Rudiger’s leg still hurt. It was a dull ache now, but constant. Sometimes, if he could distract himself, he could ignore it. Unfortunately, distracting himself was not an easy task. His surroundings place didn’t really provide distractions.

He was rarely allowed out of Felitïa’s apartments, and there were only so many times he could look at the portrait of Queen Felitïa or sit in one of the greeting room chairs before it became tedious and dull—not that they weren’t either of those things to begin with. It wasn’t made any easier by the fact there was always someone watching him, often multiple someones.

Huuh was watching him now. He was pretending not to, but he wasn’t very good at it. He’d been wiping the same wine goblet for at least fifteen minutes now, rarely looking at it, his eyes constantly trained on Rudiger.

Huuh was Rudiger’s valet, something else he wasn’t very good at. Early on, he had given Rudiger some assistance with moving, particularly standing up and sitting or lying down, but that had been grudging, accompanied by muttered oaths and grumbles. Once Rudiger had gained a bit more mobility, all assistance stopped. If Rudiger called for wine right now, Huuh’s response would likely be something along the lines of, “Get it yourself,” quite probably laced with a “fuck you” or two. Huuh had clearly never been trained as an actual valet and was only there to make sure Rudiger didn’t try to escape or something.

That was fine, though. Rudiger didn’t want a servant. He had refused a valet when he was here as a guest, and he sure as hell didn’t want one now he was here as a prisoner. However, he did kind of miss how much it had annoyed Huuh when there had been no other choice but to help out.

Admittedly, annoying Huuh was one of the few ways he had of distracting himself, and while there were fewer ways to do that now, there were still a few other options. A Zandrue-style quip—when he could think of one—would usually work.

“I think it’s safe to drink from that now,” Rudiger said. “Go ahead and pour yourself one.”

Huuh slammed the cup down on the table. “Fuck you.”

Zandrue would have delivered that so much better.

He thought about Zandrue a lot. There was a lot of time for thinking these days, and Zandrue took up at least three quarters of those thoughts. Borisin took up the next largest portion, followed by plotting how to get out of here. Unfortunately, until he gained more mobility, getting out of here was not going to happen.

While he had regained some mobility, there was still a lot of healing to do. Walking short distances unaided wasn’t too terrible, though he generally still relied on crutches so as to avoid placing too much weight on his injured leg. Crutches were an absolute necessity for longer distances and if he ever had to go up or down stairs. The latter didn’t happen often, as he never went up to the study cabinet and he was so rarely allowed out of these apartments, but it happened occasionally, such as his once-a-week visits to Borisin—something he was looking forward to for this evening.

According to his physician, he had broken two bones in his lower leg. There were technical terms for the bones, but Rudiger couldn’t remember them, and didn’t really care. His physician said the bones were healing well, but it would still be several months before he regained full mobility. In the meantime, he should take it easy, but still try to get some exercise to keep his muscles healthy. Of course, getting exercise in these apartments amounted to little more than walking from one room to another. There was simply nothing else he could do here.

Oh well, might as well do a bit of that now, and see if he could annoy Huuh in the process.

With a groan, Rudiger rose slowly from his chair, grabbing for his crutches as he did so. Then he made his way across the room to the wine table, and right up to Huuh. Rudiger had never been one to lord his height over other people, but with Huuh, he enjoyed it. Huuh wasn’t short, but he wasn’t all that tall either, nearly a full foot shorter than Rudiger. He had a rough face and a few small scars, indicating he’d been in some rough spots, and he clearly had some upper body strength. However, Rudiger did his best to take a stance that showed clearly that he had more.

Huuh looked up at him, not showing any intimidation. “You want something?”

“Thought I’d have some wine,” Rudiger replied.

“Tough luck for you then. It’s all gone.”

Rudiger peered at the wine pitcher. He couldn’t get a clear view of its interior, but if there was any wine in it, it wasn’t much.

Huuh continued to look up at him, unmoving.

Shit. It wasn’t working. He should probably try to stare Huuh down.

Unfortunately, there was a knock at the door right then. It was probably Malef. He usually came round at this time.

If Huuh were doing his job, he would go answer the knock, but he clearly had no intention of doing that, as he continued to glare up at Rudiger.

Rudiger sighed and headed for the door, reminding himself he needed to move about and that was one of the reasons he had gotten up in the first place. It didn’t help.

It was indeed Malef at the door.

Rudiger’s jaw dropped slightly.

“Don’t say a word,” the Prince said. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He walked past Rudiger, heading to the chairs at the centre of the greeting room. “I don’t suppose your pathetic excuse for a valet will provide us with wine.”

“We’re all out apparently.” Rudiger shut the doors and made his way slowly over to Malef.

Malef flopped into a chair and slumped over. After Lidda Plavin’s coup, Malef had, at first, slipped into a depression. He had gone through a period of not keeping up his appearance—not cleaning, not shaving, not combing his hair, and not caring about the state of his clothes. However, at Rudiger’s suggestion, he had cleaned himself up over the past few weeks. He had gone back to his old ways of always looking pristine. However, today…

As Rudiger awkwardly lowered himself into a chair near Malef, the Prince said, “It was Lidda’s idea. I think she’s testing me, to see if I’ve really come round to her side again.”

“You...uh...look good,” Rudiger said.

Malef’s eyes narrowed and he looked at Rudiger disbelievingly. “It took me years to grow it. Years to get it just right! I—” He glanced over towards Huuh and fell silent.

Malef’s famous handlebar moustache was gone. The only indication remaining that it was ever there was some redness of the skin above his upper lip from the recent shaving. It was strange how something like that could be such a defining characteristic, but he looked barely recognisable now. If he weren’t someone Rudiger saw almost every day, Rudiger doubted he’d recognise him now.

“Can always grow it back once…” Rudiger trailed off at a glare from Malef. It was a stupid thing to say. As the Prince had just said, it had taken years to grow it. It would take years again.

Still, Malef without his moustache seemed so strange. Everyone across Arnor knew of Malef’s moustache. Even in Rudiger’s home town on the Thumb, where most people couldn’t even name all the princes and princesses, everyone had heard of Malef and his moustache. It was what the man was known for.

Malef straightened his back and spoke in a fuller voice. “No need to grow it back. Lidda doesn’t like it, so I’m happy to be rid of it. Anything for my love.”

“Don’t overdo it,” Rudiger muttered.

It was hard to have any sort of open conversation when there was always someone watching and listening. Rudiger was surprised Lidda even allowed them to get together. She had said it was because she didn’t want to stop Malef being able to spend time with his friends. However, she had to suspect he and Rudiger would try to plot with each other. Perhaps she hoped they would slip up in some way—that Rudiger would accidentally reveal some secret of Slay that her spies could relay back to her.

But talking about Slay was not something they generally did, not even in their attempts at coded messages to one another. Occasionally, Malef would bring it up because Lidda had specifically asked him to, to which Rudiger would give the same responses he always gave and then change the subject.

“I miss our billiards games,” Malef said.

Strangely enough, Rudiger did too. He’d never been good at the game, but he did have a fondness for those times. He wondered what had happened to Gabby, Pastrin, and Ned. Officially, Gabby was dead, but he knew that was only a story Lidda had put out to help solidify her claim for the throne. Gabby’s body had never been found. Pastrin and Ned were listed as missing, presumed dead. There was a good chance they were, too. Hell, there was a good chance Gabby was dead as well. But he hoped they were still alive somewhere.

“I said, I miss our billiard games.”

“Huh? Oh right, sorry. Yeah I miss the billiard games too.”

“You seem distracted. Is everything all right?”

“Just lost in thought,” Rudiger said. “You know how it is.”

Malef nodded.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Their “conversations” often went like this. There just wasn’t a lot to say—at least, not things they could say in front of witnesses like Huuh.

Eventually, Malef looked over at Huuh. “Huuh, isn’t it?”

Huuh only grunted in response.

“Why don’t you go collect some more wine for us? There’s a good man.”

“Why don’t you go collect some yourself?” After a pause, Huuh added with a sneer, “Your Highness.”

“Because I am a prince, second in line for the throne, and soon-to-be husband of Lady Plavin. You are a servant and it is your job. I’d hate to have to complain to Lady Plavin about you.”

“And I’d hate to have to beat the shit out of you. Remember, you only need to be alive. Your condition doesn’t matter.” Again, a pause before a sneered, “Your Highness.”

Malef slumped over and said quietly, “It was worth a try.”

Rudiger shook his head. “Maybe you can convince Lady Plavin to let us play a few games. If she doesn’t want me leaving here, I wouldn’t object to a table being brought here.”

“It’s an interesting idea. I’ll run it by her. Speaking of my love, I should probably go. She’s expecting me at dinner and I need to get ready.” Malef stood up and held out his hand. “As always, it’s been a pleasure spending time with you, Rudiger.”

Rudiger pulled himself to his feet without his crutches and extended his arm as well. The two of them clutched forearms and hugged. As they parted, Malef pressed a slip of paper into Rudiger’s hand, and Rudiger quickly closed his hand around it.

“Until tomorrow, my friend,” Malef said.

“Until tomorrow,” Rudiger echoed.

As Malef headed for the door, Rudiger returned to his chair, keeping his hand out of sight of Huuh as best he could. In the chair, his back was to Huuh, so he dared open his hand in his lap. The paper had been folded over a couple times to make it as small as possible.

This was not a normal part of his meetings with Malef. He had considered trying to pass notes to Malef, but had dismissed the idea as too dangerous. If he was seen writing anything—which he probably would be—Huuh, or whoever else was watching him would certainly demand to see it. Even if he could write something in secret and pass it on to Malef, there would be the danger of it being discovered on Malef. It was too great a risk. Malef presumably saw it the same way—otherwise he would have tried it before—so this was probably something important.

Rudiger was tempted to unfold the paper now, but Huuh was not likely to let him sit with his back to him for long. It was better to wait until he retired to bed. It was the only time he was given any actual privacy. There would be guards on the door, of course, but he was free of watchers while he slept. So for now, he slipped the paper up the sleeve of his doublet.

The next couple hours passed by tediously slowly. Rudiger circled around the room a few times, even went in and out of some of the adjoining rooms. At one point, he even considered climbing the spiral stairs to the study cabinet. He hadn’t been up there since Zandrue vanished. It had been more her place than his, and it felt wrong going up there without her. Not to mention, the narrowness of the stairs would make using his crutches difficult. So once again, he decided not to go up them.

At last, dusk approached. Once a week, he got to see Borisin. He had demanded it of Lidda. It was proof that Borisin was not only being kept alive, but also cared for to help him through his injuries. Rudiger had demanded it of Lidda along with the threat that he would refuse to do anything for her otherwise. She had allowed it, but only for a very short time—a few minutes at most. But it was something, and it was the only thing in his stay here that he looked forward to.

Guards would come to collect him sometime close to dusk. The exact timing was dependent on when Lidda was finished at dinner. Sometimes, that wait could be interminable, but she kept her word.

This time, the guards were there quickly. As always, there four of them—not always the same four, but they were always fully armed and armoured. Lidda obviously feared he would try something and that, even in his disabled state, it would take several to overpower him. He hoped she was right. It was one of the few amusements he had here.

As he left with the guards, two in front of him and two behind, Rudiger smiled broadly at Huuh and waved. The so-called valet scowled in response, and Rudiger quietly chuckled. Success!

The journey to the stables was always depressing. The Palace grounds, once so vibrant and full of life, were now a scorched wasteland. Where once there were gardens and trees, there were now only blackened stumps. Of course, snow had fallen several times since the devastation occurred and had covered much of the ashes, but that managed to make things worse. The black ashes slowly soaked into the snow, turning it a disgusting shade of dark brown. Here and there, a lone bush or tree that had escaped the dragon’s fire stood in stark contrast to the destruction around it, accenting just how much had been lost and making the display even worse.

Many of the buildings were damaged too, including the upper floors of the Palace’s east wing. Some repairs had started in a few locations, but it would take years to rebuild this place to its original grandeur, and Rudiger wasn’t even sure it deserved to regain that—especially not under Lidda Plavin’s control.

He was currently living in one of the undamaged portions of the Palace, surrounded by remnant luxury that he couldn’t enjoy. There was too much luxury here. There always had been, but now, even though much of it had been destroyed, it was somehow even worse. While he had limited interaction with the other people who still lived here, it seemed to him that no one was happy—except maybe Lidda herself, but she didn’t count. The servants and guards were the ones who counted, and they had lost any vibrancy they had once had. Even the guards on him now had a sadness in their eyes, and they were presumably ones that Lidda had reason to trust. Otherwise, she would have never set them to guard him.

As much as he wanted to see Zandrue again, she was much better off wherever she was.

Assuming she was alive of course, but he wasn’t willing to consider the alternative.

The stables were amongst the undamaged buildings, thankfully, though they were mostly empty. Rudiger allowed himself a little smile each time he came here and saw how sparsely occupied the stalls were. With luck, most of the horses that had been set free had escaped with their lives. Lidda had been gradually replacing them, but it was taking time.

You look terrible. It had become his standard greeting to Borisin. It was a feeble attempt to make light of the fact Borisin really did look terrible.

Borisin knew exactly what it was, but he always played along. At least, I still look better than you.

Somehow that always made Rudiger smile. “How you doing, buddy?”

The usual. Can I complain about the service here?

Complain all you want, buddy. Rudiger could hardly believe he once found Borisin’s complaints annoying. Now, they were like music to his ears—or rather, his mind, or however it was he “heard” Borisin.

“Satisfied?” Lidda Plavin stood nearby with another contingent of guards. Her arms were crossed and her face was etched in the scowl she always seemed to have.

“Give me a minute, would you?” He walked up to the stall door, unhooked the rope holding it closed and went inside.

He had to be careful about any physical contact with Borisin. The horse’s burns and blisters were healing, but they were still sensitive.

Laying his crutches against the wall, he grabbed a brush and limped over to Borisin. Much of Borisin’s mane was gone, burned away by dragon fire, but there was some left, and what had been lost was starting to regrow. If he was careful, he could brush Borisin’s mane.

Oh, oh, that’s nice, Borisin said. The kid who usually does my hair keeps rubbing over my blisters. He doesn’t understand that he needs to avoid touching my skin.

“You seem to be moving better,” Lidda said. “When do you think you’ll be ready to demonstrate the sword for me?”

She asked that question virtually every time he saw her. He gave the same answer he always did: “Don’t know.”

“I’m getting impatient.”

“Tough. I broke my fucking leg. You’ve talked to the physician. He says I won’t regain full mobility for months yet.”

“You don’t need full mobility to demonstrate the sword.”

“Right, I don’t. That’s why I said I don’t know rather than in four months. I gave my word and I’ll keep it, but I’m not ready yet.”

“Well, it damn well better be soon.”

If she comes close enough, I’m biting her.

In the past, Rudiger would always give Borisin a strict “no” at such a suggestion. Now? Go for it, buddy. Make it painful.

Damn right I will. Urge her to come closer.

Doubt anything I say will get her to do that, pal. She doesn’t trust us.

Heh. With good reason.

“All right, that’s enough,” Lidda said.

“Another minute,” Rudiger said.

“You’ve had enough time. Maybe once you demonstrate the sword for me, I’ll let you have a half hour, but until then, this is all you get. Guards!”

“All right, all right.” Rudiger backed away from Borisin and replaced the brush. “See you next week, buddy.”

Looking forward to it.

He retrieved his crutches and left the stall. The guards took their positions in front of and behind him again, and they returned to the Palace.

Once he was back in Felitïa’s apartments, he retired immediately to the bedroom. He didn’t even acknowledge Huuh. Hopefully, that annoyed the odious man.

As he began to undress, the paper Malef had passed him earlier slipped out of his sleeve and fell to the floor. He’d almost forgotten about that!

Bending over to pick the paper up was not a simple task, but he eventually managed it. Sitting on the side of the bed, he unfolded it. Malef’s handwriting—he assumed it was Malef’s; he’d never actually seen Malef’s writing before—was small and neat.

Zandrue is alive. She’s in Quorge with Felitïa and Sinitïa.

Fuck yes!

Rudiger lay back on the bed, resisting the urge to laugh and cry out in joy. At last, some good news! He had no idea how Malef had gained this information, but he didn’t care.

Of course, he was going to have to pretend he didn’t know this, and that meant pretending to still be sad and depressed. That might be difficult, considering how much joy he was experiencing right now. But he didn’t care about that right now, either.

Zandrue was alive!

He took a few minutes to revel in the knowledge, imagining her in his arms again. He did that a lot, but this time it was something he knew could actually happen again. No, not could. Would. He would make it happen.

It was time to start making some changes, and set plans in motion.

Sometime in the next few days, he would tell Lidda Plavin he was ready to demonstrate the sword. Before he could do that though, he needed to find a way to make concrete plans with Malef. He had no idea how he was going to do that yet, but he was sure he would figure something out. Right now, he felt like he could do anything.

He should actually temper those thoughts. He shouldn’t forget his limits just because he was happy. It would be months yet before he was fully healed, so anything he planned had to take that into account.

But there was no denying it was time to do something. He’d had enough of this place, enough of the ridiculous luxury that was no better than austerity, and enough of the ridiculous woman who actually believed she would be queen one day. She wouldn’t.

She was not going to live long enough to achieve any more of her goals.