Relam filed the information away for future reference. “Good to know,” he muttered. Then, a thought occurred to him. “You forgot something when you were listing the upcoming celebrations,” he reminded his father.
“Oh?”
“The Harvest Hunt.”
The king clapped a hand to his forehead. “How could I forget that,” he wondered aloud. “And it’s only two weeks away, too. I’ll have to get busy planning that event.”
“So, we are doing it?”
“Of course,” his father replied immediately. “Usual precautions, obviously, two guards each with more stationed nearby as a mobile reserve. Most impressive kill wins.”
“I can’t wait,” Relam said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “It’s been a year since the last one, and it was hardly fair.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” the king pointed out. “I can’t help it if an enormous buck just wanders out in front of me twenty minutes in.”
“But you could have let it go in the spirit of sportsmanship,” Relam countered.
“That would have been a waste of good luck,” the king replied, shaking a finger at Relam. “A terrible offense.”
Relam rolled his eyes. “Right. Well, I’m going to clean up before dinner. Any other earth-shattering developments I should be aware of?”
“Not at the moment,” the king said, shaking his head. “I’ll let you know if something comes up.”
Relam nodded then ducked into his room. Ten minutes later, he emerged refreshed and ready for a relaxing evening. It was the fifth day of the week, which meant he had two days of rest on the way, time to recover from Oreius’ training and give his muscles a chance to heal and strengthen before the first day of the next week began.
The king and the prince ate together, but there was little conversation. Meals were the time when they felt the loss of the queen most acutely, her empty chair staring back at them. Relam thought it was a rather accusing stare, as though she were wondering why he had not avenged her yet. Why the assassins-
Relam swore suddenly and jumped to his feet, slamming a hand down on the table and setting the dishes and silverware rattling.
“What in the-?” his father demanded, picking up his fork from where it had fallen. “What’s going on son?”
“The assassins,” Relam replied. “I’ve been meaning to question them for weeks now, always telling Na- myself that I would get it done on the weekend when I hadn’t been training all day, putting it off.” The prince shook his head in disgust, though inside he had gone cold with fear. He had nearly slipped up and said Narin’s name. The name of a man that Relam had supposedly executed himself. This was one of the few orders during the king’s dark time he had expressed no regret over so far, and Relam was not going to admit anything until he knew where his father stood on the subject.
“Well, then go tomorrow,” his father told him now, waving his laden fork irritably. “No need to interrupt dinner, son. Food is important you know.”
“No, I’m going now,” Relam said, coming to a decision. “I’ve put this off long enough. He strode quickly to the door and threw it open. “Fetch Wil and Galen,” he called to the guards beyond. “We’re going out for a while.” Then, he shut the door again and hurried into his room, donning a long, emerald green cloak with a hood and his sword belt.
“Wait, hold on just a moment-” the king protested.
“I’ll be back later, father,” Relam replied, waving a hand briefly in farewell. “This won’t take too long.”
“But-”
Relam shoved through the outer door and into the hallway, just as Wil and Galen were emerging from their own quarters two doors down.
“Come on,” Relam told them. “We’re going to the Citadel.”
“The Citadel?” Wil asked, puzzled. “Bit of an odd time for that, sir. Do you think they’ll even let us in with it being night and all?”
“They’ll let me in,” Relam said grimly. “And I’m not putting this off so that I can forget about it again.”
“Have it your way,” Wil said, shrugging.
Relam led the way out of the palace and into the cold, dark city. A stiff wind was blowing from the harbor, making Relam’s cloak billow around him and driving the cold into his bones. Few others were about on this wintry night. Anyone with any sense was huddled up inside against the unseasonable cold. But not Relam. He had a mission to fulfill.
“Nice night for it,” Wil observed drily from somewhere behind Relam. The prince could hear the guard shivering slightly. “Who knew this city got so cold in the fall?”
“It’s night,” Galen said patiently. Alone among the group, he was wearing a fur lined cloak for extra warmth. “That means no sun. It also means it’s going to be cold.”
“Well, I know that,” Wil grunted.
“Then why didn’t you-”
“Enough,” Relam growled. The two guards shut up immediately and trudged along in silence.
They reached the Citadel in no time, walking fast to stave off the cold. There were no guards in front of the gate with it being night, but there were plenty of guards pacing the wall above. One of them hailed Relam as he approached the gate.
“And where do you think you’re going?” the guard shouted. Immediately, the other guards swung around, bows at the ready, arrows on the strings.
“We request entry!” Relam called.
“And who are you?”
Relam sighed, wishing there was some secret code phrase or symbol he could use so that he did not have to go through this routine every time he wanted to visit. “Prince Relam of the Sthan Kingdom!” he shouted back.
“The prince?” the guard leaned out, squinting into the night
