Harold pulled against the chains, trying to remove the gag. The guards kept their distance from the cell bars and avoided looking him in the eyes. After a few moments, he consigned himself to his situation and leaned against the wall.

He'd had it all planned. Once the meeting was finished, he would go to his room and jump out the window. It was an eighty foot drop onto the rocky shore. He would have been free. Why did the prince have to ruin everything? The least he could have done was killed Harold himself. Maybe he should have confessed to harboring the Bear, maybe that would have been enough to make the prince cut him down.

No, then they would have gone after Hjor. Sarl would have no problem claiming Jarlship after Harold's death. He'd left it to him in his will and confession. Now what was he going to do? The prince would no doubt come asking more questions that Harold couldn't answer without implicating his countrymen.

His thoughts were interrupted by a crash of metal. He looked up, squinting in the dim light. The guards were on the floor unconscious and Harold pressed against the stone wall, his feet skidding in a futile attempt to back up farther.

Lyra Bryndotter stood in the cell, swinging the keys. He screamed into his gag as she opened the door.

"Harold, Harold, Harold," she purred and gently folded her fingers on his neck, "you had one simple job."

Tears rolled down his face and he desperately tried to spit out the gag, to try to explain. She wagged a finger at him. "Now, now, I'm not upset about your performance with the other Jarls."

He stiffened. Did she not know about his conversation with the prince? No, she couldn't, maybe...

She lifted the edge of his shirt and plunged a needle into the soft flesh of his stomach. He screamed into his gag and slammed his head against the wall as the burn of the poison began to creep along his flesh. She tightened her grip on his throat and leaned in to hiss, "No I am disappointed you thought you could escape me. You don't get to die, not until I'm done with you."

Holding up another needle, Lyra examining it, a bead of liquid shining on its tip. "Two hours is my understanding of how long you'll be here. Fitting time for your punishment, I suppose." Slowly she pushed up his carefully buttoned sleeve. "Two hours of hell—you've survived worse."

She plunged the needle into his exposed forearm and fire raced down his veins, he rolled his eyes back and the chains rattled as he twitched in agony. He felt dizzy from lack of air and thought for a sweet moment he would pass out when her fingers removed themselves from his throat and he swam back to reality, spots dancing in his eyes. She rolled up his shirt further and inserted another poisoned needle expertly.

He closed his eyes and his mind flashed black and white and red as his body twitched and reacted violently to the new poison. He opened them again at the sound of a clatter. Lyra had dropped a torch to the stone floor. It burned there, casting dancing shadows over the room. A white hot dagger glowed in her hand and Harold shook his head, begging futilely into the cloth.

She placed the blade on his exposed stomach and he bucked. She rolled it up and down over his ribs with each word. "If you die, I will find those that helped you and they will take every punishment you escaped."

He sobbed and she paused, spinning the cooling dagger thoughtfully. "That being said, you're probably worried about being questioned. From what I heard, the prince and the court mage are coming with the assumption you are under Brimstone control. The mage will find no such magic. As for the prince, I will take care of him. Once you are allowed to speak, tell them you lost your mind with grief over your father and accept any prescription given you. Return to Hjor as soon as possible. Do you understand?"

He didn't move and Lyra grabbed his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

"Do you understand?"

He nodded weakly and she released his face. "Good. Now we have a bit less than two hours to fill..."

Although Harold would never believe it, the torture lasted only an hour before Lyra left him unconscious hanging from the chains. She'd been limited in tools but the session had done its job. He now knew the pain could return at any moment—it wasn't just one more terrible memory he could lock away or escape.

She rearranged the guards, leaving a few empty tankards and a bottle of ale at the scene. By the time their story was told, this entire episode would be over. Paying off the guards at the top of the stairs with a generous amount of gold, Lyra left the dungeon.

Rounding a corner, she changed into the clothes stashed for her behind a suit of armor. She grinned. Maelif had brought quite a few people with her to the castle and Taka men were always game for a side job. She changed into the hidden clothes.

As she approached the prince's chamber, one guard stopped her a few halls away and she held a hand to her lips coyly, letting the robe she'd changed into fall open a bit. She wore only a short, low-cut, shift underneath and she shifted the sack with her armor behind her back, leaning forward a bit to hide the movement. She gave the guard a look up and down, he wasn't wholly unattractive so she tittered, "I'm on royal business tonight, but perhaps another time?"

The man blushed and waved her on her way. She effortlessly picked the prince's lock and slipped inside. He was lying on his bed, one arm draped over his eyes.

After shutting the door silently, Lyra placed her bundle of armor on the floor near the door and fiddled with some vials. It would be a close call, she had no idea how quickly the mage's word would come and she needed the prince able to accompany him. However, she also needed to make sure he heard her out. Settling on a potency, she laced her dagger and slipped forward.

Eirik's neck was exposed and she nicked him cleanly. He swung his arm and she danced away laughing.

"You!" he gasped and sat up.

He tried to say more but his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell back. Tearing the robe she wore into strips, she used his brief unconsciousness to take off his pants and boots and tie his wrists and ankles to each corner of the bed.

She sat on her familiar position on his chest and took a moment to admire his face. He really had the perfect profile. His thick dark hair contrasted lovely with his pale skin and those long lashes drove her crazy. She shifted eagerly, all she needed was those sky blue eyes looking at her with fear and it'd be perfect.

Impatient, she dragged the edge of her blade up his thigh, drawing blood. His eyelids twitched and he blinked them open. He opened his mouth and she deftly shoved a gag in it.

"Morning, sweet prince."

He struggled against his bonds, bucking and making muffled shouts. She leaned forward, her leg slipping between his. "I was ready to leave you alone for a while. Give you time to recover and adjust, but then you had to go poking your nose around."

She didn't know exactly what had happened, but Harold was too cowardly to tell anyone his suicidal plans without being backed into a corner.

"How about this," she ran an appreciative finger over his perfect lashes and he flinched away, making her grin. "You are driving me crazy right now so I'll have my way with you and if you are good about it, I'll answer some questions."

He tried to say something and since it was at a reasonable volume, she plucked the gag out.

"I'll see you killed, witch!" he spat and she placed a finger over his lips.

"Now watch your words or the gag goes back in. I would prefer to have you verbal but if you can't handle it..." She shrugged and kissed him, grinding into him at the same time.

He recoiled but her hands twisted in his hair holding him in place. After a while, the wet friction and his rising stress did the job to Eirik's dismay. She pulled back. "Seems I've got you figured out already."

She adjusted and began to ride him, inching his shirt up until her nails scraped against his chest. He panted and groaned, twisting his arms against his bonds. "Stop," he said through gritted teeth. "Gods, stop."

He gasped the word a third time as she lowered herself deep. She shuddered and sighed in contentment. She kissed his neck. "Now for your reward. Ask your questions?"

Eirik tried to focus, asking as she kissed the tears off his eyelashes, "Why are you doing this?"

She twisted her fingers in his hair. "You know why already. I want you and your throne."

"How long have you been in Hjor? What deal did you cut with Jarl Soren?"

She laughed. "I was born in Hjor long after the Jarl was licking my father's boots. There was no deal cut, the Jarl was just smart enough to know how to survive."

"But he's dead."

"Getting old makes you make mistakes."

"And Harold?"

She moved up to look him in the eyes. "Harold is my dog. He's been my family's dog since he was a child. Poor thing, you nearly scared him to death."

"I don't understand. He asked me to kill him."

She cocked her head, "Did he now? Well he's been punished for that already. Don't worry, he won't be having anymore suicidal tendencies. Leave poor Harold alone to do his job, you have enough to focus on. Though you did get him into this mess so you'll have to get him out."

He was about to ask another question but she stopped him with a finger. "Now listen, when the mage does his spells you mustn't let him see Harold's body. You need to get him out of the cell as quickly as possible with minimal interference. If you can get him alone, let him know you're taking orders from me and maybe he'll get enough confidence to face the other Jarls."

"But I—"

"Shush—I'm not finished. Harold will explain his behavior as a traumatic side effect of his father's sudden death. Help him get home quickly to 'recover'. Maybe send him with a doctor, whatever helps the Jarls leave the situation alone."

"Did you kill his father?" Eirik spat out through her finger.

She paused and answered, "No, I didn't. My brother did. The Jarl knew he'd failed when he let Jarl Hurson kill my mother. He was smart enough to accept the consequences and get his son out of the way of Fenrin's rampage."

"Fenrin?"

"My brother. Remember him? Tall, short tempered, likes to stab things with his sword." She grimaced.

"I remember." He seethed, his voice dripping with hatred.

She shifted resting her chin on her hand nonchalantly. "Honestly, that whole business was not to my liking. I couldn't care less about my mother, but someone had to make sure my dad didn't let my brother follow him to his death and when I heard they were planning on storming the palace. Well, that was too good a chance to miss."

There was a knock on the door and Lyra moved like lightning. She sliced through the ropes on his hand and ankles and tossed them on the floor opposite the door. As Eirik tried to find his pants, she removed her shift entirely and leapt on him, kissing him, her back to the door as it opened.

The old mage spoke before looking into the room, "Alright, your highness, I'm ready—Oh, excuse me!" He shut the door quickly and Lyra laughed into Eirik's mouth.

Free of his bonds, he pushed her off him. He stood and pulled his pants on as she laughed again. She quickly put his shirt on and before he could turn to her, her warm body pressed against him and the cold knife flicked to his cheek. "Now sweet prince, do your part. You don't want your dirty laundry aired in front of so many powerful Jarls."

He stood his ground, raising his chin. "I want the month."

"Excuse me?" she hissed, all playfulness gone.

"A month free of you. If I get Harold back to Hjor, no questions raised."

She kissed the back of his neck. "Mmm, a hard bargainer. I can work with that. Don't do anything cataclysmically stupid and get the dog back to his cage and you can rest easy. Though you might just find you miss me."

The dagger left and he turned to see Lyra lounging on his bed. She winked, bringing a sheet up for basic modesty. Eirik scowled, ran a hand through his hair, and straightened his shirt before opening the door to face the mage.

Yoriv huffed, "After all that talk of urgency!"

Eirik shrugged him off, not wanting to think about the horrifying experience, "Let's go. Talk me through what you're doing."

Stepping quickly in front of Eirik, Yoriv gave him a stern look. "I told you, I don't want you anywhere near him."

Eirik looked down at Yoriv, "I don't recall you being able to give me orders, Yoriv. Now what are you going to do?"

Yoriv pressed his lips into a thin line but, with a harumph, launched into the plan as they made their way to the dungeons. Two guards stood at the cell, saluting Eirik as Yoriv began drawing a symbol on the floor with a silvery powder.

Harold hung limp in the chains and for a moment Eirik feared he was dead. The symbol glowed and the light hissed and snaked into the cell to illuminate the Jarl. Yoriv peered through the rock with the hole like it was a spyglass.

"Hmm, no hidden beings. Let's do this."

He held up another dark stone, this one whole with sharp edges. Yoriv muttered some words and there was a high pitched noise. The stone smoked and the smoke was harsh and burned Eirik's nose. Yoriv signalled the guards to open the door and stepped cautiously up to Harold, still chanting. Eirik followed behind.

The mage held the smoking rock under Harold's face and the man's head snapped up and he gasped. Yoriv held up a hand and Harold's eyes watered as he began to cough.

Dramatically Yoriv shouted a phrase but Harold just continued coughing on the putrid smoke.

"Hmm." Yoriv pulled back the stone and Harold wheezed.

"What was that supposed to do?" Eirik asked.

Yoriv turned away from the Jarl and whispered conspiratorial, "That spell would have made the mark of any demon magic appear on the man's forehead. This man doesn't seem to have any demon magic."

"Then...that's it?"

Yoriv dug in his bag. "I was prepared to undo a spell to cast out a demon but...maybe the spell is too faint. Let me try this spell to search for non-demon magic. Although I should have been able to detect that on my own..."

"What are you going to do?"

"I will listen to his heart and see if it is attuned to my connection with magic." The mage reached for Harold's shirt and when the man flinched, Eirik remembered Lyra's warning.

"Yoriv, stop."

The mage paused and Eirik pulled him aside. Loudly enough for the guards and Harold to hear he said, "The Jarl has been through enough. We said we would look for Brimstone magic and we've done that. If he's not possessed then perhaps it's time we ask him the reason for his condition. His time here may have cleared his head."

"Ah..yes," Harold croaked and Eirik snapped his fingers and a guard brought a glass of water. Eirik helped Harold drink it.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I want to apologize for my behavior. I have been...disturbed with guilt since my father's death. I thought I was well enough to travel but this episode would prove otherwise. I beg your forgiveness and ask you to allow me to return home to my physician who has been treating my illness. He advised against this trip, but I knew it was important for my people."

Yoriv straightened his glasses and looked at Harold suspiciously. "An admirable effort, but has it not been nearly a month since your father's passing?"

Eirik retrieved the keys from the guard and unlocked Harold who rubbed his wrists and gave Yoriv a weak smile. "Yes, but it was so unexpected. I have...struggled with the idea of taking his place. It often makes me ill to the point of being unable to leave my bed."

Yoriv's eyes softened and Eirik turned to him. "Perhaps you can give the Jarl some extra care for him to take back to Hjor?"

Eyes twinkling, Yoriv nodded enthusiastically. "Ah yes, I do have something that will help. Allow me to fetch it!"

He ran off and Eirik called out after him, "I will see the Jarl to his room."

The prince turned to the guards. "Clear us a path. I don't want anyone gawking, this man has suffered enough."

The two saluted and marched off and Eirik turned to Harold, who eyed him cautiously. When he took a tentative step forward, Eirik blocked his path.

"Lift your shirt," he commanded and Harold shook his head, his eyes growing wide.

Eirik tried a gentler tone. "I need to see. She told me...not to let them see you."

As the meaning of his words hit Harold he sunk against the wall. "Gods, please, no, not you..."

Eirik stepped over and Harold whimpered as the prince pulled his shirt up.

Like he'd been burned, Eirik dropped the garment and it fell back down. The skin was scarred with jagged knotted lines and discolored. Large triangular burn marks blistered across the Jarl’s chest. Marks the shape and size of Lyra's familiar daggers.

The prince hissed, "She did this here?"

Harold began shaking and nodded. Eirik pressed his fingers to his forehead, "Gods. I'm sorry, I should have kept you safe. I'll find out how she got in. The men will be punished."

It was much easier to act to protect this nervous man then to admit he needed protection himself. Harold jerked violently and took a deep breath. "No! They didn't stand a chance. If she got to you then you must realize she can't be stopped. Please, just help me get back to Hjor."

"I will. But,Harold, it's not over. I'll find a way to stop her. She won't get away with this," he said the words vehemently, but Harold became more distressed,

"Please don't...don't try to stop her. She's been manipulating people since she was a child. She's a master at it and completely heartless. All I want is to do what she asked and keep my head down. I suggest you do the same."

For a moment, Eirik considered arguing but looking at the man's exhausted face he realized this battle was long over. His stomach churned but he sighed and walked with Harold back to his room.

The next day, Harold left for Hjor, a box of remedies from Yoriv at his side and an apologetic explanation given the Jarls who, unconcerned with Harold's mental health, returned to finalizing their negotiations and their own journey home as well. The days passed uneventfully and after a week, Eirik was able to sleep through a night without awaking in a panic.

Then his father collapsed.

Yoriv and the doctors insisted he would recover and in another week he did. Still, Eirik found himself subject to double the lectures and it pained him knowing his father was preparing for death.

Near the end of the month, Eirik was called into his father's office. The old man sat by the fire.

"Eirik, I know I've disappointed you at times,” he said slowly, “I've disappointed all of Valhym. I let war tear us to pieces and, for a while, I nearly gave up. But you. You've grown into a finer man than I could have ever hoped. You are kind and wise. Brave and determined. I do not wish to die on the throne oo I ask you to let me live the last moments of my life in only the role that gives me joy: being your father. Take the crown, you are more than ready."

Wiping tears from his eyes, Eirik objected but his father wouldn't hear of it and a coronation date was set. The word was spread through Valhym and a grand celebration was planned. Diplomats arrived to accept invitations and Eirik found himself buried in advisors and last minute preparations. Marriage proposals and gifts arrived from noble women and a more than a few courtesans tried to convince him his coronation was the perfect time to wed.

Gently, Eirik refused all offers. He wanted to focus on his rule before adding more complications to his life. Plus, Lyra's presence clung to him like a dark shadow and he felt pain each time he considered his future outside politics.

So instead he attacked his studies with rigor.

The last night of the month ended and Eirik didn't sleep. He lay with a dirk, waiting for her to appear. He hardly ate or drank anything, claiming nerves but desperate to avoid poison. A week passed with no visit and he was forced to sleep in order to prepare for the coronation in a fortnight.

The castle filled with visitors and his anxiety over becoming king rose and drove all thought of Lyra out.