Professor Lawson counted the days up on his fingers. In all, he reckoned, Prince Anryniel was two months late for his wedding when finally arrived in Mahaut. Not quite late enough to provoke the wrath of Sanchia, but more than a little awkward.

　　Those that saw the Prince of Ammar ride into the capital were struck by his appearance: he was much changed by his time away at University. Years later, they remarked on the horse that he rode, the crushed velvet he wore, and how brightly the golden hilt of his sword shone in the sunlight. They would not recollect that it was Gruffydd the Younger who rode at the head of that column, posing as the Prince of Ammar.

　　Instead, the tales attached themselves to the company the Prince of Ammar brought: Nearly four hundred self-proclaimed witches wearing flower crowns.

　　The scheme unfolded like a grand parade. Professor Lawson rode alongside Griff in an open landau borrowed from one of the witches who met them on the road. They smiled and waved to the crowds that clustered close to the gilded carriage, reaching to touch their hands. It was gaudy, adorned in clashing shades of blue and yellow to advertise the personal wealth of its owner, which seemed to tempt the crowd even closer.

　　Griff smiled and waved at the crowd, outwardly all calm. The professor watched him and had to admit the lad played the role well. Moreover, he thought guiltily, it was now almost certain that the lad had not been behind the attempt on Prince Anryn`s life. His students were growing into themselves—lords of tomorrow.

　　If you find yourself on the same road twice, the professor thought to himself. The signs now all pointed toward the witch laws. Professor Lawson had assumed his life`s greatest work was the alliance to Sanchia. Now, watching the gaggle of witches surrounding them, he was more convinced than ever that when he was King Anryniel`s chief advisor, his calling would be to save these poor souls from the fate the Lightning King decreed for them.

　　It would not be an easy task. If the study of diplomacy had taught Haley Lawson anything, it was that true policy change took more than an isolated incident. It took prolonged engagement, at all levels of society, to enact real change. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

　　The air shimmered with tension. There were too many people all packed too tightly into the roads. Professor Lawson knew that there weren`t enough roofs in Mahaut to house them all. Worse, they had been kept waiting. The throngs of strangers and citizens crushed into the main road for a glimpse of the prince. The progress through the throng of well-wishers—and ill-wishers—was slow and grueling.

　　After several hours, the dull cheers sharpened into happy screams. Professor Lawson saw liveried servants in the green and black velvet of Gruffydd threading their way through the crowds. Sunlight caught on the bright silver coins they flung into the air.

　　The crowds broke apart as people scrambled, throwing themselves after the glittering prizes. The tactic diverted the worst of the crush away from the main road, allowing the procession to surge forward. Even the witches broke off from the column to race for the coins left in the gutter. Gruffydd`s men stayed in the streets, tossing coins and passing out small felt purses.

　　Clever, Professor Lawson thought.

　　He took a moment to appreciate Prince Anryn`s planning—should the witches be pulled from the column, the prince now had an added layer of protection against assassins in the form of Griff`s impersonation.

　　The professor chafed at the healed burns on his knees and offered God another prayer now for Maertyn Blackfire. The Winze&

　　He shivered, remembering the look on the man`s face as he beat a mage with his bare hands. Until that moment, the professor had always seen Maertyn as a mere peasant, overfond of drinking, with the potential to be convicted of witchcraft, were he questioned by the wrong priest. That he might be a living embodiment of Hell made flesh& The professor believed this only a little more than the possibility that Ammar would reverse its domestic policy on witchcraft.

　　To steady his anxious hands, Professor Lawson repeated to himself what Prince Anryn had said, Witchcraft is the will to do harm. If the prince`s pragmatic view toward witchcraft held, if his wedding to Beatrice of Sanchia solidified his majority, then Maertyn had committed no crime at all with healing—and the defense of Ammar against Nynomath`s attempt on the prince. And Professor Lawson could drink to his health without guilt by association.

　　In the meantime, the professor thought it would be safer to do in private. He looked out from the window, and hoped fervently that Maertyn—indeed, that all the witches dancing around the landau just then—would be more careful in Mahaut.