Anryn waited in the foyer of the governor`s house. The prince paced back and forth as his luggage was brought down the stairs and gathered by the front door. He shuddered to imagine the bill the governor would send to his father for the housing expenses. Between Professor Lawson`s wine and Maertyn Blackfire`s indiscriminate taste for any alcohol, it was likely to be astronomical, even if it was only for a three-day stay.

　　Griff would have to pay it, Anryn thought. The prince struggled to think of the words to say to his friend. The two had not spoken since the fight in the pool. Anryn had seen him only once, briefly, going into the game room to play cards with the governor.

　　What can I say to him? He was right along, Anryn thought. The Prince of Ammar was not who had spent his whole life trying to be. He was a witch, and perhaps not even a he.

　　"Prince Anryniel?" The prince jerked out of his agonized reverie at the sound of his name. Professor Lawson emerged from his room, carrying a valise tucked with rolls of parchment. "Your Highness, are you feeling well?"

　　"Professor& Is there any way out of this marriage?" Anryn blurted out.

　　He hadn`t planned to say it, but the memory of the woman in the water haunted him. Anryn knew that she was him. Some other part of himself, some road not taken. When the prince imagined her, the long flowing hair, the many curves, he felt his heart hammer. The heavy pulse of it echoed all down his body, even in places where, before, nothing ever stirred.

　　Anryn could not say all of this aloud to the professor. It sounded like madness. Or witchcraft.

　　Professor Lawson set down his valise and looked at Anryn. The heavy silver brows over his eyes folded down. "Why do you ask this, now? Has young Gruffydd said something to you? I know that you are in the midst of an argument, but I would not take to heart any words spoken in jealousy&"

　　"No, Giff didn`t say anything to me," Anryn said. Only implied that I wasn`t a man. "Professor, what if& What if I am not physically capable? What if I& what if I can`t& father children?"

　　Now the professor`s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. He pressed a hand to his chest as if Anryn`s words hurt his heart.

　　 The prince`s eyes stung with tears he didn`t dare blink away. He was afraid that witchcraft lurked right behind them. Unable to voice his fear aloud, Anryn balled up his fists at his side and ducked his head in shame.

　　Professor Lawson spoke to the top of his head, his voice gentle and compassionate: "Your Highness& even a childless man may yet bear a son late in life. Your father did. He reigned for thirty years with no children at all. A king is not king because of his progeny. He is king because of his father."

　　"He`s the Lightning King," Anryn said. "Anything he does the people call good. What will they say about me? That I`m small and scrawny, and not worthy of him?"

　　"Ah, but Anathas was not always the Lightning King," Professor Lawson said. "It takes more than lineage to make a great king. It takes allies—chief among them, a worthy wife."

　　The professor`s words echoed in Anryn`s head. The word allies repeating itself over and over. The prince unclenched his fists. If he were a witch after all, then Anryn thought that he might have at least one ally he hadn`t counted on before.

　　"I`m going to go see if Griff is packed," Anryn said. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

　　The prince was halfway up the stairs to the third floor, angling his sword away from the steps to take them two at a time, when Maertyn stumbled out of his room, tipsy. Anryn stopped to meet his eye.

　　Maertyn. God must have thrown the man into the prince`s path for some purpose. Anryn could not look at him without picturing the words scrawled down his back, in the sharp angular script of Nynomath. Never to die, never to rise& We, the exalted of Mat& Anryn shivered, thinking about Maertyn chained up somewhere while they wrote those words onto him. What did the mages See in him that made them scheme that curse?

　　Somewhere far below, a door slammed. Startled, Anryn seized his sword.

　　"Anrynriel!" Griff shouted from the foyer.

　　Maertyn leaned over the railing of the staircase to look down. He looked back up at Anryn and shook his head. "No. Not trying to kill you. He wants to kill the governor."

　　Anryn tightened his hand around the hilt of his sword. The prince shouted back down the stairs, "What is it, Griff? We`re packing to leave."

　　"You have to do something, Anryn. The pig robbed me!" Gruffydd raced up the stairs. His fine clothes were rumpled, and his hair smelled of gin and cigar smoke. "The bastard took my money and he took the witches. He`s going to burn them& without even a trial!"

　　Anryn felt his heartbeat slow and imagined the wind roaring in his ears. The prince glanced at Maertyn. Professor Lawson climbed the stairs to join them. Anryn glanced from one to the other and then back to Griff. Each of them looked at the Prince of Ammar. He felt their expectant gaze pressing down on him.

　　"This is& a gross overreach of the governor`s authority, if true, Your Highness," said Professor Lawson. "Intervention is required. The first step would be to speak with the governor."

　　Griff looked at him, his face something between a scowl and a sneer. This was a test for Anryn—of his manhood and their friendship. The prince set his jaw, then relaxed it when he saw Maertyn raise his eyebrows. Anryn would not grind his teeth.

　　"I will speak to the governor," Anryn said. He met Griff`s angry stare. "Not as Count Mercy, but as the Prince of Ammar."

　　Once Anryn had revealed himself, the governor was quick to confess. The witches of Java had been sent east to be burned at the stake. The governor did not want pyres built for them at Java, worried that the construction would delay the reopening of the spa in the spring. Quietly, so as not to disturb the illustrious guests of the spa, the governor had the witches bundled out of town. They were to be burned somewhere in the woods, without rites, without a lord`s sentence, and without even a public scaffold.

　　The governor bowed to Anryn over and over, apologizing. "Your Highness. Forgive me. I did not know that a lord was present and able to administer the King`s justice."

　　"Your Highness, this man is a deceiver, and faithless," Griff said to Anryn. "He had no intention of allowing the witches to take the water home. He has kept my money and robbed Your Highness of the King`s justice for the witches of Java. I demand satisfaction. Let me fight him in the street!"

　　The governor quailed. Anryn did not answer right away. The prince knew that Griff would fight the governor, or goad Anryn into dueling the man himself. He also knew that if the prince declined to take any action at all, the witches of Java would be murdered somewhere in the woods.

　　"You`re right. It is an injustice," Anryn said to Griff. He turned back to confront the governor: "Your lordship will return the funds to Lord Gruffydd the Younger and recall the accused witches."

　　"They`ve gone, Your Highness," the governor answered. He wrung his soft hands together and bobbed his head in quick bows as he defended himself. "The witches were caught red handed throwing flower crowns into the pools early this morning. This was not permitted under the terms of the agreement to take home the waters in their own vessels. It was a clear act of witchcraft!"

　　"I don`t know that that`s fair," Anryn argued. "Flowers fall into the pools all the time and can be dredged just as easily as other debris from the trees. What makes it witchcraft when someone makes a wreath out of them?"

　　"Because, Your Highness, they were muttering strange words when they were caught," the governor complained.

　　Griff pulled on Anryn`s arm, whispering to the prince, "Give me leave to challenge him, Ryn. Let me duel him."

　　"That might get your money back, but it won`t help the witches," Anryn whispered back. He thought of the witch of Dorland. He commanded the governor in a voice he hoped sounded like his father`s: "Have our coach brought around with fresh horses. Pack up our luggage in a separate cart, and have it sent on ahead to Mahaut. Where were the witches taken?"