The Blackmen guarding the double doors asked no questions when Heron approached the entrance of the courtroom.

The courtroom was almost bathed in complete darkness. Only one row of three chandeliers burned behind his father. They cast a ruddy glare onto numerous scripts scattered about Lomeon's desk. Lomeon held the seal of The Monarchy in one hand and a pair of eyeglasses in another. He did not notice Heron's presence. He read through one script to another mindlessly, almost as if lost in it.

The scene brought memories to the surface. Of the occasions he'd wanted to stay awake late, reading under insufficient light, and Lomeon taking Servyna's side when she insisted Heron went to bed. "Isn't it too dark around, Father?"

Lomeon turned to Heron, abandoning the seal and the eyeglasses on the table. "Ron da, come and sit," he said. "I was taking one last look at the marriage decree before the seal of the Monarchy. The Regency of the Island has already approved it."

He spoke as though Heron shared the same enthusiasm about the marriage. In a moment of clarity, he said, "Matters little, right? This is certainly not why you are here." He exhaled heavily and rubbed his hands together. "Your Master reported the incidents in the city taverns to me. Grace to the Spirits the worse did not happen, son. Not after what happened to us two years ago."

Heron leaned forward and grabbed the edge of the desk where sat a pile of scripts, his teeth were gritted up to the root of his gums. His father couldn't say her name and Heron felt the urge to remind him of every syllable of it. Of every poor decision, Lomeon had made since her passing, from courting a servant while his mother was suffering with poison in her veins, to letting the culprits roam free and unpunished for years. Heron felt the urge to remind him it was his fault they had lost her.

"What difference would it make if the worst had happened?" Heron asked.

"I regret you do not realize," Lomeon said firmly. "I regret you had to witness what I did the day of Servyna's passing. And I regret, I waited so long to present you my most sincere apologies, son. Pardon me. For that and for not allowing you to know the real cause of her death. You shouldn't have learned about it like this. Ancients know I wish I had one, but I don't have a valuable excuse."

For the first time in his life, his father appeared sad, old, and weak to him. And for a brief moment, Heron contemplated his death and all the resentment towards him turned to shame.

"What use is all the regret for now?" Heron asked, his grip tightening against the desk edges, "we need to dismantle the rebellion and find the killers."

"Take a seat if you want."

Heron shook his head.

Lomeon sighed. "You imagine the size of the task you are setting for?"

"I care little about it." Heron could see the pain on his father's face.

"You have a plan?"

"I suppose I will have to operate anonymously from the city."

"Even if you can somehow infiltrate the rebellion, I'm afraid there's no guarantee you will ever get to your mother's killer. The rebellion mobilizes thousands of citizens. Ultimately, it doesn't matter who strikes the killing blow so long as the rebellion can claim it as a victory. Your mother's killer is perhaps not even a—"

"Stop," Heron came on strong. "Please. Don't say it." His father didn't have the right to strip away the only meaningful thing Heron had to hold on to. He would not allow it. "You cannot think that I am incapable of doing anything of my own and still believe I will be a suitable Monarch. Choose the first and you'll have to find another heir, choose the second and I am willing to comply with my duties but only if I get to keep my free will. I'm tired of being puppeteered. It's over." Heron would find those who took Servyna away from him. Even if it was the last thing he did.

"No matter how loud you beg for your death, I will never concede you that right, son," Lomeon said. "You barely have an idea of the dangers outside of the royal domain."

"Venom, Father," Heron lashed out. He lost hold of his voice, his spews echoing in the grand room. "I had a cursed saber against my throat in a forsaken tavern I should have been safe in. What could be worse than that?"

"You have no idea, ron da."

His father was remained calm, unfazed. While Heron simmered in anger. He almost sounded unreasonable, too intense, compared with his father. Lomeon all this on purpose?

"And I suppose I can't make you understand that now," Lomeon said. "You are utterly out of control."

Ancients burn him. Slowly and painfully.

"I can't blame you because it's partly my fault. Believe it or not, I still have some fatherly instincts in me. Right now, they're telling me to send you to prison to keep you from hurting yourself."

"Don't treat me like a child."

Lomeon blinked. "Well, I won't do that then. It's fair we meet halfway. I propose a deal." He rubbed his hands together and adopted a thoughtful countenance. "I will trust your judgment and let you do as you think is right, despite not agreeing with it. You'll have free passage through the gates of the ramparts. But first you need to give me your word."

Ironically, even to earn his liberty, Heron was required to obey the rules of his superiors.

"What do I need to do?"

"Your word first," Lomeon stated. "No need to bergain. Either we have a deal or I'm doing things my way. We'll get hurt either way. I'm used to it. I'm not sure you will take it as easily, however."

If throwing away empty words was the price for his freedom, he was willing to pay it. "You have my word, Father."

"Then from now on, I will take over your training for military enlistment."

That was it. It seemed almost laughable. Heron expected worse. Much worse. "If you wish so."

"I'll inform the brigadier and your master of my decision. Go now, you need to rest. I'd also take care of that leg if I were you. I warn you I will be vicious."