Exhaling deeply, Fox slipped back into the bathtub. Instantly, a thin layer of soap embraced his body. The earlier scalding heat was gone, yet the lukewarm water soothed his muscles just as well. A power unprecedented by any magic coursed through his veins: success, glory, victory. His message to Moondale was flying at a speed of sixty miles per hour—perhaps faster; the royal pigeons were undoubtedly the best in all five kingdoms.

He had dodged every guard. There hadn't been a scolding chamberlady wondering why he had abandoned such a fine bad. Nobody had noticed he was gone, let alone knew what he had done. Kay, the pigeon master, wouldn't talk; he would never utter another word. Not unless the ashes he had scattered from the tower would grow a tongue. Fox chuckled within. What were the odds of that happening? The snow in all of Ice would melt before the dead would return from the heavens.

"Didn't I do well, Katla?" he murmured. "I did it. I'm so close to making history. Oh, I wish you could be here to see me."

Or not, Fox realised. Had Katla been alive, he would have been the royal assassin. Unexpected. Unsuspected. Bringing chaos and death. Bubbles formed and popped as he sighed. For the first time, he thought of losing Katla as a blessing in disguise. He preferred being at the heart of the mission, pulling the strings and watching the plan unfold. He didn't need protection; he was his own master now. Almost a King. Almost...

He pinched the wound above his temple. Out of his hand shot a spike of fire, heating the water. He slid lower into the tub. As heavenly as one could be outside the Heavenly Halls.

A little while later, Mary-Ann's soft clicking resounded in the hallways. As she entered the chamber, Fox pretended to be asleep.

 "Master Harry?" She briefly touched his brow with the back of her hand.

Fox winced at the sudden cold. He fluttered his eyes open and yawned. "You have a crooked nose," he said as he met her gaze. He hadn't noticed before, but the oddly shaped bone was all he could see now. "Did you break it as a child?"

"A sin of the past." She touched her face, hiding her nose. "How's the bath?"

Fox stretched his arms. "So peaceful. Prepared for by a professional," he complimented her.

"That pleases me." She gave a short bow. "If you wish I can help you dress and take you to the pigeonry."

He bit his lip. "The pigeonry," he groaned dramatically. "At last, my aches are starting to disappear, and the tower is so high. I had time to think, My Lady. My parents aren't concerned with my wellbeing."

"I doubt that's right, Master Harry. You've been of such great service to the King."

"You don't know them." He lifted his shoulders. "They won't believe me, and I won't blame them."

"Now you talk like a Muttonhead."

"You have your sins, My Lady. I have mine." Fox paused, waiting for a sign of interest. She cocked her head. "Pride and Sloth walked alongside me for most of my youth," he added.

"You're a young man. It's normal," she said in a hush. "Lord Sebastian..." she pursed her lips. "I'm not allowed to say, but you know the tales."

Fox let out a short hum. Most tales didn't reach the outskirts of Silvermark; they described him as a spoiled brat who cried until he got what he wanted. From what Fox remembered from his childhood in Laneby, Seb would stop at nothing to win. He was a bully who hid the truth if he thought Fox would benefit. As if he had been too weak to decide for himself.

"Lord Sebastian and I are nothing alike," Fox said. "My lies caused my family a lot of hurt. If I hadn't left, all they had built up in Doe Hill for generations... It would..." He shook his head. The fewer details he invented, the better. "Doesn't matter what I do or say—I won't ever gain their trust again."

Her face, like a porcelain statue, froze. A few moments of silence passed before she moved her lips once more. "Then let's make it official. Her Majesty—she can write the letter for you. They'll believe her. She's the mother of the nation."

"Oh, no." Fox looked at his lap, his head low. She would perceive him as humble and a gentleman. "Her Majesty has much bigger concerns than the troubled relationship I have with my parents. You mustn't. I can't ask you that."

"I insist." She played right into his trap. "She'll do this for you. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but she will if I explain."

"She'll consider it foolish. I don't want her to think as a son of sin."

"How could she, after what you did for her husband?"

"She should be by her husband's side," Fox said. He forced heat up his cheeks, giving him a blushing appearance. "For-forgive me, M-M-My Lady. That w... was rude and... and out of line."

She smiled. "I find it charming. Pride may have walked beside you in the past, but Humility sits on your shoulder today. You can tell me what you think. Her Majesty won't hear unless I choose to tell her."

He glanced up. "Then I hope you tell her not to rush."

"I will."

Fox grinned, his front teeth bare. He kept the heat in his cheeks and fidgeted, as though he was but a Puddingbrain with a boyhood crush. Let her find him charming or endearing. He didn't care; soon she would find out just how strong and powerful he was. She would be the one stammering and flustering in his presence.

The waiting game had begun.

In the next few days, life at Sunstone Castle continued as though no murder at occurred within its walls. Mary-Ann regularly mentioned that she had talked to the Queen but that Her Majesty's primary concern was her husband's health, which Fox replied to with understanding. He was a perfect guest. Submissive and quiet.

He expected the patrolling guards to lessen, but they still passed through the corridor with a certain frequency. Apart from being fed, bathed, and dressed, Fox was mostly left alone to rest. He quickly grew accustomed to the patterns and routines of castle life, which allowed him to charge his magic and listen in on far-away conversations, partly entertaining, and party informative.

An elderly woman complained about the pigeonry being abandoned, and the racket the cooing and screeching birds made. A few had gotten out of their cage. Messages had been half-eaten or laid on the ground, the writing stained from pigeon droppings. A man's voice—familiar yet Fox struggled to add a face or a name—remarked Kay must be sleeping with a good bird. Boisterous laughter of several men followed. Fox didn't understand why that was funny, and neither did the woman. 

He was about to break the magical link when a second female voice entered the conversation. "Man the tower," she said sternly. The woman was Viviane—he recognised her voice. "Decipher the messages, as much as you can, and inform Captain Stephen."

"Yes, My Lady," replied the man who had made the joke.

"And find Kay. When you do, send him to Her Majesty. This is not the time for gallivanting."

"You couldn't be more right, My Lady," he said. "Bart, visit the taverns. Find Kay. I'll take care of the birds."

Having all the information he needed, Fox broke the connection. He darted a look in the mirror. The hair on top of his head was black; the rest wasn't. The clock showed ten past three in the afternoon. He had time to spare. Closing his eyes, he focused on finding the soft and muddled voice of the King. His dreams were hard to reach, like latching onto a whisper in a lake of noise.

Mentally, he swam through a river of voices and thoughts, each second more draining. Seven Hells, folk in Sunstone Castle worried about the dullest things. A wrinkle on a uniform. Tarts being too dry. A stain that only showed in the brightest light. 

Keep the jade armada in the east, George.

There it was, barely a whisper, faint and slow, yet trumping weaker minds.

If they fall, it's but a number on a sheet. I don't need to face their families—I owe them nothing, not even gold. A mercenary's purpose is to fight and die, so our people don't have to. Yes, I agree. The only good pirate is a dead p—

"Hello, Uncle," Fox said under his breath.

Who's there? George, are you still there?

"It's me. Don't you recognise me?"

You're not George.

"I'm not."

Where is he?

"Gone."

No, he can't be. George was just here. He'll come back—you'll see.

The desperation was real, as if the King had forgotten the General's death. Fox gladly help him refresh his memory. "George won't ever return. He died... died at my hands." 

Died... How? Who are you that you speak so boldly?

"Oh, Uncle, don't you remember me?" I came for you, a spectre in the morning mist."

You... yes... it's coming back. We were riding. You came for my men, my horses... you killed George. You're... you're...

"Fox."

The bastard.

"That's me."

Show yourself.

"I can't. Walls and guards separate us."

Show yourself. Fight me like a man!

"I already did. You lost, and I trapped you."

Trapped.

"A cage of thoughts and memories. I'm the only real person you're talking to."

Lies!

King Thomas called for his guards. When nobody answered, he shouted his wife's name. Doubt seeping through his voice, he asked for his daughter, and finally, Seb.

"Nobody will come for you. Nobody can save you. Can you already smell the Seven Hells, Uncle? The only good King is a dead one. The only good King is me."

A piercing scream echoed through Fox's ear. A sharp, rupturing pain shot through his head and down to his nose, so powerful he had to break the connection. Panting heavily, Fox fell back into his pillows and convulsed. Blood was leaking from his left nostril. Maintaining a link with his uncle lying in a bed so far away was at the limit of his powers, but so vital to prevent the man from waking up. Bile rose at the back of Fox's throat. He nearly retched. Other than the pleasure of kicking his victim, it was easier to pretend to be sickly and exhausted when he actually was. He did nothing to stop the blood from soaking his shirt.

Precisely at three and twenty minutes, Mary-Ann stood in his chamber with a tray of tea and biscuits. As she laid her eyes on him, her features shifted from joy to worry. "You seemed fine a few hours ago," she said as she rushed to drop the tray on his nightstand.

Fox forced panic in his voice. "It came out of nowhere, woke me up from a nap. I couldn't do anything."

She grabbed a cloth from the washing stand and wetted it. "Was the bath too warm? Healer Ed once told me that can cause nosebleeds." She sat down beside him.

"No," Fox said. "It's my body. I'm weak."

"A weak man couldn't have done what you did. You need to heal—that's all." She beckoned him to take off his shirt. "I'll get that washed, and the sheets too. You'll get new ones. Do you want me to fetch a Healer?"

"No, you're right. I need to give my body time to heal," Fox said. 

He pulled the silk shirt over his head. Giving the item to her, he caught her looking at his chest. She had seen the scars before when he was soaking in the tub. Why was she staring? 

He crossed his arms. "My Lady?"

She rubbed the cloth on his chin, pretending that he hadn't caught her looking at him. "Her Majesty has finished your letter," she said. "I was able to read it before she sealed it. She spoke so highly of you, praised your courage and strength. She has promised to reward you, but with what, she didn't say."

"I don't need a reward. I did what any good Greenlander would have done."

"But you did, not anyone else." She poured him a cup of tea. "Tomorrow, when you're well, we'll go to the pigeonry."

"Why wait?" Fox asked. I think I'm well enough to go now."

"Nonsense, you must rest."

"All I do is rest," he insisted. "Please, My Lady, with your help, I should be able to make the climb. I'm ready to send the letter. I want my parents to hear of my accomplishments."

"Pride does walk with you, Master Harry," she jested. She composed herself. "Unfortunately, even if you were well, the pigeonry is unavailable in this instance."

"Why? Did all the birds spread their wings?" Fox joked.

She showed half a smile. "There are some difficulties."

"Sounds like a vague way to say there's a problem."

"I'm not allowed to tell you more."

Fox didn't pry; a carpenter's son wouldn't, so neither did he. "It's fine. Hail the God of Patience."

The next morning brought growing unrest. The Greenlanders had finally realised Kay had vanished, gone without a trace or a note. This was strange, even for someone who preferred the company of birds to humans. One of the Lieutenants was deciphering the pigeon master's notes, but neither he nor any of his fellow officers could tell what had caused the man to flee or disappear. Some claimed he deserted after hearing of the massacre in Northmore; others whispered he was a spy. Captain Stephen considered murder but quenched the thought: too absurd.

Thirty hours later, there was still no explanation regarding Kay's disappearance. Patrols returned from Northmore; no news, no clue, no lead. Queen Crystal discharged half of the staff. The raging thoughts of anyone coming within Fox's vicinity were louder than the disgruntled whispers in the hallway. She had lost her mind. Her grief had taken over. Captain Stephen was too inexperienced to handle her whims. They should have never have allowed both Lord Sebastian and Lady Alana to leave Sunstone Castle, claimed some. Others said openly that they, too, were wet behind their ears. The faith in the crown was low, in the army abysmal. There were queues forming on the streets of Sundale. Carriages full of people and personal belongings, one stacked higher than the one before. Folk were leaving the city.

A smile tugged at the corners of Fox's lips. The monarchy was crumbling, Captain Stephen at wit's end. The next step was chaos, then usurpation.

At three twenty-five, Fox's chamber door creaked open. He expected Mary-Ann to enter with the afternoon tea, profusely apologising for being late. Instead of the petite chamberlady with curly hair and crooked nose, it was Viviane who entered. The half-wilted blue rose in her hair complimented the sullen look on her face. She carried no tray.

She halted at the foot of the bed, gazing over him instead of directly addressing her. "Her Majesty wishes to know if your stay at the castle has been pleasant."

"It has." Fox frowned. The question caught him off guard. Where was the food?

"Do you require the assistance of a Healer?"

"No... I told Lady Mary-Ann yesterday. I just—"

"Then Her Majesty reckons it's in your best interest to vacate the premises."

By Patience's grace, they wanted him to leave. "Va...cate?" he repeated the word as though he didn't understand its meaning. He decided to change the subject. "Where's Lady Mary-Ann?"

"She's no Lady, and her whereabouts are not your concern," she said without emotion. She pulled a letter from her apron. "I was told to give you this. Her Majesty thanks you for your bravery and virtuous endeavour. She's indebted to you. Whatever you desire, a new horse or gold to finance your journey back to Doe Hill, Her Majesty will make the necessary arrangements."

"I request to stay," Fox health. "My health isn't great. I'm always tired. I get headaches."

"I see. Mary-Ann said you're always in bed, and I can't say I've ever seen you up and about. Young men like you need to stretch and train their muscles. Lying around like a piece of rag will turn you into one."

"I'm a burden," Fox said. He curled his bottom lip.

"I didn't say that. You sleep too much—that's why you're feeling worse. I consulted Healer Ed, and he agrees."

How could she make such a statement? No Healer had seen him since he arrived. "My Lady, is this because we're at war?" Fox played out the youth in his voice.

"We have been at war for a few years now, Master Harry."

"But it's different now, isn't it? I hear people talking as they pass my chamber. I'm afraid. General George is dead, and His Majesty..." Fox swallowed, waiting for a reaction, but the dark-haired lady remained stoic. "Silvermark will have heard. If I could, I would serve my king and country once more, but I'm too weak to fight, too slow to outrun any enemy. My mother always said there was no place safer than Sundale. I would pass all the gold or riches Her Majesty has to offer. Please, let me stay."

"What if you could stay in the city? We would arrange housing for you and a place to work, fair wages, paid for by the crown. A few hours to start with, then gradually more as you get better. You'll have everything you need. You'll never have to worry again."

Fox ground his teeth. It was a horrible, demeaning offer that only a coinless peasant would be pleased with. "I worry about Silvermark."

"Everyone does."

"I have nightmares. I dream of that magician returning and killing me because I helped save His Majesty. I only ask to stay because Sunstone Castle's walls are so strong, and I am so weak. Death scares me, the final judgement of the Gods. Please don't send me away."

Lady Viviane folded her hands. "I say this out of courtesy, to honour you for bringing His Majesty home. We've suffered a great defeat. I'm unsure what will happen when Silvermark stands at our gates. If you want to avoid the war, you better leave Sundale altogether."

"If the stone walls and the iron defences cannot protect the common folk, then what can, My Lady?" Fox asked.

"The mercy of the Gods," she said. Her heels clicked away; she disappeared from view.

Fox grinned. His mercy, not the Gods. He would be a usurper, but one backed by the Goddesses of Kindness and Temperance. If the Greenlanders showed loyalty and obedience, they wouldn't have to fear the Silvermarkers.

He pictured himself sitting on the obsidian throne. People would bring him offers, chant his name. They would adore him. King Fox. The noblest royal that ever lived in the tide of times. No man ever ruled so virtuously before him and none would do after him. A legend. A God who walked the five kingdoms and blessed the lands.

To achieve this, he had to stay. How many days had it been since incinerating Kay atop Pigeon Tower? How many miles between Sundale and Moondale? Surely, King Storm's army would be crossing the Horseshoe Mountains by now. Perhaps they had already; all depended on the wind and the flight of that one grey-winged pigeon.

They would come too late, wouldn't they? The Queen's growing fear that she couldn't trust anyone but her closest allies would throw him out on the streets with a bag of coins and a lousy house in low-Sundale. A treasure for a carpenter's son. An insult to a future King.

But he didn't need King River's reinforcement's, did he? Sunstone Castle was largely deserted, the remaining staff old Lieutenants who had spent most of their years loafing around, guarding the chambers and hallways instead of defending the borders. They were clad in iron, from top to toe, but that didn't matter. He could take them. 

Besides, King Thomas' dreams were weak, his thoughts nonsensible. Even when he fully recharged his magic, Fox barely heard him anymore. A man floating between the two worlds, both body and spirit broken. He would never wake up, and if he did, he would never heal to be more than a babbling Puddingbrain. Kindness, it would be merciful to relieve the wretched soul from his misery, wouldn't it?

Fox glanced in the mirror as magic soared through him; his hair rapidly shifted back to a fiery red. A bastard for now, but not for long.

Tonight, his reign would begin.