"Recruit Kurt."

"Sir." Adnan Kurt made sure to keep any of the apprehension he felt from his voice as he reported. The captain of the Coin Guard looked him up and down, face inscrutable. After a moment he nodded, having seemingly found what he was looking for.

"Do you know why I called for you today, recruit?"

"I don't, sir."

The captain cocked an eyebrow, then shook his head, "No matter. You'll find out soon enough. Let's go."

The captain led the way from the barracks into the street. Tall and quick, Kurt was used to his strides far outstripping those of his fellow recruits, however he found himself struggling to match the captain's speed.

"So you're not one for gossip then. Another mark in your favour. Tell me, though - you've heard about the Prince's son on the city walls yesterday?"

"I have, sir." Everyone had.

"Then you've heard it was his young cousin that saved him?"

"I have, sir."

They continued on.

There was a crowd ahead – a group gathered around a merchant from the Bridge Alliance. His shouts promised relief from the malichor for those willing to buy the elixir which lined his cart. Both Kurt and the captain turned away, disgusted at the exploitation of the desperate. But as Kurt turned his head, he locked eyes with a well-dressed woman and forced himself to hold her gaze despite the tell-tale dark veins, threading her marble face. Some part of him felt it was his duty to acknowledge her – to remember that she had lived. The sickness took even the young and rich so quickly and soon there would be nothing left.

The woman looked away first. Carefully, Kurt and the captain skirted around the throng, their direction of travel suddenly relevant…

"Sir, we're heading towards the palace?"

"We are," he stopped then and stepped back so they were out of the way of traffic, "I've heard what the other recruits have been saying – that the prince had his son whipped in punishment, that Princess De Sardet's girl fell and is laying crippled… none of it is true. The truth is…"

The captain paused and drew breath through his teeth. Then his shoulders began to move as he shook his head and Kurt was amazed to see he was laughing.

"The truth is even more amazing, Kurt. I was there, on business. When the alarm was sounded I was the one who fetched them both before the prince. Constantin was sulky – petulant – but ready to succumb. The girl though… she started mouthing off at the prince that it was only a matter of time until something similar happened and that really, it was his own fault for not appointing them a guardian."

Kurt felt his eyebrows rise as his jaw dropped. He'd heard of prison sentences for less. Prince D'Orsay was not a patient man.

"We expected a tirade but… he just laughed, and nodded, and asked me to appoint them a Master-at-Arms."

There was long, expectant pause. When realisation dawned, the captain laughed.

"You look terrified, recruit."

"Surely someone more… experienced… would be better?"

The captain's face softened slightly, "Your training was… regrettable. Other recruits grew bitter as a result. You… just seemed to care more about who came after. You've always shown patience with the younger recruits and you're closer to Constantin's age. He is – shall we say – challenging when it comes to those in authority. We thought that a brother, rather than a mentor might work better."

"Yes sir," said Kurt. There seemed to be little else to say.

"How old are you?"

Kurt snapped his attention down to the small figure which stood before him. In the royal chamber, behind the heavy, closed door, the Coin Guard captain and the prince were discussing his appointment.

"I'm eighteen."

"You're ten years older than I am."

Kurt found himself irrationally irritated. There was something about the way that the nobility spoke – the entitled air to it – which made his blood boil. It seemed all the more grotesque, coming from a child.

"Is that right?"

The small, blonde boy ignored him and began to pace the space in front of him, "Can you fight?"

"So I'm told."

Kurt watched him as he traced a line of mortar between the floor tiles – an acrobat along a tightrope.

"Is that why you're here? To teach me how to fight?" A cold flush pulsed through Kurt's body. This small, irritating figure was apparently the young heir, Prince Constantin.

"I presume so, Your Excellency." The words stuck on Kurt's teeth as he forced them out.

There was an awkward pause in which the child continued to stare at Kurt and in which Kurt had no idea of what to say. Then, as if from nowhere, a second, smaller figure barrelled down the corridor, knocking the young prince over with a gleefully wicked laugh.

Kurt jumped back, his sword suddenly and automatically in his hand. But he had no idea of how to proceed. The young prince had obviously just been attacked, but the mess of limbs at his feet now was rolling and laughing in delight.

He sheathed his weapon, "Hey!"

Both small figures stopped and looked up at him. The new arrival was rakish – snot smeared across a pudgy, childish face in a way that only those under the age of six are capable of. She looked guileless, if filthy. Then realisation dawned on Kurt that the rough patch of dirt across her cheek was something else – the peculiar birthmark which belonged to the Princess De Sardet's daughter.

"I got him," she said, picking herself up and brushing down her clothes. There was a business-like manner to her words, as though the game had been something more.

"I got distracted," the prince sounded wounded, but not bitter. It endeared him to Kurt slightly more. Behind the heavy, wooden door, Kurt could hear the scraping of chair legs on the marble tiles and the movement of heavy silks and murmured voices.

"…Why did you get him?" Kurt crouched level with the small girl.

"I'm teaching him how to hide," she nodded conspiratorially, "He's got to learn to find the best hiding places in a hurry so next time his father gets angry, he won't get skelped."

"Why would his father get angry?" Kurt asked, finding a smile creeping across his face.

The small girl leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "Because we spilled all the wine for dinner tonight."

The door behind them opened and Kurt stood, quickly, to attention. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught sight of the girl grab her cousin by the hand and pull him down the corridor.

"This is the recruit?" The Prince D'Orsay stood before Kurt and looked him up and down with what could only be described as a mixture of scorn and curiosity.

"Yes, Your Excellency," the captain said with a degree of pride that Kurt had not expected.

"You'll train the Constantin first. Then when the girl reaches ten, she'll join you both. She must first complete a tour of Thélème and the Bridge Alliance with her mother as part of her diplomatic training."

Prince D'Orsay said nothing more to the Captain and Kurt. He left with his advisors in a flurry of ermine cloaks and boot clicks. Kurt looked at the captain, slightly forlorn and with a jumble of questions vying for the chance to be asked, fighting to slip from his lips.

But he swallowed them all, and together, he and the captain left the palace.