Pale Rabbit did not disappoint. Twelve hours after he had cornered her in the alley between the winery and Aunt Crystal's parlour, asking for a steady supply of poppy potions, she entered his chamber. Soundlessly, she cleared the half-empty jug of water and the plate of now-stale biscuits from his desk and replaced them with a breakfast of grains and sweet beans. She bit her lip as she looked at him. "The g-g-gauntlet of Ki-King Edward is h-h-hollow. He fav-favoured his lef... left hand."

Sebastian nodded in understanding. Still having time before Lady Viviane would barge in to dress him, he slipped out of his room and sneaked to the Hall of Heroes. The place was deserted; not a guard in sight. 

The morning sun shone through the yellow-tinted glass, Lord Malcolm, including stump and stead, resembled gold instead of marble. It looked uglier than the last time he had been here. Once Alex had come back from defeating the pirates, she would get her own lifelike statue here; not on a strangely proportioned horse but carrying her inseparable bow in her hands. The material would have to be jade, like the bust of a balding General with large ears and bushy eyebrows that stood in his own spacious alcove.

In the next alcove stood the ornate armour of King Edward. It had been placed on a low pedestal that allowed Sebastian to touch every part of the armour save for the helmet. The iron of the sabatons was entirely black, the leg pieces decreasingly dark grey. The breastplate dented, and a large crack ran across the pauldron; the result of an Earth Magician hitting him.

His great-grandfather had been the last Greenlander King to see a battlefield up close. With an army of seven thousand men, he had fought off the terror of King Tigris on the Scorching Plains, but had paid for that victory six moons later when the festering wound on his shoulder has poisoned his blood. A moon later, Grandpa William had been born, already a King, though the balding General he had just passed, General Charles—he now remembered his name, had ruled until Grandpa's sixteenth birthday.

Keeping one eye closed, Sebastian peered into the bottom opening of the left vambrace but saw only darkness. He dug his fingers into the hole. In the gauntlet's thumb, he found a small vial and took it out. 

The thought that the Gods were on his side had barely occurred when in the distance a door creaked open. He ducked behind the pedestal, the cream-coloured vial clutched to his chest. Two pairs of footsteps slowly came closer, the voices of Lana and Healer Mark sounding louder.

"... everything for Nick," she said, her voice as passionate as always. "I refuse to marry a prince. They're either my cousins, our enemy, a witless muttonhead, or a Scorian whose mother is still in league with Wrath because Uncle Bran ran off with Aunt Karen instead of her. Personally, I would settle for George, but Papa instantly turns pale and green each time I mention a potential betrothal. Nick must become the next General—he's the only husband Mama, Papa, and I can agree on."

"First he must survive his fever, My Lady." Healer Mark halted in the golden morning shade of Lord Malcolm. He turned around, facing the window. "And even if the fever breaks, his wounds are severe..."

"But do you think he'll be able to see again? It's not like Papa and his ear, Nick would be useless blind."

"He'll still have his wit and all the other qualities that make you love him, My Lady."

"Love has nothing to do with it," Lana hissed. "Without his eyes, he can't become a General. He can't become my husband."

"You wouldn't be the first royal with a lover on the side."

"And create a mess like Uncle Bran did?" She snorted, referring to Fox. "Bastards turn the tides of history—I'll read it, not make it. Thank you very much."

"For that it is already far too late," Healer Mark said cryptically.

As the two continued their stroll, their conversation shifting to lady-ailments involving blood and severe headaches. Once they had left the Hall of Heroes, he gulped down the potion and lowered the empty vial back into the gauntlet. It wasn't because of him Uncle Tom wanted Nick to become a General, but for Lana.

He could live with that. When he was King, the two bookworms could look up any information in the library. Far less reading for him.

He skipped towards his training with Master Paul, feeling blessed by the Gods of Virtue. The running around the royal garden quickly killed the fatigue. He was invincible; his knee didn't bother him anymore, his slashes powerful and accurate. More than once, he forced Master Paul into catching a breather. His Swordmaster said he never fought better. 

Later that afternoon, when Lord Wilson was explaining the after-effects of the tax wars with the southern cities, Sebastian found himself grinning. The Master of Treasury was as dull and self-involved as always, but the red bump on his potato-shaped nose made the boring lecture pleasant.

Within the next few days, all whispers about Sebastian's trip to the dungeon died down. Wherever he went, the guards, servants, and masters complimented his exceptionally good mood.

"Yeah, you could say I learnt the value of freedom," he told Captain Jonathan during a lecture on military history and strategy in the royal garden. "As did the Jade Islanders when they fought for independence from both Greenlander and Scorian rule."

"Very well, My Lord. Though the Jade Wars saw some of the finest military tactics this country has seen, the stable trade routes have proved to be more beneficial to the south than the endless wars," the Captain added as he furiously flicked through the pages of the large book on his lap.

"Then why don't we make peace with Silvermark?" Sebastian asked.

"Because King Ariel can't be reasoned with. He won't rest until he wears the Greenlander crown. With him, thousands of magicians will flock to this country. It will be the end of all wealth."

"But isn't that what King Henry feared before he lost the battle of Socota, forcing him to sign the act of Jade Independence?"

Captain Jonathan closed the book with a thud, his eyes shooting up. "That was different."

"How so?"

"Imagine King Ariel sitting in your uncle's office. Can you bear that thought, after everything he did to you, to Laneby?" the Captain said.

"No, you're right, Captain." The memories of a burning Laneby fell to his stomach, his poppy-induced happiness fading. "It's different. We gave back to the Jade Islanders what belonged to them, but Silvermark wishes to steal from us."

"Yes, My Lord. I can see you're learning."

After a lengthy exposition about the twenty battles of the last Jade War that lasted until the shade turned to the east, Captain took his leave. Sebastian leant back in his chair, his head raised to the sky. It was a clear blue day, a soft breeze rustling through the green leaves. Birds were flying in and out their nests, some with worms, others with twigs in their beak. Two squirrels were chasing each other from branch to branch, with a third squeaking loudly.

Goddess of Kindness, he felt lonely.

Instead of retreating to his chamber until dinner, he went to Nick, where he was greeted by a sour stench, as though his friend had forgotten a meat sandwich under his pillow. Though there was nothing funny about Nick's condition, Sebastian chuckled inwardly, cherishing this moment of Pride before the Goddess of Temperance struck him down. 

Nick was lying motionless on his bed, a white cloth stained with blotches of blood covering his face, from his partly burnt eyebrows to the tip of his nose. Sebastian shivered.

On the bedside table stood a cup, in it the remainder of the same cream-coloured potion he had found in King Edward's gauntlet. In large quantities, the poppy seed potion was able to keep Nick in such a deep sleep he appeared to be dead, but all Sebastian needed to get through the day without feeling sad or guilty was these last few drops. 

He set the cup to his mouth and drank it all.

Nick murmured, his voice weak and raspy. "Who's there?"

"Me," Sebastian said. "How are you today?"

"I still hate you," Nick mumbled. Though it might just as well have been 'I still have you.'

Either way, the son of Sloth sunk back into a deep slumber from which he only woke to sip water and more of the cream-coloured potion. Seven days and seven more poppyseed vials in King Edward's gauntlet later, Nick shook in his bed and spoke of a shadow appearing in the corner of his right eye.

Sebastian and Lana had both been in the room with him. As a large smile appeared on Sebastian's face, his cousin swiftly put her book aside and reached for Nick's hand, squeezing it.

"Guards!" she shouted in an unladylike manner, which caused Lieutenant Michael to pop his head through Nick's door. "Fetch Healer Mark," she told him.

The urge to spread the good news was strong. As he joined Uncle Tom in his parlour, half of the coffee table filled with tea and biscuits, the other half housing a tower of papers and drawings related to the construction of the arena in the northern part of the city, he jumped with excitement.

"Nick saw something," he announced. "There's hope."

"The sun rising above the horizon doesn't mean the Summer Dragon has returned to the cave," Uncle Tom said, leafing through a report. He looked at Sebastian. "Ician saying—you better brush up on those."

"Why?" Sebastian asked.

Uncle Tom leant forward. He rummaged through the files until he came across a small letter that had once been a scroll. He showed it to Sebastian. "News from Burnfirth. Prince River has crossed the border. According to this, he's scheduled to arrive on the twentieth."

"That's tomorrow already," Sebastian groaned, sitting down on his uncle's left side. Once the Prince of Ice arrived, he would have even more lectures; his time lazing around in Nick's room would become limited.

"He's heir to the Ician throne," Uncle Tom continued. "Your aunt and I agreed it would be appropriate for you to welcome him to court."

Sebastian raised his eyebrow. "It was Aunt Crystal's idea, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but it's a good one. I want you to greet him in the throne room." A smile tugged at Uncle Tom's lips. "You'll get to sit on the obsidian throne."

That thought both scared and excited him. "Can I have your longsword too?"

"Err... It's quite heavy, Seb. You already fell down the fourteen steps once. Let's leave some things for when you actually become King."

"You're no fun," Sebastian huffed.

"I know." As Uncle Tom turned towards him, the playfulness in his voice disappeared. "There's something else we need to discuss—something I heard about you. Will you be honest with me? I won't get angry—I promise."

Sebastian shrugged. "Sure."

"A serving girl saw you drinking Nick's poppy potion."

"Who was it?"

"Does it matter?" Uncle Tom asked in return. "It's true, isn't it? You drinking from his cup."

"He didn't notice, and I only got a little. I like the effect—it's..." He wasn't sure how to describe it. "... it makes the world less scary."

"The world IS a scary place, Seb. You'll only want more and more until you're no longer able to have a decent conversation without the poppy flowing in your veins. Despite what you think or experience, the potion weakens you—it plays with your head, dulls your senses."

"But Nick..." Sebastian argued.

"... is in great pain. It helps him sleep. But you're not unwell—you don't need it. I don't wanna hear or see you drinking Nick's potion anymore. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Uncle Tom," he said. 

That was a promise he could keep; best Uncle Tom never found out he still had another supplier. And with Prince River arriving in Sundale, he was going to need a double dose. The Crown Prince of Ice couldn't see him as a weakling. Because Uncle Tom was wrong about that: the poppy made him strong because it dulled his senses, or the bad ones anyway.

That evening, as he walked from the Dining Hall to his chamber, he crossed paths with Pale Rabbit. Two guards turning the corner ruined the possibility of a private conversation.

"Did you know that Lord Edward has two hollow gauntlets?" he said instead.

She blinked, then let out a soundless gasp. "And f-f-five f-fingers on... on each h-hand, M-M-My Lord."

Sebastian put two thumbs out. "I'd say these would suffice. Tomorrow, same time, same place?"

"Of... Of course, My L-L-Lord."

Lieutenant Patrick said nothing, but Lieutenant Michael was frowning as he looked at him.

"We're kissing," Sebastian blurted out.

"You and Ev-Ev-Ev-Evelyn?" Patrick mocked him.

Sebastian shrugged. "When she kisses, she doesn't talk."

"But does she stutter?" Michael grinned.

"A little." Sebastian bobbed his finger up and down, then hid it behind his back. "Don't tell my Uncle I said that."

He grinned as he left the guards. Saying that was the quickest way to assure Uncle Tom would hear about it. He didn't mind; rumours of him failing to keep the Goddess of Lust at bay were better than the truth.

Yet when he skipped down to the Hall of Heroes the next morning, he found Captain Jonathan standing next to the armour of King Edward. While Lieutenant Stephen slapped shackles on Pale Rabbit's wrists, the Captain removed the second gauntlet and placed the cream-coloured vial on the marble pedestal.

His chest clenching tightly, Sebastian turned around and ran.

Two Lieutenants jumped from behind the statue of Queen Catherine in her honey bath, and two more from behind a pillar. They blocked his path. 

In the doorway appeared Uncle Tom, followed by Aunt Crystal. Both carried the features of Wrath on their face.

"I can explain!" Sebastian shouted.

"I don't need to hear your explanation." Uncle Tom walked up to him, the guards splitting as he approached. "I knew something wasn't right when you agreed to me without arguing. Then Patrick informed me of this preposterous idea that you'd be secretly kissing serving girls. You're eleven, for Lust's sake."

"I kissed Alex too."

"Silence!" Spit flew from Uncle Tom's mouth. He beckoned to follow. "Come, you need to hear this, you foolish muttonhead of a boy."

Guilt crept up on him as he saw Pale Rabbit standing still, crying, her tears like blots of blank ink that streamed down. She was blubbering, the words she uttered so wild and incoherent all that could be distinguished from it was a plea as Aunt Crystal removed the golden sycamore leaf from her Greenlander green dress.

"Withholding your wages of the last fortnight, we release you from your duty to the crown," his aunt began. "I cannot employ anyone who writes fake letters in my name and plants them for Lord Sebastian to read. Nor do I wish a serving girl who disobeys orders to not visit Lord Sebastian in the dungeon, nor anyone who uses this very spot to trade an addictive tonic for a few meagre kisses."

"That last bit didn't happen," Sebastian pointed out, his mind processing the wealth of information.

"I accuse you of forgery, general disturbance and disobedience, as well as treason, illegal trade and attempted murder on the Crown Prince," Uncle Tom said without blinking. "You shall be escorted to the dungeon where you shall await trial."

"Pl-please, Yo-yo-your... Your Majes-ty, Please," she bawled, her stuttering growing into a bigger incomprehensible mess. "I have... have..."

"Information?" Uncle Tom glared at her. "I suspected so. Who do you work for? Ariel, Caracal, the old Viper? Or is it a Silvermark Lord closer to home? Peregrine, Weasel, Spruw?"

"I didn't... It's..." She grew silent, her lament filling the Hall of Heroes. 

Sebastian needed a few deep breaths. The pathetically pale girl with a stutter was a spy from Silvermark. The punishment for the crimes she had committed was beheading. His heart pounded in his chest as he pictured her severed head rolling over the white marble floor, her blonde hair clotted in blood, those blue eyes blinking their last blink before they stared in judgement forever.

"She didn't try to kill me," he whispered.

"Because it was never her intention to blatantly murder you, wasn't it?" Uncle Tom's face was but inches from hers, which only made her cry louder. "It has Ariel written all over it—I can sense it. Weaken the Greenlander Crown Prince, make him look like a Muttonhead... a Puddingbrain unworthy of ruling," he hissed. "What does he expect—that he'll take my throne, and the Greenlanders will thank him for freeing them from us? He better pull his head from that thick neck of his, if he believes that."

"I take part of the blame." Aunt Crystal put her hand on her heart. "I should perform more thorough background checks before allowing anyone in our household."

"You should!" Uncle Tom bellowed. He snapped his fingers. "Take her away."

Lieutenant Stephen put his hand on Pale Rabbit's back, pushing her along. She didn't struggle. With her head held high, she disappeared into the hallway. Her sobs were like hiccups until they disappeared altogether.

If all of that was true, she deserved to die. He had been a fool to trust her, the poppy potion too convenient. He still craved it, his fingers itching to grab the two vials and drink them all.

Uncle Tom let out a loud sigh. He rubbed his face, his tired eyes seeking Aunt Crystal. "I apologise. She was a good pawn," he said to her, his voice all quiet again. "I didn't expect..."

"She fooled everyone," Aunt Crystal said. "Sweet, neat, hardworking girl with good recommendations. It never occurred to me she might have worked elsewhere before Lady Margaret. She's still so young."

"Can we turn her into a double-spy?" Captain Jonathan suggested.

"I have to think." Uncle Tom reached for the stone on his ear and rubbed it. "I wish George were here. Did you write him a letter—ask him about his whereabouts and when he plans on coming home?"

"I have." Captain nodded. "The scroll left this morning at daybreak. Cyril may be getting a day older, but he's still the fastest pigeon we've got."

Uncle Tom chuckled. "Not unlike yourself, Captain." His eyes darted to Sebastian. "And you, stop the poppy nonsense, in whatever shape or form. I won't ask you again. Next time, I'll personally assign you one of the guards. He'll go wherever you go—no exceptions."

"Yes, Uncle Tom. Understood." Sebastian mumbled, his insides churning in panic. He could practically taste the nutty flavour on his tongue. So close, yet so far away.

"Go dress." Uncle Tom pointed at the white sleeping shirt Sebastian was wearing. "Prince River has been spotted enjoying a fresh cup of Scorian brew in the Sunshine Inn. Your Aunt Crystal will be waiting for you by the painting of King Gerald in about an hour."

"And you?"

"I'll be otherwise engaged."

A chill ran down his back, while a sweat broke out on his forehead. The last drop poppy-induced bliss shattered into a million pieces. Without a fresh batch, he couldn't face the Crown Prince of Ice by himself. He would make a mess of himself and the kingdom. The trade routes gone, another war looming.

He wasn't going to go down in the history books like that.