I found myself almost hysterically knocking on the door to father's study, desperate to get inside before anyone came down and saw me nearly crying like this. Father only opened the door on the fifth round of knocking and he sighed when he saw me.

"You should be with the Debutantes-" He began.

I shook my head, genuinely struggling to speak or keep his gaze. "Gringle field." I murmured, only just able to do so by staring at his feet.

Father put his hand on my shoulder and I looked up to see his face slightly softer than before. "Come on in, boy." He opened the door wider for me and I stepped inside, my heart stopping for a moment when I saw all five of father's advisers gathered around the table. God no they couldn't see me cry. But at the same time I needed father.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Father spoke softly, "I need to attend to my son."

The sombre faced men stood up and filed out, Farall paused for a moment to place a hand on my shoulder, then left. As soon as the door closed, I turned to face my father fully.

"All my friends are dead." I whispered, barely wanting to say it. Tears worked their way back into my eyes and father sat me down on the comfy armchair.

He held me for a moment, sitting on the arm of the chair, then I heard him murmur, "I'm sorry, son."

"It's my fault." I choked. "I-" I couldn't say it. "I killed my friends." That realisation hit me like a fist and all of a sudden I was drowned by memories of nights in the tents, card tables and strong spirits, Harry's seemingly inexhaustible plethora of songs, the smell of freshly extinguished candles mingling with the pine trees from when Tommy and I would hide up there, away from our superiors, away from the other soldiers, just the two of us. I could remember that night when we fell asleep between the branches and woke up with aching backs. I could remember teasing Harry almost constantly for his desperate romanticism of everything, when Tommy and Will and I found the stash of letters from his sweetheart and had hours of amusement reading every last detail out. When we first marched out onto the field together. That pride in standing in line with those men. Now I'll never be able to do it again.

Father was saying something. I slowly turned my heavy eyes up to him to listen. "Come with me." He spoke quietly, and pulled me up to stand. "We'll go the back way. Just this once." Father led me down the back passage and we eventually ended up in the kitchen, all the cooks and maids noticed him and departed quietly, leaving a mess of ball preparations in their wake.

"Father I just want to..." I trailed off, realising that I didn't have the first clue of what I wanted, other than to curl up and cry.

My father turned to me and put both his hands on my shoulders. "I know how you're feeling. I'm going to show you what my father did for me when I was in your situation and you're going to cry however much you want. You can tell me whatever you want. But most importantly you're going to help me make this." Father left me leaning against the counter as he went over to the ice cupboard, returning with ice, mint and a bottle of spirits.

He set them out on the counter and began to sort them out into glasses. "Tell me what you're thinking, son."

I shook my head. "I shouldn't have sent them in." Father handed me a silver cocktail shaker to shake and I did so, lacking energy. He shook his head and took it from me, shaking it fiercely.

"You're going to make mistakes sometimes. Then all we can do is drink to the memory of the fallen." Father spoke firmly. He took one of the glasses and put it into my hand.

At his insistance, I sipped a little of the cocktail. It was sweet but slightly bitter and the mint highlighted everything. I smiled a little at it.

Father put his hand on my shoulder again and pulled me into a hug. "I wish I could do this for you always. I wish I didn't have to make you decide these things." He let me go but caught my face in his palm and smiled at me. "You're such a strong and brave warrior. More brave than I'll ever hope to be. You have an empathy that so many of our ancestors lacked, that I lack, that your brother lacks. It's why I want to withhold some things from you, for now. I'll need your help before long but for now I'm going to spare you all the pain I can." Father pushed my hair out of my face and nodded at me, smiling comfortingly.

I sniffed a little and sipped a little more of the cocktail. "Your father knew how to make a nice drink." I smirked weakly into my glass and father laughed loudly.

"He certainly did, son. Now come on, the staff have a ball to prepare for. Let's go back to your room." He stood up straight and took his own cocktail from the counter, apologising to the cooks as we left.

We took the corridors at a leisurely pace, they were nicely quiet this time of day. "So this Bence girl," Father began and I rolled my eyes in quiet anticipation, "Do you really like her?"

I took a sip of the cocktail and nodded, nervous but excited to express my emotions aloud. "A lot." I paused for a second, trying to decide whether or not to say it. "I thought about kissing her last night."

Father laughed loudly. I turned to face him, horrified he'd mock me or judge me. "I thought you may have been sneaking around with her. I don't approve of it mind you." He raised an eyebrow before starting off again.

"Don't approve of the sneaking or the girl?" I asked, trying to hide my hastiness.

"Both at the moment." Father shrugged. "I haven't seen evidence that I should like either." There was a pause, which I spent trying to count every one of the swirls in the marble floor as we passed. "Did you then?" Father asked finally.

"Did I what?" I snapped back, I was worried it sounded confrontational.

Father shrugged. "Kiss her? You said you thought about it."

I stared at him, horrorstruck. "Father it was nothing illicit. Just an evening in my study."

The king shrugged coolly. "It's more done than you realise, you know. So there's the rules of society and that, but when it really comes down to it you're in love. And you want to show them that, society be dammed." I stared incredulously at him, never in a million years thinking that he'd say those words. "Your mother and I shared our first kiss only a week into my season, under the mistletoe on the balcony." Father smiled and I found that I did too, and I sipped again at the cocktail.