The pendulum clock swayed back and forth, the minute hand moving closer to the number seven. Sebastian's lips trembled as he stifled a yawn. He moved his hand to his chin, letting his weary head rest. Over an hour he had spent listening to Uncle Tom criticising his answers to the letters the Lords and Ladies of their country had written and he had enough.

Not one word of praise had come out of his uncle's mouth. The solutions he proposed were either too short, too elaborate, or plain foolish. He ground his teeth. If he was so bad at it, then Uncle Tom should write his own replies instead of bothering him with it.

"It's a matter of pleasing her with the right words, Sebby. Tell her she's right, then gently steer her towards a union with the Masters down at the port. Deals like these don't happen overnight, they..."

Though Sebastian nodded in understanding, his eyes darted to the road on the other side of the river where soldiers in small groups of five or six were coming home from the army camp. One of the soldiers had long curly hair, just like Alex.

He wasn't her. He could not be. Not only were girls not allowed in the army, but his best female friend was currently miles away from Sundale, just like Nick. Except that he was heading north, and she was riding south.

And he was stuck in the middle. All alone.

"Don't get me started on the letter to Lord Robert, Sebby." Uncle Tom held the paper in between his thumb and index finger, waving it around. "Did you even use your brain when scribbling down your reply?"

"I guess not."

The long-haired soldier jumped on his comrade's shoulder, the two of them falling to the ground in laughter. His heart physically ached to witness so much happiness. The castle had become so dark and mind-numbingly dull since his friends had left. There was no longer any Nick livening up the dinner table with witty comments about Lana's new fictional love, and no more Alex being... Alex. She never had to say anything to make him happy. Her mere presence had been good enough for him.

Uncle Tom snapped his fingers in front of Sebastian's face. "Your frown tells me that whatever cloud you're floating on is not a pleasant one. Business is happening right here."

 "I am paying attention!"

"Didn't seem like it."

"What's wrong with my answer to Lord Robert?" Sebastian pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. "Maybe he has no gold, but he's offering forty-eight horses, Uncle Tom. They're worth a lot too."

Uncle Tom leant closer, his arms folded on his desk. "Then why doesn't he sell his horses and pay me the gold? Did you ever consider that?"

"No..."

"Another thing." He flicked the paper, then put it on his desk, next to drops of tea he had spilt when swinging his cup around too enthusiastically while discussing the message of Lady Margaret of Banshore. "If it's true what he's saying and his cattle are indeed dying from a mysterious plague, why would I be interested in his horses? Keep illnesses where they're ruling. Fewer chances of spreading."

"Oh, so that's why you're keeping me locked up." His voice scratched, temporarily slipping back into that embarrassing childish pitch. "Because you're afraid I might infect others with those nightmares I keep having during the day."

"Don't be a Muttonhead, Sebby. You disobeyed me. This is the price you must pay."

He huffed. Cutting out his training sessions with Master Paul was a heavy punishment for wanting to tell Alex that he would miss her before she would disappear from his life for moons. His scraped knee and the bump on his head were enough of a reminder that he had acted like the next best Puddingbrain instead of a crown prince.

 "I don't think she should have left. The Pirates operate leagues from here. Why do we even care?" He crossed his arms and pressed them against his chest, pretending his heart wasn't thudding hard.

Uncle Tom blinked for longer than a standard blink. He rubbed his eyes and blew a long stream of air through his nose. "You're being childish, Seb. The southern cities may be far away, but they're our responsibility too. Don't our citizens there deserve a nice and quiet life without having to fear for their lives or their hard-earned gold?"

"But I always have to sacrifice everything. I'm basically a prisoner in this castle, my best friend is dead because you're scared of what he might do, and now Alex is gone too because of you." He wasn't going to mention Nick. Nick had been his own doing. "I hate you."

Uncle Tom leant back into his chair, his gaze blank yet staring at him. He brought his hand to the black jewel on his ear and scratched it. "Hate me all you want, but  Alex working for us as a spy is the best for our kingdom. And for her too. In case you didn't notice, she was miserable and lonely here."

"I did, but..." 

But if she had stayed, then so had Billy, and then Nick wouldn't have unleashed his wrath on him. He scratched the crust that had formed on his kneecap. It was healing faster than the bump. Soon the only scars left would be the ones caused by dying or already broken friendships. 

"You're gonna be King, Sebby. It's better to have valuable allies than worthless friends."

"She wasn't worthless, Uncle Tom!"

"I never said she was, but she's more valuable to us on the Jade Islands as our ally." He placed Lord Robert's letter back on his desk and tapped it. "Now, back to internal affairs. Tell this Greed-invested Lord that I wish to see him and his son at court to discuss due and future payments."

"Fine." Kicking the chair-legs back, Sebastian rose to freedom from Uncle Tom's lectures. 

"Don't forget the rest." Uncle Tom held up the package of letters, thicker than the average book Lana and Nick devoured. "I need the answers at five so I can read over them before dinner."

"Aaargh, it'll take me all afternoon. I wanna go outside, stretch my legs, and breathe actual air. I have been working for days on this already. It's so boring!" As he stomped his foot on the ground, the crust cracked open further. A stream of blood trickled down his leg.

"Then go to the royal garden. I never said you couldn't go there."

The blood dripped on the floor as he stomped a second time. "That's not what I meant. You're twisting my words!"

"As you did mine. It's a windless day. Go out, Sebby, it'll be good for you." Uncle Tom turned his head, his bad ear facing him. The conversation was over, even though Sebastian wanted to continue arguing. "And please write like a Lord instead of a child. These men and women shouldn't laugh when they receive our answers."

"Your answers," Sebastian mumbled. "And my name is Seb. Not Sebby."

Just as he stormed out of his uncle's office, Pale Rabbit approached with tea and a plate full of biscuits. Sebastian grabbed the roundest one with the almond on top and popped it into his mouth. Uncle Tom's favourite. That would teach him.

"My Lord." The serving girl's cheeks reddened by the second. "These are for His Majesty. I'll bring yours right away."

"I'll take them in the garden. Bring me a table, a chair, and all my writing supplies. I'll work outside today."

"As you wish, My Lord," she said with a short bow of her head.

While waiting for Pale Rabbit to arrange his new, temporary office, he took a quick-paced stroll in the garden, keeping the letters stuffed under his armpit. He was breathing heavily, not from exercise, but because the God of Wrath was rapidly climbing on his back and steering his mind.

 Answering these stupid letters hadn't taught him anything. He just repeated whatever Uncle Tom told to do. His ideas were never even considered. 

He yanked the chained lock of the ivy-covered shed in which his training gear was stored. The wooden handle didn't budge, nor did the iron chain. He kicked the door. Stupid Uncle Tom and his idiot punishment. He craved the sword fighting, the running around, the being alive.

Why did Uncle Tom have to take everything he liked?

As he headed back, he saw that Pale Rabbit had already put a small desk on the stones by the pond. It wasn't enough to start working yet. Couldn't she work any quicker? 

After dumping the letters onto the silver top, he slumped down against the nearest oak tree, under which Master Paul always gave his instructions and buried his head into his folded arms. He missed his sword master, just like he missed his dead family and his friends who were all scattered across the continent. He felt so lonely and miserable.

The next time he looked up was when the door to the castle opened and out came Pale Rabbit with one of the black metal chairs from Uncle Tom's parlour. With tiny steps she shuffled towards the pond, faltering and tottering—as though the chair could slip out of her hands at any time.

For the love of the Gods, it couldn't be that heavy.  A growl rumbled in his chest, but he swallowed Wrath's temptation to yell at her and stared at the grass instead. Seven ants were walking in a straight line. With a bang, he landed his boot in front of them, blocking their passage. One ant crawled over his shoe, the other six turned to the left. He pinched the one adventurous creature off and crushed the others.

One second they had been alive, the next they were dead. An army of ants was rapidly coming out of the oak tree to look at the massacre and bite him in the leg. All in all, humans weren't that different. As King, he would be able to decide who lived in died. But if he crushed all who ever fought back, there wouldn't be anyone left to rule over.

As he jumped up to shake off the ants, Pale Rabbit was nowhere to be found. The letters he had thrown onto the desk had been carefully stacked, his favourite blue feather resting on the inkpot, next to a pile of still blank papers.

He walked up to the pond and remained standing as he flicked through the letters. Thank the Gods for blessing him with a good memory to remember all of Uncle Tom's strategies, though Nick would have been even better at it. He would have answered them all correctly from the first go.

When his friend returned from Whitepeak in a week or so, he would shower him in biscuits and apologise the way real men do. They had to patch things up. Uncle Tom was wrong—valuable friends were even better than valuable allies. Friends didn't care about gaining benefits for themselves.

The same counted for Alex. She would always be a friend, not an ally.

A racket behind him pulled him out of his train of thoughts. There were footsteps, then Pale Rabbit placed a tray into the already cramped table. The biscuits shuffled on their place as her shaking hands put it next to the pot of ink. "Are you alright, My Lord?"

"Yes, I'm just thinking." He sat down and grabbed the feather, twisting it around.

She took a deep breath, her cheeks deprived of all colour—her usual state of being whenever she addressed him. "My Lord, the wound on your knee is bleeding again? Shall I fetch a Healer?"

"No." Since Uncle Tom had sent Healer Mark away from the castle, he refused to see anyone else. "Just give me my tea. I'm fine." 

The spoon rattled in the cup as she picked it up. Less than an inch from the desk, her hand slid off and the hot liquid splashed over the pile of letters.

Sebastian quickly snatched them from the table, tea dripping onto his hands and pants.  "You clumsy Muttonhead!"

"Oh Gods! I am so-so sorry, My Lord." She reached for the cloth in the slit pocket of her apron and leant over to dab his uniform.

"No, you fool! Save the ink on the letters! The sun will dry me."

"Of course. I apologise, My Lord." She bit her lip, tears already running down her cheeks as she wrapped the letters into the cloth. "I-I-I really didn't m-m-mean to."

"I should fire you, you know," he hissed.

"Please, My Lord. I'm doing the best I can."

"Well, maybe it's not enough."

"I know. I know."

As the girl's sobs grew louder, a twinge of pity settled in his stomach. She was not the reason Wrath was controlling him, Uncle Tom was. He put the feather away and laid his hand on the cloth, unwrapping the already semi-dry papers. Some of the words had been blurred out, but he knew what the letters said. "But I'll leave it at a warning—for now. We all make mistakes. And these papers—really they're just a bunch of complaints and requests from people who think they are way too important. It's not the end of the world."

"Kindness lives in you, My Lord." She wiped the desk dry, her head low. "I'll be back shortly with new tea."

"Thank you." He couldn't recall ever saying that to her. Pale Rabbit. The stuttering serving girl with the light blonde, almost white, hair and big brown eyes. Her real name he had forgotten.

"It's my duty, My Lord." She picked up the tray and left.

Sebastian put the letters down. The first one was the letter from Lord Robert. He didn't wanna start with that one, as if delaying writing the invitation would delay his visit to Sunstone Castle. He flipped the package to see if there was an easier one to answer first.

Not the letter from Margeret of Banshore. Even after Uncle Tom's fifteen-minute monologue, he still didn't understand why the Lady was bothering the royal court with a dispute about apples. Not even her Lord husband cared—otherwise he would have written to Uncle Tom.

He continued flicking the pages. Nor did he want to start his afternoon by settling a quarrel between the Lady Grimhilda and Lord Francis. He didn't care that the latter didn't want to marry the eldest daughter of the former, though Uncle Tom saw as much economic benefit in their union as the Lady of Patience's Bay.

Huh. 

He halted. To the back of the letter of Lady Grimhilda now stuck a small but drenched note that hadn't been there before. He glanced over his shoulder. The door was still falling shut, but Pale Rabbit had already moved on.

Since the note had received the worst hit of tea, he peeled it off carefully, not to damage the words written on the other side.  

His mouth fell open. The loopy and curly handwriting was foreign to him, but the words—smudged and ink fading—said enough: Darling, don't you think it's time we tell Sebastian about Brandon?

He jumped up and dashed inside, his heart throbbing in the bump on his head. Not even his knee could slow him down as he raced past Pale Rabbit and leapt up the stairs.

Whatever it was that Uncle Tom and Aunt Crystal were hiding, he demanded answers. Especially concerning his father.

Midway the hallway to his uncle's office, Lieutenant Peter dropped his lance to grab him tight. "My Lord. What's the matter? Why the running?"

"Let me go!" Sebastian kicked his arms around. "It's an emergency. I must see my uncle. Now."

"But, My Lord..."

"Release me, Lieutenant," he snapped. "That's an order."

As the Lieutenant loosened his grip, Sebastian wriggled free and shot forward, over the lance and then further to the end of the corridor.

He barged in, not caring who Uncle Tom was talking to now, and held the note up. "What's the meaning of this? What are you not telling me about my father?"

Uncle Tom stiffened as their eyes met, a look of pure horror on his face. "Sebastian, I'm having a meeting with Captain Oswald."