“How has your stay been thus far?” The King asked. He leaned forward on his elbows, staring across the table at Malcolm and Sven. Beside him sat General Demisatious, Armedious, and Princess Estrellia. They watched Malcolm and Sven intently.

The six of them sat in the dining pavilion, a plethora of food and drink spread across the table. The morning sun shone through the rolled-up sides of the tent, illuminating the area with a golden glow. The faint sounds of work were just beginning to drift from Bullhaven as the army began another day of reconstruction.

“It has been truly remarkable,” Malcolm said, bowing his head slightly. “You have been very gracious.”

“I be agreein’ with the human!” Sven added. He picked at his teeth, flicking bits of food from his fingers. A pile of chicken bones sat on the plate before, each sucked clean.

King Edvard smiled at Malcolm and Sven’s words. “It has been an honor to host a Toe Goblin. May our people forever live in harmony!” He raised his goblet to the sky, sloshing some wine over the side. The others at the table followed suit. Lowering his drink, the King peered at Malcolm and Sven. “I wish to hear about your recent excursions into the Tribes’ camp. Have you recovered any valuable information?”

Puzzled, Malcolm glanced at Demisatious. The General opened his mouth to respond, but Sven beat him to it. “Nothin’ but that letter from a few days back! Have you figured out who be tellin’ all your secrets?”

King Edvard stared at Sven confused. “I have heard of no such report!” He turned to Demisatious. The General paled under his brother’s gaze. “Did you know this?” The King demanded. “Why was I not informed?”

“Ya see….” The General began, stuttering. “I was going to tell ya eventually. Just kinda forgot I guess.” He smiled weakly, as if to absolve his guilt. Popping a cork from his hip flask, he took a deep swig. The sharp smell of ale wafted across the table. Malcolm stared at the General in confusion. It’s not like Demisatious to forget, he thought.

The King huffed angrily. “I expect such behavior from Armedious, but not from you, dear brother! Your negligence may have cost us this war!” He slammed his cup on the table, spilling more wine. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he turned back to Malcolm and Sven. “Tell me about the communication you intercepted.”

Malcolm and Sven explained the contents of the letter as best they could. The King’s face gradually grew grave as he realized the severity of the situation. Dark lines appeared on his brow and his eyebrows crunched in worry. King Edvard remained silent after Malcolm and Sven finished. Armedious and Estrellia watched their father, waiting for him to speak.

“Do you possess the letter?” Edvard said at last, breaking the silence.

Demisatious nodded. “I think I stashed it somewhere in my tent. I’ll send one of yer servants to fetch it.”

The King shook his head. “Bring it yourself. We can’t risk the letter’s exposure. If the traitor learns we possess it, they may attempt to flee. As of right now, anyone could be the defector.”

“Anyone?” Estrellia asked. “Surely our personal staff can be trusted? I have known them since I was a child! They practically raised me!”

The King shook his head. “You heard what Malcolm and Sven explained. The author of the letter was someone close to me… us.” He sighed. Malcolm could sense his concern. In a matter of seconds, the King seemed to age a decade. Thick knots of worry crisscrossed his forehead, and his eyes stared into the distance, not focusing on anything in particular.

Finally, Armedious stood up. “If you so wish father, I shall personally question each of the suspects! The traitor will not go unpunished!” He sat back down, awaiting his father’s reply.

“I shall not grant your request,” The King said. “You have proven yourself to be a great soldier, but unpopular among the staff. This task requires someone they trust,” he turned to Estrellia. “You have earned the admiration of our servants. Please, go among them. Speak to them. Hear what they have to say. Someone may know something about the traitor.”

“Thank you father!” Estrellia said. “This is great honor! I shall begin immediately.” With a quick bow, she left the table, disappearing behind a nearby tent.

“Father!” Armedious exclaimed once she was out of earshot. He stared angrily at the King, hands wrapped tight around the edge of the table. “This is a matter of defense and security! It is only logical to place the more experienced warrior in command! I have proven myself…”

“Armedious,” The King interjected, glaring at his son. “Do not disrespect your dear sister! You have proven yourself to be impulsive and lacking manners! Shall I remind you of how our two guests were treated when they first arrived?” he glanced at Malcolm and Sven, who both shuttered remembering their first day in camp. “This task requires delicacy and patience. Both skills you sadly lack.”

Armedious shrank back beneath his father’s tirade, his usually fiery attitude melted. “My apologies, father,” he muttered, standing up. “Inform me if you locate the traitor. I shall be in my tent.” With a glance back, he sulked away.

“Well,” Demisatious said, pulling the leather flask from his belt and taking a swing. “I’ll go fetch the letter. Won’t take long.” With a salute, he exited the tent, taking another drink as he walked.

Malcolm and Sven followed suit, giving the King their best wishes. The old man sat alone at the table, staring out at the camp before him. He rhythmically rubbed his royal signet ring, running his fingers along the grooves.

“Go ahead.” Sven said. Stopping behind Malcolm. “I’ve been meanin’ to grab a new sharpin’ block. The supply tent be nearby.” He turned between two tents, disappearing from view.

Almost immediately, a strong hand grasped Malcolm’s shoulder, pinning him in place. Struggling to break free, Malcolm tried to yell, but another hand covered his mouth.

“Quiet,” Armedious whispered. He glanced around anxiously, emerging from the tent where he was hidden. “Can you come to my tent tonight? I wish to discuss some things.” He gently lifted his hand from Malcolm’s mouth.

“Is this about the letter? Your father said…” Malcolm objected. Armedious cut him off with a wave, releasing his grasp from Malcolm’s shoulder

“My father shall be proven mistaken when I uncover the traitor before my sister has even begun!” he took a deep breath, imagining the moment. “Perhaps I shall finally earn his affection!” Malcolm could see the pain in his eyes as he said the final words. “Please,” the Prince urged. “Just talk. That’s all I shall ask of you.”

“Alright,” Malcolm muttered. “I’ll come at sundown.”

Malcolm glanced behind him as he exited the tent. Behind him Sven sharpened his knife.

“Where be you goin’?” the Goblin asked in-between strokes. He inspected the blade in the lantern light, rubbing his thumb along the edge.

“I’m taking a walk around town. I saw they finally rebuilt the Inn,” Malcolm replied. “I’ll probably be back late.” Sven grunted his acknowledgment, turning back to his work.

Doing his best to look casual, Malcolm wove his way through the tents, slowly making his way towards the Royal Camp. Armedious’s tent was marked with tall red flags, each bearing his father’s gold tree emblem.

Malcolm ducked into the tent, relieved as the flaps fell closed behind him. Armedious sat at his desk, looking over a letter. Heaps of parchment, bottles, feather pens, and books covered the surface, almost spilling out over the edges.

Seeing Malcolm, Armedious held out the paper he was reading. “It’s a copy of the note you stole. Nasty stuff in here.” Gesturing for Malcolm to sit in an empty chair, he pushed aside the clutter, making room in front of his guest.

In his haste, Armedious knocked a chunk of red wax off the table, wincing as it shattered on the floor. “The servants will get it,” he muttered, kicking the mess aside. Tossing the letter atop the pile, he leaned back in his chair, leisurely placing his hands behind his head. “The assembly this morning certainly was fascinating.”

Malcolm chuckled half-heartedly at the joke. Why did he want to see me? he wondered.

Armedious took a swig from a flask hanging from the chair. Rolling up his sleeves, he pointed to long scar that ran the length of his arm. “I received this wound from a traitor within my father’s court. They were sent by the Dwarfs to slay my father over misplaced payment.” Armedious sighed for a second, remembering his story. “I blocked the knife before it struck my father’s heart. The blade was made of the finest steel, hammered by a thousand Dwarven mallets. It split my shield and ripped my flesh.” He flexed his arm, watching the scar ripple. “I couldn’t spar for a fortnight.”

“That sounds horrible.” Malcolm sympathized.

Armedious chuckled, rolling his sleeve back down. “Do you see now why I must locate this traitor? My father has spat on my sacrifice!” Spreading the letter out before Malcolm, he pointed to the last two paragraphs, running a finger along the lines. “Tell me everything you know about this.”

“I don’t know much,” Malcolm admitted, shrugging. “Sven found it in the Tribes’ command tent and we gave the original to the General.”

“…who then neglected to inform my father.” Armedious added.

“Well… yes.”

“Think about the original,” Armedious asked. “The parchment, bindings, writing… anything that could expose the author.”

Malcolm thought, trying to recalled the letter. “The hand writing was fancy. I think it was bound with… blue and gold ribbon?” he shrugged.

Armedious sighed. “Every communication sent from this camp is bound with that ribbon. Can you recall anything else? A seal or emblem? Perhaps a signature?”

“Maybe a red seal?” Malcolm said cautiously “I could have been yellow or orange. It was difficult to tell in the dark.”

Armedious’s eyes lit up. “Red?!” he asked eagerly. “Are you certain it was red?”

“I think so…” Malcolm replied.

Armedious leaned back in his chair, thinking. “Only the Royal Family and our immediate attendants are allowed red seals. Common servants use blue or yellow. Whoever wrote the letter is close to my father’s inner circle.”

Could it really be one of them? Malcolm couldn’t help but wonder. Why would they betray their own family?

“If your information is true,” Armedious began. “I suspect my uncle.”

“What??” Malcolm blurted out, shocked. “But he’s the King’s brother! The General of his armies! Why would he want to…” Armedious cut him off.

“It is only logical. His failure to present the letter to my father was a botched cover up! He must want to seize the throne for himself, or at least destabilize the Kingdom from the inside!” His eyes lit up with excitement. “My father never would have suspected his brother.”

“Wait,” Malcolm said, fidgeting with the letter in front of him. “Perhaps we should investigate further before we make accusations? Imagine the consequences if you have guessed incorrectly.”

“Nonsense!” Armedious said, getting to his feet. “We have all the evidence we need! I shall rally the guards and haul off the traitor before he can make another move!” He strode from the tent, leaving Malcolm alone in the dim lantern light. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread closing in around him.

Lost in thought, he began the long trek back to his and Sven’s tent. The Sun had fully set during his conversation with Armedious, plunging the camp into near darkness. Only the faint glow of torches illuminated the paths in flickering light.

Malcolm ducked into his tent as quietly as he could. On the other side of a fabric dividing flap, Sven slept away, gently snoring. Laying down on his cot, Malcolm stared at the ceiling, carefully listening to the camp around him, hoping he wouldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. Maybe Armedious decided to wait until the morning! He thought. I could still talk him out of it! What if he’s wrong and blames me!

He punched the air, resisting the urge to scream. I never should have talked to Armedious!

Shouts and horns awoke him. Groggy and wiping his eyes, Malcolm stumbled from the tent, peering around the camp. It was just after dawn and the sun was almost fully above the horizon.

Crowds of men pushed through the maze of tents, headed towards to the Royal Camp. Shouts rang out among the mob as they pushed forwards, some brandishing their weapons high. They flowed around Malcolm and Sven’s tent, tenderly stepping over the stakes and lines.

“BRING US THE PRINCE!” They chanted in unison. “BRING US THE PRINCE!”

“What be goin’ on?” Sven asked, moving to stand beside Malcolm.

“No idea.” The human replied. Grabbing a passing man, he asked “Where’s everyone going?”

“Ya haven’t heard?’ the man said. He scratched his short brown beard, picking out a piece of lint. “The Prince has jailed our General! Rumor is the kid said somethin’ ‘bout treason. We’re goin’ over to save him!” Pulling away from Malcolm’s grasp, he rejoined the mob.

“Armedious really did it.” Malcolm muttered to himself, ducking back into the tent. Grabbing some spare clothes, he began stuffing a bag. “Sven,” he shouted. “Get your things. We need to leave. Now. ”

The Goblin stared at Malcolm curiously. “Where exactly were you goin’ last night?”