Anryn sat in the kitchen of Gruffydd`s house, his head spinning, the taste of vomit still in his mouth. For an age, he stared at nothing but the tiled floor. The rush of adrenaline abandoned him, and with new clarity he remembered the red line angled at him in the church. He squeezed his scratched and bloody hands around the coffee cup in his palms and—bizarrely—worried that the Lightning King would be disappointed in him.

　　His greatest lord, his most trusted vassal means to betray him. Somehow it was Anryn`s fault, surely. Something about him brought out the treachery—never tall enough, never strong enough& Secretly a woman and a witch!

　　Anryn slammed the cup onto the sideboard and dragged himself to his feet, though every bone in his body ached. His mind flung itself in every direction—tried to find a place for his anger to go. He dared not direct it at Gruffydd. Not here, in the man`s kitchen, surrounded by his men.

　　"Goddamnit, Maertyn, where are you?" Anryn hissed under his breath. He started to pace the kitchen, wondering which bar he would have to search to find him this time.

　　Ciamon came to find him after a while. "M`lord—your professor is here. The runner I sent to the palace brought him back."

　　Professor Lawson pushed past Ciamon into the kitchen. Anryn glanced down the hall, a small thrill of hope in his stomach that he might have brought Maertyn with him. He snapped out of it when Professor Lawson gripped his shoulders with ice cold hands.

　　"Your Highness, thank God, thank God&" the professor said. Anryn took in the sight of him and felt all over again the surge of dread when he`d pulled Professor Lawson out of the burning carriage. The professor looked like he`d been trampled, fine robes covered in dust and silver hair flattened to a dull gray sheen against his skull by sweat.

　　If I don`t die first, I may yet get this man killed, Anryn thought. He gripped Professor Lawson`s arms and blurted out an apology.

　　"Professor—I`m sorry," he started. He glanced at Ciamon and bit back the rest of what he`d been about to say. This is my fault& I brought witches to the capital and could have gotten you killed&! "I got lost in the crowd."

　　"And now you`re found, thank God," Professor Lawson said a third time. He started to lecture, as if Anryn were merely late to a lesson: "Incognito or no, a prince must always travel in company! Think of what might happen others. Quite apart from losing a future king, I`d have lost my best student! Now—quickly. Where is your wife? We must get back to the palace. All is chaos without you there&!"

　　"She`s in the foyer, Professor," Ciamon said.

　　Professor Lawson started. He squinted at Ciamon Caelt and the cold fingers on Anryn`s shoulders tightened. Without another word, the professor steered Anryn toward the front of the house.

　　Beatrice waited for them in the antechamber. She still had her veil back—she looked at Anryn, her eyes wide as they`d been when he`d first thrown it back. She reached for his hand, and he took it, grateful to find that it steadied him. He kept the other on his sword. Ciamon fell into step behind them and they hurried the short distance between the ring of fine houses to the palace gates. The streets still teemed with people out to enjoy the wedding festivities, their happy chatter rippling across the neighborhood of lords` houses. Unaware that anything was amiss.

　　The gaiety curdled to tension the closer they came to the palace. Anryn could hear the Lightning King yelling even before they even got to the antechamber. Instinctively, he hung back, pulling on Beatrice`s arm. The room was full of guards, the lords—even his mother was there. The King raged, shouting to the Queen, to his lords, to his valets, to anyone nearby. No one even noticed the prince and his new bride at the back of the crowd.

　　 "Where is he? What happened to the guards posted on the street?" the Lightning King roared. "God`s balls, I gave the order to double the watch. The prince vanishes into thin air? Find him. Find him."

　　"My liege—give me leave to call up the garrison from Westport," Lord Llennava begged. "They will restore order to the streets&"

　　"Order is restored," Gruffydd the Elder said. He was flanked by his guards and attendants, calm and collected while the King of Ammar raged. "We`ve rounded up the witches from the quarter mile surrounding the infernal flower. We put the sorcerous thing to the torch. My men are combing the streets, knocking on doors. Surely the prince took shelter."

　　"How many dead?" asked Kenon.

　　"Only two—one man crushed to death in the panic. Another took an arrow in the chest," Eyiffoen reported.

　　"An arrow?" Gruffydd asked.

　　Professor Lawson reached across Beatrice and jabbed Anryn in the shoulder. He met the professor`s eyes and knew that they shared the same thought: The plot originated in Mahaut!

　　Anryn`s mind went to work on how to prove it. He could not come out and say "The Sight showed me!"—but this arrow was something they could put before the King.

　　If he listens, the other Anryn whispered. Safely tucked away, she watched her father rage, fascinated to see him in a moment of weakness.

　　King Anathas swiped a hand over his face. It seemed to age him two decades with the gesture, the long lines following the path of his swollen knuckles down over the cheeks. Only his eyes still moved with the quickness of the legendary Lightning King. They flitted over each man in the room, considering. They came to rest on Queen Eva.

　　At that moment, Anryn almost called out to him—but another voice, from the opposite side of the room, beat him to it. His new brother-in-law, Riccardo of Sanchia shouted at the King, "Is this how Ammar safeguards the only heir to the throne? My sister is still out there! Must I ride out into the street myself to rescue her from abduction?"

　　Now the room went dead silent. The valets glanced at him sidelong. The Queen`s eyes went so large, her eyebrows vanished under the rim of her veil. No one spoke to the King of Ammar in that tone. Not even Gruffydd. Anryn felt a rush of panic for Riccardo—and sure enough, the Lightning King lashed out, just as Anryn knew that he would.

　　"I have raised you up, boy," the King yelled back, louder and colder than Riccardo. "I will cast you down in a blink. Your father has many sons to replace you."

　　Riccardo, rattled and riled up, replied, "You don`t."

　　Now Anryn had to speak. If he didn`t, God alone only knew what the Lightning King would do to Riccardo. "Father!" Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

　　The crowd rippled at the sound of Anryn`s voice. The Queen let out a sound that might have been a sob. When they realized the missing prince stood just behind them, they stood to one side to make room for him and Beatrice to push their way forward.

　　Anryn steeled himself, hoping that by holding his new wife`s hand, the King might calm down. Riccardo was no calmer—he darted toward them with a cry and gathered Beatrice in his arms. Anryn was forced to let go of her hand as she wrapped her arms around her brother. She caught his gaze from over his shoulder, wide-eyed.

　　In the same moment, Anryn felt the King`s arms come around him in a rough embrace. He barely understood that his father hugged him before the King let go. The baffling tenderness was replaced by hard hands gripping his shoulders to shake him.

　　"For God`s sake, son, will you be late to everything in your life?" the King said. "Where were you?"

　　"We were lost in the crowd. I thought I saw& Father. Can we speak in private?" Anryn asked. He threw a glance at Gruffydd the Elder. Griff stood beside his father, dusty from the street and sweating.

　　"There will be time enough for that later," the King said. "Get upstairs and get changed."

　　"For what?" Anryn asked. "You can`t possibly expect us to hold the feast, now&?"

　　"I do more than expect. I command it," said the King. "You will complete this marriage now. Today. To Hell with the feast—go and make yourself ready for the bedding."

　　He felt as though his father had hit him. "Now? It`s not even nighttime&"

　　Now the King did hit him—so fast and so hard across the face that Anryn stumbled and fell on the parquette.

　　"Anathas," the Queen said. She did not yell, but her voice carried the length of the room.

　　"Your Highness, it would be wise to hold the feasts as planned. A show of confidence," Gruffydd said.

　　The lord stepped forward—not quite shielding Anryn, but calling the King`s attention away from him, nonetheless. Now Anryn remembered all those times the man had been there throughout childhood to soften the edge of the King`s rage. The man`s kindness now only added to Anryn`s confusion. He struggled to his feet and looked down at the floor, lest he fall into temptation to use the Sight again. Not here, not in front of the Lightning King.

　　"Fine. Have your feast if you are so concerned with your catering deposit," the King snarled at Gruffydd. "But all who wear the flower crown, or sing that ballad about Winze, are to be arrested and held without bail. The King turned to Anryn. "And you. You had better show up to the bedding at sundown. On time. Do you hear me?"

　　"Yes, Sire," said Anryn. He shook with the strain of biting back all the things he wanted to say, his face reddening from shame.

　　The King stalked away. The Queen swept over to Beatrice and hustled her off, detaching her from the arms of her brother. For a moment, Anryn felt adrift. Then Griff and Professor Lawson were there. Griff put an arm around his shoulder and guided him up the steps, toward his rooms. Professor Lawson followed, murmuring under his breath, "Not here, son. Not here&"

　　Griff and Anryn`s swords rattled with every step they took. All around them, the liveried servants were replaced with armed guards. Anryn saw a few glance at him and make the warding sign with their fingers. Hardly an encouraging sight on a wedding night.

　　"Where is Maertyn?" Anryn asked the professor. "Did you find him?"

　　Professor Lawson turned to Griff. "Will you see about drawing a bath for His Grace? I must speak with the prince for a moment."

　　Griff glanced at Anryn. For a moment, Anryn thought he would refuse—assert his superior rank. Then Anryn realized that Griff was looking at him, awaiting his command.

　　Can I trust him? Or is this some trick? Anryn wondered. He swallowed hard. "Griff& please. I`m covered in blood. I can`t go to my bedding like this&"

　　"Don`t worry, Ryn. We`ll get you cleaned up. The gash under your eye makes you look rather dashing, really." Griff reached out and clasped Anryn`s shoulder. "The bride is going to love it, I`m sure."

　　Griff went ahead into the bedchamber, calling for a tub to be brought. The room was already prepared for the bedding ceremony. Fresh flowers filled every vase and pot. Extra candelabras were dragged into the bedroom. The antechamber was prepared with chairs and a trestle table laden with cups to allow witnesses to toast after the deed was done.

　　Professor Lawson drew Anryn over to a window, his eyes darting from face to face in the room. Among the rushing servants and guards taking position at the doorways, it was as much privacy as they could hope to have in the palace.

　　"I need Maertyn`s help," Anryn said. "We have to find him."

　　"Your Highness," Professor Lawson said, using his most stern lecture tone. "Now is the time to consider the company you keep. You cannot speak so freely in front of others, especially not men like Ciamon Caelt. You must also reconsider your attachment to Master Blackfire, it`s& well. Unwise. It would be best to distance yourself from him for the moment."

　　Anryn recoiled. "How can you say that? Maertyn saved my life. He saved yours. He`s kept us both safe."

　　Professor Lawson nodded. "Yes. And now you must return the favor. It was a marvelous diversion to invite the witches to accompany you to Ammar—but after today, do you really believe your father will turn a blind eye? How will you keep Maertyn Blackfire safe from him?"

　　Anryn almost pulled away from Professor Lawson, then. Hurt and angry that now the man would point out his deficiency—that lifelong specter of not being enough. He stared at the floor again. Willing the Sight to stay away, lest it betray him, too.

　　"Think, son," Professor Lawson urged, his familiar voice smoothing the frayed edges of Anryn`s nerves. "Maertyn Blackfire has served you well. He has. I thank God for him. I do. But he cannot help you now in the task you have ahead of you: Survive long enough to consummate this marriage. This will thwart your assassin once and for all, and please your father. What you`ve tried to do since the day you were born."

　　The prince swallowed, the shame snaking up his throat. "I`m not& I can`t. I wish that I could tell you why, but I just can`t. I`d& need a doctor to understand."

　　"Your Highness, it`s true, I am not that sort of doctor—my interest in the bedroom is academic at best, but I am a man as God made me," said the professor. "Speak plainly: Why do you doubt that you can consummate this marriage?"

　　"Because I`m cursed," Anryn burst out. He grabbed his crotch with vehemence and shook it. The skin underneath his clothes chafed—but did not rise. "Here. It doesn`t& Nothing happens. Ever."

　　Professor Lawson tilted his head, just as he did when he considered a student`s answer at lecture. Neither shock, nor surprise registered in his face. "Not even in dreams?"

　　"Especially not in dreams," Anryn said. He let go of himself—and struggled hard to find a way to tell the professor some version of the truth. It hadn`t worked on his father, but maybe something would reach the professor. Then someone might finally tell Anryn what to do. "Sometimes& It`s like I am in a stranger`s body. And there is some part of me living somewhere else. Every day, that prince grows stronger, while I& don`t. What am I going to do?"

　　Professor Lawson smiled gently. He reached out a hand to clasp Anryn`s shoulder. "Your Highness& There is no need to overthink physiology. All a king must do is find an interpretation of the law that meets his needs. You kept Maertyn Blackfire—a witch, if not worse—at your side for weeks with no complaints from any authority that could challenge you. Apply that pragmatism to this situation! Whatever needs to be done tonight must be enough that the lady would never deny that you are her husband—before the eyes of God, the law& and her father."

　　Anryn felt a sinking feeling. The professor hadn`t believed him—not really. The advice was sound, but it was not what Anryn craved so desperately to hear. Like everything the professor said, it was to the point of keeping Anryn on the path to the Blood Throne. "What about Maertyn? What will I do about him? How will I find him to warn him to stay away?"

　　"Well. I am sure that we could find him, if we consider what we know about him," Professor Lawson said. "What would a man like him do here in Mahaut, on the occasion of a royal wedding, if he were not by your side?"

　　"Drink," said Anryn. "Probably try to bathe in a public fountain."

　　The professor nodded. "Then, I believe you already know where you can find him."