The stables welcomed Sera with the sweet smell of hay and the musty scent of horse. Two heads swiveled to inspect her, yellow straws moving between velvet lips. One nickered at Sera before retreating into its stall. The other eyed her, likely hoping for a treat.

As she passed the large dark head, she trailed her hand down its forelock. The horse grunted and turned away, seeing no treat in her hand.

Sera walked through the stables, greeting the few boys mucking out empty stalls. An old man who had worked in the castle for years directed her to the next stable block. Sera pretended she was in a hurry. On many occasions she had fallen prey to his prattles. He would tell anyone about his years at the palace. About the kings he had served and the horses he had trained.

Sera found Nena and Evelyn chatting with a few off-duty trainers and stable hands. Evelyn smiled demurely at the sight of her and nudged Nena in the ribs. Her shorter friend stopped batting her eyelashes and blinked rapidly before seeing Sera.

"What kept you?" Nena called and sprung to her feet. She dusted off her skirts, flinging hay and dirt in a flurry around her. "Was it the witch?"

Sera smirked. "I suppose indirectly we could blame the witch."

"Any and every chance we get, we should blame her," Nena grinned. "So? What did she have you doing this time?"

Sera slid into a seat next to Evelyn and nodded at the others. Two trainers and three stable hands, told apart by their uniforms, sat between them. "The prince's bride-to-be has an awful lot of dresses."

"More than our princess?" Nena scoffed.

"No," Sera sighed and accepted a canteen passed to her. "But I was told to steam press every one and organize her remaining jewelry and trinkets."

"Remaining?"

"You didn't hear?" Nena leaned forward over the cracked wooden table. "The Weatherstones were robbed on the North Road."

"Bandits?" a trainer named Jacksol asked.

"The Thief King," Evelyn and Nena both intoned.

Sera snorted softly. Jack's eyes caught hers and he smiled.

"It's what they're saying." Nena broke off a chunk of bread and smeared it with butter. "It aint unlike the man to rob the rich you know."

Sera couldn't argue with that. Kole's targets were those he deemed copiously endowed with riches they had no use for. She had first hand experience with the kind of wealth the Weatherstones owned. There was little doubt Kole would risk danger to get his hands on it.

"S'pose not," Jack grinned and eventually laughed. "Count on the Thief King to welcome a possible queen with violence. Did you find out anything else, Sera? I heard he banged up the lady's father pretty bad."

"He been doing a lot of that lately," another trainer said.

"What do you mean?" Sera could not help herself. Not a moment had her mind not touched on Kole's bizarre antics of late. It was driving her insane with worry and questions. Something had changed.

"You talking about them Northies, Dale?" Jack asked and scoffed. "Rumour is a bunch of them Northside gangs were brutally murdered. They saying it's a turf war. Or a retaliation attack for challenging the Thief King."

"I heard it was the Thief King trying to gain control of the Northies." Dale grabbed some bread and stuffed it in his mouth before continuing. "It's a large area the Northside and if the Thief King gains control of it, he will have most of the Lowies under his rule. Nearly untouchable."

"Nobody is untouchable," Sera said softly, earning the stares of her companions. "So, murdered? How?"

"Cut into pieces they say. Hands, arms, feet, legs, torso and head and then tossed into brown bags and hung at their family doors."

Sera shuddered. That did not sound like Koltin.

"I didn't hear that," Jack shook his head. "I heard it was a simple skirmish. I brawl that got bloody. Punches were thrown, perhaps a few daggers with a couple of fatalities."

Sera's fists clenched.

"What's the matter?" Evelyn asked under her breath at Sera's ear. "You've gone pale."

"It's nothing," Sera answered, forcing a smile.

Evelyn looked unconvinced. "The last time you were this quiet and reserved was when you were fighting with Koltin over your working hours. Has he asked you to work less again?"

Sera sighed. That fight had been valid. She had been working herself to the bone in hopes of keeping Koltin home more. If she earned more he would need to steal less, and so she had asked for more shifts. When Koltin found out he had been furious and she did not blame him. When he came home beaten and bloody, she felt every wound and every ache. But when he came home tired and miserable, her heart broke. She had been so tired that the days had begun to blur together and Hannah had suffered. "No. It's nothing like that."

"Then why did you wince at his name?"

Sera looked up at Evelyn and smiled. "I did?"

"Yes, as if I had physically slapped you." Her eyes widened. "He didn't hit you did he?"

"No, he'd never." Sera opened her mouth to continue but paused. How was she to explain things to Evelyn without giving away the crux of the matter? "I wish it was a fight though. That way I would know what the problem is."

Evelyn frowned. "So there is a problem."

Sera pursed her lips. "It feels like one. I feel like things are strained between us and yet, not. I...I don't know. Perhaps it is nothing and I am being paranoid."

"If your instincts are telling you something, trust them. The two of you have known each other so long, I doubt you would misinterpret anything."

Sera nodded. "That's what I think too. I know him. I know when something is wrong and something is definitely wrong but he won't tell me."

"Do you think he is planning something?"

"Planning something?" Sera blinked a few times.

"Well, it is the start of the festival tomorrow..." Evelyn trailed off, as if the statement meant something. "Come on, you have been living together for so long. You cannot disregard the thought of binding yourself to him completely. Officially I mean."

"Marriage?" Sera choked. "I..." They had spoken of marriage before but had both agreed that it was not necessary. Sera had given him her father's ring as her pledge to him and she had never needed any confirmation of his love for her. And yet, the idea was possible. Fighting in the pits was a quick way to earn coin—gambling too. Koltin was never good at keeping secrets from her. When he started talking, it all fell out like an upturned bucket. His silence made sense if he was trying to surprise her.

"It looks like my idea might have merit," Evelyn grinned.

Sera smiled. "It just might."

Despite having never stepped foot within the cities' perimeter, the Lady Gemima had friends within Lethilian. A day after her belated arrival, a tea party with some of the city's more illustrious bachelorettes had been organized. Sera had seen Magada ordering the kitchen girls about with a wooden spoon swinging precariously over lowered heads, and a voice that brooked no argument, frightening even the castle's rodent inhabitants deeper in their holes.

The west wing had been swept, polished, dusted, and decorated all morning by sour-faced staff members. Mrs Bailey had seen Magada and taken it upon herself to prove she was the scariest monster within the palace. Her face, contorted in a perpetual scowl, struck fear into the pageboys and squires rushing about for other matters concerning other staff members. Mrs Bailey seemed not to care. She'd shriek at one for messing her newly cleaned rug or another for making the air stink of pageboy sweat.

Sera had walked in during such a scolding and felt sorry for the boy whose cheeks grew redder with every flap of Mrs Bailey's scrawny arms.

To the old hag's credit, the west wing's parlour had never looked so grand. The flagstone floors had been polished until its mosaicked center shone from the soft sunlight that streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling arched windows. All the crystal pieces sparkled, the tapestries held new life to their tales and the inlaid gold filigree in the sea foam walls glinted as if made from real gold.

Sera sucked in a short breath through her teeth, knowing just how much work had gone into the room looking so new. The west wing was one of the oldest in the palace. The walls sun stained and torn and its tapestries faded and old-fashioned. It was Sera's favourite though. Most of the rooms and halls lay forgotten and unused, while others were being stripped to be redecorated when coin allowed.

The Weatherstones resided in the latest rooms to have been refurbished. The old wooden-panelled walls had been replaced with sea foam paint and bronze inlays. Every available wall was lined with a glass cabinet holding some elaborate pottery or sculpture. The crystal ware was on full display—most of it original pieces salvaged from the renovations. The drapes were a delicate gold, with thick bronze tassels fringing the edges. Besides for the new tapestry, portraits of distinguished members of the royal family had been framed and erected for all to gaze upon—as if the occupants could be unaware of the king's heritage.

It amazed Sera that upon arrival, the guests barely blinked at their surroundings. All the fuss and commotion seemed for nought. What was the point of eradicating every dust speck if the target audience didn't even bat a curled eyelash at the larger details? Instead they swept in, their finery camouflaged amongst the crystal, rugs, furniture, and art. Sera repressed a sigh as they sat down on the plush settees and armchairs. Entrees were served while they awaited their host. Small chatter behind gloved hands and curled locks floated up in muted tones as they sat, exchanging pleasantries with smiles constructed from the years of propriety lessons.

When Lady Gemima entered the room, the guests exhaled a whoosh of compliments and courtesies that made the host smile. She was a beautiful woman, Sera thought. Her hair the colour of fresh butter with streaks of syrup, braided down over one shoulder with pearl pins holding back the shorter pieces, framed her heart-shaped face. The warmest amber eyes smiled at the woman who approached. They danced over each lady, noticing time pieces, jewellery, and clothing accents that were complimented and admired with appreciative exclamations and hand gestures.

The greetings and small talk took quite a bit of time, but finally all the ladies took their seats and Sera stepped forward to pour the tea and offer teatime treats. Sera tried her best not to listen to the topics discussed. Her mind still mulled over her lunchtime discussion with Evelyn. It was all a little too much to process and she was struggling to imagine just what she would say to Koltin when she saw him. Did she confront him? Should she? He knew her sentiments. He knew how she felt about rings and marriage. They had spoken about it briefly a long time ago, and the matter had been settled. She had set it aside and thought little of it over the years. But now, with the tiny ember of chance, her heart had swelled and her desire lit.

A grin was surfacing so she focused on the ladies she was serving. They were discussing Lady Coulderborn's latest marriage prospects. Which were dismal.

"My dear Penelope," said one of the ladies with a far less powerful family Sera could not name. "It seems they present you with the choice of frogs and crickets."

A round of soft, polite giggles.

"Your father cannot possibly be considering a match between your house and the Castormills," another scoffed. "They have lost all favour in the court since that incident we do not care to mention."

"What incident is this?" Lady Gemima asked, setting her teacup on her lap.

"Oh you would have no care for the matter, Gemima. None of us would wish to subjugate you to such court trifle."

"We would not wish you to think less of our fair city than you already do," said Lady Tagrillis. "Word is you have had quite the introduction."

Lady Weatherstone fluttered her eyelashes before casting them on her lap. "It was neither cruel nor kind."

"You were robbed!" the youngest Vestry sister, Daphne, exclaimed. "Twice!"

Lady Gemima shrugged, picking up her teacup.

"Oh you poor thing Gemima," Penelope Coulderborn tsked. "You need not maintain your brave facade with us, dear. We have all been subjected to the cruelties of our city's vermin in one way or another."

Sera's eye caught Nena's in the corner. Nena's dark eyes were narrowed and annoyed.

"You need not worry in the palace," Lady Tagrillis said, snapping her fingers for another scone. Sera stepped forward with her tray. "The palace is a fortress. They cannot touch you here."

Vestry made a sound of agreement. "I have heard my father say there has been a plea to the academy to return some of its graduates as soon as possible."

"Recalling Legions?"

"Legions?" Gemima cocked her head. "What are Legions?"

Bridgett Vestry, the elder of the two sisters, shrugged. "Just our city's finest warriors, trained at the Four Wind's Academy."

"Why are they sent there?"

"Oh I am sure there are plenty of reasons and oaths that pillar the decision, but I am not fully aware of any of it."

"But your family has ties to the academy, does it not, Bridgett? Daphne?" Penelope Coulderborn asked.

Bridgett Vestry's eyes narrowed for a heartbeat before softening. "I know little of the agreements constructed hundreds of years prior by family members remembered by oil on canvas or chiselled rock, Penelope."

The two ladies smiled at each other, each lying with every breath,

"Forgive me," Penelope said. "I had thought some insight would be useful to our host."

"It is quite fine," Gemima smiled. "I have little interest in the Legion or their reasons for training in Four Winds."

"Your interests lie closer at hand," Lady Tagrillis grinned. "Has our prince said much of his desires?"

Some of the girls made soft sounds that Sera had deemed the 'polite laugh of incredulity or disagreement'. She swallowed, holding her breath, hoping nothing too damaging would be said of the prince's character.

Gemima noticed the sounds and to her credit, did not smile. "He was most polite upon my arrival. Extremely attentive. Yet, he has had little time today to pay me a visit, as have I. Breakfast was the last time we spoke."

"Spoke?" Bridgett Vestry snapped her plump fingers and Sera again stepped forward. "The man speaks?"

"Bridgett!"

"Constance, I am merely voicing my surprise. The last time I tried holding a conversation with our crown prince, he excused himself without saying a word more than a greeting."

Constance Tagrillis clicked her tongue and took a sip of her tepid tea.

"He is a quiet soul," Gemima agreed. "But I think his heart is never intent on insult or conflict."

"Of course not. That is why he delves into books as a warrior would the sword. Some men seek the thrills life has to offer while others enjoy a life with little change and surprises." Bridgett sighed. "It is unfortunate he is destined to be king of a city that requires so much" —Bridgett cut herself off and smiled, taking a sip of her tea— "you have witnessed first hand what it is in need of."

Gemima smiled, seeming to drift off in her own thoughts and memories. Sera lost focus as conversation turned to the court's gossip. Who had married who. Court offenses and disagreements that had everyone whispering behind closed doors. There were a few reports of good news, but those were glossed over as anything without drama was no talk for tea time.

Sera's mind drifted back to Koltin and the upcoming market. Already, merchants flooded in from the seven kingdoms, setting up small stalls in preparation for the main event. The annual market was a tradition they never missed. It served as an early birthday celebration for Sera and an effective distraction from memories ideally forgotten.

The previous year they had danced on the rooftops and watched the firework display from a nearby cathedral tower. Sera had cried softly against his shoulder, memories—good and bad—flooding her mind as Koltin held her against him emanating love and understanding. She cried every year, and he was there for every tear. A tether to pull herself to when the hurt seemed too much.

He always said he needed her more than she needed him, but there could not be anything further from the truth. His silent presence every year was her watch tower, her beacon.

A snap of someone's fingers brought Sera back to the present with a start. Sera rushed forward, extending the tray of sugary treats. The younger Vestry sister glanced questioningly at the tray at her ear and Sera realised she had been summoned elsewhere. A quick glance at the ladies, all unaware of her besides for Lady Daphne Vestry and Lady Gemima Weatherstone. The latter arched a brow at Sera's raised gaze.

Sera's eyes dropped to the floor and she shuffled to Gemima's side. Ring adorned fingers trailed over the choices on the tray. Jam pastries and custard pies were disregarded for a simple sugar coated biscuit.

"Those are some beautiful pieces, Gemima dear," said Penelope Coulderborn, a fringe of jealousy surrounding her cordial comment. "What a relief it must be to step away from two robberies and still possess such pieces. And that pendant you wear is—well—striking."

Gemima wrapped long slender fingers around the dragonfly pendant resting between her breasts and sighed. "It was most fortunate." Her voice was soft and faraway. Absentminded, she ran her fingers over the skirts of her dress, dyed a soft apricot with hints of burgundy and chestnut. The dress was boned at the waist and lined with a gold brocade and embroidery. Sera had steamed the dress just that morning and knew just how soft the fabric truly was.

"You seem to have been transported elsewhere," Constance Tagrillis said, resting a hand on their host's shoulder.

Gemima smirked. "Just back to the road."

"Oh, forgive us!" Daphne Vestry exclaimed. "We did not mean to remind you of such a traumatic moment." The sharp look she directed at Lady Coulderborn was ignored.

Lady Weatherstone tilted her head, pausing for a moment as if to consider her words. "It was far less traumatic than you could imagine. In fact, it was" —a small giggle escaped her lips— "well it was rather thrilling."

"Thrilling?" they all repeated in varying shades of shock.

"Quite." Gemima smiled.

"My dear Gemima," Penelope Coulderborn muttered. "You will have to explain such an absurd statement. I cannot imagine any genteel lady speaking of a criminal encounter as thrilling. Disastrous, traumatic, horrid yes. But thrilling? You cannot possibly be suggesting you enjoyed the moment?"

Gemima's smile was small and soft. "Perhaps not in the moment and most certainly not straight away, but..." Gemima sighed, lengthening her spine and raising her chin. "I do believe I was robbed by the Thief King."

Sera's inhale stuck in her throat. She met Nena and Evelyn's gazes, feeling far more shock than either of them could comprehend.

There was a chorus of outraged discord, each lady shuffling in their brocades, embroidery, and frills like unhappy flowers.

"The fiend!" Penelope Coulderborn spat. "The audacity that slug has to attack any guest of the king is grotesque! You poor soul, having to endure such utter cruelty at the hands of a self-entitled coward hiding in shadow."

Sera rolled her eyes.

"I found him far less the coward and more the selfless opportunist."

"He is a charlatan, Gemima. No more than a dirty, dangerous rascal who spreads fear and contempt amongst all who suffer under his vanity."

"It is said he donates to those who have nothing," Gemima shrugged. "My impression of him seemed to support such rumours."

"You spoke with him?" Daphne Vestry placed a small hand at the base of her throat and gasped. "And you understood him?"

Sera felt like slapping the girl.

"Of course, Daphne. He spoke beautifully" —Gemima seemed to realise what she was saying and cleared her throat with a demure cough— "brief as our exchange was."

"Did he...touch you?" Constance Tagrillis asked, her eyes searching her friends for support in her interest. "Or hurt you?"

Gemima smiled and took the last sip of her tea. "Hurt me, no." A yawn stopped whatever words had not been said. She covered her mouth with the back of her palm. "Forgive me, ladies, it appears my encounters were not as serene as I make them out to be. They have taken quite a toll."

"Oh," Penelope exclaimed. "Why of course. How rude of us not to consider your strength. We should go. It grows late and it is always best to travel while the light still blesses us with its presence. Ladies, do say your farewells. We should leave Gemima to rest and recover from her near fatal encounter."

The farewells were elaborate, but finally all the guests had taken their leave, their personal lady's maids escorting them back to their carriages while Gemima smiled, waved, and kissed each in turn before resuming her seat.

"Lady Weatherstone," Nena curtsied. "Must we clear the room? Or will you be requiring more tea?"

Gemima shook her head. "No. I will not."

With a flick of her wrist, they began clearing away the teacups and saucers. Sera stacked the tiny cakes and pastries onto her tray, gathering the crumbs and remnants of the invitees' meal.

"I would request honesty from the three of you for but a moment." Gemima's voice surprised them all.

Nena was closest to the lady and it was to her that Gemima looked. "Milady?"

"Would you consider the Thief King to be...a...charlatan?"

Nena was silent; her eyes were wide and her mouth was working furiously to get words, any words, out. "Uhhh."

"You need not fear repercussions for your answers. I am merely curious."

Nena cleared her throat. "The Thief King...Milady, it is safer not to linger on such topics."

"Safer?"

"Safer might not be the correct term, Milady," Evelyn stepped forward. "There are many a rumour of the figure that rules the streets. Yes, we believe him no fallacy, but his actions, or his motives, are less certain."

"Why so?"

Evelyn looked at Sera and Nena for support. Sera bit her lip, unwilling to say anything on the matter.

"The title is far more constant than the man that bears it," Evelyn explained. "No matter the deeds of its owner, the title is earned in blood and blood retains it. He may have not hurt you, Milady, but you should consider yourself lucky for it."

A small crease appeared between Gemima's brow. "I understand, but...I don't know. If you had seen him you would understand."

"Seen him?" Nena blurted out. "Milady, did you lay eyes on his face?"

"Of course not," Gemima said a little too quickly.

Nena exhaled audibly. "That's a relief. If he had you'd be considered a loose end, and rumour is he has been tying those of late."

Sera frowned. "Killing?"

Nena nodded. "The Northies were a bloody—" she cleared her throat. "It was a frightful mess up there."

Sera pursed her lips, images of Koltin's wounds flashing in front of her eyes.

"Nena!" Evelyn hissed and turned to Gemima. "Forgive us, Milady, we speak out of turn."

"No, please! I only know what I have read and heard. Rumours have a habit of romanticising men and decorating moments with far more grandeur than either deserve. And I wish to hear from those that would know better."

"Rumours are all one hears. They cling to the title and aggrandize its shadow until the truth is dwarfed by the wake it leaves behind."

Gemima's brows arched and a small grin spread across her delicate face. "I had a lady's maid who spoke like you once. I used to catch her with her nose in my books or sneaking into the library."

Evelyn flushed, falling silent.

"Evelyn reads Milady," Nena interjected. "She breathes in words. Any she can get her hands on."

Gemima nodded, spreading her hands over the fabric of her dress. "Words are wondrous, would you not say? Once said, never reclaimed, and yet when claimed, needing to be said."

Evelyn's flush was fading and slowly she regained her confidence to speak. "Would you require anything further, Milady?"

Gemima breathed in slowly. "Just the answer to my question." She looked each of them in turn. "I have yet to tell anyone that during my encounter, the man who assaulted my father and threatened me had the opportunity to relieve me of all my wealth. Yet here I am, with coin and trinkets at hand. Why? What kind of thug has the opportunity to steal and yet does not?"

"One cannot understand the mind of thieves," Sera said softly. She had not meant to say it aloud and felt an uncomfortable pressure at her chest under Gemima's scrutiny.

"I suppose one cannot, but perhaps one should."

Sera held her amber eyes, not knowing why she felt the need to stand up to the woman. Perhaps it was the fact that Gemima may or may not have met Koltin. That the lady was infatuated with the idea of him and asking unnecessary and rather uninformed questions irked her.

"One should seek the reasons behind desperate acts then. For what motivates the fringe of society if not desperation?"

Gemima's eyes glittered. Excitement? Anger? Sera would never know as a knock interrupted them and another serving girl came in with a curtsy.

"Excuse me, Milady. Your father requests your presence in his quarters."

Gemima nodded at the girl and stood. "I am coming. Ladies, thank you for speaking with me." Her gaze lingered on Sera before she followed the maid out the room.

Sera felt a breath she had not been aware of holding rush out.

"What was that about?" Nena demanded.

Sera shrugged. "If all noblewomen start fantasizing about the man who would strip them clean of their jewels, can you imagine the chaos?"

Nena grinned.

Sera resumed clearing away the tea party's remnants. Koltin would have a lot to explain, proposal or no.