Sebastian darted up the spiralling staircase, his muscles trembling more with every step, his mouth growing dryer than the air on the Scorching Plains. All promises to Uncle Tom aside, he had one hour before he had to face Crown Prince River of Ice, his first official meeting with a foreign royal. His main supplier of poppyseed was behind bars, her fate that of a traitor. He couldn't go down to the basement to beg the Healers for a potion; he might as well shout for all of Sundale to hear that he couldn't live without poppyseed. He was desperate, and there was only one other source: Nick.

"Don't do this," the Goddess of Chastity told him as he barged into Nick's room. "You've been caught before. You will be caught again."

He might as well have walked into the lair of a dying beast. Despite Spring being in full bloom, only a thin ray of sunshine shone through the cracks of the thick curtains. A dull red fire burnt in the stove in the corner. The sour smell of fever dreams hung in the air. And it was hot there, too hot.

Learning from his previous mistake, he closed the door.

Nick's silhouette shot up, his voice stronger than the previous days but still brittle. "Who's there? I can hear you breathing."

"Me." Sebastian shuffled closer, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.

"Oh, you."

Nick sat up, four of five pillows supporting his back. The bandages on his face were gone; his wounds had developed thick, black crusts that ran from his forehead to halfway down his nose.

"It's dark in here," Sebastian remarked.

Nick lifted his shoulders into a shrug, sighing. "Is it?"

Sebastian waved his hand in front of Nick's half-open eyes. "Can't you see me?"

"Does a mole see underground?"

"I guess."

"No, Muttonhead, they're blind," Nick scoffed, not looking at him.

"Well, I didn't know." Sebastian's gaze trailed to the nightstand. No cup. No poppyseed. His chest tightened.

"Sometimes the darkness stirs. Can't tell if it's real, or my fever playing tricks on me. It could also be..." Nick's voice softened to a whisper. "A magician's curse."

"What does Healer Mark say?"

"Not a lot. But he took away the poppyseed, told me to return to the land of wakeful." He groaned. "Being asleep was a bliss. The willow bark I get to nibble on whenever the pain becomes too much is disgusting."

"But does it work?"

"It takes off the edges. At least at Whitepeak, they turned it into a tea."

"It can't taste that bad," Sebastian suggested. Something to take the edge off was all he needed. And willow bark wasn't poppyseed; it was better to keep Uncle Tom happy as well.

"You try it then if you don't believe me. It tastes like rotting leaves." Nick groped around him, beneath his blanket and the edges of his bed. "Where did I drop it? I had it just a moment ago."

A finger-long stick came peeping from underneath the bottom pillow. Sebastian clambered onto the bed and crawled over Nick to fetch it.

"Get off me!" Nick shoved him aside, surprisingly powerful for someone so weak. The God of Wrath found His prey everywhere.

"But I found it—I saw it."

"I didn't need your help, Seb," Nick grumbled. "I almost had it."

Not by a long shot, but Sebastian kept quiet. He retreated to the foot of the bed and put the stick into his mouth. As he sucked on it, the bitter and earthy juice trickled down his throat, a sensation that vaguely reminded him of the sweet... sweet poppyseed.

His heart instantly beat slower. A wave of tranquillity rushed over him, but not to the point that he felt the need to curl down and take a nap. He could get used to this.

"And?" Nick asked.

"As always you're being overdramatic. It's not that bad."

Nick let out a huff and crossed his arms, leaning against his mountain of pillows. "If you came here to gloat and annoy me, you might as well leave. I'm sure your fancy ass has to be somewhere more important."

"You're right," Sebastian said, jumping off the bed. "It has to sit on the obsidian throne. Prince River has arrived, and since he's mostly here to teach me about Ice, Uncle Tom has asked me to welcome him to Sunstone Castle."

"Ice, you say..." Nick trailed off. "Back in Laneby, I had a book about Ice. Now I'll never see it. I'll never see anything ever again."

Nervously, Sebastian shuffled around. He laid the stick of willow bark on Nick's nightstand. Soft sniffing, not even sobbing noises came from the pile of pillows. "Don't despair. Who knows what the Gods—"

"I hate the Gods." Nick's voice cracked. "I hate them for creating magicians. I hate them for what they have done to me. I hate them for bringing you into my life. I could have been sitting in the shadow of the great oak tree in Laneby, reading my books. But no, of all places in The Greenlands, you had to live in Laneby, you had to be the King's nephew. You..."

Sebastian tried to speak, tell his friend his pain was all temporary and part of the Gods' plan. But couldn't. Nick's battle with Wrath was too strong to interrupt.

"If you and your Greed-infested mind hadn't given Billy away, I wouldn't have attacked you," Nick continued. "I wouldn't have been sent to the edge of civilisation. You know what—I'm glad I never have to see you again."

Silence fell.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian said finally. "I wish we could still be frolicking in Laneby, but we can't. I wish your sister were still alive—Gods, I wish everyone were still alive, but they're not. I regret sending Alex and Billy off to the Jade Islands, but it happened, and I can't undo it. We're the only ones left, Nick. Let's end this fight. I want us to be friends again."

"Friends!" Nick's eyes shot open, the hollow shells of white in his eyesockets shooting him down. "We'll be friends once I can see again, when I can read a book to Billy and not dread every moment of my existence. Until that time, I don't want you near me. I don't care who or what you are—you've long outstayed your welcome, Sebastian. Leave—maybe the Prince of Ice wants to be your friend."

Losing his own battle to the God of Wrath, Sebastian turned on his heels and strode from the room. "Fine, I'll leave! But I might never return, Nicolas."

"Good. Just what I want."

"Likewise."

Thanks to the willow bark, the Gods of Virtue quickly chased out their sinful sibling, yet did nothing as the hand of guilt slapped him in the stomach and left a permanent burning sensation. He wished he could care more and do something, but couldn't. He didn't even grumble as he entered his own chamber and saw Lady Viviane messing up his fortress of pillows on the windowsill. 

On his desk lay a brand new uniform with silver buttons so polished he could see his own reflection. Sebastian picked up the belt next to it: a shoulder strap with adjustable snaps to fit one or more scabbards, either on his back or hanging from his waist.

"My Lord," Lady Viviane said as she approached him, in her hands the short ceremonial sword he had also worn during the Feast of the Dead ball.

Sebastian gave a short nod as he put it on the table. "Excellent choice, My Lady."

She bowed. "Thank you, My Lord. Are you ready to get dressed?"

He nodded again and stretched his arms, an image of his mother dressing him as a little boy popping into his head. He had come a long way since then, but in the clothing department, becoming a Prince had deprived him of his independence. What had seemed strange all those moons ago was now common practice.

"Lady Viviane, do you remember when I first met you, and I didn't want you to undress me?" he asked as his chamberlady removed his shirt

"No, My Lord, I have long forgotten that moment," she replied. The tone in her voice hinted at a lie, no doubt because she wanted to do him a favour. She pulled a fresh white shirt over his head, then slipped on his jacket.

"I'm different since I arrived here, aren't I?" he asked as she fastened the top button, the one nearest to his throat.

"You've grown from a boy into a young man." She crouched down, his dirty shirt and jacket hanging over her shoulders, then unbuckled his trousers.

He lifted one foot, then the other. After she had removed his grey trousers, he repeated the same trick so she could pull up his new set of trousers, their differences minimal but seemingly important. "Nick and I fought again, just words this time. I want us to be friends again, but he doesn't want to see me anymore."

"I didn't know you two were no longer friends." She tied his trousers. Another lie. She was well aware of the castle gossip, though nobody had ever caught her spilling anything in return.

"He's angry because of Billy. And because he got injured at Whitepeak." He sighed. "I guess that's all my fault. So I was thinking about giving him a new horse, but since he's blind and will most likely remain blind, I don't think that's such a good idea anymore."

"Give him something else then—something he can use." She draped the belt over his shoulder. "You're very clever, My Lord. I'm sure you can think of something."

He wasn't too sure if he could.

With over ten minutes to spare, he left his chamber and ambled down the end of the corridor, to the secret room behind the overly large portrait of King Gerald IV, the Nose-hair King as Sebastian had dubbed him. From there, he was only fourteen pulls and a short elevator ride away from the throne room on the ground floor. Uncle Tom had shown it to him before, but this would be his first time using the shortcut.

Aunt Crystal was already there, wearing a light blue dress that stopped where her brown heeled boots began. A white fur draped her exposed shoulder. Before turning around to him, she ran her finger one last time over the deep red wooden frame. She muttered, her face grim as though a little speck of dust was the biggest sin committed in this castle.

Sebastian cocked his head. "You look different."

"I thought I'd slip back into my Ician clothes—please my brother," she said.

"I see. Any words of advice?" A lump tasting of willow bark formed at the back of his throat. "I've never done this before. What if I insult him?"

"You won't." Aunt Crystal stroked his shoulder. "All you have to do is welcome him to this country and city. Ask him about his travels and life back home. Chit-chat about anything that pops up. If you're uncomfortable discussing politics or economics, tell him Thomas can't wait to discuss those topics with him."

Sebastian nodded, trying to remember his lessons about the Ician royal family and the chieftains of their villages. "Your father—I know he's old, but the God of Greed stole his name from my mind."

"Alder, King Alder. He has just celebrated his seventieth birthday. My mother is sixty-four. Ask about their health."

"Because it's good manners, or because you would like to know?" Sebastian asked cheekily.

"Both."

"Alright, King Alder, Queen Feline. Your brothers are called Storm and River." Sebastian scratched his head. "Your sister is... err... err.... a plant."

"Ivy." Aunt Crystal chuckled. "Storm would fill the hall with his laughter, but don't tell that to River—Humour is mostly lost on him."

"Does he know about... our family history?"

"A little, but not all. Best not mention your brother, and leave talks about magic to me and your uncle. It's always a touchy subject between our two nations."

Aunt Crystal pushed the frame aside and beckoned him to enter the dimly lit space.

He stepped onto a thick wooden plate with thick metal chains on each corner that ended in an enormous hook above his head. In the middle, there was a pole; his only source of personal space as she joined him.

"Hold on tight," she told him, then when he had grabbed the pole with both hands, she stomped her heels twice.

The plate stirred, the chains rattling, then smoothly they slid through their reels. The room disappeared above their heads. He was stuck between two walls. A good gulp of poppyseed potion would have made this trip more pleasant than it was. Fast it may be, but is was everything but comfortable.

He held his breath until they landed in a brightly lit room with a clunk. Gilles, a young servant with half his shirt tucked into his trousers, stepped out of the right giant wheel that was connected to the chains and the plate. Out of the other came Fred, a former Cadet with long light brown hair and too many freckles. Both men bowed.

Sebastian walked straight past them, trailing behind Aunt Crystal who pushed a seemingly arbitrary stone. The wall slid sideways; the entrance to the throne room.

After he had stepped through it, the door of stones closed behind with a dull thud. The wall appeared as if there had never been a secret space beneath the obsidian throne.

It was strange to not have Uncle Tom or George around. The throne room seemed so empty.  A handful of guards lowered their heads, as did Captain Jonathan and Lana, whose blue dress resembled the Ician style of Aunt Crystal instead that of the Greenlander Princess she was. Aunt Crystal joined Lana in the sideway aisle.

The throne room was silent as Sebastian climbed up the fourteen steps of the obsidian throne, careful not to skip a step, for it would enrage the missed God or Goddess and send misfortune to their family, Sundale, or the whole country.

Up on the platform he turned around, willow-induced power coursing throne his veins. He pushed his ceremonial sword to the side and sat down on the sycamore-crested cushions, his arms resting on the obsidian horse heads. He was King in all but name.

Yet Nick still hated him. Sweat formed on his hands, his tongue craving the nutty flavour of the poppyseed. The faint taste of willow bark at the back of his throat should do to bring this to a good end. He could handle this.

He exhaled a deep breath, then searched for Captain Jonathan's eyes. As he found them, he nodded.

The Captain passed the signal towards the two guards in the back, Stephen and Peter, who opened the gate.

Sebastian blinked, then looked again. A doddery-looking man with long untamed curls and an even wilder beard entered the room, alone. No, not alone. Something between a ball and a sausage of fur bounced enthusiastically in front of him, behind him, around him, everywhere the short leash allowed it to go. Its yipping and yapping were so loud he was sure Uncle Tom would hear it too even if his bad ear was facing this offspring of a bear cub and a white sheepdog.

The ghost of Pale Rabbit twisted Sebastian's tongue. "W-W-Welcome to... to Sunstone Castle, Lord River of Ice." He cursed to himself—Ician Princes were never Lords; that was a Greenlander concept. "Prince River, I mean. Prince River of Ice, welcome. I hope your travels were swift and not too arduous."

Prince River shuffled on the green carpet with the speed of someone heading to bed against their will. "They were cold and dreadful at first, but as the days grew, so did the warmth of the sun. Bigcastle sends his greetings and a gift for the young Lord Sebastian." He crouched down and unclasped the fur sausage's leash.

Instantly, it darted towards the obsidian throne.

Sebastian clutched to the armrest as it ran up the stairs, skipping not only the step of the God of Gluttony but also those of Charity and Temperance. "What's that?" he uttered with a shrill voice, his back flat against the throne.

"Mountain Dog pupper," River said as the dog sat down by Sebastian's feet, panting heavily, its tongue threatening to lick him. "Extremely loyal to the master who names them. Mostly used up north for riding instead of the more fickle-tempered horses, but they can be taught anything."

"You can ride them!"

"They don't stay this small, My Lord," River said, as though he had wanted to call Sebastian a muttonhead.

The dog started wagging its tail, hitting Sebastian's leg and the throne. For now, he decided to ignore the creature, pretend he was pleased with the gift. "I shall write a letter to thank your father for the puppy. And thank you also for making this long journey. There is nobody better equipped to teach me about the kingdom of Ice than you do, Prince River."

"Reindeer droppings." River glanced at the aisle. "My sister knows as much as I do."

"But she's not the Crown Prince of Ice. She doesn't know all the ins and outs of your internal affairs... foreign affairs," Sebastian tried. "Of course, I'm sure she's also glad to catch up with her older brother after all those years."

"As much as the Winter Bear enjoys catching up with the Summer Dragon."

Not understanding what that Ician saying meant, Sebastian turned his head towards Lana and Aunt Crystal. His cousin moved her hand around in circles, beckoning him to remain talking. It didn't last long; his aunt noticed it and pushed Lana's hand down.

What else could he talk about?

His stomach rumbled. "I take it you must be hungry after such a long travel."

"Not really." The man slumped his shoulders. "Just had my breakfast at the Sunshine inn. When can I speak to His Majesty?"

"He's otherwise occupied at the moment," Sebastian repeated the words Uncle Tom had said to him. "But soon, I take it. I just wonder... what was it like to travel through Silvermark?"

"Worse than the last time. The bloody reign of Tigris the Terrible may be but a memory of the past, but the country is but a shade of the force they were prior to the last war. Pardus saw the first decline, but Ariel can't stop it. I'm surprised you lot haven't invaded it yet—they're weaker than injured deer."

"A lot has happened since Theo and Leo split the land below the Whiteriver. We can't allow magicians to roam this land." Sebastian held his tongue, bit it even. He shouldn't have said that, shouldn't have mentioned magicians.

"And why not, young Crown Prince?"

Even though Lana was rolling her eyes at him, and Captain Jonathan was digging his fingers into the palm of his hand, there was no turning back now. Even the sausage pup had cocked its head and was looking at him with its big black marble eyes.

"I survived the attack of a magician—I know what kind of destruction they're capable of," he said.

"And have you ever considered what they can create?"

"Fire, death, misery." All three words reminded him of Nick and their broken friendship.

"Water heals, air lifts one's soul to your heavens, and Earth digs up secrets you thought were long lost. Do not see the magicians as evil, My Lord," River said.

"I never said they were." Sebastian accidentally gave the pup a soft kick; the creature yelped in pain. "But they don't belong here. Remember where you are, Prince River."

"And remember who you invited to your castle, Prince Sebastian," River said, his mocking grin revealing a set of yellowish teeth.

"I didn't invite you—my aunt and uncle did." Sebastian rose up from the throne and crossed his arms behind his back, his chin held up. "But to bring you up to speed of what I already know—Ice needs the diamond trade roads more than The Greenlands does."

"So you want to cut us off? We have the goods—you the money."

"Of course, but your country was but a wasteland before your father and my grandfather sealed the pact between our two nations. In the future, we can either rule together as allies, or become strangers again. The choice is yours, Prince River."

The Ician Prince pursed his lips, his eyes rolling back to his relatives in the sideway aisle. Though Lana had her mouth open, she also looked impressed, mildly pleased even. Aunt Crystal was smiling. That was odd; he had expected her to be furious.

A one-man applause resounded from below. Uncle Tom appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He quickly approached River and greeted him with a firm handshake and a pat on the shoulder.

"What do you think of my nephew, River?" Uncle Tom said as he faced the throne. "Feisty fellow, isn't he?"

"Quick-witted and quick-tempered. A tough negotiator when he shall master the fine art of diplomacy," River said, more eyes for him than Uncle Tom.

"That's why you're here," Uncle Tom said. "And he's up there. To be taught the tricks of the trade."

"He almost got a chuckle out of me."

"And that is what I call a victory," Uncle Tom said. "Come, let my servants show you to your chamber, let them..."

Clenching his teeth, Sebastian slipped back onto the throne, treasuring the moment of power before he returned to being his uncle's pawn, to be used for entertainment purposes, to perform like the travelling bards on the main square.

Suddenly he felt something wet on his feet. A pool of liquid emerged from under the fur sausage and spread fast across the obsidian floor. A pathetic arf came out of its dribbling mouth, its short white ears perked up.

His relatives had more attention for each other than for him and his precarious situation. Aunt Crystal and River were hugging. Lana was chatting away with too many gestures. Even the guards were just talking to each other.

Sebastian picked up the pup by the back of its brown leather collar; the sausage was surprisingly heavy. "You heard your former master. I have a quick temper. It's up to you if we're gonna be friends or not. Don't ever piss on my shoes again."

The fur sausage clawed its clawless paws at him, neither soft nor hard. A thin stream of hot liquid trickled down on Sebastian's trousers.

Gods, couldn't King Alder have gifted him a dagger, or an Ician rock, or itchy woollen socks? What in the Seven Hells did he have to do with a leaking mountain dog pup?