Andragoras was less than happy.

After ensuring the innkeeper out of the room, he blew up at the four guards who'd come in from the cold. In the silence between speeches he paced, arms crossed with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Robin stood with his back to a wall, straight as he could be. Slung over his shoulder was the bag the messenger held, along with as many letters he and Andragoras found. Many were unreadable. Some had pages ripped and sentences mangled beyond recognition, others were so coated with the man's blood the words were giant blobs against the paper.

Robin's hands still stung from the outdoors. Before coming in, they'd taken what was left of the Kallan and buried him just outside the town. There was no marker besides an oak tree. By that point, the wind was white with snow and covered the hole well enough for them that they had no need of piling everything over the man. Andragoras wanted to do most of it himself, to which Robin promptly refused. Royal blood or not, he could bury an innocent man.

The rest of the guards never knew what happened until their captain stormed in and made it very clear.

With a sigh, Andragoras stopped pacing. His hand went to the bridge of his nose, and stopped, blocked, by the edge of his helmet.

"Let me get this straight. None of you saw anyone when you arrived."

The four shook their heads.

"You didn't hear anything."

Still silent.

Andragoras whirled to face Robin. On reflex, he straightened, braced himself for the folly of words he was about to receive.

"You were with me. We got here a few moments later." Andragoras had not lost the venom in his voice. "You hear and saw nothing as well."

"No sir. Nothing."

"And he was dead for how long, you estimate?"

The bag with the letters felt like it carried bricks. "Everything was fresh. No more than a day." He paused. "I would say it was more recent than that, but the snow may have affected the blood."

He captain nodded, eyes on fire and face unreadable. He started his pacing again, this time closer to the stairs that led away from the interrogation. "Do all five of you understand what this means?"

Robin's throat tightened. Kallas sent that messenger to speak with King Eudes. There were too many... incidents that were recent. Too many times that a letter was misunderstood or a battle was blamed on the wrong side. Krativ lit the spark years before, and from there it'd been a slowly losing battle to calm both sides.

He didn't answer Andragoras' question. It didn't seem to need it. Still, he let himself think of what his mother would do. They'd have to tell her about the death, that was certain. As far as he knew, she'd been largely the reason Kallas had yet to sent warnings. It was the people that panicked.

And war... any possibility of that was too delicate. Fights happened, yes. Fights were easily solved. The queen ordered, the queen ruled, and the queen's word was done. The council, as particular as they were, even seems to approve of her decisions. But he knew from hearing her speak on numerous occasions, she held no interest in battles. All missions, all loss of life-- it went straight to and from Eudes.

As much as the council loved Queen Celandine, they listened to the king far more.

After a moment of silence, Robin let himself speak, ready to hear an uproar from Andragoras.

"Captain, the queen should be able to explain to Kallas, correct?"

Andragoras gave him a slow nod. "If that was the only issue at hand, we'd be blessed."

One of the guards shifted. He crossed his arms, stepped back closer to the crackling fire as if he hadn't been near it for as long as he'd been.

"What other issues are there, then? What don't we know about, highness and captain?"

At the spitting of his words, Robin drew all his attention to the guard. He'd not been on the castle grounds long, if any. Generally, Robin knew people by face. This man though, he was different. They all were. His face held healed scrapes of battles, but eyes betrayed none of what he'd seen. It was as if all was new to his world and he didn't quite know where to step. He wasn't young by any means-- certainly older than the prince. His hair, a few shades darker than Robin's own orange, held hints of gray that peered through.

Erik? Robin tried to remember his name, only given once by a servant. The others seemed to know him well, and laughed and joked on their way to town.

Whoever he was, the tone he held was not one welcomed by Andragoras. The captain took two quick strides over to him and stood, loomed, so his shorter body ended up towering over the man.

"What do you mean by that?" he growled.

Erik-- or at least, that's what Robin decided his name was-- widened his stance slightly. His arms remained folded, but knees bent. Ready. Waiting.

Fingers dawdling oh so close to the sword hilt.

Robin moved away from his wall. Crackles of energy snapped through him, waiting to be let out.

Erik grinned like he held the world's best secret. "I mean nothing by that, captain, besides that the bastard was the one to find him."

Red engulfed Robin's vision, crawled through his chest and toward his head. Did he hear it often? Yes.

It didn't mean he had to like it.

Instead of doing as he wished and sending a sharp object through the man's fingers, Robin forced himself to settle down. To breathe. Princes couldn't --shouldn't-- publicly humiliate their own guards without good reason.

That was something the other three seemed to gather. Two of them, the one ratty-looking man and the one who had a permanent shocked expression across his lips, moved in closed to Erik. The other, much younger, dark haired boy, stepped away from the madness that threatened to break lose.

In a quick motion, Robin placed his hand on Andragoras' shoulder before he knocked the guard back. "I believe that if Erik here has anything to say, he may say it." A cold smile flittered across his lips a moment. Addressing Erik, he said, "Although I must caution you on your next choice of words."

If he was in the mood to give credit, he would have, as Erik did not back down. "It'd serve you good to have a war break out, wouldn't it? Take out a parent or ruler, and you command. Queen's bastard turned military leader."

The same smile stayed frozen on Robin's lips, although the heat that burned his insides through should have melted it off. "How much royal blood do you hold, Erik?"

The guard paused a moment, hautiness dropping before flying back up. "Wha--"

Robin took a step closer. His hands itched to ball into fists, to embed themselves into the guard's face. "Nobility. Are you noble? Royal? An earl of any relation to you?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Because, as you've so kindly pointed out, while I may not be born of both the king and queen as my brother is, I still hold the blood of my mother. The ruling family, that is." He smiled again, this one more of a sneer than a smile. "Which makes me a prince, unless all the people in my life have been mistaken until now. I doubt it though."

He brushed passed Erik, let his shoulder bounce off the guard's arm and jostle him. The flames of the fire soared higher, fueled him on. "That title means I could gut you, here and now, with four other eyewitnesses to attest to my actions, and barely make my mother bat an eyelash. I could say it was due to treason if I desired, and stop your friend's arguments before they begin to crawl from their dirty mouths."

He turned and circled to the other side, eyes not leaving Erik's head. "And the captain, while I follow his orders, does technically serve me. If I must, I can order his silence."

He reached the front again, smile gone, replaced by a steely calm. "See what being a bastard can get you?"

Erik swallowed. His stature vanished, shrank beneath the gaze of the prince and the power he'd just realized he dared to insult. Still, he did not look away.

Robin didn't either. "Seeing as I don't enjoy violence on innocents, my suggestion is for you to make your way to a room and sleep. We have all evidently had a long day and need some type of rest before heading back to the castle."

He took two steps backward and looked at all four of the new guards. The two who stood with Erik still held their strength, albeit somewhat dwindled. The other had visibly paled to the shade of the snow outside.

"You four have a longer day than I do. You all get to explain to the king, then to the queen, why exactly a Kallan messenger was found dead and you all failed to locate him."

He tilted his head to look at Andragoras. The older man stared down the four guards with a vengence, no doubt plotting how to make their lives miserable when they got back to the castle. When he noticed the prince's gaze, he gave a small nod.

"Is that all, Captain, or have you more to add?"

"I believe that covers everything." Andragoras took command again, stepping slightly in front of Robin, who moved back. "Leave."

He needn't say it twice. The four of them left the room in a rush, leaving their armor still on the ground in piles. Robin held back his urge to kick the metal until it bent to a entirely different shape and took a long breath instead.

It didn't help.

He sank down to a chair, hands trembling from the fury burning his body. "A man is dead," Robin whispered. It held the force of a scream. "And they're more concerned about my parentage."

Andragoras sat at the table over. Finally, he took off his helmet. Strands of sweat-plastered hair stuck to the top of his head, the rest all tied back by a string at the back of his head. The long ponytail had frayed ends, twisted, wiry hairs that could have once been like Robin's and curled.

With the metal from his head, he was more a man than before. Captain still, in all certainty, but far less foreboding.

"I'll be speaking with the king after we arrive." Andragoras replied. "Those four are not fit for duty. They do not not their place."

Words like that almost always made Robin cringe. Knowing one's place brought along images of the whip and discipline over trivial tasks. It held sneers and jibes uncalled for, but unrespondible. 

Robin let his fingers brush over the dead messenger's bag. He still carried it around his shoulders, though the stuff smell of blood began creeping to his nostrils.

All of the sudden, the anger in him turned to ice. Fear. Krativ's screams echoed through his mind, screams that silenced years before but still bore fresh wounds.

"Do you actually believe Kallas will see this as defiance?" His voice sounded more like a boy's than he wished. He cleared his throat and tried again. "This wasn't done by either of us."

Andragoras sighed and leaned back in his chair. For a moment, he shut his eyes. "Perhaps not directly. You understand the logic of politics more than I--"

Which was to say, there was no logic--

"--but Kallans' and Erakis' attitudes have been changing, especially on the border. This won't be the fire for the king, but it is an excuse for the people."

"Soon everything becomes Krativ," Robin mumbled.

Andragoras opened his eyes and sat back up. "Your mother will see that is not the case."

There were too many arguments to use against the captain at that moment, so Robin kept his mouth shut. He stood, listened to outside wind howl in the silence. The next morning would surely have snow coating the ground. Andragoras followed suit, standing with the prince.

Robin waved his hand. Andragoras could do whatever he wished, sit, stand, hover. "I suppose we should be more concerned about who killed him, not why."

"That, we should be."

Robin grabbed the stair railing. The wood was rough, gritty. Solid. One foot on the step, the other on the ground, he met the captain's eyes once more.

"You should get some rest too, Andragoras. When the dawn comes, we'll have multiple storms to deal with."

Andragoras nodded. He would do what he did when he wanted. "Keep your sword near you tonight, your highness."

As Robin went up to find a vacant room, he let the captain's words echo through his mind. His sword beside him could only mean one thing.

Andragoras expected an attack.