Zachary made his way quickly down the hall, hoping the dark circles under his eyes did not show too much. He had been up until the wee hours of the morning the previous night reading through the documents Sperren had given him. It was only when he fell asleep at the desk in his quarters for the third time that he finally retired to bed, only to rise again with the sun. He had dressed quickly on his own, having not bothered to bring a valet with him—though he supposed he would have to find one soon enough—and rushed out of the room toward the practice field. Two Weapons fell into step behind him, but though Zachary did not recognize either of them, neither looked particularly surprised to see him so early. He supposed someone, likely Fastion, had warned them about his early morning meet-up the previous day.

He did not see anyone on the practice field as he drew closer, and he slowed his steps, considering his next action. He was about to turn and try to catch Karigan on the way out of the Rider Barracks again when a vaguely familiar voice called, "Boy, are you going to stand there and gawk at the field or practice?" Zachary turned to the voice to see a large, well-muscled man around his father's age staring at him with his burly arms crossed. It took Zachary a moment to put a name to the face—Arms Master Drent. He was renowned for his strictness as well as his instructional ability. Zachary had only trained with him briefly, having achieved his swordmaster rating under a different master at Hillander.

"I do not have anyone against whom I could spar," Zachary hedged. In truth, as he considered his options further, waiting for Karigan at the practice field was not a bad idea. He had almost two hours until his first meeting, so he had time to wait, and it would prevent her from avoiding him.

Drent's eyebrows rose. "I was under the impression that you traveled everywhere with at least two people perfectly capable of sparring with you," he remarked, nodding to the Weapons behind him. "Though for today, I would personally like to see what you can do. Arms Master Burrila wrote highly of your ability, but I remember you were still working on some weaknesses when you left for Hillander."

Zachary bit his tongue to stop from reminding Drent that he had left for Hillander almost seven years before when he was considerably younger and scrawnier. Instead, he nodded, stepping forward and removing his outer layer, grateful that he had dressed simply that morning. He selected a blade, having left his own in his room that morning, swinging it to gauge its weight as he turned to face Drent. Drent already had his own blade in his hands, and he raised it to touch off for the bout. As soon as they had done so, Drent began a ferocious attack that caused Zachary to stumble backwards a couple steps before he managed to counter. Zachary's eyes narrowed in concentration, and for a few moments, he forgot about his worries over the kingship, his worries over Karigan, and his worries over Hillander. His focus narrowed to the fight.

Despite Zachary's best effort, it took only a few minutes for Drent to take the first point. Zachary conceded the bout with a nod, and Drent stepped backwards. Zachary noticed a gleam in Drent's eye, and for a moment, he thought it was approval. However, he quickly dismissed that notion—Drent was notorious for not approving of anyone. "Well, you are certainly much further along than your brother. Perhaps there is hope for this kingdom yet." Zachary said nothing, focusing instead on regulating his breathing. Once he had done so, he looked around, noting that there was still no one on the field except for Drent, Zachary's Weapons, and Zachary himself.

"Does no one else practice at this time?" he questioned, trying to sound casual.

"I've got a Rider who usually comes out now, but she's been late before." Drent seemed unconcerned, instead raising his sword for a second bout. Zachary followed his lead, but thoughts of Karigan distracted him this time, and Drent quickly won. The older man frowned at Zachary. "I would not have expected such sloppy work from a master."

"I apologize. I have not been sleeping much the past couple days."

"Well, you should work to change that. You are no good to anyone if you cannot think due to exhaustion." Drent stepped back, clearly ready to end the bout, but Zachary did not want to leave before he had a chance to talk to Karigan.

"I had hoped for more time," he remarked. "I promise to focus better on the next bout." Drent studied him for a moment before nodding.

"I suppose a couple more bouts will not hurt. We still have some work to do on your counters. Show me how you would counter this."

Over the next thirty minutes, Drent walked Zachary slowly through four separate forms, making minor adjustments to his counters. Forcing himself to focus on his sword and not Karigan's tardiness, Zachary carefully modified his swordwork with Drent's suggestions, pleased to find that they did improve his counters. During their final bout, he actually lasted almost fifteen minutes before Drent managed to make the kill point, and the gleam of pride was longer and more obvious in Drent's eyes. "Not bad, Boy. I expect you on the practice field at least three times a week—let me know in advance what works with your schedule, and I will make the time."

Zachary nodded, sucking in a couple deep breaths as his heart rate slowed. He knew sword training would be a good way to work out some of the tension he was sure to develop from all the additional duties that were suddenly falling to him. He had done something similar when he had first taken over as Lord Governor of Hillander; in fact, it was one of the things which had helped him make master. "I will have my secretary contact you," he promised. Drent nodded, turning away to where a small group of trainees had gathered at the edge of the field. Zachary scanned them quickly, but Karigan was not among them. Frowning, he stepped off the field, retrieving his outer shirt as he considered what to do next.

Unfortunately, Zachary could not do much except clean up before his first meeting of the day. A series of meetings followed, and he did not have a break until after lunchtime. He had a servant bring him food in his quarters, intending to use the meal to go through the multitude of notes and other papers he had accumulated since learning of his new position. Despite his best efforts, however, his mind continued to wander to Karigan. Was she sick? Or had she somehow been injured? Surely Drent would have known if the latter had happened. Perhaps he could ask Laren about her, but he could not think of a way to do so discreetly.

His eyes roamed the room, alighting on a few letters he had written the previous day, and an idea suddenly occurred to him. A couple of the letters were heading south, including a long missive to Hillander with further instructions for its future government. There were not too many Riders in Sacor City at the moment, for the King's illness had necessitated a lot of message errands. If he suggested sending someone familiar with the southern part of the kingdom there, perhaps that person would be Karigan.

Quickly, he stood and instructed a Green Foot outside his door to fetch Captain Mapstone. The efficient woman knocked on his door less than a quarter hour later, and he bid her enter. "Moonling," she said, reverting to her old nickname for him. "How are you holding up?"

"I keep telling myself it is better than the alternative," he answered truthfully, knowing Laren would understand. She nodded.

"Can I help in any way?"

"Actually, I have need of a couple of your Riders," Zachary told her, grabbing the stack of letters from his desk. "I have a couple going East to Selium and a couple going South, one to Hillander and one to L'Petrie. Perhaps you have a couple Riders from those regions who would like to take the errands?"

Laren frowned, considering. "I can find someone to take care of the eastern errands easily enough, but I do not have anyone at the moment from the south."

"You don't?" Zachary questioned, trying not to sound too interested.

Laren shook her head. "My last Rider here from that region—Karigan, you might remember her—left early this morning."

"That's too bad; it would have been nice to combine errands," Zachary remarked, relaxing slightly. He should have considered that she might be on a message errand. Of course, he would have expected her to tell him about it, but he supposed that if she was trying to avoid him, she may not have.

Laren grimaced. "It was actually not a message errand." Despite his years of training, he could not stop himself from looking at her sharply. Fortunately, Laren was too lost in her own thoughts to notice. "I found a note this morning. She said she was homesick and was going to take some time to return home."

"Did she mention when she would return?" Zachary's heart was racing. He knew she was not homesick. She was clearly running from him. He had not thought he was pushing her too much, but apparently he had misjudged the situation. For a wild moment, he considered pursuing her—after all, she could not have gone too far if she had only left that morning. But it did not take him long to dismiss that idea. He could not leave, not with the kingdom hanging in such a precarious balance.

"She did not, but as I am sure you are aware, the call will bring her back at some point. She. . ." Laren seemed to think better of what she was going to say, and her voice trailed off.

"She what?" Zachary asked.

Laren sighed. "She caught your brother in quite a compromising position with one of the girls in the Cloud Island delegation. We reported it to your father, but she was worried about the possible repercussions once your brother gained power. I had told her that would not happen, but perhaps I was not convincing enough."

Zachary knew that was not the reason, but it was better for Laren to believe that than to discover the truth. Trying to sound casual, he remarked, "As you said, I am sure the call will return her soon enough. In the meantime, is there someone else who could take the errand?"

"I will find someone."

"Thank you." Zachary handed her the letters. She hesitated a moment.

"Are you sure you're truly okay?"

Zachary let out a long breath. "I would not exactly say okay, but I am handling the situation. It will take some time, but I am sure that I have plenty of advisors like you to help me along the way."

"Of course. Let me know what you need, and I am happy to help in any way I can."

"You may want to be careful what you offer," Zachary told her with a small smile. At her confused look, he clarified. "I have always felt my father did not take full advantage of the opportunities offered by your ability."

Laren's eyebrows rose. "I see."

"I will have my secretary reach out to you, and we can set up some time to meet and discuss some ideas I have."

"I look forward to it." She glanced down at the papers scattered about his desk and gave a final word of warning. "Do not work yourself to death, please, Moonling. This kingdom needs you."

"I will do my best." With that, she left the room. Zachary sank further into his chair, staring for a moment at his pen as his thoughts strayed to Karigan.

After a late night of contemplation, Zachary decided that his best option was to distract himself with work. He had plenty of it coming his way, and he suspected the amount was only going to increase once he was crowned. As Laren had mentioned, the Rider call would eventually ensure Karigan returned, and until that time, he would simply work on gaining the respect of the Council so he could hopefully use that to pave the way for an unorthodox courtship.

Four days later, the Master Mender called him into the Mending Ward, and Zachary knew that it was time. His Weapons stayed outside the room, a fact for which he was thankful when he entered and found the room crowded with people. He joined the crowd around what he assumed was his father's bedside, glancing down at the man who lay there. He barely recognized his father. He looked much worse than he had four days ago, and he had not looked well then. His pale skin seemed to hang off of his body, and Zachary could see the bones of his cheeks prominently displayed. He hung back, unsure of what to do. One of the menders glanced over and gave him a short nod before returning to his work. Amigast drew in a rattly breath, and even with Zachary's limited medical knowledge, he could tell that Amigast did not have much longer to live. He swallowed hard at the thought.

The door opened again, and Zachary turned to see Amilton making his way into the room, his familiar swagger noticeably diminished. He did not even look Zachary's way as he walked to the opposite side of the bed, pointedly keeping his gaze focused on his father. Of course, there was not much to see. Amigast's eyes were closed, and Zachary doubted they would open again. He managed to draw another breath, but his face contorted with pain, and his frail chest shook with the effort. The Master Mender said something to the other mender beside him, and the man nodded, slipping out of the crowd to retrieve something from the other side of the room. When he returned, he handed the vial to the Master Mender who drew the liquid into a syringe. He quickly found Amigast's vein, easily visible under the ghostly white skin of his arm. Zachary looked away as he plunged the needle into the vein, injecting the liquid.

Whatever the liquid was, it did seem to help with the pain, for Amigast's face smoothed out. His eyelids fluttered a bit but did not open. And then, with one final breath, his body stopped moving. The Master Mender leaned forward, pressing his fingers to the pulse point in Amigast's neck. He shook his head at a mender standing nearby, his meaning clear. Zachary blinked, surprised to find moisture in his eyes. Though there was no love lost between Amigast and Zachary, Amigast was still Zachary's father, and at the end of the day, that meant something.

A flurry of activity ensued. Zachary retreated further from the bed, unsure of how he could help, and a warm hand landed on his shoulder. Turning, he saw one of his father's Weapons standing just behind him, a man named Donal. Actually, Zachary supposed, Donal was his Weapon now. "We should go," the older man remarked, and Zachary nodded. He followed Donal out of the room, noting another black-clad figure detaching himself from the shadows. With the four Weapons who waited outside for Zachary, that brought his contingent up to six—the appropriate number for the reigning monarch. While Zachary did not officially hold that position yet, for the coronation had not occurred, the extra protection seemed to make it more real.

The Weapons left him after checking the Hillander suite. As he entered, he gazed around the familiar room, knowing he would not be there much longer. With all of the time he had spent dealing with the duties of becoming a monarch, he had not stopped to think about the other changes that would come with his new position—starting with the fact that he would have new living quarters quite soon.

As Zachary had expected, the following three days were a blur of activity. In addition to everyone with whom he met to go over the duties of his new position, he also had a number of people seeking him out to discuss funeral details. Zachary was tempted to send them to Amilton, but he decided it would be best not to antagonize his brother further. As it was, he was somewhat surprised Amilton had not tried to lash out due to the perceived injustice of the change in succession.

Once the funeral concluded, Zachary could no longer put off the meeting with his brother. As much as he wanted to continue to leave Amilton to his own devices in hopes that he would do the same for Zachary, he knew that such an action could prove dangerous. With that thought in mind, Zachary set up a meeting the day after his father's funeral, asking Fastion to ensure that Amilton was present. At the appointed time, he heard a knock on his door. When he bid the person to enter, Fastion entered first, a slight scowl on his generally impassive face. He stepped to the side, positioning himself in the corner of the room. Zachary considered asking him to step out but decided that it was probably best to have him there just in case.

Amilton strode into the room then, a sneer on his face. "I hope you do not expect me to bow to you," he remarked.

"Of course not," Zachary assured him. He stood, crossing to the other side of the room and closing the door behind Amilton. The brothers stood facing one another for a moment. With a start, Zachary realized he no longer felt even a twinge of fear. He knew now that Amilton could not hurt him and not just because of his position. Keeping that thought in mind, Zachary relaxed his posture and began. "I asked you here so we could talk about the Lord Governorship of Hillander."

"I see. So you plan to give me a consolation prize, is that it? I am not going to be king, but at least I can be a Lord Governor."

"It is not a consolation prize," Zachary insisted. "It is an important position to ensure that the people of Hillander-"

"Save it. I heard the speech Father gave you. You know why he sent you to Hillander, don't you? It was to get you out of the way. After all, you were just the spare." Zachary did not react to his taunting which seemed to incense him more. "I do not want your pity. As far as I am concerned, very little has changed. I am still next in line for the throne."

Until I have children, Zachary added mentally, but he did not say the words aloud, unwilling to goad Amilton further. "I suppose that is true."

"I am glad we agree. In that case, we should not need to talk any further. I will continue to stay in my current apartment, and I will expect my allowance on the first of the month as always. Actually, I believe it should be a bit higher; everything continues to get more expensive."

"No," Zachary said simply. Amilton's eyebrows rose, and he stepped closer. Zachary held his ground, unwilling to back down from this position. He had gone over the budgets for the past few months, and he had quickly realized the allowance his father was giving Amilton was far too exorbitant. That allowance came from the kingdom's coffers, and it was money that could be much better spent elsewhere.

"You are planning to cut me off? Your own brother?"

"That is not what I said. I plan to give you an allowance aligned with your duties." Amilton's eyes narrowed. "I am still working through the former budgets to determine what makes sense, but I will make sure that Cummings gives you a final amount by the seventeenth of the month so you can budget accordingly. It will increase each year, of course, based on increases in the cost of goods."

"If you plan to starve me out of my position. . ."

"I assure you, it will be more than enough to keep you fed. The dining hall is also open to you at any time."

"And eat with the servants and other lowborn filth?"

"It is your choice whether or not to eat there. During Council meetings, we will have the royal dining hall open as well, of course."

Amilton stepped even closer, his face within inches of Zachary's. "You will pay for this, little brother. I do not care what your position is going to be. One day, sooner than you think, everyone will be back in his rightful place." With that, he pushed past Zachary and stormed out the door. Fastion stepped forward, his frown deeper than before.

"I feel that he will be trouble, Sire."

Zachary sighed. "Amilton has always been trouble."