Stela prepared to open the door, but Felitïa held up a hand for her to wait.

She had a small army of servants now, and diminutive Stela was just one. She didn’t want them, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her mother had assigned them, and dismissing them would get them in trouble more than it would her. Army was not truly an accurate word but it felt accurate. Even one servant would have felt like a lot. Five made her feel swarmed. Worse, she felt exposed. Not just because she had very little clothes on most of the time they were around, but because of the physical proximity, the constant touching. They insisted on bathing her, dressing her, doing her hair.

She recalled this sort of thing when she lived in the palace. She didn’t remember it bothering her so much, but then, at the time, she hadn’t known anything else. Now, she was far too used to doing these kinds of things herself. She didn’t need to be waited on hand and foot like a princess. Except she was a princess, and for the time being she couldn’t get away from being treated like one.

She had just sat through a session with another servant, Noma, doing her hair and make-up. She now had ribbons weaved through her hair and her face’s angular features had been smoothed out—which Noma insisted was important. Felitïa wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t have experience with this sort of thing. Make-up was a luxury she couldn’t afford at Elderaan’s. And she had to admit, the final result didn’t look bad.

She did worry these servants were spying on her for her mother, but Ardon assured her only one had been a spy and he had seen to it that that one had been reassigned and replaced with one more trustworthy. Ardon wouldn’t confirm which one was the replacement, but she suspected it was Marna. It was otherwise a big coincidence that the random servant who had first shown her to her apartments would be one of the ones her mother assigned. But Felitïa had mentioned the girl to Ardon, so it made sense he might pick her. So now she worried that Marna and maybe one or more of the other servants were spying on her for him. She had very fond memories of Ardon, but she wouldn’t put it past him. He had spies everywhere.

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Ardon, Garet, and, most importantly, Quilla were waiting for her in the next room. She had tried for two days to arrange this meeting. In the Room in her head, she brought up the line of people and moved along it, past Corvinian, whose wound was almost healed, to Quilla. So long she had had that image in her head and she was only now going to meet her! She still had no idea why Quilla was different, why her image was clear without having met her. Was it her possible relationship to Corvinian? Or just that Felitïa had heard her name?

Felitïa nodded and Stela opened the door.

Ardon was sitting in the same chair he had sat in two days earlier when she had first arrived, while Garet was pacing about the room. Seated in the chaise longue was Quilla looking exactly as she did in the Room—except the real Quilla was wearing clothes: a light, but elegant red kirtle and red ribbons in her short, dark hair. A small, heart-shaped locket hung on a slender chain around her neck.

“Brains!” Garet strode over to her and gave her an intense bear hug.

Felitïa coughed as he let go of her and she could get her breath back. “Garet.”

“Quilla, this is my run-away sister, Felitïa. The one we all thought was dead, but was actually hiding out becoming a bloody wizard. Felitïa, this is my fiancée, Quilla.”

Quilla stood up and curtsied. “Your Highness.” She had a southern accent, similar to the one that the representatives of Amar Padara that she and Elderaan had frequently dealt with at the shop had.

“Just Felitïa, please.”

“Of course, Felitïa,” Quilla said.

Garet put an arm around Quilla’s shoulders. “I call her Brains because she always liked to believe she was smarter than the rest of us.”

“She was smarter than the rest of you,” Ardon said.

Garet scowled. “Yeah, well, she didn’t have to rub our faces in it, did she?”

“I’ll just call her Felitïa if that’s okay, Garet,” Quilla said.

Garet smiled. “Oh yeah, of course.” He leaned over and gave Quilla a quick kiss on the lips, then let go of her and strode back over to Felitïa. “Brains is just between the two of us. Right, Brains?” He squeezed her tight and when he let go, Felitïa had to rub her shoulder. Gods, he was ridiculously strong.

“Maybe just call me Felitïa, too?”

“Sure thing, Brains.”

Amusement was oozing from him. He was getting a kick out of what he’d call “just teasing”. The problem was, there was no way to respond. He would take whatever she said and make it work for him.

“Garet, be nice,” Quilla said. “She’s your sister.”

“Half-sister,” he said.

Quilla put her hands on her hips and glared at Garet.

Garet raised his hands. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry, Felitïa. I won’t call you Brains anymore.”

Felitïa grinned at Quilla. “You’ll need to teach me how to control him like that.”

“Oh, it’s not that hard,” Quilla said.

“Hey, nobody controls me, okay? I do things—”

“His Grace tells us you have something important to tell us,” Quilla interrupted him. “That it might have something to do with...” She hesitated and Felitïa detected a flash of fear from her. “Volgs.”

“Yes,” Felitïa replied.

“I think you’ll be interested in what Garet and Quilla have to say, Felitïa,” Ardon said. “Perhaps you should all take a seat.” He snapped his fingers towards Stela. “We’ll want some refreshments.”

The petite Eloorin hurried over to the table by the window where a decanter of wine and several glasses sat waiting. While she began pouring, Quilla sat down in the chaise longue again and Felitïa took a chair beside her. Garet paced a bit before plopping down in a chair off to the side. He bounded right back to his feet at a knock from the main doors.

The guard Felitïa’s mother had stationed on her apartments opened the door and announced that Zandrue had arrived. Zandrue strode right past him, stopped, and gaped. “Wow,” she mouthed.

Felitïa went over to her. “Everyone, this is my friend, Zandrue.”

After they had dealt with the introductions, they all took seats again—although Garet fidgeted in his. Stela passed wine round to them. Garet downed his in one gulp and handed the cup back.

“Felitïa, perhaps you should begin,” Ardon said.

Felitïa took a deep breath. Quilla was looking at her with wide eyes. The best thing to do was get straight to the point. “Quilla, does the name Corvinian mean anything to you?”

Quilla’s eyes widened even more and her jaw quivered. A convoluted mix of emotions—surprise, fear, disbelief, happiness, excitement—swarmed from her. She looked to be trying to say something, but couldn’t quite form the words.

“Corvinian?” Garet said. He looked at Quilla. “Wasn’t that what you called your kid?”

Quilla nodded.

“You better start talking, Brains.”

Felitïa, with some help from Zandrue, began explaining everything that had happened concerning Corvinian, as well as everything else that seemed related, even if only peripherally, including the Darkers’ attack at the time of Corvinian’s birth and Felitïa’s vision of Quilla and the others. Garet started to comment several times, but Ardon shushed him each time. By the time Felitïa finished, Quilla was sobbing in Garet’s arms, while anger and rage emanated from him.

“I’m sorry to upset you,” Felitïa said. “We really did everything we could, and we’re still—”

“Shut the fuck up, Brains, and give her a moment.”

Felitïa nodded and leaned back in her chair. Zandrue placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

After a minute or so, Garet helped Quilla back onto the chaise longue and sat with her while she laid her head on his chest, a few tears still dripping down her face, leaving lines in her make-up.

Felitïa was not surprised Quilla was upset. It couldn’t be easy to learn of a son she hadn’t seen for years, and to then learn he’d been taken by Volgs. However, there was something else buried in the jumble of feelings Felitïa was receiving from her. Almost like a sense of familiarity, as if she wasn’t surprised by the tale, but rather that it confirmed fears she already had.

Ardon snapped his fingers again at Stela, who brought more wine round. Garet downed two more glasses, but Quilla refused more. Felitïa realised she hadn’t even touched hers, so also shook her head.

“Thank you,” Ardon said, taking a glass for himself. “Perhaps you should tell your tale, Quilla.”

Garet looked at Quilla, who nodded. “I’ll do it. It’s hard for her. But I’m gonna need more wine.”

Stela hurried back over to the window and started to pour another glass.

“Just bring me the whole fucking thing.”

Stela curtsied and hurried back. Garet took the decanter and frowned at how little was left in it.

“I can send for more, your Highness.”

Garet just shook his head and waved her away. He took a gulp of the wine. “Quilla was married years ago to a man named Dyle.”

“You mean—?” Felitïa began, but Ardon shushed her. She sighed and fell silent.

“Yeah, I guess it’s probably the same Dyle that attacked you,” Garet said. “Anyway, their marriage started okay, but soon had problems. She says he was always kind and loving towards her, but he could be cruel to other people, and he kept having late-night meetings with people he wouldn’t tell her about. Then one day she learned the meaning of a tattoo he had.” Garet chuckled. “On his butt.”

“Let me guess,” Zandrue said. “A goat’s skull?”

Ardon shushed her and she glared at him, but Garet answered the question. “Yep. She learned its meaning by chance when she told a friend about the tattoo. She didn’t know anything about Darkers.”

He gulped down the rest of the wine, then waved the decanter in Stela’s direction. The servant hurried over to take it from him.

“Anyway, once she knew what her husband was, she decided she had to get out of there, so she made some preparations and took off one day while he was off at one of his meetings.”

“I don’t know how he knew I was pregnant,” Quilla said, sitting up. She used a handkerchief to wipe the tears on her face. “I didn’t even know yet.”

It only then sunk in for Felitïa. While she had guessed that Quilla was Corvinian’s birth mother, she had never suspected that Dyle was his father.

“He sent people after me,” Quilla continued. “Everywhere I went, there were people looking for me. I travelled as far away as I could, moving farther and farther north. For a short while just before and after Corvinian was born, I thought I’d lost them. But then they found us again. When one group almost caught me, I realised I couldn’t keep him. I couldn’t put him through a life of running. So I gave him up to the people you met. I’m glad to know they raised him well.”

She paused to deal with more tears. After a moment, she went on. “I kept running for a year, but slowly, they stopped coming. There were fewer and fewer. I thought maybe they were finally giving up, or I’d finally given them the slip. After a while, I realised it might even be possible to return to a normal life. Except I now regretted giving Corvinian up. But I couldn’t just go take him back, could I? I couldn’t break his new parents’ hearts, as much as it broke mine to let him go. But I made do. Until...”

Felitïa could sense fear rising in Quilla—a fear greater than what she had felt remembering running from Dyle. Quilla’s hands were shaking, and Garet put an arm around her.

“Until the Volgs came for me.” Her voice cracked. “They took me.”

“Shit,” Zandrue muttered.

“That’s where I come in,” Garet said. “I saved her.” Quilla nodded and he smiled.

“Like my knight in shining armour,” Quilla said.

Well, that would have certainly inflated his ego, Felitïa thought.

“Except I didn’t have shining armour.”

“Or a horse,” Quilla added. “But you were close enough.” She kissed him on the cheek.

“I found their hideout, charged to the rescue, killed a bunch of them, and sent the rest running.”

“You found their hideout?” Zandrue said. “How’d you even know she’d been kidnapped?”

Quilla smirked and sniffled. “He didn’t find it. He just stumbled across it.”

“Same thing,” Garet said. “I’ll admit I could barely believe my eyes when I saw the first one. It came out of a cave, then flew off. It never noticed me. Well, I needed to know more, so I investigated the cave, found them, and the rest is history.”

“What were you doing there in the first place?” Felitïa asked.

He shrugged and waved his hand. “It’s not important.”

“He was meeting a woman,” Quilla said.

“Okay, fine, I was meeting a woman and I didn’t want anyone to know. She never showed, but that’s okay, because I ended up meeting this much better woman right here.” He gave Quilla a squeeze.

“So there you have it,” Ardon said. He finished the last of his wine and motioned for Stela to take the glass. “I think you’ll agree that this was an enlightening conversation.”

“It has been,” Felitïa said. “Though I still have a lot of questions.”

Ardon stood up. “I’m afraid those will have to wait. We all need to get ready for the banquet.”

Felitïa sighed. She’d almost forgotten about that.

As if in response to Ardon’s words—as though he had timed it perfectly—there was a knock and the main doors opened. Marna entered with the tailor who was preparing her gown for this evening. They carried the finished product between them.

Felitïa had been fitted for it shortly after she had arrived in the palace, in preparation for this banquet. Now that her brothers Malef, Pastrin, and Thilin had returned from their hunt, her father had ordered that the banquet should not be delayed any longer. It was in honour of her return to the palace, and she was not looking forward to it.

* * * * *

“While the palace staff is convinced that it’s completely Isyarian in style, in truth, it’s a bizarre mixture of Isyarian and human styles,” Meleng was saying. “The servants were really surprised when Jorvan asked if they had any backless chairs. They had no idea what he was talking about.”

Rudiger nodded half-heartedly. He wasn’t sure how they’d gotten to this subject of conversation. Oh yes, he’d asked Meleng what he thought of his accommodations, that was it, and somehow that had developed into Jorvan’s accommodations. He was trying to pay attention to the answer—he really was—but the truth of the matter was, he wasn’t interested. At the moment, his attention was on Zandrue.

“Out of curiosity,” Meleng continued, “I decided to research the Isyar Pavilion in the palace library. It was originally built by Isyar, and was used to house Isyarian ambassadors to Arnor. However, since Isyar ambassadors have never been common, the Pavilion was frequently unoccupied. As a result, they started using it for some human guests as well, thus adding several human touches to the décor.”

“Well, guess they had to do something with it,” Rudiger said.

He had hardly believed his eyes when Zandrue had entered the Banquet Hall arm-in-arm with Prince Cerus. Now, there she was seated beside the Prince at the royal table, two seats down from Felitïa, three seats from the King himself. And having the time of her life, by the look of it. The smile on her face. The laughter as she chatted with both Prince Cerus to her left and Prince Thilin to her right.

She looked perfectly at home, too, like she had always belonged up there with the Royal Family. Dressed in a stunning emerald gown perfectly fitted to accentuate her best features, she looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her look. Her hair had been styled to give it just a little bit more of the wave he liked so much, and something glittery had been added to it, too.

Meleng asked him something.

“What? Sorry?”

“Have you seen Jorvan tonight?”

Rudiger shook his head. “I’m sure he’s around somewhere. The seats farther to the back are just benches, so no backs to bother his wings. He might be there.”

“I’ll go see if I can find him. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Meleng pushed back his chair and rose out of it.

Rudiger didn’t watch him go, but instead turned his attention back to Zandrue. Three days they’d been at the palace, and he hadn’t seen her once since their arrival—until now. When word was put out that there was to be a banquet this evening, Rudiger had thought he would finally get a chance to see her again. He missed the conversations they had on the road. He missed her smile.

He had washed up well for the banquet. The new clothes he had been fitted for on the day of their arrival had also shown up earlier today, so he had chosen the best from that: a fine silk doublet with a pointed waist and puffy sleeves; over that, a high-collared red jerkin; paned trunk hose, padded to a bell shape at his thighs; soft leather shoes, which had provided quite the exercise in trying to figure out how to tie; and on his head, a flat beret with a single feather. He felt like quite the noble. All in an attempt to impress Zandrue. He had been certain she would be seated at the same table as him. After all, they were both part of Felitïa’s group. But he hadn’t counted on her conniving her way to the head table.

Now, as he watched her and Prince Cerus, saw the little, brief touches of a hand on the other’s arm, the whispers back and forth, the private smiles, he felt jealousy rising. He only had himself to blame. She had given him numerous opportunities in the months they had been travelling together, and he had passed up every single one of them. All because there were just too many other people around. Now he had to compete against the heir to the Arnorin throne. What chance did he have? Hang would make fun of him over that—if he ever saw Hang again. He sighed. What a fool he’d been.

He had never had trouble with women before. All through his life, he’d been popular with the girls, and he had never been shy about talking to them, flirting with them, or even sleeping with a few of them. So, why was Zandrue so different?

Someone sat in the seat that Meleng had left. “I understand you’re a friend of Princess Felitïa.”

Rudiger forced his attention away from Zandrue. The newcomer was a young Folith of about sixteen or seventeen. He had dark hair and eyes, and a wide brimming smile. His red velvet jerkin bore the insignia of a broadsword over the left breast. Rudiger felt sure he ought to recognise that sigil.

The boy extended a hand. “Calvan Plavin.”

The Red Knights. Rudiger forced himself to be civil and shook the boy’s hand. “Rudiger Fonivan.”

“I hear you’re a really great warrior,” Calvan said.

Rudiger shrugged. “Who told you that?”

“Everybody’s saying it. And you must be. Not everyone can be a princess’s personal bodyguard.”

Rudiger stared at the boy. “Bodyguard? I wouldn’t call myself a bodyguard. Just a friend.”

“My father is Mitchal Plavin, the greatest warrior in Arnor,” the boy went on. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of him, but he’s recently formed a new group called the Red Knights to provide a national security and justice that the army is too incompetent to provide. At the moment, we haven’t expanded beyond the borders of Plavin-Tyl, but we are always looking for people like you to join our cause.”

“Really?” This kid worried him. First, they tried to kill him. Now, they wanted him to join them?

“Absolutely. I just have to look at you to tell that you’re strong and fit. A man your size is perfect for our cause. Protecting the weak requires the strong.”

“That’s what you do? Protect the weak?”

“Oh yes! The Red Knights are an organisation dedicated to the old codes of knighthood that have fallen out of favour these days. The codes that were followed back in the time of Martan the Conqueror or Tristan the Judiciar. The sorts of things you hear about in tales of Egorthian knights. The Red Knights are your chance to be like the heroes of stories.”

Rudiger felt like laughing, but stopped himself. He was about to tell this boy just what he thought of the so-called Red Knights when the ringing of a bell brought silence upon the room.

At the royal table, the King had stood up, a goblet of wine in his hand. He was dressed in shades of blue like he had been at the steps when they’d arrived. However, this time, he was not in military uniform, but rich royal dress. The Bear of Arnor was etched in gold on the breast of his fine velvet jerkin. The sleeves of his doublet and his hose both puffed out in elaborate folds far more than those of anyone else present. Around his neck, he wore a starched, white ruff. There was at least one ring on each of his fingers, and on his head, the jewelled crown of Arnor.

“My lords and ladies,” the King said, “thank you all for attending this fine evening. As you are all aware, my daughter, Felitïa, has returned to us after fifteen long years. Now, you know me. I am not a man for long speeches, but at this event to commemorate her return, I felt I should say something. Ever since she ran away those many years ago, I have felt as if there were a hole here in the palace. I love all my children deeply. I like to have all of them close by me. So, to have one of them gone, seemingly forever, was a terrible toll upon me. Now, at long last, that hole has been filled again. No matter what any of you might think of the rightness or wrongness of her actions, you cannot deny that her beauty and presence have a tangible effect on this household. And so, I would like to offer a toast to my daughter Felitïa. May she remain here for a good, long time yet to come!” He raised his goblet.

“To Princess Felitïa!” someone yelled. “Princess Felitïa!” Rudiger cried, others joining in, too. All in all, it was rather subdued. Rudiger noticed that, while a few people joined the toast eagerly, the vast majority only did so half-heartedly. Especially the Queen.

Queen Annai barely lifted her goblet from the table, and she did not say a word during the toast. Instead, she stared forward, looking at neither Felitïa nor the King. Rudiger was not sure what to make of her. She was a beautiful woman, but...cold. And that was just seeing her at a distance. The pale blue gown she wore helped add an iciness to her demeanour beyond what was already there. Like the King, she wore many rings on her fingers, but hers were finer and slenderer than the thick pieces of jewellery the King wore. Around her neck was a stunning silver necklace that hung down over her breasts. Over her blonde hair was an elaborately folded chaparon that was almost as tall as her head.

The Queen’s eldest daughter and namesake sat to her left. Like a younger version of the Queen, she too, had barely acknowledged the toast.

The King urged Felitïa to stand. She looked out over the banquet hall, embarrassment plain on her face. Felitïa had also managed to look stunning for the occasion. Although her gown was simpler than those of most other women here, with fewer folds and fewer skirts, that simplicity gave a slightly realer quality to her. He found the ribbons in her hair a little odd, but that was a style many women in the room were following. “My lords and ladies,” she began, “thank you for your kind reception.”

Rudiger sighed. Maybe there was a way he could make Zandrue jealous. He’d seen women at the palace looking at him, servant girls and noblewomen alike. Maybe, just maybe... He shook his head. Stupid. She had Prince Cerus.

Some light, token applause alerted Rudiger to the fact that he had missed Felitïa’s speech. As she sat down, the King said, “Now, before we enjoy the boar my sons caught for us, I have one more pleasant duty to perform. Please—”

“One moment, Father,” Princess Annai interrupted, standing up. “Felitïa’s not finished yet.”

“Sorry?” Felitïa said.

“Yes, precisely,” Annai said. “Felitïa would like to make an apology to someone. My lords and ladies, when my sister arrived the other day, she most grievously offended my good friend, Tianna Friaz, without just cause.”

“What?” Felitïa said.

“You know what you did. You got my message. Now, be a good girl and apologise.”

A small, thin girl seated farther down at Rudiger’s table stood up and looked towards Felitïa.

“Now, now,” the King said. “I hardly think this is the appropriate venue. If some insult was laid—which I’m sure was not intentional—they can work it out privately. This is meant to be a joyous occasion. Let’s all—”

“Wavon,” the Queen said, “you yourself have said that we must all try to get along with one another. To do so, the air must be cleared. If Felitïa wishes to be our friend, perhaps she should take the first step and apologise to young Tianna.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure...” the King began, but stopped at a stare from the Queen. He sat down and turned to Felitïa. “You’d better do as they ask, my dear.”

Felitïa stood slowly. All across the hall, nobles were whispering to one another. She took a deep breath. “Tianna, I assure you that I did not intend any offence, but if something I said or did resulted in offence, then I apologise.”

“Thank you, your Highness,” Tianna said, and curtsied. She had a self-satisfied grin on her face as she sat back down.

Amid more gossiping whispers, Felitïa sat down. Prince Cerus patted her on the shoulder and said something quietly to her. Beside him, Zandrue stared at Princess Annai, a calculating look in her eye.

The King stood up. “Well then,” he said, glancing at his wife. “Back to what we came here for. Please show in Captain DeSeloön and his men.”

The hall doors opened, and DeSeloön, Hang, Greminy, and Sam marched in. They wore formal military uniforms, swords at their sides. They stopped in front of the King at the head table and knelt.

“Please, my friends, rise,” the King said. “Agwinton DeSeloön, Alhang Merrin, Greminy Siltons, Sammar Tarson. I, the Queen, and our entire family thank you for the service you have done the nation by escorting Felitïa home safely. I offer a toast in your names.” As the King raised his goblet, several people in the room cheered. The nobles took to this toast more readily than they had Felitïa’s.

“Captain DeSeloön,” the King said once the room had quieted down again. “In return for your faithful service, you may ask of me one boon. If it is within my power to grant, you shall have it.”

“Your Majesty,” DeSeloön said with a bow. “I ask only that you toast Stavan Orcan, another of our number who sacrificed his life to see the Princess safely here.”

The King looked surprised, but pleased. “Certainly!” He grinned and raised his goblet once more. “To Stavan Orcan!” The hall erupted with cries of “Stavan Orcan!”

When at last things had quieted, the King spoke again. “I admire your devotion to your men, Captain, but I must say that you have merely pointed out what we all, in good conscience, should have done anyway without being asked. Please, ask of me something else.”

Before DeSeloön could say anything, the Queen raised her hand to silence him. The King, confused, looked down at his wife. “Is there something you wished to say first, my dear?”

“You offered him a boon, my love,” the Queen said. “He asked it, and you granted it. We cannot set precedent that people may ask a second boon simply because the first was deemed minor. How do you determine what is minor? Where do we draw the line?”

“Well...I...but he...that is...I mean to say...” The King sat down.

“My apologies, Captain,” the Queen continued, “but your boon has already been granted.”

“Your Majesty,” DeSeloön said with a bow.

Shocked murmurs spread across the hall, not all of them supportive of the Queen.

“What kind of bloody queen does something like that?” Rudiger mumbled.

“One who talks sense, perhaps?” Calvan piped up. “The King is much too giving at times.”

Rudiger felt like talking some sense into this idiot and the Queen, too, but he held his tongue.

Cerus did not. “Then I offer him a boon,” the Prince said, jumping to his feet.

“Cerus, sit down,” the Queen responded.

Cerus didn’t look at her. “No. He deserves a boon. Captain, ask of me what you will.”

The Queen looked about to say something else, but turned her head away.

DeSeloön paused for a moment, glancing to the King, who nodded. “Thank you, your Royal Highness. I would ask then to be inducted into the Kingsguard. Me and my men.”

“Done,” Cerus said with a smile. He held up his hand for DeSeloön to wait a moment, and made the long walk around the royal table to the other side. Once there, he clasped the Captain’s arms and kissed him on each cheek. “You will be inducted upon the morrow. Tonight, I ask you to join our feast.”

“It would be our pleasure, your Royal Highness,” DeSeloön replied. Several people cheered.

“Let the feast begin!” Cerus cried. Even more people cheered.

“Now, that was completely inappropriate,” Calvan said. “He did that for no other reason than to humiliate the Queen.”

“Shut up,” Rudiger said.

“Excuse me?”

“I said shut up.”

“Shut up? Who do you think you’re talking to, sir? I am of noble birth! You! You are nothing. A commoner Folith. A wannabe Eloorin. You do not tell me to shut up.”

“Shut up, or I’ll shut you up myself.”

“To think, I thought you were Red Knight material.”

“Hang!” Rudiger called out. “Over here! I saved you a seat!”

The big soldier came over and looked in confusion at all the filled seats. “Where?”

“Oh, Calvan here was just leaving.”

Calvan started to protest, but Rudiger glared at him. The boy got the message and was gone.

Hang sat down. “What was that all about?”

“Don’t ask.”

Things improved for a while after that. The food was brought in—to the royal table first, but soon to the other tables as well. And there was a lot of it. In addition to the boar, there was goose served in a mushroom-wine sauce, and salmon with fresh lemon imported from the south. There were beans, onions, and carrots, as well as a seemingly never-ending supply of crusty bread. And wine aplenty.

After two hours, Rudiger stared in disbelief at the latest trays of food being placed at his table. He was stuffed. Yet all around him, people were still eating. “How do they do it?”

Hang laughed. “Take a look at how much they put on their plate. They take very small portions, which when spaced out lets them go all night. Not the huge portions you’ve been taking!”

Rudiger looked and saw that it was true. He groaned. “You could have told me.”

Hang shook his head. “Nah, it was too fun this way.”

A hush moved across the room. Everyone stared at the royal table, where a courtier was speaking quietly with the King and Queen. A moment later, both the King and Queen stood up and followed the courtier out of the room. Cerus was right behind them. The other princes and princesses followed.

“What the hell?” Hang said.

“Any idea what’s going on?” the man on Rudiger’s other side said.

Only three people remained at the royal table. One was Zandrue. Another was a copper-skinned Eloorin woman who had been sitting with Prince Garet. She was shaking and Zandrue moved over to her, speaking quietly to her. Captain DeSeloön approached the third person at the table, a very old, bald man with a prominent chin. They, too, began speaking quietly.

People around the room were getting restless. “Would somebody please tell us what’s happening?” someone called out.

“What?” a woman not far from Rudiger said. “That’s not possible! They don’t exist!”

At the royal table, the old man got up, and he and DeSeloön left the room.

Hang jumped to his feet. “I’d better go.”

Greminy was at Hang’s side. He said something, but a screech from another noblewoman nearby drowned him out so Rudiger couldn’t hear.

“Shit,” Hang said. “Come on, Rudiger. We may need your help.”

“What is it?”

“There are Volgs at the Palace gates.”