Sandpaper was truly a miracle. Sybil ran her hand over the beam. The seam was nearly invisible. She pressed her palm against the surface and a small panel popped open. It was a hidden compartment kept in place by a magnet. Just big enough to fit in a dagger. The seam might become visible again if she messed with it too much but it shouldn’t draw any attention to itself now.

Sybil had been spending the majority of her free time at the theater. She had gotten permission to skip out on some of her afternoon classes so she could prepare for the palace performance. Since it was a bit of a nuisance to let her practice whenever, what with needing either Kogin or a tightrope, she had been allowed to help out with the prop department.

Which was perfect, because she needed to get a dagger into the palace without anyone asking questions. All the prop and set pieces were to be delivered to the palace the day before the performance for security inspections. The actors were told to show up two hours early to the event for security searches.

Something about a long history of entertainers making assassination attempts? Sybil hadn’t heard of it before, but apparently that was like some huge thing that royals had to be worried about. But it didn’t bother her that dancers and killers were commonly associated with each other. Plenty of people said that her natural abilities would lead her to be a skilled assassin, so who was she to deny fate?

“Sorry, I’m late.” Gwyn tapped on Sybil’s shoulder to get her attention.

Sybil quickly closed the panel. “Did you secure the package?”

Gwyn held up a box that had been wrapped in a colorful cloth. “Everything is in here.”

Perfect. Sybil quickly looked around. “Let’s sit by the hardware closet. No one should be near there right now.”

All the major construction had been finished. No one went near the closet unless there were repairs being done, thus it was a fairly safe place to get some privacy. Sybil unwrapped the parcel and handed Gwyn one of the sandwiches inside. Patterfall had baked the loaf and Gwyn had made roast duck breast and pickled fennel sandwiches with it.

Underneath the sandwiches was an envelope wrapped in wax paper. Udell had passed it along to Gwyn earlier. This was how Duxton had been communicating with Sybil for the past few weeks. The messages were written in code and were written on a paper that burned quickly and without smoke. It was the only stealthy thing that Duxton had done in regards to Sybil’s safety.

… And of course, it didn’t matter if this was written in code or not. There wasn’t anything relevant in the letter. Duxton was busy. He was slowly making progress on something he couldn’t specify. There was nothing that Sybil could do to help him, so she should stay put and not attempt to contact him.

No big deal. Sybil will just not contact Duxton and blissfully forget to report that she had joined a theater troupe in her spare time.

“Has Zaniyah come by again?” Gwyn asked. She delicately placed the last bite of her sandwich in her mouth and washed it down with tea.

Sybil nodded. “I hid in the rafters until she left…” It felt bad to hide from her, but she didn’t want Zaniyah to be involved. “Kogin wants to introduce us, because he wants Zani to have more friends in Fogbloom. I sort of lied and said I couldn’t wait to meet her.” Her tone turned chiper. “After all, Miss Gwyndolyn is also from Braytons, and she’s like a sister to me. Imagine how well I would get along with Miss Zaniyah!”

Gwyn frowned at her.

Sybil frowned back. “Don’t mock my tone. I’m only trying to sound like you and Ivy when you two were busy bullying Zani.”

“I only acted that way because I wasn’t interested in making friends. Somehow, Ivy was convinced she and Vincent were destined for each other.” Gwyn rolled her eyes. “But do what you can to avoid her. I wouldn’t want her to get hurt either.”

“... Yeah,” whispered Sybil. “There’s a chance that she’ll be at the party. I’m going to get everything done before she even realizes that it’s me.”

Gwyn watched Sybil fidget for a moment. “I’m helping you because you asked me to, but… I didn’t think we’d actually manage to get you into the palace without Prince Duxton’s assistance..”

“... Yeah,” repeated Sybil.

Gwyn continued to whisper. “I haven’t been involved for long. I have no perspective for the pain these people have put you through, or how many lives they’ve destroyed.” Her hands tensed around the cup. “I’ve been thinking about my own family and what we went through during and after the war. A part of me is frightened that another civil war will happen once we reveal the truth.”

“You think I’m in the wrong?” Sybil was also tense. “Are you saying we should stop?”

Gwyn shook her head. “My orders were to assist you… I will trust Lady Till’s request to assist you in any way I can. However, I am beginning to have my doubts.”

Sybil shook her head. “I can’t stop,” she replied hesitantly. “I don’t know if this is for the best either, but I know that this is war. Fogbloom has been battling itself ever since King Cadogan and his family were assassinated. If anything, what we’re doing now could stop another Southern War from happening.”

This was way over Gwyn’s head. She couldn’t tell if Sybil was becoming obsessed with the issue and if she was just making up excuses so she wouldn’t feel any guilt later on. “I…” She shook her head. Sybil was only planning to interrogate Father Laurent, wasn’t she? There wasn’t anything more than this?

“Just this,” replied Sybil, as though she had read Gwyn’s mind. “Just Eatha’s Feast Day,” she said with a smile. “After this, you have no further obligation to help me. You have no responsibility to take care of me after this.”

“Alright,” whispered Gwyn.

Now Sybil was having doubts. Laurent Aconite had to be at the heart of this. Her time in Fogbloom had taught her that the king had been hiding away from the public eye, for his aides to rule the country for him. Duxton talked big, but he didn’t have the power to stop him. Sybil did. She’d cut off the head and dismantle the body.

As for what comes after… Sybil dreaded the thought. Once the assassination was done and over, she planned on fleeing Fogbloom and making her way east. Maybe she’d get the chance to see her father, but it would be better for her to head straight to the swamplands. She didn’t know if she could help with the battles raging there, but trying to enter the Sky Region was safer than staying in mainland Lustro.

Less than a week from now. Only a few days left. For the first time in what felt like forever, Sybil was going to feel safe.

---

“Here are my papers,” said Udell as he held a sheet forward.

The gate guard looked it over before handing the sheet back. After weeks of waiting, Udell had gotten permission to enter the palace. One would think that the prince’s word was good enough, but he needed to be registered as a royal bodyguard in order for him to carry his weapon inside the palace. He refused to go anywhere without his weapon.

“Finally.” Duxton rolled his eyes. “I told you that it would be fine,” he muttered to Shaw sarcastically.

“There is always a reason to be cautious at the palace,” replied Shaw under his breath.

Duxton ignored Shaw’s snark while he extended a hand to Udell. “Welcome to the team.”

Udell dismissed Duxton’s offered palm with a wave of his hand. “I will be handing you my resignation before the end of the year.”

“And you are free to do so,” cheerfully replied Duxton. He had never planned to keep Udell by his side in the first place.

The entrance of the palace had been fortified after Prince Wulfric’s death. Its moat had been widened and a guard’s barracks added to the entrance. Chained carts were added to the sides, acting as transport from one end of the bridge to the other. Though it wasn’t a long walk across, the nobles complained that they shouldn’t be forced to use their feet or risk wearing out their expensive shoes.

Duxton didn’t particularly care for the carts. The chains they were attached to were operated by a massive wheel that took three people to push, making them loud and slow. Walking at a brisk pace was far more efficient.

“Shaw will show you to the bodyguard meeting room,” said Duxton. Shaw moved to flank him on one side while Udell moved to the other.

“Sir,” replied Udell.

“I’m only here to see my grandfather,” sharply replied Duxton. “They don’t allow for guards to sit in on family meetings.”

He hadn’t seen King Howell since before Prince Wulfric died. Duxton didn’t bother to write at all. The king hadn’t bothered to invite Duxton to a meeting before. It had come to the point where Duxton had become convinced that he wouldn’t hear any news about the old man until the king was on his deathbed.

That was simply how the Aconite family operated. Blood was to be ignored unless it served a purpose.

Duxton noted that front doors to the palace had been replaced at some point this year. They had been given a coating made of the inner skins of seashells, giving it a pearlescent glow when the morning light hit it. Several renovations had been made since Wulfric died. These likely suited the tastes of the king’s aides instead of Howell himself.

They waited for the ceremony horns to blow, announcing the arrival of the crown prince, and the doors opened. The three walked in and began to ascend the stairs. Rooms dedicated to the private use of the royal family were located on the top floors of the palace. There was talk of installing an elevator, but people argued that it was too dangerous to have a shaft that led all the way to the top.

Shaw and Udell broke off as they approached the family meeting room. Duxton had only been in this room once as a child, when he was introduced to the king. He remembered that the walls were cluttered with banners and portraits of the Fogbloom family, with a small picture of his great grandfather that had been wedged near the entrance. It was also dark and had a seemingly endless amount of dust in it.

Duxton opened the door and was greeted by a vastly different space. The family table, which had been a large circular thing, was been placed with an even larger rectangle. Thomas Aconite’s portrait was hung behind the head of the table. He, his wife, and his son were posing together. Howell was in his late teens, meaning that this had been painted shortly before Thomas’ suicide. Banners with the Aconite coat of arms were hung on either side of the painting.

That was the only bit of art that had been hung. Everything of the Fogblooms, even their violet colors, had been scrubbed out of the room. The table itself was covered with inlays in the shapes of different aconite flowers. The royal family was represented by golden winter aconite, and the branch family wore wolfsbane as their family.

The head at the table had two chairs of equal grandeur set up. At the right sat the king and the left was occupied by Laurent Aconite. Patterfall and his younger brother, Viokern, sat on the right side. Viokern flashed Duxton a weak smile while Patterfall kept his head down.

“Apologies if I’m late,” said Duxton as he took his seat on the left.

“It is the brothers who showed up early,” replied Laurent.

Viokern immediately looked down at the table. “S-sorry.”

The king stirred slightly. His eyes, which had heavy bags underneath them, opened. He had trouble focusing as he looked about. “... Where is Alton?”

“Braytons keeps his schedule, sire,” replied Laurent patiently. “Alton will not be able to attend. It will no doubt be many years before Alton will be able to attend a meeting at the palace.”

“Alton should be here,” muttered Howell in a distant tone. “... And Wulfert?”

“Tria keeps him occupied,” replied Laurent.

Howell nodded to himself a few times. “Ah, I see… He was always fond of strange women, wasn’t he, cousin?” He reached over and patted Laurent’s shoulder a few times. “Always with the strange women.”

“Yes, sire,” muttered Laurent. His tone had a hint of annoyance to it.

What was this? Duxton’s eyes darted between the two men. Howell wasn’t the proud, cold man that he remembered. He had shriveled, both in his posture and within his mind. How long had he been like this? Why had no one said anything to him?

Laurent cleared his throat. “We are gathered here to discuss the inheritance of the crown. A decision will not be made today, but we wish for all of you to be open to the idea of taking hold of Lustro for yourselves.”

“Alton should be here,” grumbled Howell.

Ever the patient man, Laurent took a moment to address the king. “We are still uncertain if Alton is of Aconite blood. It would not bear well to invite him to the table without confirmation.”

The king began to mutter quietly to himself, so quietly that no one could make out what he was saying.

“Pardon for the interruption,” said Duxton as he partially raised his hand. “I believe that the King’s Court has final say over who will become heir.” Which was part of the reason why he had volunteered to leave Fogbloom and attend Braytons. A little distance was needed for the court to forget about all that retribution and murdering Duxton had done.

“The king’s hands believe that dismantling the King’s Court will lead to a strong Lustro,” replied Laurent. “After a lengthy investigation, we have decided that their interests only pertain to maintaining the wealth and nobility of their families. We will be stripping them of their titles and replacing them with officials elected by the heads of each region.”

“When will this change take place?” Asked Patterfall.

“Once the current war has settled. King Howell will choose to abdicate the throne either then or a few years from now, when Viokern is old enough to rule.” Laurent folded his hands together on his lap.

Duxton glanced at his grandfather. His bones were barely being held together. He was supposed to survive another six years like this? “Do you believe that grandfather’s health is well enough to last until then?”

Laurent nodded. “We have a doctor managing his condition.”

Viokern perked up. “How will we decide on an heir?” There was an eerie glint of determination in his eyes.

“Before I go over the requirements,” began Laurent, “do any of you wish to withdraw from consideration?” No one dared move, even breathe, least a breath was all it took to take the crown away from them. “Then I will begin by stating that it will be difficult to decide between the three of you. Master Patterfall has excelled in his studies in law, while Master Viokern has also shown promise with his education.

Prince Duxton was once a desirable choice, but he has proven himself to be irresponsibly temperamental at times. We have also held concerns that he will ignore the advice of his peers and seek to exile those who oppose him. Government is not a single man, but a team. We fear that your leadership will lead to a coup.”

They weren’t wrong. Whoever these “we” people were, they at least understood Duxton well enough to understand his impatience. “And when will we know the answer to that decision?” Maybe he should consider exiling them while he still held the title of the crown prince.

“When we are prepared to make it,” replied Laurent. “King Howell wishes to have a portrait painted of himself and his grandchildren. We will have the first sketches done today.”

“Alton should be here,” interrupted the king with a weary tone.

“Yes, Sire, but it cannot be helped,” answered Laurent in an equally weary tone. “We have a suite prepared with a choice of outfits. This first sketch shouldn’t take longer than an hour. Please be prepared to return for color corrections once the canvas sketch is done.”

Laurent gestured to the door and it was Viokern that stood up first. He went to assist the king in standing up. Patterfall waited to see if he was needed before moving to open the door. He and Duxton each held one of the double doors open as they waited for their grandfather to pass.

“Will grandfather need help changing his attire?” Viokern looked up at Laurent.

“We have servants for that,” replied Laurent. “Go ahead and see yourself to the suite. It’s your usual resting room.”

Duxton frowned to himself. “Usual resting room?” He asked under his breath.

Viokern grasped onto one of the king’s hands. “You’re feeling cold again grandfather. I’ll ask one of the servants to bring you tea.”

“With a little bit of honey… That one honey…” Muttered the king.

“Orange blossom honey,” answered Viokern. “The one you said grandmother loved, remember?”

“What a nice woman she was,” replied the king absentmindedly. “Mother was quite fond of it as well.”

Duxton gritted his teeth and kept his mouth shut. Now wasn’t the time to create a scene, no matter how much he wanted to create one. He silently followed Viokern down the hall and to a grand suite where several mannequins had been set up. They each had different colors coordinated for them. Violet and white suit for Patterfall and Viokern, and Duxton chose a deep orange jacket with gold embroidery.

There were servants to help them with the hundred or so buttons on the suits as well as barbers to shave their chins and style their hair. Their bodyguards, specifically Shaw and Udell were allowed to guard the door from inside the room. Patterfall and Viokern didn’t travel with any personal guards, only impersonal ones that had been assigned to their carriage.

“Will you need me to go home with you, Viokern? Once we’re done, that is.” Patterfall asked.

He straightened out his jacket and posed awkwardly. His eyes flitted to the mirror. Did this look good enough for the portrait or should he try something else? Wait, was this going to be hung up in the room? Whatever pose he chose was going to be hanging up for centuries, he should at least try for something more regal looking, but what did regal even look like?!

“I was going to spend the night here,” replied Viokern as he joined his brother in posing for the mirror. Patterfall flashed him a panicked stare. “Tomorrow is Satyrday. I should do church service with grandfather.”

“Y-yes you should,” stammered Patterfall. “I’ll change my plans and spend the night with you. Duxton?” He stared at his cousin in a pleading manner.

Duxton shook his head. “I am attending services at the royal barracks, as I am usually told to do.”

“I see,” replied Patterfall as he bobbled his head.

“We’re ready right?” Viokern beamed. He felt so prim and proper, like a real prince. His mother was once a princess and now a duchess, but his father had insisted that they live a casual lifestyle whenever they could. This was a rare moment where he actually felt like he had noble blood. “We shouldn’t keep grandfather waiting.”

“Indeed.” Duxton waited for the two to head to the door.

He followed them briefly but made certain to catch Shaw’s eye. Once their eyes locked, he grabbed onto Shaw’s sleeve and gave him a quick but firm stare down before following his cousins down the hall.

Shaw nodded and turned away. “I’ll tend to the prince’s attire,” he said to a maid. She scowled at him for a moment before handing over Duxton’s clothes.

Udell folded his arms and waited by the door. Duxton wasn’t one to panic, but that look he gave Shaw.... It was as though the prince had seen his life flash before his eyes. Shaw entered the private area and quickly examined Duxton’s clothes. He pulled a journal out from the breast pocket of the jacket before he folded up the items.

“These need to be laundered,” he said as he placed the items on the back of a sofa. “I will choose a new suit from the prince’s bedroom.” Shaw gave Udell a nod. “Come along.”

The pair went to Duxton’s bedroom. Udell had believed that Duxton’s luxurious tastes would translate to his personal space, but he was surprised to find that the room was smaller than the inn rooms they had stayed in while traveling to Fogbloom. There was only enough space for a bed, an armoire, a dresser, and a humble nightstand.

Shaw felt around the door entrance and put his hand on a metal plate. A series of small lights that lined the ceiling lit up. The room wasn’t even important enough to have its own window, which meant that it was far worse than the guest rooms located within the palace.

“It’s a renovated supply closet,” said Shaw. He sought to answer the question Udell hesitated to ask. “This room had been prepared for him by Prince Wulfric. King Howell did not offer our lord a better place to rest, not even after his father died.”

“What are we looking for?” Udell waited for Shaw to step in before following.

“Our lord has indicated that he must leave the palace. We are to retrieve any personal items of value.” Shaw opened the armoire and pulled out a medium sized suitcase. “We’ll take everything that will fit in this and our pockets.”

The pair made quick work going through the room. They grabbed all written journals and three suits. Udell opened up the drawer in the nightstand and picked up a long, silver braid. It had been tied up on both sides so that it wouldn’t come loose.

Whatever Duxton’s reason for having this, Udell didn’t know, but it clearly was the same color as Alton’s hair. “Do we take this?”

Shaw took the hair from Udell and stared at it for a long moment. There was a distant memory that glinted in his eye. “... Alton is Duxton’s younger brother.”

“So I heard,” replied Udell. Part of his conditions for working for the prince was that Duxton be open about everything that had happened up to this point. He couldn’t operate freely if information was being held from him.

“He cut this off of Alton on the day that boy was exiled from Fogbloom,” said Shaw. “Duxton was…”

Cruel. Duxton had been cruel to Alton, but that was his way of sheltering him as well. Alton thought the world of Wulfric. He didn’t wish to appear weak in front of the man he thought he was his father. Whenever Duxton was mean to Alton, he would run to either Enzo or his mother. Bullying him was protecting him from learning what sort of man Wulfric truly was.

Shaw sometimes wondered if Duxton would become a better man than Wulfric, but there were moments where he had his doubts. “There may have been a reason why he kept this,” he said as he took out a handkerchief and wrapped up the braid.

Udell found an elaborate box covered in gilded decorations. He didn’t look inside. From the state of this room, it didn’t seem like Duxton had the space to keep items he didn’t care about. It was the last item that went inside the suitcase, laid on top of the handkerchief that held Alton’s braid.

“If our lord chooses to leave the city, I will be the one to go with him,” said Udell. Shaw glanced his way with a scowl. A confused scowl, but a scowl nonetheless. “You have a family here.”

“You have a wife,” replied Shaw.

Udell shrugged. “She may be happier as a widow.”

Shaw shook his head. “It may be safer for Duxton to stay in Fogbloom for the time being. The palace is where he is least safe.” … Right? That seemed right. “Come along, before someone asks us why we are taking so long.”

The sketching was far from done by the time Shaw and Udell entered the throne room. There were half a dozen artists, each set up to draw pages and pages of sketches. One focused on painting composition, a pair were responsible for sketching large-scale images of the faces, and another was already doing color swatches.

Duxton was the first to relax after the sketches were done. Finally. He could get out of here. He stretched his arms and cracked his back.

Patterfall spoke up. “Will you be coming to the mansion for lunch?”

Duxton glanced over to Viokern, who was already doting over their grandfather, then back to Patterfall. “Hm?” Patterfall was giving a pleading stare. “... I don’t have the time for a meal. Is this your way of asking for a ride back?”

“... Yeah, it is,” replied Patterfall with a fake laugh. “I thought I would be going back with Viokern and didn’t make arrangements for a carriage. There are a few items I need to grab if I’m going to spend the night here, so I may as well right back with you?”

“Fine, whatever,” said Duxton as he bit his words back. He wanted to tell Patterfall off, but he wouldn't do that in front of the king.

They went back to the suite to change. Duxton didn’t say much. He didn’t even bother to go back to Howell and tell him goodbye. His lips were sealed until after they had crossed the moat and were safely resting inside a carriage.

“What is going on?” He said in a threatening manner.

Patterfall was on the verge of an emotional breakdown. “I don’t know… We were given an earlier meeting time than you were. From that alone, I can assume that it’s a fact that they’ve been planning to go against you for some time.”

“Why?” Duxton studied Patterfall’s face.

Patterfall began to stressfully tug at the sleeves of his jacket. “I honestly had no idea that Viokern had been visiting the palace. Mother never brought it up, which meant that she must’ve thought I had known or was going with him… I’ve been so busy with college over the past few years and Viokern never tells me anything.”

“What did Father Laurent discuss?” Asked Duxton in a deathly tone.

“I’m not quite certain… I believe that Viokern already knew what was going to be discussed today. Father Laurent mentioned that Viokern has another marriage interview for tonight and… I need a moment.”

Duxton was feeling anger rise up within him. “He’s fourteen. He doesn’t need marriage interviews.”

Patterfall held up a hand. “I’m processing. A moment, please. We both know that I am smart but not quick-witted.”

“You were thirteen when they began your interviews,” muttered Shaw.

That wasn’t being helpful. “Yes, but I had a guarantee for the crown at the time.” Duxton gestured to Patterfall. “Their mother should be the one arranging for it. Not the King’s Hand!”

“I have it,” said Patterfall. “I believe they plan on announcing Viokern as the heir.”

“Obviously,” spat Duxton. “Why do you think Udell has a suitcase stuffed between his legs? Because I don’t want to find a sword in my back!”

Patterfall tapped a finger on the back of his hand as he thought. “They brought up marriage interviews in front of me because they wanted me to understand that I am to be the Duke of Violet. The crown will never be mine. They put on a show for you because they want to show you that there’s no point in putting up a fight.

But what I don’t understand is why they would tell us that they are planning to dismantle the King’s Court. The court is there as a measure of checks and balances for when the king acts out of line. Mother does whatever Father Laurent tells her to do and I’m certain the Dukes within Lustro would approve of the proposed changes to the court.”

“Why would it matter? They plan to throw me out either way.” Duxton folded his arms.

“Mother vowed that she and her descendants would not fight over the crown. That was a condition for her to gain the title of Duchess. Viokern and I are exempt from being heirs. In the event of no living heirs, much like when the Fogbloom family died, the Dukes of Lustro mutually decide who the next king or queen is.

However, the court has the power to overturn Mother’s contract and declare Viokern heir without any duke’s permission. The court also hates you. Until then, they have no reason to kill you. It doesn’t matter who your real father is. Legally, on paper, they listed Cornelius as your father and never bothered to fix it. They’ve done nothing but keep you as a placeholder until they decided whether or not they wanted either me or Viokern to have the crown.”

They would dismantle the court, but they never said when. Duxton didn’t like this. The court would gladly vote Viokern to become the crown prince and their loyalty would be rewarded with the stripping of their wealth and titles.

“What about after the court is dismantled? Can the dukes challenge Viokern’s claim to the throne?” Though they may not want to. Viokern would be handing positions of authority to their people. It was another incentive to keep him in power.

“Only if grandfather were to die before Viokern came of age,” replied Patterfall. “Even then, it isn’t as though they would make you king. They’ll either have to find a neutral part that everyone can agree on or cause another civil war.”

“The dukes will side with my lord’s claim,” added Udell. “He was instrumental in stripping Duke Rubire of his titles. Duke Flint would not have ascended to power without him. We’ve already taken measures to gain favor with Duke Sickleson as well.”

It was also unlikely that they would find a suitable neutral party. Someone of high authority that had no ties to any duke? Such a person didn’t exist. The dukes were better off placing Duxton in charge rather than start another war.

Patterfall nodded to himself. “The Clay Court hates the King’s Court. They’ll choose Duxton, even if their duke decides to side with Viokern.”

Though he should be elated by the news, Duxton realized that his decision to flee was the best one. “They will continue to brainwash Viokern as their puppet, announce him as heir, then kill me so that a coup cannot happen.” Duxton gritted his teeth. “This isn’t ideal for me.”

“Viokern is my brother.” Patterfall put a hand to his chest. “We’ve both seen what the crown has done to our family. I don’t want that curse on him.”

“Thanks,” replied Duxton sarcastically. “It pleases me to see you act so protective and supportive of your family.”

“I’m saying that I’m going to do what I can to protect him, and that means protecting you,” said Patterfall. His gaze drifted to the suitcase. “Will you be needing to stay at the mansion with me?”

Duxton shook his head. “I’ll lay low at the Arbutus fortress and state that it's easier for me to conduct my affairs from there. The time it takes for me to enter and leave the palace is cutting into my ability to go to my meetings on time.”

“Then it’s agreed.” Patterfall extended his hand. “We block Viokern from taking the throne.” Duxton quickly shook his hand. “Will Alton be a problem?”

“He’s a Toval now. Even if they found a way to do a proper lineage test, I doubt that he would accept it. Alton has no interest in the throne.” Duxton felt the smallest hint of confidence build up inside him. He was going to bring an end to the parasites that had been festering in the palace for far too long. “There isn’t anyone else who has a legal claim. They will not get their hands on a neutral party. Their plans will wither to dust once we deny Viokern’s.”

Silence fell as the sound of bells echoed through the air. The carriage was about to pass a cart that was on its way to the palace. Its sides were painted with prayers of Mart, and its driver, a cleric, was wearing a mask made to look like a dragon’s skull.

The noise was such an oddity that it had Duxton drawing back the curtain of the carriage. He saw a man sitting next to the cleric and felt an honest chill run down the center of his spine. Realization had slapped itself across his face. His days were numbered. Death was coming for him.

Veximarl Tuvaylton Fogbloom had arrived in Fogbloom.