"Bullseye!" August shouted and promptly burst into a fit of giggles. He had said he was going to hit the stone three rows up and four to the right of the door, not three to the right, but Siles didn't object.

Siles didn't care whether the glass rook had hit its target anyway, not when he had only half as many pieces left on the board as August. To be fair, he had learned the rules for chess five minutes before they had started playing. But only one of them was drinking. August swayed in his seat, the centuries-old crown he had acquired only a few hours prior slanted over his left eyebrow. That didn't stop him from moving his glass pieces exactly where they needed to be to destroy Siles'.

"Do you have anyone in mind for the Council?" Siles asked, barely maintaining a steady tone. The stupid board game evaded the logic of the real world.

August scoffed, the crown sliding the rest of the way off his head and landing on the floor with a metallic clank. He stared at it disinterestedly and turned back to the board without retrieving it. "You just want to talk about the Council because I'm kicking your ass."

"I'll have you know I'm losing on purpose. What does the Council have to do with that?"

"Bullshit. Bullseye. Ha. Sounds the same." He casually knocked one of Siles' remaining pawns on its face. Or its back. The useless glass pieces didn't have defined features anyway. "Five to the right, two up." The piece shattered two stone blocks to the right of its goal. "Bullseye. You're better at this kingdom running crap so you're rubbing it in my face."

This time Siles scoffed. "Choosing people for the Council isn't exactly hard work. You pick people you like, then it's done. You're lucky there are so many open spots to fill."

"You mean I'm lucky six people tried to kill me."

Siles shrugged. Three additional Councilmembers had attempted to assassinate August during the crowning ceremony, but they weren't as dismal as August's tone of voice implied. Not only did the attempts reveal rats in the administration, but they were able to use those would-be-assassins as examples to assert August's power. August had even 'convinced' one of them to gouge out their own eyes. No more knives were thrown after that blood-red example.

Siles finally took down one of August's knights. "Six up, eight to the right." The glass hit the center of the named stone, the power of the throw sending shards of glass in a wide circumference along the wall. Siles stared at the increasingly empty board. "Are you going to buy a set to replace this one?"

August stared at the board and sighed. "No; you don't like chess. Checkmate."

Siles stared at the board. There was no way he could move that would save his king. He hoped the game didn't predict reality. "You win, then," he sighed.

"You still have to move," August said.

"But it doesn't matter where I move."

"That's just how the game is played." August paused and shook his head. "Never mind. We don't have to play by the rules." He tilted the board so that the remaining pieces slid onto the floor beside his crown. They didn't shatter.

The depressed half of the drinking had begun, Siles could tell. He had tried to convince August not to celebrate his victory with wine, but he hadn't listened. Everyone always forgot that the happiness didn't last.

August slumped on the couch. "What would you do?" he asked. "If you were king?"

He would do the opposite of everything Queen Samira had done. But despite all of the time they had spent together, Siles did not know where August's political alignment lay. The wrong word could twist their friendship into something dark and rotten, like a slow-acting sickness sucked the souls from the ill. At least he hoped they were friends. Siles chose his words carefully, "Well, being king is a life sentence. There's a lot you can do in that time."

"I'm talking about now. What would you do first?"

Siles almost returned to the topic of the Council, but stopped himself. If he was ever going to test the waters of August's political beliefs, now was the time. The drunk King was barely conscious, after all. If he stepped over a line, he could redraw it the next day by claiming that August's drunk memory had failed him.

"Well... I would probably fund public schools for the commoners," he said. August raised an eyebrow, so Siles cleared his throat and scrambled to explain. "I've visited the kingdoms around us and they're much more technologically advanced. We've adopted some of their inventions, but most of their inventions came about because of commoners with access to education. We won't be economically successful if we don't produce something of our own."

Silence hung between them for a moment, darker than the night sky outside. August had probably stopped listening after the first sentence. The drunk mind didn't contemplate economics. It focused on the solid objects in the haze, the crystal-clear edges of loneliness and hatred and fury.

"Not bad." August finally said. "I might steal that one from you."

Siles breathed a sigh of relief, but found the tightness in his chest returning when he saw August's inquisitive stare. The crowning ceremony hadn't been nearly as nerve-wracking as the past few minutes. The turn of the conversation felt like an interrogation where the opposite party knew all the right questions to shred his sanity into confetti-sized pieces.

"What do you look like?" August asked.

Siles took a deep breath. "I – I don't know how to describe – I don't see my reflection too often." It wouldn't hurt for one person to know what he looked like, especially when it was the one person who he could easily keep an eye on to prevent them from spilling the secret. But he had kept his appearance secret from magician society for so long that breaking the habit brought an unbearable sense of panic.

"Then show me." August propped his head up on an elbow and scanned the library. "Not here, obviously." There were many places for a secret observer to hide in the dark corners of the library, especially since the dark of the night had flooded the corners the weak wall lamps couldn't reach. "We'll go to my quarters," he said.

Siles wanted to go back in time, to retrace the conversation then reroute it so that it wouldn't end with the mask. He had no grasp on time, however, and neither did any other magician in existence. It remained out of reach of their prying hands, just like the rising and setting of the sun.

"Fine," Siles sighed.

They walked in silence, mostly to avoid waking the servants whose tunnels they borrowed once again. August had seen one of his advisors in the main hall, though Siles had only seen the shadow of a light fixture. Either way, August's drunken fear of responsibility led them to the servants' halls. The servants' route was the long route, but at least it gave Siles time to mentally prepare himself.

Even with the long route, they arrived too quickly for Siles' liking. August's quarters weren't the same rooms in which he had faced the first three almost-assassins; he had moved into the Royal Quarters. The Queen's belongings had vanished, probably into the servants' collections based on the many discarded items Siles had spotted there. In their place were new decorations and furniture, unmistakable with their fresh indigo patterns. The Queen had decorated her quarters in blood red, with the occasional shade of green which resembled mold more than grass.

"I see your first act as king was to redecorate," Siles commented.

August waved Siles through the door with a shrug. "I have my priorities. I'll deal with your little schoolkids after I replace the dining hall rugs." He fell onto the new couch, adopting the same slouch he had worn in the library. Then the moment Siles shut the door, he snapped his fingers. "Alright. Your face. Go."

What August didn't understand was that mind-reading went beyond the mind. Siles knew that his thoughts remained behind the same shield that had protected him from the dead Queen's earth-shaking, but his face only had a flimsy metal mask as protection. Without it, his emotions, thoughts within themselves, could broadcast themselves to the world, to August. The commoners didn't matter – he didn't care what they thought. But August wasn't a commoner. Siles tried to set his face in stone.

He removed the mask.

August opened his mouth and shut it. He frowned, then smiled, then cleared his throat. "I don't get – why aren't you disfigured? Why would you wear a mask if...?" He circled his hand around his face then waved it in Siles' direction.

Siles couldn't help but laugh. "I already told you; it lets me blend in among the commoners."

"I wouldn't call that face common," August said.

"That's rude," Siles retorted.

"Twas a compliment." August smiled and propped his chin with his hand.

Siles felt like he had stepped from a meadow into a bottomless pit. He didn't know what waited for him at the bottom, and he didn't want to find out. The mask found his face once again, and his hand found the doorknob.

"You should probably go to sleep now if you want to get over tomorrow's hangover in time for lunch," Siles heard himself say. He saw August's smile fade into a sad, almost yearning expression, then disappear behind the door. He was back in the hall and his mask was on; everything was going to be okay. But panic still gripped his chest with barbed fingers, forcing him into a run as he retreated to his own quarters.

Siles couldn't read minds. August's expressions didn't make sense; they never made sense. He had to have misread the smile and the sorrow mixed with something else. None of it mattered. He had bigger things to worry about. Six assassination attempts meant more to prepare for, and rebellions always chose transitions between rulers as a time to strike. Siles shifted the chess pieces in his mind, shattering the night against the wall. If August really did like the idea of educating the commoners, he could use the proposal to demotivate rebellions. Then he would be able to leave the castle again and breath the unfiltered air. He could leave anytime.

The panic crept into itself until sleep finally slipped into its place. Siles knew how to escape his fear. He could leave anytime.