As soon as the door was yanked open, Eker had just enough time to register sudden wakefulness, immediately followed by impending doom as he fell forward, head poised to hit the floor. Fortunately, an iron-hard grip pulled him up by his collar at the very last instant before impact. He remained suspended for what felt like an agonizing eternity until some other hands eased his tangled legs down and helped him stand up once again.

Eker blinked quickly, trying to rally all his cognitive abilities, which were currently impaired by a curious languor he was unaccustomed to. The wild roaring in his ears subsided into a low humming, but it took a while longer to comprehend that someone was speaking to him. Turning his head slowly to the right, he squinted at a blurry figure which only slowly coalesced into a familiar man.

"...worried sick," said Hanadan, finishing with a scowl. "So what the hell happened?"

Eker winced as a sudden jolt traveled up his numb back, and he leaned closer to the man on the left. When he turned to see who it was, he gaped and gave a start at the sight of a furious Karuss. But then he remembered that this was the man's habitual expression, so he allowed himself to relax somewhat.

"Let me just..." he mumbled, then erupted into a coughing fit. His throat felt scratchy and dry, as if he'd spent the night in a desert and not in a wooden box. Belatedly, he remembered the air holes that had kept him breathing through his ordeal and offered his silent thanks to the brilliant designer of the furniture piece.

"What?"

"Sit," croaked Eker, slowly letting himself down. He didn't reach the inside of the armoire, instead almost melting onto the floor.

"Close the door," muttered Hanadan, and Karuss obeyed at once, allowing Eker to lean against something solid.

Suddenly, a flash of painful memory made him clutch desperately at his friend's sleeve.

"The black-clad men!" he hissed. "They tried to..."

"We know about the assassins," said Hanadan calmly, sliding down as well and settling against the other door. "The alarm on the first one was raised last night in the living quarters, and we found a second tied up in the laundry a little while ago." He paused, shaking his head. "That's when the real panic began."

"Who...How..."

"Goons of my uncles, no doubt. Maybe some other small retainers were also involved, just to test the waters."

"Was anybody hurt?" managed Eker, trying to make sense of the situation. His presence of mind was still elusive, and a dull headache made his eyes water, but it was all coming back to him now - albeit very slowly.

"Apart from the assassins themselves? Not that I could tell. Karuss?"

"One of the ladies competing in the royal trials had a nosebleed," said the bodyguard.

"But it didn't happen as a result of physical violence?" asked Hanadan.

"No, it was reported as an accident."

"Accidents happen," muttered Eker.

"Precisely," said Hanadan in an eerily cheerful manner. "And any number of them could have happened to you while you were sequestered in that thing. Off the top of my head, you could have burned alive, asphyxiated, been kidnapped, stabbed, poisoned-"

"Who said I wasn't poisoned?" complained Eker.

Hanadan gave him a strange look.

"Were you?"

"I think... Were those two men the only intruders you found?"

"Yes, and trust me, we've looked everywhere. There's not an inch of the palace that hasn't been scoured and no gardener who's had an easy morning. As for me, I went for the wardrobes right away, only I was searching in the wrong wing. Now, are you going to tell me what happened?"

Eker hesitated, racking his brains for the missing pieces of his fickle memory.

"I'm not sure..."

"Well, in that case," began Hanadan, bracing himself to stand up, "we've got to go."

"Yes, yes, very well," said Eker, gratefully accepting Karuss' help as the man pulled him back to his feet.

"This way," beckoned Hanadan, and Karuss followed, still holding on to the king as if he were some penitent drunk making his way back home after a long night of excessive indulgence. Eker had never gotten properly drunk in his life, and now bitterly resented that oversight, for it would have provided a useful term of comparison for the wretched state he was currently in.

"I think there was someone else in the armoire," he ventured after a while.

"There wasn't when we found you," replied Hanadan. "Careful, there's a step here."

"No, I mean last night. Someone ate my sandwich."

"Oh?" Hanadan sounded genuinely shocked, but Eker didn't have to be completely lucid to hear the mocking edge in his friend's voice. "I'm not sure we've got that particular offense on the capital punishment roster. Stealing the king's sandwich, now that's grave enough. Wouldn't you say so, Karuss?"

The bodyguard grunted in sour response, but Eker's eyes widened at the mention of stealing and he was now feverishly working to remember.

"A thief," he cried at last. "There was a thief in the armoire!"

"So a hungry man ate your sandwich," said Hanadan dryly. "Are you sure you didn't just give it to him? You're prone to charity."

"I'm fairly sure it was a woman."

No response was forthcoming for a few moments, during which Eker made out the bodyguard's smothered chuckle.

"So you took a woman to your wardrobe?" said Hanadan, carefully enunciating each word. "Thoughts of discretion aside, I don't suppose comfort ever entered the discussion?"

"It's not like that," protested Eker, already feeling his cheeks turning beet-red.

"Like what?" countered Hanadan innocently.

"Oh, just leave me alone if you won't take me seriously!"

"I am taking you seriously, my friend, believe me. But right now you need to rest and regroup, and then it's likely you'll start remembering what actually happened. Make a turn here."

"I suppose you're right," mused Eker, puffing out his cheeks and letting out a slow breath. He had done nothing but lay sleeping in a heap inside an uncomfortable armoire for the entire night, but he was feeling ridiculously tired. Presently, he focused enough to register his surroundings. When he did, he slowed his steps and goggled.

"This isn't the way to my bedroom," he sputtered.

Hanadan turned to glance curiously back at him.

"But of course not," he said. "We have to show the world you're still alive."

Eker groaned, while Karuss pulled at his arm, urging him to keep moving. It occurred to the king that he could just let himself drop to the floor once again and adamantly refuse to move, but that sort of behavior was too reminiscent of a toddler's, and he had fought hard to get the modicum of respect the ministers and the rest of the court deigned to bestow upon him. Were he to simply collapse and give in, they'd never take him seriously again - not that they did right now, but still... Not to mention, they started passing other people in the hallways, mostly busy servants, who still spared a glance or two for their bedraggled monarch and his determined entourage. He could hardly make himself into more of a spectacle without drastic long-term repercussions.

"I don't suppose there will at least be any food present?" asked Eker hopefully.

"No, but we've got the next best thing."

Before Eker could try and see through his friend's cryptic answer, Karuss ushered him along a winding corridor, skirting the petitioners' audience chamber before leading to one of the side entrances to the throne room.

"Were the people disappointed that I couldn't receive them today?" asked Eker worriedly.

"You weren't supposed to hear out the petitioners today."

"What?"

"Don't worry about it now," muttered Hanadan, stubbornly walking ahead.

Eker sighed, feeling utter defeat creep up on him, along with a gnawing sensation that there was something really important he should have remembered from the previous night.

"Here we are," announced his friend, halting beside a narrow door with the royal crest carved in bas-relief on the lintel. "If there be any snipers with their aim set, I shall take the risk and advance before your illustrious Majesty. Karuss?"

The bodyguard released Eker reluctantly, clearly expecting the king to fall over like a rag doll as soon as he found himself without support. For his part, Eker wished he could firmly disprove that scenario, but his current physical condition was far from ideal. He greatly desired his bed, perhaps some food, and peace and quiet so he could heal. Unfortunately, he had to resign himself to the fact that he would not be getting any of that for the foreseeable future.

Hanadan appraised him from mussy hair to stained shoes and gave a curt nod of "It's not ideal, but it will have to do", then shouldered the door open and stepped into a shadowed alcove behind a decorative row of armor-clad mannequins. Eker followed carefully, mindful of keeping his balance, and at first had the impression that they'd entered an empty room. Not the slightest sound reached his ears, but when he descended the steps to the floor below the throne and spotted the other occupants, the reason for that silence became apparent.

Indeed, if any of these people were to start a conversation, it would at best devolve into a verbal spar, and at worst, into an outright brawl. Half of the Inner Council was present in the form of Chinchalla and Amster, then there was that shifty uncle of Hanadan's, the Minister of War, and Cook. While the men stood rigidly and as far away from each other as they possibly could, Cook sprawled decadently on an upholstered chair she'd dragged from one of the ceremonial tables. Eker found himself staring at her, then grinning like an idiot when she surreptitiously winked at him.

One of the others cleared his throat noisily - it must have been either Amster or Chinchalla, but Eker didn't care enough to investigate. Instead, he chose to address everybody while holding Cook's warm gaze.

"As you can see," he began, grateful that the room carried an echo and he didn't have to strain too much to be heard, "I am alive and almost well. I apologize for having worried you and I thank you for your concern."

Immediately after speaking what everyone expected to hear, he started feeling the first prickles of panic. He didn't have to glance over his shoulder to notice that his friend had settled with his hands behind his back, the way he always did when tensions arose and he didn't want anyone to see them tremble.

So what was he supposed to say now?