"Have you hurt your head good sir?" I inquire as the guard finally stirs. Dragging his unconscious body up the stairs was a fun process, nearly broke the poor bastard's neck a few times, definitely bruised him a few more times and at one point I was tempted just to hurl him over the banister. Now he sits in my chambers, an unsightly bump beginning to form on his head.

The guard merely moans and rubs at his eyes.

"That's almost exactly the response I expected," I yawn. "I brought ice for your head but it turned to water."

I push the large metal cup to him.

"Thank you," the guard grunts before raising the cup to his lips and taking large gulps.

"Exercise some control please. If you vomit on my floor you'll scrub every inch of it till the stone reflects your face."

"Apologies," the guard gasps as he lays down the cup. "My mouth feels like it was filled with sand."

"Hardly surprising considering you've been lying in that chair for hours now. Your head probably doesn't feel too pleasant either now does it?"

"No, my prince, it does not."

I withdraw a small glass bottle filled with a clear brownish liquid from my pocket and gently place it in front of the man.

"Poppy liquor," I offer. "One portion you'll just have a headache, two you'll be as good as new, three I could bury a blade in your guts and you wouldn't even feel it, four and all your woes will be forgotten-"

"Five and they'll be putting me in the ground with a smile on my face," the guard cuts across me.

"Makes you wonder what would happen should you drink the full bottle, does it not?"

"I doubt it grants you longevity," the guard states eying the bottle suspiciously."

"Very few things do good sir," I yawn. "A life of austerity maybe. A life with few lovers, enemies and vices. A dull life of monotony is a long one but wouldn't you rather have one of excitement?"

The guard stares at me blankly for a moment.

"Don't suppose it matters much what you'd rather," I conclude. "You chose to spend your life keeping blades away from my throat, a calm enough life, but also a respectable one, devoted to a respectable cause. Those you are sworn to protect should not turn and treat you like a hound to take their anger out on."

"My prince I fail to understand the nature of this-"

"My cousin assaulted you," I state bluntly. "Bashed your head into his dresser and left you with an aching head, ugly mark and a wounded pride no doubt. Whether the blow genuinely stole that knowledge from you or you assumed playing dumb was the safe option matters not, nor do the finer details. Now Terrence is subdued and confined to his chambers and so far all that know of what happened after your incapacitation are me and him."

"I assume you wish for my silence about this incident," the guard says plainly.

"Far too late for that," I sigh. "Half the castle is wondering how I'll execute him and the other half is probably wondering who will be blamed for this incident and be executed in Terrence's stead."

"Which side is right?" The guard inquires.

"Despite how much I long to I can't simply decapitate my own blood. Grandfather did that and it earned him no favours. Accusing you of some crime that justifies Terrence attempting to smash your wits out I'm a lord who kills the innocent to protect the guilty. That'll lead to one of you cutting my throat while I sleep sooner or later."

"You severely underestimate both your reputation and the power that comes with that title of yours."

"Oh," I say somewhat surprised by the man. "How so?"

"You think killing your drunkard cousin is what'll make people ashamed to be your ally? You carved off Lord Stephen's face because he mocked your attire. You've ended several others for similarly infantile reasons and you haven't done so with honour. What's one more drop of blood on your tally? Why would they care for your dead cousin more than those bastards in your dungeon?"

"For reasons men have pondered since we developed words for them we are supposed to love our blood more than those in our dungeons and when we end them we are hollow men without conscious. It's-"

"And slitting your throat is a much harder task than one would assume," the guard continues. "Sure us guards stand outside your doors while you sleep, we're always near you and we always have a sharp blade but no one seems to understand that there's all this arranging and planning that has to be done. Who hates the king? Who's in it for the gold? Who can we trust? Who can't we? Who do we have to threaten? And it can all be ruined if one of these questions is answered wrong. One man turns out to be a liar, one man figures he'll get more gold from the king than the conspiracy, another is just patriotic, that one has no family to hold steel to and all of a sudden we're all in your dungeons having teeth removed and smiles carved onto our faces."

"You seem worryingly well versed in this," I say.

"We tried to plan a little coup a while back, you were still being carried about by that nurse of yours. Planned to cut you all up, your grandfather, father, mother, brother, cousins, you too. We were going to put some bastard lord whose name I can't remember on the throne, planned to live like lords off of all the favour we'd gain. Never got further than planning fortunately for you. Your guards are fucking morons, half of the conspiracy couldn't count up the coin they'd need for bribes, other half figured it'd be as simple as stabbing you all in the back."

"And one is confessing to treason right before me," I point out.

"I assume I'll be dead by the end of this little exchange anyway," the guard yawns. "Presumably you'll be using me as a test subject for what happens when one drains the bottle and then you'll be able to spin another story about someone having a bit too much to drink and cracked his skull open. It'll be such a shame I won't get to stand in the throne room and slander your good cousin during a trial. Always figured I'd die earning some fancy legend on a battlefield not because some moronic prince wants to crack open his protectors."

"I don't think the end will find you just yet good sir."

"Oh, and why might that be?"

"Because while your overdose would quell your complaints about the moronic prince the other guards would only grow more afraid and angered. Then they start to feel unsafe, they'll worry that some assassin will be waiting to end them at any moment, scared of my suspicions. This fear will inevitably spawn a coup. King Harold the Just will lead a much longer life than King Harold the Feared. Your confession to considered treason doesn't worry me as the man you loathed is dead and soon there'll be an increase of currency to circulate among you though there'll be a lot of graves to dig as well. You specifically will also be rising through the ranks at a rate much greater than you'd expect."

"Why?"

"You earned it, do you not remember?" I ask mockingly. "Terrence had a blade to my throat and you saved me from it." I undo my collar to show the thin scratch. "You saved the king and will earn yourself a pretty enough title for it. Maybe not lord but definitely a commander."

"Why thank you my prince," the guard says dryly. "But I fail to see why a man such as yourself would need me to save him."

"Most men would stop at thank you."

"Most men haven't had the opportunity to speak as freely as I have."

"You'll be promoted for two reasons," I begin. "Firstly you're a sound enough fellow who seems to have a good enough idea of how things work. Secondly tomorrow eve there'll be a lot of incompetent men will be relinquished of their positions and a lot of better men will have to take their place."

"And what about your cousin?"

"What about him?"

"What will be done with him? Hanging?"

"Still can't kill him," I sigh, "even if no tears will be shed over his death he's valuable enough as a hostage."

"Beating then? Break some bones, bruise his guts a bit?"

"Lessens his value as a hostage."

"What then?" The guard inquires, spreading his arms seemingly unsatisfied with the lack of justice. "Deprive him of whores for a week? Degrade him to a fist and some imagination like the rest of us?"

"I could send him to the hallows," I conclude. "As a warden or something similarly safe, not a soldier."

"And if he suffers another little incident there?"

"Then someone over there can deal with it. They don't entertain titles much that far north. Princes and paupers all get burnt in the same pile."

"Well this conversation has been quite enlightening," the guard says after a brief period of silence, "but I believe I have nothing more to add to it."

"Orson is your name isn't it?"

"Yes my prince."

"Then you may go Sir Orson but next time you consider treason do remember I could have killed you several times over and eliminated a potential blade at my throat, instead I chose kindness, offered you numbing for your pain, a promotion for your grievances and appearances and am allowing you to live."

"I will try my prince." And with that Orson rises and leaves gently closing the door behind him.

I reach over to pick up the bottle of poppy liquor he neglected to use. The thick brown fluid is almost like honey, I'm fairly certain that's the main ingredient used to make the taste bearable. The surgeon makes it himself and the compounds he uses aren't the purest. The whiskey is half piss, the poppy sap still has thorns in it and the combination is somehow heavenly. At this concentration a few drops into one's wine would guarantee a sound sleep for the night. A few more and waking will prove quite unlikely. I could mix the whole damn thing into Terrence's wine, let him die peacefully, let his damnable scandal die with him. A tragic suicide no question but not wholly surprising given his unpredictable state. Having Terrence disappear and some well groomed unfortunate who happens to share the name end up cutting timber in the Hallows however would be just as fortunate and much less unpleasant however. Only problem I might face is convincing the moron to stay there.

I could taste test the whole bottle myself. Let the bastards bicker over what to do with Terrence. Of course they'll figure out what to do with this little scab of land first though, before I'm even in the tomb alongside grandfather. They'll each have their own little plan for how it should be, who should sit on the throne and I doubt they')) resolve their differences peacefully. Let them cut each other's throats while I am still cooling, tear each other to pieces like dogs and burn through their resources. But what fun would that be? Letting them obliterate each other while I search through the beyond for a god that will take me or a devil who can rival me. Instead I shall keep the dogs on their leashes, under my control, I shall take my resources and make bows and arrows form them, and with my beasts and weapons I shall rain devastation upon those who oppose me. I will take this little scab of land and carve a long hideous scar that won't be forgotten for many generations.

I can see the battlefields. Blood soaks my feet, ash and impossibly bright flames sting my eyes, the screams force their way down my ears alongside the chants of victory. First the bits grandfather cut away will be given back without complaint or their new owners will find themselves lacking the beauty their skin held. Then the pricks of the East will surrender to me and retain paltry titles of lord of this and duke of that or I'll march an army over their border and crush them like insects. I might sire an allegiance with the west and grant them some paltry amounts of land in exchange for paltry amounts of trust for they have yet to wrong me. I'll attempt a reasonable arrangement with my northern friends, should they refuse civilized discussion they'll be chased out of the Black Hallows and into the sea. Of course before I perform all this I must treat my own kingdom first. Grandfather let all manner of cankers grow fat here and I must carve them out.

Suddenly I'm dragged away from my planning by someone banging on my door.

"Enter!" I yell, not looking up from my bottle of poppy liquor. It looks different somehow, duller, almost grey.

"Lady Irene is requesting an audience, my prince," a guard whose voice I don't recognize says, I didn't even hear the door open.

"Then send her in," I respond plainly. "We seem to have no trouble entering her home whenever we please, why should the opposite be untrue for her?"

"I'll alert the other guards of that, my prince."

The guard leaves quietly and I look up to see if any clutter needs dealing with.The incredible lack thereof might unsettle one more than any mess could. I light a candle to lessen the suffocating gloom of the room. Very little occupies my chambers save for a few sheets of paper, a pen and pot of ink that dwell upon the desk. The stove is cold and has been so for years now. The glass and broken chair have been removed, a new chair of slightly better quality has taken the old one's place. There's a bed and no other unnecessary objects or furnishings, no decorations adorn the walls. The archbishop's ward left a little blood stain on the carpet but aside from that the room lacks marks or uniqueness.

Lady Irene has only demanded an audience with me twice, both revolved around certain privileges being granted to her whorehouse after my ascension to the throne in exchange for certain family secrets being buried. Both of those visits were quiet, respectable, reasonable. It becomes quite clear this won't be like either visit as she storms into my chambers. Her blue eyes are wide with anger, her red dress restricts her brisk movements and she holds a purse the size of a hand clenched tightly in her left fist.

"How has the day treated you good-"

She throws the purse onto the table, its contents making the unmistakable noise of pennies chinking against each other.

"Your change," she says with a sneer. "You neglected to wait for it. A fee has been deducted for the delivery of course."

"Well the gold I left was intended as a gift," I yawn toying with the poppy bottle out of boredom. "Though unless that pouch happens to be filled with jewels I'd assume you miscalculated slightly when adding and subtracting or this delivery fee of yours is borderline extortionate."

"I've had men's fingers broken for less than what you did," Irene growls. "And you sit there complaining about a fine."

"You can sit there if you so please," I say pointing opposite me. "Not as comfortable as the ones in the angel but you can sit on it all the same. Now what is it I did? Take a girl out for a walk? Surely that's not worth snapping fingers over?"

I reach over and pick up the coin purse. Something doesn't feel right, the contents feel too small to be silver fingers but most certainly aren't numerous enough to even amount to a tenth of my gift. With deft fingers I undo the string and empty the pouch onto my desk revealing a collection of coppers with the odd ring or silver skull here and there. I look up and meet Irene's eye.

"Bringing back my gift was an insult," I say calmly. "Is this an attempt to amuse?"

"You took one of my workers away from their workplace without permission or even a warning-"

"And a few hours of not fucking me is worth thirty decent horses now is it? Is my company truly so detestable?"

"Not only did you take her out of the workplace you paraded her throughout the kingdom and now no one wishes to risk a night with the prince's new favourite. Half the men leave the fucking room whenever she's to dance-"

"What am I supposed to do about that? Do you wish me to come and declare before all your patrons that I despised her and she was the greatest waste of coin I've had the misfortune of dwelling within?"

"And on top of all that you terrified the poor girl!"

"That was never my intent," I say annoyance infecting my voice.

"I doubt your intentions make much of a fucking difference. Didn't take long for the girl to hear tale of your many exploits. Now she's afraid that every passing shadow is you with a knife prepared to empty her."

"How's it my fault that she foolishly believes tales about me that mother's tell me children to shut them up? How's it my fault that customers assume me to be possessive? The only thing I did was ask for some company, something quite commonly desired within your establishment."

"You saw something pretty and you just couldn't help but take it out into the world. Now it's stained. You can try to dance around responsibility all you want but if you don't remove this stain your grandfather's preferences will be revealed to all the Kingdom, as well as the preferences of his closest hands. This won't tear an irreparable wound but the bleeding will bring wolves to your door and your dearest grandfather will be remembered as-"

The bottle shatters in my hands. I wasn't even aware I was clenching my fist. Doesn't take long for the sting to come, then the bleeding, I ignore both as lady Irene stares somewhat surprised.

"Your girls really don't tell you a thing," I say forcing a chuckle into my voice. "Do you honestly think I'd care for the reputation of a man who whipped me daily and performed acts so unspeakable that the devils will fight over who gets to torment his soul? I bought your information and proof so that at a later date I'll be able to destroy any foolish love that remains with the maggoty corpse. I think I might have him released out of his tomb and punished with his equally degenerate hands. Now should the kingdom open a small cut in all this fun and this blood attracts any wolves," I raise my lacerated hand to show the slow dribbles of blood running past the bits of glass still lodged in my hand, "they'll be hacked into tiny pieces and consumed. Now I will apologize to Yen out of respect and fondness for her, I'll try to do something to convince your patrons to try her services but should that fail I'll employ her here even if it's just as something pretty to look at."

"If you cause another incident like this-"

"Then you will simply have to deal with it," I yawn raising my bloodied hand to cover my mouth. "You have grown to see me as just another customer. Forget my years of patronage go you, soon I'll have to cut out tongues that attempt threats such as these, it won't be fun business but it'll be necessary. Though out of respect for you as well I offer assurance that this incident shan't repeat itself."

"That will have to suffice I suppose," Irene concludes. "Tend to your hand prince, you may apologize to the girl after your crowning."

"One last thing and then you may leave," I say calmly.

"Do we need to go on? I left that foolish boy in charge and I fear-"

"If you even vaguely imply that a shred of my love was devoted to that cancer who gave himself the title of my grandfather then you will eat each and every coin in the crown treasury that can be forced through your teeth, they'll be broken if necessary, you will keep the change and you will thank me for my mercy at the end of it, for I could have chosen to be so, so cruel."

She stares at me blankly for a moment presumably unsure of how to respond.

"Enjoy your afternoon good lady," I say hoping to prompt her departure.

"It's late eve," she responds mildly.

I turn behind me and through the balcony door see bright stars shining through the black sky. I could have sworn my conversation with Orson was no more than a quarter hour before this one and I'm certain the sky was blue.

"So it is," I say quietly. "Enjoy your eve then, I'm sure you have one matter or another to attend to."

She turns around but just as her hand graces the doorknob she turns to face me and says: "Are you well?"

"Wonderful."

"When was the last time you slept, prince?"

"Four days ago, after the last hanging from the ninth hour of the moon to the first of the sun. Why wish to sell me one of your beds for the night?"

"The last hanging is eight days past us prince."

"Well then I'm sure sleep will find me easily when I finally lay down then, enjoy your evening good lady."

"All jokes and rancour aside my prince, you genuinely seem to sleep better with someone beside you. I'll happily send-"

"I am no child, Miss Irene," I say, becoming irritated more by this pity. "You need not try to worm your way back into my good graces by pretending to care for my well being and by sending whores to my chamber. Our arrangements won't be affected by this little spat and provided you reflect the respect I show you I'll happily make other arrangements with you."

"Eight days awake and your hands filled with glass, I'm surprised you can construct a sentence. Your fogged mind makes a terrible miscalculation and you end up slipping and smashing your skull or impaling yourself on your own sword and then I have no arrangement-"

"A whore will not help me rest," I cut across her. "Nor will wine, poppy liquor rips through my guts on its way out and this mothering will-"

Someone knocks on the door interrupting my response.

"Enter!" I order.

A royal guard walks in.

"Apologies my prince."

"Oh it's no trouble, the good lady was just leaving."

"There's commotion in the dungeon's my prince, a guard's been killed and one of the snatchers you had imprisoned there is demanding to see you. Says that he's received word from his odd customer."

"Wonderful,'' I sigh, rising to my feet. "I'll end the cretin myself. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"You're wounded my prince!" The guard exclaims.

I simply rip out the largest shards with my fingers, cutting the tips every now and then but otherwise I'm fine. I leave the bloodied shards on my desk for a servant to clean.

"The surgeon can use more precise tools in an hour,." I state plainly. "This private execution is far more pressing."