Joseph had known Ghislain for eight years, and the one constant thing he noticed about their relationship was that Ghislain was always insisting that the two of them were vastly different from each other.

“You and I, we’re not alike at all,” Ghislain would say. He’d cite various reasons, like Joseph being kinder, wiser, more charismatic, and other such things. Then, he’d grumble, “You should be the prince, not me.”

And every time, Joseph would gently admonish him. “The world doesn’t have to be split into two opposing sides. You are all those things, Ghislain. You just need to learn how to express yourself.”

For the most part, he meant what he said. But if there was truly one thing that differentiated the two, it was in the way they attributed the burden of blame. Ghislain always wanted to blame someone – his unhappy childhood and the problems of Calorin were often attributed to his father, and, more recently, he had theorized the change in his brother’s behavior was due to someone on the Royal Council manipulating him. Whatever the issue, someone was always at fault, and sometimes it was Ghislain himself.

Perhaps, the burden of the blame was rightfully placed on these people, but Joseph couldn’t reconcile with such a way of thinking. More than anything else, he just worried that Ghislain’s tendency to always find someone to blame gave him a dismal outlook of the world.

Joseph and his family were originally from the island kingdom of Arthain, but they had sought refuge in Calorin after a peasant revolt led to their castle being burnt down. There were a lot of people he could’ve rightfully and wrongfully blamed for this.

Arthain was in a constant state of war between the other isles, and his cowardly father had levied high taxes to support his standing army. His mother was the niece of the Arthain king, but she was too prideful to ask for the royal family’s help. There was also his older brother who would upset the other houses by trying to seduce their women, which made it difficult to gather support among the nobility. And if Joseph was the kind of arrogant nobility that Ghislain despised the most, he supposed he could’ve blamed the peasants for turning on them or the soldiers for letting the peasants storm the castle.

But the thing he blamed was not the people involved in the razing of their home but the fire itself. It was the orange flames that scaled the castle walls to threaten them, and the dark smoke that forced them to escape through the underground tunnel.

“That’s…a strange way to see it,” Ghislain had said on the night in which Joseph had explained all of this to him. There was a funny expression on his face – he was confused but struggling to hide it.

“Childish, I know,” he replied. “But it makes me feel better to blame something that couldn’t be controlled.”

Fire, wild and unrestrained, had consumed the world that he knew, and that should’ve been the end of it. But when he and Ghislain had stepped out of their tent to investigate the disturbance, he had been completely petrified by the sight of the flames. He had tried to stifle his fear, rationalizing that it was a relatively small fire, but he couldn’t take his eyes off it.

And when Ghislain ran off somewhere, he wanted to follow him, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know how long he stood there, watching the smoke rise into the air, the cries of his soldiers somehow muted by the crackling of his world burning before him.

Again.

What woke him from his trance was someone bumping into his back. He didn’t know who it was, but when he turned around, he saw a flash of blonde hair. He wanted to call out to the person, but he realized that now was not the time.

He ran out into the battlefield, although avoiding the areas that were still burning, and directed his men. Afterward, when he reconvened with his officers, he learned that the situation was a lot worse than he had thought.

“These wolves, they came out of nowhere,” Rados managed to say before entering a dry coughing fit. The fire had started near his tent, and it was possible that he had been its target. “There was almost a hundred of them, but even then, it should've been manageable. Problem is the prisoners got loose somehow, too. Injured some of the men, took our horses, and fled. It was a fucking mess out there. The wolves started running once the paladin showed up, and my men are putting out the fires right now. Still, I can’t figure out the enemy’s aim here. We’re missing something. And where’s Ghislain?”

“He’s…”

At that moment, Sir Roel entered the tent. Despite having no visible injuries, he had an exhausted look on his face. Rados’ shoulders tensed, and the other officers either nodded or bowed upon his arrival.

“We’ve chased off the wolves,” the paladin said as he gave a short bow. That was one of the things that Joseph had noticed about him – he never forgot his formalities. He still wasn’t sure what Ghislain saw in the paladin, but the man did make a favorable impression on him. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t find any of the prisoners, but it seems likely that they were freed by the heretics.”

“Heretics, huh. But I don’t understand their plan,” Rados said with a sigh. “Was it really just to free some prisoners? Just for that, they sent wolves, started a fire, and challenged a paladin?”

“What?” The last part caught his attention, and he turned to Sir Roel. “They attacked you?”

“Yeah, that’s what delayed me. There were three of them. Couldn’t make out their faces, but they spoke in a language I didn’t recognize. Could’ve been Graecian.”

That was alarming news. The Graecian Empire, Calorin’s greatest opposition to ruling the continent, had been relatively quiet once King Mathieu took the throne. Were they finally starting to act? He thought of the person who had bumped into him earlier, the dark cloak and the flash of blond hair. Had he unknowingly bumped into one of the perpetrators?

“Where’s the prince?” Sir Roel asked, jolting him from his thoughts.

“We were wondering the same thing,” Rados said.

“He…he disappeared when the attack started.” Joseph didn’t know how to word it any better, and as expected, Rados looked at him with displeasure.

“What?” Rados said. “I didn’t take him for a coward.”

“He’s not!” Joseph said, his voice unintentionally rising. The other officers murmured their displeasure with Rados for insulting the prince.

The large man, unaffected by the murmurs, crossed his arms. “Well, I don’t see him anywhere.”

“That’s because…” He didn’t know how to explain Ghislain’s actions, which had been bewildering even to him.

“He must’ve had a good reason for fleeing,” Sir Roel said. “He never ran away during any of the battles at Rove, did he?”

Joseph gave him a grateful smile. “No, he would never do such a thing.”

“Alright,” Rados grumbled. “But he better explain himself when he comes back. That is, if he’s coming back.”

“Yeah, he told me he’d return when everything subsided.”

“So, are we supposed to stand around until His Highness finishes his stroll in the woods?”

“Rados, w-who the fuck do you think you are?” one of the officers said. “You’ve been badmouthing the prince and our men ever since the start of the siege! You’re lucky that Prince Ghislain was magnanimous enough to allow a heretic to join.”

Rados glared at the officer who let out a yelp. “You’re the one who doesn’t get it, you presumptuous half-wit. Ghislain brought me along because he didn’t trust you fresh-faced pansies. And if he were the type of person to get insulted over some light jabs like this, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“You fucking dare –”

“The prince might be missing, but I won’t stand for any in-fighting,” Joseph said. He gave the officer, an earl’s second son who had begged the prince to let him join the army as an officer, a hard stare. “Jehan, we’ve been keeping an eye on you, and time and time again, you have treated Rados and the other soldiers with disdain and ridicule. This is your final warning.”

The officer gulped and took a step back. “Yes, sir.”

“And Rados, I understand that the agreement that you have with the prince is not an ordinary one, but please keep those ‘light jabs’ to yourself when we are having an officers’ meeting.”

Rados didn’t say anything, but at the very least, he didn’t show him the same contempt that he had shown towards the offending officer.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sir Roel staring thoughtfully at him. “What is it?” he asked him.

“Nothing. I was just impressed with your authority.”

“If I have any degree of leadership, it is only thanks to the prince, who allowed me to lead some of the battles at Rove.” He wasn’t trying to be humble. Joseph had never been the type of person to lead; public speaking always filled him with nervousness. However, eight years ago, when he first saw Ghislain speak to his advisors, a group of wizened, traditionalist nobles, with an almost arrogant nonchalance, he had been in awe.

“I see,” Sir Roel said. “As for the prince, might it be wise to send out a search party? It’d be unfortunate if he ran into the missing prisoners.”

The paladin’s words sparked a fear in him, and he chided himself for not thinking about such a possibility. In his mind, he had just assumed that Ghislain was safe, hidden somewhere, and grumbling to himself about his incompetent officers who couldn’t fend off a wolf attack. It had never occurred to him that he might’ve been in some sort of trouble. The other officers stirred at the paladin’s words.

“Yes, you’re right,” Joseph said. “We need to form a squad, quickly. Grab some of the uninjured soldiers.”

“I’ll lead them!” Jehan said, most likely out of eagerness to redeem himself.

“Do you mind if I tag along?” Sir Roel said.

“Of course!” Jehan said with a wide grin. The other officers scrambled to volunteer, and Joseph knew well enough that each had their own little scheme to win over the paladin and the prince once they found him. Rados stood at a distance, looking upon them with an undisguised disgust.

Joseph walked out of the tent and took a deep breath. The horrors of the night were over, but there were men to be tended to. Unfortunately, they had lost a few lives. Some to the wolves, a few to the fire, and one to the escaped prisoners.

He approached the site of the fire. It had been put out a while ago, but even just seeing the ashes of it filled him with a sense of fear.

He had never explicitly explained his pyrophobia to Ghislain, but he didn’t have to. Ghislain had never once asked for an explanation or blamed him for his cowardice; despite how he often acted, the man could be tactful when he wanted to be. That was why there were only ever two lit candles in their tent, the bare minimum of light needed.

After making sure that no one was watching him, Joseph rubbed at the middle of his chest. Around his neck but hidden carefully underneath his tunic was a golden cross hanging off a chain necklace.

Where’d you go, Ghislain?