Terrence's chambers have been converted into a comfortable cage. Anything that could be used to inflict severe wounds was removed, as was most of the furnishings. All he has left is a bed without sheets and a candle. He sits upon the bed clutching at his stomach, his clothes have been stripped away. A big black blotch contrasts with his pale white flesh, the shape of my boot.

"Come to beat me more fleshmonger?" Terrence spits. He looks up at me, I hadn't prettied his face too much, half of it has swollen to nearly double the original size and adopted a palette of sickly yellow, ugly blue and impressively dark black. His lips are bright red, my boot knocked out one of his front teeth and snapped half of the adjacent one off.

I take the boy's face out of my pocket and throw it before him.

Terrence looks down briefly before returning his gaze to me and spitting, it reaches an impressive distance but falls a few feet short of hitting me.

"An admission of guilt?" He asks mockingly.

"A gift," I state plainly. "A mocking gift from a creature that overestimates its importance."

"You're a man not a creature," Terrence jests. "All of man's worst qualities born into you and all the virtues whipped away. Take your little trick and leave me to sleep, you can try and behead me come the morn."

"Tell me about the boy's eyes," I request.

"Fuck off you-"

"Tell me about his eyes or you'll eat your own."

"Weren't right," Terrence shrugs. "Simple as."

"See, a second man has also described a presumably dead face as having eyes that weren't right but I never thought to ask him to further that description. It'll be a while till he can answer me again so please-"

"Didn't look like they belonged to him," Terrence continues. "Too old. Too cold. They appeared as if they regarded every aspect of the world like a statistic. Every choice as a potential gain or loss. Every object as practical or impractical. Every person as an obstacle or a tool."

"And why do you believe I am responsible for some unknown creature wearing this face?"

"You're the only man claiming to have destroyed his body," Terrence states. "What I've seen doesn't match with what you've claimed. You claim to be the last man to be with the bodies, claimed to have cremated them and now one is walking about, your the only suspect and nothing speaks in your favour."

"Save for the fact that that's not a real face," I yawn.

"If things must be how you order them to be why not order the past to change in such a way that the boy would never kill a man and live a long happy life?"

"It's not like any material I've ever seen," I continue ignoring the remark. "It's certainly not skin and it certainly wasn't crafted by human hands. Notice how perfect each feature is, identical to the original save all the scabs and scars have vanished. Healing is terribly difficult after death and not a single aspect of the face has been damaged by the knife-"

"You think a creature capable of wearing someone else's identity so well relies upon natural means to attain their goals?"

"You believe a creature of such power needs to negotiate with me for a single corpse or that I need to haggle for coin?"

"Maybe it wasn't coin, maybe it gave you a few secrets, some blackmail maybe, could have even given you a face or two to exchange with yours."

"Why not slip a blade in my neck with those steady hands and just take what it wanted? I brought no guards, there were no witnesses and hundreds of opportunities to do so throughout the night. It could have earned itself the face of a monarch, why would it settle for a pauper instead?"

Terrence doesn't respond.

"I'll tell you why my face is still my own," I begin. "This little inconvenience has overestimated its place in the world. It now plays games with opponents who severely outrank it. The boy was sent to toy with you, you in turn were sent back to toy with me. Then they had a little fun in my dungeons and added another face to their collection and left that in its place," I nudge the scrap of skin on the floor before me with my toe. "They're playing a game Terrence, it laughed as I bet you, relished in my frustrations and your pain. Our confusion fueled its ego and it believes it's in a position to play games with a king."

"And what do you intend to do to this creature?"

"I plan on winning the game and I'll have this unnatural wretch bend the knee before me before I separate head from shoulders and then I'll see what form could be so monstrous it needs to hide behind the faces of others."

I scrape the face off of the floor and carry it to the candle.

"And what of me?"

"You dear cousin will be brought to a war that has yet to start, you will earn your reputation back, you'll become a duke and the incident with sir Orson will be forgotten."

"And what if I still don't believe your hands are entirely clean in this affair?"

I hold the face over the candle flame and in seconds it's consumed by flames. I drop it on the floor and leave it to melt on the stone.

"Cousin, my hands have never been clean," I sigh. "And I only intend on staining them further."

"Sir Steel is gone, my prince," Ryan says plainly. "His servants have had their tongues cut out and refuse to reveal his whereabouts with writing, he's taken no steed and left no trail."

The throne room possesses dozens of objects one could destroy when enraged. Glass sculptures worth more than lives, crystal vases that would easily shatter, portraits and tapestries that a knife would convert to ribbons, a throne that one could quite easily break a hand upon is only a step away. It's so very hard to resist the temptations to obliterate all these valuables, to yell in frustration, to run through the kingdom myself, to hold a knife to every man, their wives and their children til I get that damned knight's location is given to me. But that would show frustration, impatience, and weakness. That would give the unknown wretch hours of laughter I'm certain.

"From this point on he is Steel the Heretic, Murderer, Firestarter, Liar, Betrayer and the Pathetic," the words force their way through gritted teeth. "Let it be known to all that only his head needs to be turned in to receive a reward of twenty silver fingers, his body can be left wherever it was found if that's convenient."

"And what of his servants?"

"How many does he have?"

"Three, my prince?"

"How long have they served?"

"Steel's ledger suggests it to be a half decade-"

"Hang them then, they watched the man drag corpses through his manse for that long and could have stopped it years ago."

"They might have been intimidated-"

"Well then let this too be known to all as well then!" I exclaim, spreading my arms wide. "No matter what you fear, no matter how torturous it might seem, no matter how insurmountable it might appear, I am worse. Now kill the mute criminals and don't make a show of it, just hang them and be done with it. Then rouse every man you can and pick this city clean, spread the word of reward far and spread it fast. Steel's head will grace this throne room and I'd rather it be sooner than later."

Ryan opens his mouth to speak but promptly closes it.

"Do you have a problem with these orders?" I inquire.

"Of course not my prince," hardly a surprising answer. "I was just wondering what information was enclosed within this letter you gave to Steel?"

"A rather simplistic message that read ‘kill your puppet, present yourself before me, kneel and beg and mercy may be shown.’"

"Why did you entrust-"

"Because I assumed he was a fucking madman!" I snap. "I figured if anyone but him were too open that letter they might be inclined to cooperate with the orders contained within and I didn't expect a madman to be capable of such a quick escape!"

"Understandable considering his… hobby," Ryan attempts to sooth.

"When were their tongues removed?" I divert the conversation, uninterested in pathetic support and the mention of Steel's 'hobby' placing ideas in my head.

"The tools used were still wet with blood when we arrived."

"And what service did they provide?"

"They were musicians my prince. Might I ask-"

"I'd wish to speak with… at them, where have you hidden them away?"

"My prince please, they can't provide you with anything useful even with their tongues. Steel didn't trust them enough to let them keep such parts; he wouldn't have given them his intended destination. There's no sense in tormenting the poor women anymore, why not let them die quickly, without any more suffering."

I chuckle and walk up to Ryan.

"Ah good Ryan," I say with a smile, laying my hand on his shoulders as if we were friends. "Sometimes I forget that others lack knowledge about the occurrences within my skull. Thoughts, opinions and plans change there as quickly as living turns to dead. An idea has spawned and I no longer intend on harming a single one of those singers, I won't touch a single hair upon their heads nor will any occupant of this kingdom and the rope shan't grace their throats. Take your sword and cut out my tongue if I turn out to be telling a single lie."

"We sent them to mount Jeremy," Ryan says reluctantly.

"Thank you Ryan, your service is appreciated," I say cheerily. Then, with one hand still on his shoulder I use the other one to free my dagger in one quick movement and press the tip to Ryan's throat. He understandably stumbles back in surprise and I force him the rest of the way down into the throne, I keep the steel on his neck. "However if you ever refuse to answer another question or perform an order you will find yourself choking on this."

"Understood my prince," Ryan gets out slowly, the cogs of his mind struggling to find any other response that minimises the likelihood of his imminent demise.

"Good," I say, taking the blade away and returning it home. "You're an excellent knight, both virtuous and deadly. It'd be a shame to have you gone, no one would be able to achieve a similar level of skill."

"Thank you my prince."

"Now how prepared are we for tomorrow's event?"

"Wasn't easy to do discreetly but the courtyard is ready for your less than noble audience."

"Wonderful, remember nothing premature, should the crowd become boisterous, subdue them with a fist, not the blade."

"As you command, my prince."

Wordlessly I leave Ryan still sitting in the soon to be my throne. These mutes might know nothing about his whereabouts but Steel's actions must be somewhat familiar with them. What I once presumed to be the worthless delusions of a damaged man might have some merit and be of minor use to me.

"Pick the city clean," I yell behind me. "If you find the bastard you need only bring his head to witness my crowning before burning it."