Your Majesty, After long consideration, I have decided to grab my feather and write you this letter. Healer Mark insisted to seek an audience with you, but I fear for my life if the halls of Sunstone Castle were to recognise my face.

With the power of ten Gods of Wrath, Sebastian forcefully shoved his toy army off the desk, the tin soldiers clattering to the floor. One knight bounced against the chair and got catapulted off his horse and into the air.

Sebastian had already moved on to his sill when the figure crashed down. He threw off all the blankets and all the pillows, then reached for his dagger. A marriage to Princess Panthera—how dare Uncle Tom? No Greenlander would have ever approved such a wedding, not even if she were the most beautiful woman this side of the Jade Sea.

He grabbed his dagger and stabbed the wall. All Uncle Tom had done for the past moons was fuss over him. No fair. No tournament. For Temperance's sake, he hadn't set a foot outside the castle since the Feast of the Dead. And now his uncle had considered handing him over to the daughter of that brute. The man who had killed Father. Uncle Tom's very own brother!

Sebastian tugged at the dagger with both hands, but the blade remained stuck in the mortar. It budged a little, but not enough to tear it back out and attack the rest of his room. Fuelled by a fresh wave of Wrath's power, he slammed his fists against the stones.

Deep red blood dripped down his knuckles as he punched the wall over and over again. He didn't care. Had he married Panthera, there would have been a lot more blood. One night, maybe two—it wouldn't have taken much longer for her to kill him and secure the crown her father thought he deserved.

Sebastian jumped off his sill and picked up one of the pillows. He was so done with all of Uncle Tom's silly measures. He was the only son of Lord Brandon of Laneby. Not some frail flower that would wilt if he came too close to anything out of the ordinary.

It was time to leave and take action.

His blood smeared the light green satin as he snatched the pillow out of the case and stuffed a blanket in it. All his life, he had looked forward to being a warrior, to roam the wide open forest and hunt down his own food while keeping the other villagers safe from harm.

What kind of warrior was he if he left Fox to rot in Silvermark? The others may never speak of him, but he hadn't forgotten him. There wasn't a day that had passed that he hadn't thought of his best friend.

If he stayed here and did nothing, then one day a report from Whitepeak would come with the statement that a boy with fiery red hair had been butchered because he was too stubborn for his own good. That could never happen.

But that wasn't his only goal. He stood on his bed—boots and all—and grabbed a dagger and one of the broadswords. The dagger he attached to his belt, the broadsword went into his makeshift bag. The quarrel with Silvermark would go on forever if Ariel and Uncle Tom kept on moving spies and armies until all streams were tainted with the vile taste of innocent lives taken to soon. Not in his war. Not in his time.

If Ariel wanted the throne, he could fight for it himself.

He slung the pillowcase over his shoulder and stuck his head through the door. No guards. No Lady Viviane. Nobody. Apart from some heavy footsteps in the distance, the coast was clear.

Now was the opportune moment. Uncle Tom was either still in the dining hall or in his parlour, which meant that the guards didn't patrol this floor so often. He slipped out of his room and prowled through the castle, ducking behind statues and diving into hallways whenever he heard anything.

Finally, he made his way down to the servant quarters. The security would be minimum there, especially the time of the day. From there, he could sneak into Healer Mark's office and wait for the changing of the guards at seven o' clock.

He was so sunken in thought that he hadn't noticed Pale Rabbit until she was walking right past him. She was blushing. "Good evening, My Lord. Is everything alright? You're normally never this far down in this castle."

He froze. "It's because I'm... erm... playing with Alex and Nick," he said quickly. "I'm a thief, and they have to catch me. I stole weapons from my room."

"That sounds wonderful, My Lord. Have fun." She averted her gaze and quickened her pace.

He exhaled a deep breath. That was close, but Pale Rabbit would never question him. She was too terrified of anyone in the royal household to betray him. He was sure of it.

The next hurdle was already waiting for him. A bit further stood a couple of servants chatting, blocking his passage to Healer Mark's lab. He didn't know how much time he had left, but the guards' shifts would end soon.

Since the door to the washing room was wide open, he crawled on the floor, avoiding the light of the torches and sought shelter behind the door. The women kept on jabbering, their discussion on sunflowers turning into a heated argument during which two brunettes accused each other of making deals with the God of Greed.

Gods knew why they were quarrelling in the first place. He was tempted to stand up and tell them to go back to work, but he didn't want to let them know their prince was here. Pale Rabbit was one thing; these women talked too much for their own good.

When one of the servants stormed off, up the stairs, he pressed himself against the wall to not get noticed. The other three quickly returned to the room, still blathering about flowers, and shut the door behind them.

The brunette darting up the stairs had no attention for him either. He could finally continue. Healer Mark's lab was within reach. But then came a thumping, rhythmic sound of boots from behind.

A deep but warm voice addressed him, "And what do you think you're doing here, My Lord?"

Sebastian turned around, his face as neutral as possible, and looked up at Captain Jonathan. "I could ask you the same thing."

If the Captain were shocked by the response, he hid it well. He tapped the bulging pillowcase. "Were you going somewhere?"

"I'm playing with Nick and Alex," Sebastian repeated his lie.

"Unlikely." The man touched the dried-up blood on the satin, his eyes darting towards his injured knuckles. He shook his head. "A blanket and a sword in a pillowcase, My Lord. Care to explain what you're up to?"

Sebastian jerked away from the Captain and sneered, "I'm Crown Prince. I don't have to answer to the likes of you."

The Captain let out a dismissive chuckle. "It's been years since I've heard those very words. Like your father, you have every right to tell me that, but it doesn't make me respect you."

"I don't care!" Sebastian didn't want to fight this man, but he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. He drew his dagger and pointed it towards the Captain. "Get out of my way. And don't you dare tell my aunt, my uncle, or George."

With a quick swish, the old Captain knocked the weapon right out of Sebastian's hands. It fell down with a sharp clatter. The man looked him in the eyes. "I will forgive you for your insolence like I forgave your father for his. He too wore arrogance as a mask when he was frightened and didn't know what to do with himself."

"My father was never scared. And neither am I."

"If you hadn't been afraid, you wouldn't have threatened to attack me with a blunt, ceremonial knife." He picked the dagger up and ran his finger along the edges. "I've seen it all, My Lord. And you're hardly the first Greenlander Prince to roam these halls in search for a taste of freedom."

"But I got all the way here. Without you—"

"Without me, you would have met three layers of guards, each more difficult to pass than the previous." He handed the dagger back. "And had you—by the Grace of the Gods—found a way out, what were you going to do? Where would you have gone to?"

"North. I wanna find Fox and end this war between us and Silvermark."

"My Lord," The Captain almost chuckled. "We're not at war."

"It's a war in all but name, Captain. I wanna do something." Sebastian clenched his hand around the pillowcase. "I wanna stop being so useless."

"I understand your concern, but running away won't help." The Captain elevated his chin, maintaining eye contact with him. "And your redheaded friend is lost beyond saving, I'm afraid. He's a magician boy amongst magicians. By now, he hates you, wishes you were dead—that's how their kind works. Don't blame yourself. There's nothing you could have done."

"No." Sebastian shook his head. "Fox would never."

"And how sure are you of that?" Captain Jonathan left a pause long enough for him to answer, but Sebastian couldn't form a coherent thought—he didn't know anything about Fox anymore. The man laid his hand on his shoulder. "Go back upstairs, My Lord. This is the best place for you. Not Silvermark."

Sebastian nodded. The God of Wrath was still lingering in his mind, but he knew when a battle was lost and retreat the only honourable thing left to do. His plan had failed before it had even started. And maybe that was for the best. He was still wearing his signature grey uniform and had no food or gold with him.

The Captain was right. He wouldn't have gotten far.

Back in his room, the comfort of his windowsill immediately called out to him. He threw his pillows and blankets back up and restored his fortress to its former glory. When he was done, he stretched out along the pillows and stared at the world outside.

Between the dark clouds slid the orange hue of the setting sun, draping the land in a pale copper colour. On the other riverbank, galloped a lonesome shadow against the current. That could have been him, heading into the direction of Laneby and then further north.

Would Laneby still be bones and ashes, or was nature slowly reclaiming the land again? Sebastian turned to his side. It didn't matter. In a few years tops, it would be like Laneby had never existed in the first place.

How blissful it would be if it never had. Father may have believed that a carefree childhood was the best he could have ever given him. But never knowing Fox seemed infinite times better than the heartache he felt every time his friend crossed his mind.

Tap-tap. Someone knocked on the door.

"Can I come in?" asked the voice of Uncle Tom.

"No, but you're the King, so you're gonna do it anyway," Sebastian mumbled.

He turned back to his belly and planted his face into a cushion. Behind him, Uncle Tom walked up to his sill and forced himself up, moaning and groaning. "Ugh, I'm getting too old for this."

Sebastian let out a deep sigh. Uncle Tom had been making too many jokes about his age since his thirty-fifth birthday a moon ago. By now, they were the ones getting old. "You don't have to do this for me. I don't wanna talk."

"Shame, because I do." Uncle Tom sat next to him, his back against the wall and his good ear towards him. With a short but effective pull, he tugged the dagger from between the stones and kept it. "No more personal weapons for you, young man. This castle has been around for a thousand years and in a thousand years, it should still be here."

"Who cares? We'll all be dead anyway."

Uncle Tom prodded him with the dagger butt, his voice marking concern. "Hey, Sebby, why are you acting like this?"

"If you have to ask, then you're a bigger muttonhead than I thought."

He sniffed. "Look, I shouldn't have mentioned the potential betrothal to Panthera so casually, but I stand by what I said. I'm not gonna apologise for it."

"Then I have nothing to say to you."

"Alright, then... I'll take my leave." He tapped the dagger onto the stones. "But know that I met both Pale Rabbit and Captain Jonathan, Sebby. I'm gonna have to put a guard in front of your door, prevent you from wandering in places where you shouldn't be."

"Fine." Sebastian didn't care, not even if Uncle Tom put the entire army there. "Please go. I'm sure your office is full of bad plans waiting to get executed."

"What?" Uncle Tom chuckled uneasily. "Is this because of what I said about Panthera?"

"Yes." Sebastian sat up, every muscle in his face controlled by the God of Wrath. "Explain why you even considered marrying me off to the Princess of Silvermark."

"Because that marriage would have benefited both our nations. Ariel would have seen that too. He's not the evil King you hear about. The man's desperately trying to get Silvermark out of a crippling recession that has been scourging through his land. I don't approve of his means—not at all—but I understand why he's making those decisions. Why he—"

"How could you of all people say that?" He barely resisted the urge to plant his fist in his uncle's face. "My father would have never made that decision. He was a better father. A better warrior. And he would have been a better King!"

"Yeah, he would have," Uncle Tom said to his surprise. He sighed deeply. "Sebby, I never wanted to take his place. This is not the life I wanted for myself. Gods, when Father made me Crown Prince, I ran away too."

"You did?"

"I didn't get far." He grinned, prodding him with the dagger again. "I got further than you, though."

Sebastian huffed. This wasn't some kind of competition, and he was about to tell him that when a strand of moonlight came peeping from behind a cloud. It landed on Uncle Tom's face, illuminating the black jewel on his ear.

Lana had once told him that Uncle Tom had once wished to see every city in the world, but it wasn't just his royal duties that kept Uncle Tom from living the life he wanted. The wound on his ear was the real reason why he steered clear of extended social gatherings. It was why he hadn't stayed long during the ball, and why he preferred the meetings in his parlour over the grandeur of the throne room.

All because of Father.

Sebastian sat in front of him, on his knees. He was reaching out to remove the jewel when Uncle Tom stopped him. "Don't, Sebby, please."

"No secrets, Uncle Tom. I have to know. I have to understand."

Hesitantly, Uncle Tom let go of his hand and averted his gaze, as though he didn't want to acknowledge what was about to happen. Sebastian pinched the metal end to unfasten the clasp, then gently pulled the wire out in one go.

He ran his finger along the scar. It was coarse and thick, and instead of being one swift cut, it felt like multiple slices, one above the other. "How did Father...?"

"I don't remember." Uncle Tom winced. The answer seemed rehearsed. "We had a fight—about nothing. When I woke up, days had passed, and your father was already gone."

"Were you angry because of what he did?"

"I was. For years we didn't talk. Bran didn't come when Grandpa William died, sent Frederic and Vanya to attend the funeral and my coronation. But then came the first letter from Laneby a couple of moons later. Just a Lord complaining about lordly things, but we kept sending pigeons back and forth. It was good to have another voice to guide me in this role I was never supposed to have. I forgave him." Uncle Tom's voice cracked. He raised his head and closed his eyes, two tears on each side of his cheek rolling down. " And now—some days I wander into my office and expect there to be a scroll from him. But it can never happen again, and I miss him, Sebby. I miss him so much."

Sebastian sat next to his uncle and laid his head on his shoulder. He couldn't remain angry, not like this. "Real men don't cry, Uncle Tom."

Uncle Tom hiccuped, pulling him closer. "Which muttonhead told you that?"

Sebastian didn't need to tell that it had been Father—Uncle Tom knew that. They didn't say anything, just stared at the sun slowly disappearing behind the horizon. High up in the sky the first stars on the night were already twinkling.

"I don't just miss Father," he said after a while. "I miss them all: Mother, Lucy and Emily. And Fox too, of course. I think knowing that he might be alive somewhere makes it harder."

"Would you prefer him to be dead?"

Sebastian shifted out of his embrace. Uncle Tom wasn't laughing. "No, I want him to be happy. Can't you—"

"No," he said firmly. "I won't bring him back to the Greenlands."

"But you're the King."

"Exactly, and that means I have to please a wide range of people. We've talked about this. If I suddenly allowed a magician at court, my army would rebel, numerous Lords would turn their backs on me, and we would be facing a civil war that would break our kingdom in the four pieces that it used to be. I can't, and won't do it. I'm sorry."

"Captain Jonathan says he's evil now. That's not the Fox I know. It can't be true."

"All magicians are evil in one way or another. Regardless of their good intentions, they're a danger to whoever comes near them. I will never allow another magician in my country. I tried it once, and an innocent man died because of my clouded judgement."

"You did!" Sebastian's voice slipped into a high-pitched squeal. "Did you kill him then, that man?"

"He died, but not by my hand."

"Then what happened?"

"Someone else killed him. Doesn't mean I don't understand how you feel about Fox, but..." Uncle Tom scratched his throat. "Seb, we have to talk. Man-to-man."

Sebastian cocked his head. "It's what we have been doing all this time."

"This is different. George—he's urging me to make a decision. A very important decision."

"About what?"

"Fox." Uncle Tom licked his lip. "I'm sorry, Sebby. I've known for moons where he is."

"You lied to me," Sebastian spat. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to protect you from the truth." Uncle Tom stared at him.

"And that is..."

"That he's living with the magician who burnt down Laneby, who killed your father, mother, and sisters. That marble merchant you met in my office—he's spying for us in Moondale. We haven't gotten much information from him, but what I've heard concerns me. He's a weapon, Seb. One that Ariel is manipulating to hate you and me, and eventually, kill us."

Sebastian shrunk back. It was one thing to hear the old Captain saying it, but to hear it from Uncle Tom too. "Then you have to save him before..."

"I can't allow that. He's a magician, Seb."

"Then what?" Sebastian's heart raced through his chest, tears rising in his eyes. He slid backwards, his back against the other wall of his sill. "What is the alternative? What are you asking of me?"

"The permission to give the order to..." Uncle Tom brought his hand to his throat, pretending to cut it.

"No." His voice was soft, too soft. He allowed the God of Wrath back in and shouted, "No! He can't die. He's a still a child."

"Then what must I do? It's him or us, Sebby. And he's almost eleven."

"You have an army. They can protect us."

"And they will if they must." Uncle Tom leant forward and sat down on his knees. "But that would mean men—good men—dying. What if Nick is among them? Then you lose two of your childhood friends, your future General."

"Then do it!" Sebastian lost control all over his tears. He flung onto his uncle's lap, pain and despair breaking his heart, shaking his entire body."Don't ever tell me when you did it, or how you did it. I don't wanna know. I don't ever wanna hear his name again! From this day onwards, Fox is dead to me!"

Uncle Tom held him tight and planted a kiss on his head. "I'm sorry I had to put you in this position, Sebby. But you made the right call. I'm so proud of you."

He didn't care. He should have gone to Silvermark instead.