The scratching of a quill is the only sound filling the room.

  Caspian sits at his desk, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his jaw working as he skims over another parchment. A tray of untouched food rests at his side, long gone cold. The ink stains my fingers, spreading through the grooves faster than I can wipe away. I sit opposite him with a piece of slanted paper and a feather in hand, writing down exactly everything he asks.

  He hasn’t spoken for over fifteen minutes, his focus torn between reading and writing down figures. His attention so fixated on his work that he misses a servant sneaking in to place another stack of reports on the end of his table. Not even the light patter of rain stirs his concentration from his work.

  It’s been like this since we’ve come back from the outer posts and some of the smaller villages.

  I shift my weight slightly. My bottom aching from sitting in the same position on the wooden chair for too long. I guess most people don’t stay in his office for long.

  I would complain, but he doesn’t seem to be in the mood to entertain.

  Taxes, winter supply routing, and village ration allocations. He’s doing all the unglamorous consequences of ruling a land left bleeding after every war and winter. Earlier, when Caspian asked me to double-check, I reviewed some of the logs and…Caspian’s county is dying. Arken and its other major settlements are weak. I don’t think they’ll make it through many more winters. This was made even more apparent on our trip to the outer posts.

  Each destination had either suffered from a major issue or was about to, and Caspian was doing all he could to help. I’ve watched him climb fences, kneel in mud to inspect frozen crop beds and even help a blacksmith move a ‘poorly placed anvil’. Despite the hardships, the people seemed enthralled by Caspian’s visit, saying they were thankful to him for just listening to their problems.

  In one place, a child even ran up to Caspian and, without a second thought, he just picked him up and continued to talk to the village head, as if nothing about that was unusual. It was. Not because he did it, but because no one blinked. His people trust him. It’s as if they all have bonded over a shared trauma.

  Caspian shifts in his seat, his eyes flicking up to me,

  “Take this,” he says, handing me a rolled scroll. “Read the second column aloud.”

  I hesitate to read for a moment, the words jumping all over the page. A common occurrence I’ve noticed since I’ve arrived here, first in the library and now.

  “Town of Marakna: short on blacksmith iron, salted meat, and horseshoes. Overdue five carts from the south post. Suggested to ration grain stores by the third week if frost continues.”

  Caspian nods once, scratching something on his parchment and placing another coin onto the scale—the pile of tax-collected coins already too meagre to dish out any further. I re-roll the scroll and put it back beside him, the silence reemerging in the room once again.

  I flex my fingers in an attempt to wring out the tightness from writing too long. Caspian still hasn’t touched his food. He’s missed two suppers in a row from being stuck behind this desk, it's like his appetite mysteriously vanishes every time he sits in that chair.

  He leans back slightly, crossing his arms and looks over to the scale like it might start tilting in his favour if he stared long enough.

  “They won’t make it through spring,” I murmur before I can stop myself.

  He glances up, unsurprised by my voice, his brow arched and tentatively waiting for what I’ll say next.

  “The outer towns,” I add, setting down the quill. “They’re barely getting resources now. If another cold snap hits…”

  Caspian squints his eyes slowly in thought, before nodding. He rises from his seat, moving over to face the window, his back turned to me. He watches the steady rhythm of the rain tapping the glass.

  “There are too many cracks,” he sighs to no one in particular. “And not enough hands to fill them.”

  I watch him for a moment as the light from the window caresses the side of his face, highlighting all its curves and a life of hardship. His grandfather wanted to save the people…but it brought them decades of suffering.

  Is it only Caspian left to do all of this? What happened to the rest of his family? The question burns in my mind, but I know it’s a question that won’t be answered anytime soon. Possibly ever.

  The grey sky casts a dim brightness into the room, sconces illuminating the places the light is too afraid to reach.

  “We ride at first light,” he says.

  “To the border?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

  “To Pavlore,” he confirms. “And from there…we see what the war will cost us this time.”

  There is no hiding the meaning in his words; if his plan doesn’t succeed, Arken will fall. But if it does, they might stand a chance to make it through one more winter. This coup will determine not only the fate of Arken, but the king's fall will also change the course of the country. I’d typically be excited that I’m living through such a momentous moment in time, that’ll probably be recorded in history forever. But when you’re faced with the fact that you might die during it, the excitement kind of fizzles out.

  This isn’t just a ride to the border anymore. It’s a march towards something heavier. Something final. Whatever happens after we meet Pavlore, whatever choices are made…it will mark the beginning of a very different Arken.

  The dread grows further in my heart. I don’t want to admit it, but I know I’ve inevitably become part of it all.

  cxxx{}::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>

  I push the door of the bathing room open, and a thick wall of steam brushes past my hair. And just like he said, there she is…My surveillance camera. Nila sits by the door, shirt in hand, sewing new eyelets on the garment. The room is buzzing with warmth and chatter, as maids of all ages dip towels, rinse hair and pass around bars of scented soap. A few of the servants have already finished, but sit near the edge of the tubs just to chatter, this being the only time in the day when their only duty left is to sleep.

  This should be calming. The air is soft with the scent of lavender, and the fiery warmth from the hearth warms the skin. But the second I step in and disrobe, eyes shift. Not all. Just a few, but it’s enough to read that they don’t see me as one of them. I’m a stranger to them.

  I walk over to a smaller tub in the corner, sitting at the edge and sliding in, the hot water consuming my descent. The tub is the furthest from the chatter and closest to the wall. I ignore the quick murmurs and whispers of my entrance and get to work slowly, washing the grime from under my fingernails. Two girls near the washbasin, however, talk loudly enough for me to hear.

  “She’s pretty,” one mutters. “But odd.”

  “She’s practically blonde, not even northern. Why would the Duke even want her in such a position?”

  A third voice joins the gossiping. “Maybe she’s a gift from another province. Outside of the north….She did come back with the Lord from his travels.”

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  “A gift? Pfft. With those hands? No. She’s not a court girl. Look at them…Ink-stained and scratched up.”

  “Still…He does keep her close.”

  “Too close if you ask me.” I shift my head slightly to see the same maid who gave me the himation. Of course, it’s her with the sly remarks.

  I lower my head back to my nails. I rather they think of me as a man stealing bitch, instead of whats the actual truth. They don’t know anything, not yet, at least. I’m not sure who will be drawing the blade, but if I play things right, no one ever will.

  A few teenagers, in the tub beside me, begin whispering, and one turns, leaning over the edge of their bath onto mine. Their faces gleam with the telling sign of wanting to talk.

  “Want a comb?” The girl smiles, holding it out to me. What does she want?

  I nod, offering a quiet “thank you,” as I take it from her fingers. She has light brown curls, pinned up to keep them out of the water, and a freckled nose that wrinkles slightly as she speaks.

  “You don’t talk much,” she says, not even a second later.

  “I talk enough.” I raise a brow at the teen.

  The other young girls in the tub smirk, and one shrugs before speaking. “Must be strange. Being in a new place, with new customs and tongue.”

  “I understand just fine,” teenagers. Out of all things, I’m thankful that they’re something I don’t have to deal with every day anymore.

  Another chimes in, this one a little younger than the others, barely older than fifteen.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “No,” I reply quickly, trying again to turn away from them, but they respond too quickly to let me leave.

  “Where from then?” She presses, too casually to be innocent chatter.

  I pause for a moment, then feign a quick smile. “South.”

  “South of where, though?” I’ve had enough of this.

  I don’t answer, I just throw them a curt smile and turn around, passing the comb through my fresh knots. I really need to get my own comb. The girls stay on the edge, still talking as if I’m part of the conversation.

  “She’s going with the duke tomorrow,” the freckled one says to the girl beside her. “To one of the far posts, I think. Just the two of them.” Where is this conversation going…?

  “Well, my sister told me that Sir Leiman had said something about them sharing a room before.” That gossip! The girls gasp, and a murmur ripples through the room. Men and women have never been allowed to be in such close quarters without being married. The erupting murmurs are clear that it’s the same case here as well.

  “Maybe the duke is lonely after not having a woman by his side…” Not even a second later, another girl adds to the gossip.

  “Maybe he just likes a warm body nearby. It’s well known that the north’s beds are colder than most.” The girls snigger with each other.

  “You think I’m here to warm his bed?” I scold, questioning them. I shouldn’t let their comments get to me, but any gossip does affect my absolute will to remain calm.

  The laughter halts, the girls suddenly becoming red in the face. The freckled girl just scoffs, as if it’s her resolve to embarrass me.

  She smirks and leans closer to me. “You might be blonde and pretty, but I don’t get it,” she says, voice low now. “You don’t belong here. You’re not a worker like the rest of us. So why you?” And before I can even respond, a smack echoes in the room. It’s not a hard assault, but it's loud enough to cause a sting. The sharp-tongued girl jolts and reaches for her head, tears welling in her eyes.

  A woman, perhaps slightly older than I am, frowns down at her from where she is standing.

  “You forget, child.” She says flatly, with her brows furrowed, and the younger girl glares but doesn’t speak.

  The woman turns her eyes to the rest of the room. Her voice is strong and even, a tone only gained from appreciation and experience.

  “The Duke’s always taken in folks from elsewhere. He has never turned away a truly needy soul, nor does he question them. Like my mother, when she came here begging for work, needing a secure job to raise me after my father had passed.” She glances sternly at the girl she swatted. “You wouldn’t even have a job here if he hadn’t signed your orphan self on.”

  The room stills, and Nila nods in approval from her chair, offering her own glare to the girls.

  “He has his reasons. We don’t need to understand them, it’s not our job. Our job is just to respect them.” She returns to her group of chattering ladies, the older women in the room side-eyeing the gossipers.

  Nila stands and walks over to the girls, pulling their ears to get them out of the tubs and to get dressed.

  “Such disrespect to the Duke behind his back. You can apologise to him yourselves.” Nila throws me a look over her shoulder for me to follow. Of course! Of. Bloody. Course. Can someone just trust me enough so I can have a full bathing session?!

  I begrudgingly stand, letting the water drip off me slowly until I grab a nearby cloth and dab myself dry. Nila doesn’t wait, she scowls, and I hurry up. I throw on a new shift and put on my uniform. They really do use a mix of Western fashion with this strange Greek style…Nila audibly hisses in my direction, and I come out of my thoughts, following swiftly after her.

  She pushes the girls through the halls as they beg her ‘not to take them to him’. I wear a limp smile, thoroughly amused by the whole situation. Heh, retribution truly is sweet.

  Nila half-drags, half-yanks them towards Caspian’s office. The girls are now drowning in their tears as they’re pulled outside the door. She ignores them, being as composed as ever and knocks firmly at the door. There’s a pause. Then Caspian’s voice calls out for us to enter.

  Without hesitating, Nila pulls them in by their ears and lines them up in front of his desk. I stay in the corner, knowing my presence is only here for monitoring purposes.

  Nila gestures sharply. “Speak.”

  What comes out is a jumble of panicked sobs and incoherent apologies as they practically collapse to the floor, grovelling. Caspian, clearly confused by the situation, glances sideways with one brow lifted. Upon meeting his eyes, I press the back of my hand to my mouth, turning away to hide a laugh. There is no way I can take this seriously.

  Upon seeing my reaction, his brows lift higher. He turns back to the girls, his expression all ‘stern’, though I catch a subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth as he bites back a smile.

  “He is your Lord!” Nila snaps. “You will not repeat such disrespect. Now, stand and apologise.”

  “Sorry, my lord.” The girls sob, out of sync with each other.

  “I am your employer, my actions are of no consequence to maids who gossip before me.” He pauses just long enough for the tension to rebuild.“That behaviour is a known characteristic of…a spy.”

  The girls freeze.

  Then chaos.

  A wave of fresh tears floods the room like he’d just declared them traitors. They attempt to speak over one another, trying to prove their innocence.

  “W-we didn’t mean it like that!”

  “It was just talk, my lord, we were only—”

  “We’re not spies!” One drops to her knees again, clutching Nila’s sleeve like it’s her only lifeline. I stifle another laugh and glance at Caspian. He’s not even looking at them anymore, he’s sorting scrolls like their wailing is nothing more than distant clatter. He’s teasing them.

  Nila, however, has had enough.

  “Oh, get up,” she barks, yanking the nearest one upright and shooing the rest towards the door. “You should be thankful the lord doesn’t follow Arrton’s customs. Else you’d be scalped for this kind of insolence.”

  The girls cry louder.

  “Oh, you’ll live. Next time, keep your mouths busy with scrubbing, not stories.” She gives Caspian a curt bow and ushers the girls out in a flurry of sniffles and hiccups.

  The door closes, and the room finally falls quiet.

  “You didn’t have to tease them,” I smile, raising an eyebrow.

  Caspian doesn’t look up from his papers. “Maid affairs aren’t my strengths,” he says dryly. “That’s why I have Nila.” He finally looks up, amusement lightly painted on his face.

  “Have you packed?” He changes the topic, his face returning to neutral.

  I have one outfit? What else is there for me to pack?