Drinking whiskey before noon was a mistake, Anryn realized. As he and Maertyn made their way to the palace, the prince continuously forgot what they were doing and that he was supposed to be disguised as a woman. Each time Anryn remembered the plan anew, it made him chuckle.

　　 "Stop giggling," Maertyn said. He steadied Anryn with both hands on the prince`s shoulders.

　　 "I am a prince, I do not giggle," Anryn said.

　　 "Shh," Maertyn said, steering Anryn by the shoulders through the crowd gathered at the side gate.

　　Here, all was chaos as various servants came and went from the entrance and the carriages from the prince`s retinue waited to be unloaded. By now, Professor Lawson and Griff would be inside, Anryn thought. The head of the King`s bedchamber would give instructions for housing the Prince of Ammar`s retinue and then Maertyn and Anryn could slip inside and make their way to the prince`s rooms undetected.

　　While they waited, Maertyn took out his flask and filled it from one more of the bottles in his case. At last, the second footman guarding the back entrance called out Professor Lawson`s name to summon his attendants forward. Maertyn pushed Anryn forward. The prince trod on the hem of his veil as he teetered up the steps.

　　Something like nostalgia swept over Anryn as he recognized the familiar sights and scents of his home. The feeling was not as warm as it had been at the sight of Amwarren University, but it was reassuring. Here, at least, Prince Anryn knew where he was and what to do.

　　Until he forgot again. Somewhere in the winding servants corridors and staircases, Anryn became separated from Maertyn. In the crush of strangers and servants all trying to find their place in the chaos, Anryn was confused about where he was headed. Dozens of men and women pushed past them in every direction, coming and going from the narrow servants hallways.

　　Anryn decided, with the flimsy logic of whiskey, that it was safer to step out into the main halls to find his way to his old bedchamber. The prince felt confident this was a reasonable decision—it was his own home, wasn`t it? With the added protection of the veil, the Prince of Ammar was practically invincible. Or was it "invisible?" Anryn giggled.

　　The prince stepped out into the main halls. Instantly, Anryn recognized the second floor, east wing of the palace, near the library. Portraits of the royal family lined the walls here. The ugly gold and red rugs spread all along the polished wood floor here, muffling the squeak from the parquet. Anryn smiled, remembering the way from here to his room.

　　Anryn stopped at the staircase. Five veiled women swept up toward him. Even drunk, even through a veil, he recognized the woman at their center. Forgetting again that he was disguised—that he was stalked by assassins, that he was under a mage`s curse, that there were a dozen other reasons to keep his mouth shut—Anryn bowed to the Queen of Ammar.

　　"Mom," Anryn said.

　　The other ladies drew up short, but Queen Eva continued up the steps. When she drew level with Anryn, her hand shot out from beneath the long folds of her veil and slapped him. His face stung as his mother ripped the veil off of the prince`s head.

　　Now her ladies recognized him and they cried out, dropping into curtseys.

　　"Why—Prince Anryniel! You`ve& grown," said one of them. Anryn was ashamed to realize he could tell none of them apart, though these were the mothers of his classmates at Amwarren. He`d been away for four years and forgotten the sounds of their voices, the silhouettes of their faces behind lace and gauze.

　　Queen Eva shook the veil at Anryn. "What foolishness has Griff gotten you into, now? Skulking around, dressed like a woman& Your father will have a stroke if he sees you like this! Are you trying to kill him, Anryniel?"

　　"I`m sorry, Mom," Anryn said.

　　He tried not to giggle. He thought that there was some reason he should be mad at his mother, but he couldn`t remember what it was. Before he could gather his scattered thoughts, the women around him sank into even deeper bows. The Queen stood back, and lowered her head.

　　Anryn felt the familiar sting of his father`s cold, hard fingers on his neck. The knuckles popped as the King of Ammar squeezed.

　　"Welcome home," King Anathas said. "Where the Hell have you been?"

　　Anryn no longer felt like giggling. The King dragged his son into the throne room by the scruff of his neck. The council table was already set, the chairs arranged on either side. The lords Gruffydd, Teqwyn, Tommasi, Eyiffoen, Kenon, and Llennava all stood around the room, silent and tense. Maps of the city were spread across the table, lines of bright red ink traced across them like bloody gashes.

　　Griff was there already, seated in one of the council chairs like a child put into a corner. Anryn`s sword was on the table in front of him. Dividing the room between the old generation of Ammar, and the new, over its bleeding flesh.

　　The King threw Anryn into a chair beside Griff.

　　"Explain yourselves," he shouted. "Where in God`s name have you been? You brought witches to Mahaut. Prancing around the palace in a dress& have you lost your mind?"

　　"No, no Father, it`s alright. I was traveling incognito," Anryn explained.

　　"Whatever for?" Lord Teqwyn asked. "Is this some childish prank? Some new bachelor`s game young men play?"

　　"There were assassins," Anryn said. "In Dorland& The plan was to see if they were waiting here in Mahaut, that`s why we went to Java& The witches are harmless. They just wanted to put flowers in the water and come to the wedding& There was a fire, but they put it out."

　　"You bleat like a goddamned sheep," King Anathas said.

　　All the lords were frowning, Anryn realized. The more the prince tried to explain, the more ridiculous he sounded to himself. The whiskey was wearing off. His sense of invincibility was long gone. Anryn glanced at Griff, hoping he would say something sober-sounding.

　　"I have& grave concerns about the prince`s mental fortitude," Griff said. He would not look at Anryn.

　　"How dare you," Anryn snarled. "You were there! Are you pretending now that my life is not in danger?"

　　"Ryn, I didn`t say that&" Griff began.

　　The King slammed both hands on the table to interrupt them. Anryn`s sword rattled. The clang of it overloud in the prince`s head.

　　"Did my son forget how to write?" King Anathas demanded. "Do I not pay forty thousand sovereigns a year for an entire wing of Amwarren where there is paper and ink and a room full of people whose job it is to bring the crown news of your health? If there were real danger, why didn`t you write home?"The author`s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

　　"Father& the assassin could have been in the University`s mailroom for all that I knew," Anryn argued. His temper flared, stoked by Griff`s backstabbing insult. He could hear the shrill whine in his voice, but he couldn`t stop himself. "I couldn`t just come straight home until I had some idea who gave the order to the men at Dorland who attacked me. I swear to God, I was not trying to defy you, or avoid the wedding, but to save myself."

　　"Is my son so craven?" the King interrupted. "You are a Prince of Ammar, Anryniel. Strength. Confidence. These things must come from you, if you are ever to be king."

　　Anryn lowered his head. He felt the lifelong crush of his father`s disappointment settle over him. The familiar feeling of humiliation stinging Anryn`s eyes—or was it the dehydration from the whiskey?

　　"Your Highness," Griff ventured. "I believe& I believe that agents of Nynomath have come to Ammar. The prince claims that men in my service attacked him at Dorland when His Highness attended a witch`s trial there. I felt it necessary to divert us to Java to draw out whatever fiend was behind the alleged plot. But& we were not attacked there, until we went to attend to the witches of Java. I believe that mages have come to Ammar to seek them out."

　　Anryn rolled his watering eyes at Griff. So much for their reconciliation. First, the bastard cast doubt on the prince`s mental state, and now he took credit for Professor Lawson`s ideas? If the King hadn`t had Anryn`s sword so close to him, the prince might`ve grabbed it right then and stabbed Griff. In front of both their fathers.

　　Gruffydd the Younger`s words reached the King when Anryn`s hadn`t. He turned and regarded Griff with real seriousness. "Mages? In Ammar?"

　　"Are you sure, son? They haven`t crossed the border in over a decade," Gruffydd said.

　　"They may be coming another way, over the mountain. Or perhaps they`ve arrived disguised," said Teqwyn. "We can double the watch in the streets. Reinforce the prison in the square&"

　　"I`ll give the order," said Eyiffoen. "Someone should send men to the kitchens to safeguard the food prepared for tonight. We may want to cancel the gift-giving feast in the morning&"

　　"No, this will let them know that we are onto them," Lord Kenon started to argue.

　　The lords, now engaged, drew apart to set their tasks and bicker among themselves for who would do what to protect the Prince of Ammar during the wedding. Griff rolled his shoulders, shrugging off the tension. The King dismissed him with a glance. Anryn rose to go with Griff, but King Anathas glared at the prince, and Anryn sat back down.

　　The King ignored his son for another half hour while he gave instructions to each of the lords. When they had gone, he stalked around the table to Anryn`s side.

　　"Assassins&?" King Anathas said. His hand shot out and seized Anryn by the arm. He hauled the prince to his feet and squinted into his face. "There is not a scratch on you. You`re hardly bigger than you were when you left Mahaut. You expect me to believe you survived not one, but two attempts on your life without even a split lip to show for it?"

　　"You think that I`m lying?" Anryn said. "Hit me right now. Give me the split lip you think that I need to be convincing."

　　The King glared at his son. The prince glared right back, not daring to let his eyes go cross. If the Anathas knew that Anryn was a witch, the prince was sure that his father would kill him.

　　"Are you drunk right now?" the King asked.

　　"A little, Sire." Anryn was almost grateful when his father slapped him. The prince didn`t See it coming.

　　King Anathas shoved Anryn`s sword belt at him. "Put that back on. Come with me."

　　The King led Anryn from the council room, up the stairs. More stairs. All the way to the top of the palace at Mahaut, where the battlements fanned out from the hulking towers. From here, the roads all stretched below in any direction. Colorful and teeming with the crowds far below, where they danced in the streets, the wedding festivities already underway.

　　The Lightning King pointed down at the crowds. "How many are there, Anryn? How many witches now walk the streets in Mahaut?"

　　"I haven`t counted them, Sire," Anryn said. "A few hundred? What does it matter? They are here as my guests, for the wedding. They put their trust in God, and their King to defend them, the same as Your other subjects. They`re harmless."

　　"They are harmless now," King Anathas corrected. "A few flower petals, some incense& I, too, went to Amwarren when I was young. It`s a childish conceit to play with little things in Nature and imagine that we can influence the will of God. Outside of childhood, it becomes blasphemy. How long can a king, God`s anointed, hold his throne if his subjects challenge the authority of God Himself?"

　　Anryn swallowed. He struggled for the words he needed to reassure the King that he was what a son should be—loyal, intelligent, pious. Anryn needed his father to see those qualities in him, or the prince was just as dead as he`d have been in Dorland without the witch, just as dead on the mountain without Maertyn.

　　"I believe in God, Your Highness," Anryn said. He let that other Anryn speak, to try to tell his father some version of the truth. He was her father, too, after all. "In Java, I drank the waters and had a vision. I can hardly explain it, but& it confirmed for me that there is something more than ourselves. Some divine purpose. As your heir, and one day king of this land, I will guard Ammar and her people—all of her people—from harm. I will be the king that Ammar needs."

　　The Lightning King sighed. "What do you suppose makes a king? Some oils and a few words of God passed through a priest? A piece of paper? Royalty is image, Anryniel. Legend. As we speak of God and Nature, so too must the men of Ammar speak of their king. A king may be pious. Or fractious. Even a little&"

　　King Anathas looked at the skirt Anryn wore over his trousers.

　　"Ridiculous," he continued. "But a king must never be weak. His authority cannot be challenged, no more than God`s can."

　　The Lightning King`s hand shot out and closed over the back of Anryn`s head. In a furious motion, the old man thrust his son`s head out over the edge of the battlements. Anryn`s fingers scrambled on the wood, frantic to find purchase. The skirts around his ankles tripped him and Anryn would have fallen if not for the King`s fingers digging into his scalp.

　　"So I ask again," King Anathas said. "How many true witches are down there, Anryn? How many threaten Our divine right to rule in Ammar?"

　　He might really kill me, Anryn thought. Always until that moment, the prince had been so sure that the King of Ammar wanted him alive—needed him alive. Now, half-dangled out over the battlements, Anryn realized that King Anathas didn`t value his only child`s life so highly. Not more highly than he valued his own authority.

　　"Have you seen it for yourself?" the Lightning King demanded. "Have you seen the wrath of Nature that a witch can wreak on Ammar, if left unchecked?"

　　"Yes, I have!" Anryn said. He tried to push back against his father`s hand. He hated the sound of fear he heard in his own voice. "At Dorland. A tornado."

　　"Those can wipe out entire armies. Crushed to death inside your armor by the wind," the King said.

　　He held Anryn a moment longer, then yanked him back onto the battlement, and let go. Anryn stepped back and clutched the place on his scalp where the King`s fingers had scratched him. He blinked back tears of terror. His father gazed at him, his icy blue eyes unblinking. If King Anathas could see the treacherous anger in his own son, he didn`t show it.

　　"And the mages at Java& Is it true what Gruffydd`s son says?" the King continued as if they carried on a normal conversation.

　　Careful how you answer, the other Anryn whispered. If the prince told his father all that had happened with the mages at Java, he would have to tell the king about Maertyn. There was no way the Lightning King would believe that Anryn slew two mages on his own. That would have been a lie, and Anryn knew better than to outright lie to his father.

　　"There may have been," Anryn said. "In Java, someone convinced the governor to subvert your majesty`s justice. What other gain could there be in smuggling witches than to trade them to mages?"

　　"Hm. Perhaps," the King said. He stared at his son long and hard. Anryn didn`t notice the trickle running from his nose, until his father reached out to touch his face. King Anathas rubbed Anryn`s blood between his fingers. "The waters of Java didn`t do you much good, it seems."

　　Anryn seethed. All the effort of the past months to return to Mahaut, all that work to stay alive long enough to please his father, and this was his reward? Now indeed Anryn felt justified in keeping secrets from his father, not out of self-preservation, but out of sheer spite.

　　The only thing I owe the bastard is to outlive him, Anryn thought. And be King after he dies.