wrapped his arms around her, his chin resting on her shoulder. "What do you think—shall I start by saying it wasn't us, or write that at the bottom?"

"You're a Muttonhead." She pushed him away, unable to hide a faint smile.

"Good, you're smiling. Now I feel less sorry about abandoning you and the children again—three out of four, anyway."

"Want me to talk to number four?" she asked.

"No, I made the mess. I'll clean it up."

"That would be a first."

The Princess made a gagging sound. "Yeah, gonna throw up. Too nauseating."

Nick chuckled. But all jokes aside, the King and Queen were an odd couple. On several occasions, they had made it clear that their marriage hadn't been born out of love, but never dwelled on the precise circumstances of their arrangement, which made it even more peculiar. For the past two centuries, southern royals had only married other southern royalty of nobility. Until these two.

Not that he would ever ask questions about their story. It wouldn't be a very manly thing to do.

After he had scarfed down three more ribs and two portions of pudding—perfect for a Puddingbrain—Queen Crystal ordered the servants to clear the table, which was his cue to pick up his bag (it was still there) and head to the storeroom by the kitchens to find a good dinner for Billy.

He was inspecting a fresh batch of turnips, picking out the ones with spots, which they wouldn't serve to the royal family, when a shadow appeared by the door. 

Alex was standing there, watching him.

"What do you want?" He stuffed two turnips into his pocket, advancing to the celery. Tonight he had no time or energy to listen to her complaining about how boring her life was at the castle, and that he was the luckiest out of her, Seb, and Fox.

"You've just eaten so no need to bite, General Grumpyface," she sneered. "I only came to ask if I could tag along. Lana and Queen Crystal are designing clothes, and I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than participate."

Nick sighed. He had planned to spend some time alone with Billy, finishing the story of the horse of King Edward the Fifth, which they had begun the week before and was coming to a thrilling end. But he didn't want to be a bad friend, and Billy liked her. He tore off some ribs of celery and handed them to her. "You can come if you carry this."

They entered the tunnel with a meal that Billy would be able to feast on for days to come. After the turnips and the celery, he had also found sweetened apple rings and a bunch of carrots.

"Interesting dinner, don't you think?" Alex asked as they were out of the hearing range of guards and servants.

"It was brilliant. Do you know who they were talking about—that spy?"

"No," she said far too quickly.

"It seemed like you did."

She bit her lip, then opened her mouth, only to close it again. "You read too many stories."

"Maybe." He edged closer to her. "But I know you. You're not a good liar."

"You'd be surprised what I can hide." She snorted.

He laid his hand on the door to the stables but refrained from pushing it open. Her resistance to talk revealed more than she was aware of. "So you do know something? Does it have anything to do with Fox?"

She looked the other way. "I..."

"Did the King ask you questions about him—about what you would do if you were in his shoes?"

Her gaze shot back to him. "Did he ask you?"

Nick nodded. "I didn't give an answer. He's the King, not me. But did you?"

"Not about that," Alex hesitated. "I really can't talk about it. I'm sorry, Nick. I made a promise."

He let it rest, for now, and entered the stables. Billy's enthusiastic neighing was enough to diffuse the gunpowder bomb between them. He gobbled up the turnips as though they were pieces of soft candy and visibly enjoyed Alex scratching behind his ears as he told the story.

The solution to his problem was sitting next to him, her arm around his horse. He was a true Muttonhead for not thinking of this earlier. "Do you wanna look after Billy while I'm gone?"

"Yes, double yes. Why do you think I wanted to come along?"

He shrugged dramatically. "Because I'm pleasant company?"

She pulled him into a tight hug. For the first time in moons, he found himself enveloped in a bubble of warmth that soothed the festering wound that his family's death had left behind. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the nape of her neck.

The Goddess of Lust told him to kiss her, to which he let go of her. His cheeks grew hot and the rest of his body tingled with yearning. Alex had always been a friend, one of the lads. How could he possibly have feelings for her? He swallowed before his lips dared to say or do something insensible. He would never forgive himself if he did.

Alex sat up on her knees. She tucked her hair behind her ears and whispered, "King Thomas—he made a promise to train me as a spy, but I only got one assignment and I don't think he's gonna keep his promise anymore. So I don't know if I should keep my end of the deal."

"I don't like him either, but a spy, Alex? It sounds suspicious—who did he ask you to spy on?"

"Nobody interesting. I learnt that Captain Jonathan is dating Marianne, a widowed seamstress, but prior to that, I had to interrogate merchants on the fair, find out where Fox was. He's in Moondale, Nick. I think they've sent the marble maker up there to spy on him."

"Spy or kill?"

"I dunno. I hope... I don't..." She gnawed on her bottom lip. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if he... if I..."

"I don't think he's dead." It seemed like the King and the General had lost all contact with their man up north, and though he wasn't sure what he would do, he had to do something. For Alex. "But, we'll figure it out. We'll start some investigation of our own."

"And then tell Seb!" She grabbed him firmly, her eyes glistening with excitement.

"Yes! After the camp, we start—if I'm not dead yet."

"Oh, come on, it won't be that bad." She playfully slapped him. "I don't understand why you dread going so much. It's only a week. You'll be back before you know it."

Billy nudged him as his hands sought shelter in the safety of his pockets. Sure, he dreaded serving Jasper. He hated all the physical exercise that was planned, and the nights away from his bed, his books, and Billy. But there was something deeper, a fear that Alex and Seb would disappear from his life forever and that he would be left behind with another gaping hole in his heart that could never be filled again.

Of course he could never say that out loud. He'd rather die than ever tell anyone how he felt.