I spent the next three weeks on the road, completing my tour; meeting my new countryman. In every village I visited, I was met with suspicion, not that it surprised me. I could respect their concern: if my country had been overrun by a stranger, I would be wary too. It made me feel better to know that, at least, in many of the metropolitan areas, I often left to fanfare. I knew I couldn’t win them all, but starting with the larger, commercial areas would eventually bleed into the smaller, rural communities. Before long, I would certainly have won over the hearts of the majority of the kingdom. It was only a matter of time.

When I learned that my father and brothers intended to join me for the Midwinter festivities, I made certain to spruce up the place as best we could, drawing from the remaining coffers to decorate every room in the castle and prepare a fantastic feast. I had my staff prepare balls in honor of our guests, and invited the noble houses from all corners of the country. I hired and assigned staff to specific wings to best accommodate my family. I was excited to show them what I’d made of the place.

So when they arrived, and my father swept into the throne room and looked around, I expected the pride on his face. His brown eyes sparkled with delight at the tapestries and flags, the grand, lit trees in each corridor. I took particular pleasure in the glee in his face as I walked him around the various rooms. Once the grand tour had been completed, I brought them into my study to sit at the large map table and we get down to business.

“Antonio, you’ve done a fantastic job,” my father tells me. I noticed while we were walking through the castle that some new lines had been added to his face since before the war; his black hair struck through with white. His mustache had been carefully twisted on either side of his lips, creating the semblance of an ever-present smile. He’s sitting next to me, at the head of the table.

I bow my head politely. “Thank you, Father.”

My brothers sit at the table, tenting their fingers and looking around with polite eyes, and my father raps his knuckles on the table. “You’ve certainly set this up nicely for Herman, he will have want for nothing.”

My heart stalls and I think I mishear him. I look over at my brother, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. I scratch my ear. “Father, I didn’t know I was conquering Led for the purpose of passing on the rule to Herman.”

Father blinks at me, as if he cannot understand the words coming from my lips. He smiles. “You think I was going to take control of it?”

“No, Father.” I tell him quickly, feeling absurd. Had I misunderstood something? Why was he passing it on to Herman? I had done a well-enough job of keeping Led on its course thus far, I’d always assumed that I would be the one to rule it on behalf of Cainern.

“Right. Herman will take over from here, beginning in the new year.”

Herman still doesn’t meet my eyes. I feel ashamed at the sensation of betrayal that rears its head in my chest. “Father, I beg your pardon. I was under the impression that you might have me rule Led.”

“Why would you think that?” Father doesn’t seem particularly phased, so I feel confident in continuing.

“Herman is the head of the Treasury of Cainern, I was under the impression he was quite happy with that position and you were happy with him continuing that line of work. And besides,” I add, “You approved of my coronation as the reigning king of Led just months ago.”

“That was to ensure that no Ledites could rise up suddenly and claim the throne,” Father explains. “And Herman is your older brother. You will have many more conquests in the future, gather more, abundant land for Cainern–make us into the wealthiest alliance of countries the realm has seen. Let him have this one.”

I swallow down what I can only name are selfish arguments: he didn’t conquer it though, I want to say. He sat comfortably at home while I slept in tents and killed men. I had never resented my brothers for their comfortable seating back in Cainern during the great wars. Maybe now I did, just a little bit.

I scratch the stubble that has overgrown on my face since the morning. “Father, I never intended on any further conquests.”

Father waved this away, “What do you mean, Antoniolito?” He grasped my upper arm. “You’re so young and spry, there will be many opportunities for you to gain land and glory.” I frown, the rationale still not clicking in my mind in the doubling over to appease my father. “You wouldn’t want to imply you’re in disagreement with the king of Cainern, would you?” He says it as a joke, but for the first time in my life, his words ring in my chest.

I don’t doubt for a moment that if I argued with my father here, he would find a way to snatch Led from my fingers. My holy land. The people of Led could not weather another battle against Cainern–not to mention that many of its current military was on retainer from Cainern. All I had to do was give up my battle right to my older brother. I was also struck with the sudden realization that I would never be able to trust my father again.

I brooded during all of the balls. Father agreed with me that I did not want to alarm the subjects of Led by suddenly stepping down, so we would plan Herman’s coronation in a few weeks’ time. In the meantime, I was seated front and center for all of my new subjects to see. The false smile I had to plaster onto my face was threatening to become permanent. Herman still hadn’t spoken to me, and every time I attempted to pull him aside and have a private conversation: learn if he was in on it the entire time, I had been interrupted or Herman found some way out of it, slipping away at the last moment possible. Soon enough, they all departed, and left me alone in my castle–for the last two weeks before I was forced to pass it along.

After bidding farewell to my family that cold night, I hid myself away in my study where the fire roared in the hearth. I had a maidservant bring me a goblet of wine and I stared into the fire, watching it lick against the brick. Luis joined me at some point in the night, appearing suddenly at my elbow. “Your King Father has left the staff with instructions to prepare for Herman’s coronation.”

I nod silently.

“You’re just going to hand over Led like that?”

I let my eyelids close, feeling so tired and heavy. “Led cannot bear another war, not so soon.”

“You would go to war with your father?” Luis asks.

My eyes fall open to the scarlet liquid. Yes, I want to say, but I remember the hunting trips and being taught to swim, I remember dark winter nights, like this one, where we would sit on the floor of the drawing room and play games to pass the time. Very suddenly, Sybil comes to mind for the first time in months. Was this what she felt when she vanished into thin air? I wondered. “No.” I tell Luis. “Not like this. Let Herman take it, it’s better in the hands of the Cardenas family.”

Luis is quiet for a long while. “Begging your pardon, my prince, but where is your pride?”

I stare up at the ceiling. “I wish I knew.”

It happens before I can fully comprehend it: a flash of silver in the light, and my instincts have me throwing myself back in my chair, dodging the sharp knife and rolling away. My eyes are blurry, though, and my limbs are so heavy. Drugged. He drugged me? My closest confidante was trying to murder me.

Luis approaches me slowly, and I cannot see his face in the shadow cast from the lit hearth. “I’m sorry for this, old friend.”

“Luis–” my head begins to swim, and panic sets in. I have to get away from this place as fast as possible. I have to flee. I have to–but I am too heavy. I crawl away from Luis until my body can move no more, and I ask: “But why?”

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” A gruff voice says as the world comes into focus from darkness.

My body feels indescribably heavy. All of my limbs are weighed down with horses, even my neck feels like it’s carrying thirty pounds. My mouth is parched dry. “Wh..?” My voice is sluggish and cracked, as if unused for days.

“Take it easy, man, you’ve been asleep since they caught you.”

It’s dark and I am laying on cold, hard stone. It smells like standing water and mildew. I am covered in caked dirt and my hair is clumped and scratchy. All of this, and my body hurts. “C…?” My lips are cracked and my tongue is swollen. And I thought I could string two words together–how terribly foolish I was.

Arms lift me up into a sitting position and liquid touches my lips. Water fills my mouth and I swallow gratefully. It tastes bitter, acrid, and part of me wants to spit it out, but my body has a mind of its own: gulping down whatever is in the person’s drinking vessel. “There. Better?”

I cough and try to speak again, and find that my mouth has decided to work again. “Caught… me?” My voice finally comes, but it feels coarse. I still feel too heavy, too shaky to move my limbs.

“You must have been caught if you’re in here with me.”

The face of the voice that is speaking to me swims into view. It’s heavily lined from years in the sun and smiling, with odd-colored green eyes that watch me pitifully. When I don’t respond, he shakes his head and mutters, “So young, too.” He leans me back against the ground. “I’ll give you some more water in a bit, kid, but we’ll need to conserve it as best we can while we’re here.”

Here? Where is here? I wonder, and then I hear an iron door slam in the distance, echoing through the hallways and it dawns on me: I’m in a prison cell.

I spend the first two days–as far as I can tell, drifting in and out like I was–gathering my strength. Simon, as I’d gotten to know him, kept a close eye on me, sharing his water with me when he could, but he was right: we had to ration it. Once a day, they brought us a few heels of bread and a skin of water to replace the empty one. There was not enough water to wash. There was barely enough water for us to drink, as it was. The third day, I was sitting up again, and fully processing what had happened to get me here: my father performed the quietest coup in history, immediately followed by my closest friend trying to kill me.

But why didn’t he? The thought probes at the back of my mind as I gather my strength over the following days, but I can’t rationally find the reason.

Simon and I don’t talk much as the days pass. I think we’re trying to conserve our energy the best we can–and no guards come to get me to question me.

The best that I can gather is I’ve been arrested, or worse: left for dead. But for what crime, I can only guess at. Simon doesn’t seem to recognize me, but I reckon it’s either because he has been in this cell for longer than I’ve been reigning king–or because I’m so beat up, or because it’s in Northern Led, well beyond the reaches of my post-war tour.

Eventually, I feel up to talking. “How often do they come in to check on us?” I ask him.

“Every morning with food?” Simon raises an eyebrow. They are both leaning back against the cold wall, facing the cast-iron bars.

I shake my head. “I mean, on your case?”

“What case?” Simon’s eyebrows furrowed. I hesitate. I’ve heard a million stories about how men in prisons get seriously injured for merely asking what the other is in for. Simon sees the worry on my face and cracks a sad smile. “I’m sorry, kid. We don’t get cases. We’re in here.”

“This is it? No trial?” I ask, worry gnawing in my stomach.

Simon shrugs. “I’ve been in here a long time, kid. Nobody’s come for me. Not since they threw you in with me.”

My stomach drops into my feet. “What did you do to get in here?”

Simon shrugs. “Would you believe me if I told you I was the wrong guy?”

“No,” I tell him honestly, turning my gaze to my feet in threadbare sandals.

“I didn’t think so.” He yawns. It’s been a long day of staring at the cracks in the cobblestones, and the sun has long-set. “How about you?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Would you believe me if I said that I don’t have the slightest idea?”

“No.” He chuckled. “Besides, there’s not much hope for us anymore. Once that young prince took the throne… well, no one knows what’s to come.”

“The young prince?” I ask.

He regards me with narrowed eyes, “How hard did you hit your head?”

I wince. “Maybe harder than I realized.”

“Antonio de Cardenas,” Simon says, leaning his head back against the wall. “Maybe a fine guy, all in all, but terribly misguided. He’s the reason I’m in here.”

My name sounds so strange coming from his mouth, as if it’s someone else’s name.

“Is he?” I swallow nervously.

Simon nods slowly. “Water under the bridge for dead men like us, kid.” He turns over and settles into his straw bedroll. “See you in the morning. Save your strength. Maybe tomorrow someone will tell you what your crime is.”

I nod. “Maybe someone will come tell you you’re an innocent man,” I mutter, because against my better judgment I truly believe him. He gives a friendly grunt and is asleep before I can ask him any more questions.

Why did my relatively short reign cause him to be in this prison cell? Why was I in this prison cell? The only people I held a vendetta against, in any capacity, were war-criminals and… necromancers.

I watch Simon’s back and the rise and fall of his breath. The man who had nursed me back to health, even though there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t bite him later–but from the kindness of his heart. He could have kept the water skin to himself, or could have eaten the two portions of rations. He could have left me to die.

But he didn’t.

Either he was repenting, or he actually was an innocent man.

I turn over in my own bedroll and fall back into my angry musings, thinking of my father and my brother; thinking of Luis. I let the rage roll in my stomach and my head. I’d been gone so long, there was no reason that my father hadn’t come to take me from this cell. Unless, of course, he thought I was dead. Or even worse–if he’d wanted this to happen since the beginning.