Alfyn crumpled up the message and threw it into the fire as soon as he finished reading it. His father was already angry at him. No reason to make him angrier still. The king was deep into his drink as he was frequently as of late and prone to fly into a rage at any moment. He had already beaten a stablehand this morning. Alfyn didn’t want to be next.

The assassin had failed. A group of bandits raided the camp right when she had made her attempt, and Aeolwyn had been teleported away. To safety he assumed. Alfyn could only presume that General Alaric had assigned a group of people to look after his brother. A traveling prince was a high-profile target. It was wise to be cautious with that sort of cargo.

By failing, Reiva had signed her own death warrant; Alfyn didn’t tolerate failure. Now that the attempt had been made, there was no possible way Aeolwyn and General Alaric wouldn’t be on alert. Another attempt would be impossible.

As calmly as he could, he sat at the table by the window and poured himself some wine. The servants had brought a good vintage today, and he was glad for it. Especially when he had to deal with an angry king storming into his room first thing in the morning. He was still in his smallclothes!

“You sent an assassin after my son!” The king shouted.

Alfyn didn’t know how the king found out. He and Reiva had been very discreet. Alfyn made certain he wasn’t followed and had the meeting place scoured for potential informants before his arrival. Perhaps one of his associates he thought was trustworthy wasn’t. He would be finding out.

The message he received was from one of Alfyn’s spies, not the king’s. It had arrived just before his father did. Alfyn had nearly jumped out of his own skin when the door slammed open. He had barely unrolled the note when his father arrived.

“It’s not like that,” Alfyn protested. He was lying of course. It was exactly like that. There was really no way that he could explain his way out of this one. His father knew exactly what he had done, and he was furious. Even if he had stressed over and over that Alfyn needed to do something about potential political rivals, he wasn’t allowed to act.

“When you are king you can do as you please, but as I am still king, you will do as I say.” He said. “You have not sent an assassin after me, have you?”

“No, father,” Alfyn said sheepishly.

That was a thing he hadn’t even considered before. He took the throne after his father’s death, assuming, of course, the nobles confirmed him as the legitimate heir. He saw no reason that they wouldn’t. Especially if he gave them incentives to do so.

But would they if his father died under suspicious circumstances? Not necessarily. If he were to actually murder his father to gain the throne, it would have to be by a method that was beyond suspicion. Like a hunting accident. Or a long-term illness. Or from an assassination attempt by the Star Children.

He filed those thoughts away for later. Despite his desire for the throne, he still loved his father, in his own way. He didn’t like the man, but he respected him and his ability to carefully navigate the ins and outs of making the nobles happy.

“Son, regicide is a dangerous thing,” his father continued. “If a member of the royal family is killed under suspicious circumstances, the first place they look is at the surviving family members. Especially which of them has something to gain from it.”

“Yes, father,” Alfyn answered. Was his father giving him advice on how to murder him? Not deliberately, he didn’t think. His father was just always trying to give him advice on what it was like to be king.

They often had these sorts of conversations. Not on regicide, but on the practical matters of running a kingdom, from navigating the politics of the nobility, to the importance of making sure the peasant sanitation workers are happy. And now how to kill your family members without the populace believing you did it.

His father came and stood close to him. His large gut just brushing the front of Alfyn’s dress shirt. He refused to step back no matter how uncomfortable the closeness made him feel. These were his apartments after all. His father was the one who barged in in a fury.

“I know I told you Aeolwyn could be dangerous to your rule, but I had that issue well handled. Getting him out of the Teorton is enough. Fort Camulan is too far away for him to exert any influence in the city.”

Alfyn wasn’t so sure about that. It was an important fort close to the enemy’s borders. It wasn’t a place you sent someone to keep them out of the way. There were active skirmishes all along the border with the Fenns. There was a lot of glory to be had in those battles.

A lot of danger as well, however.

“What of the others?” Alfyn asked. He did, after all, have other siblings besides Aeolwyn. Any one of them could be just as dangerous as Aeolwyn, given the right opportunity.

“Your brothers are your biggest worry,” the king said. “They take precedence over your sisters should anything happen to you. Wolfryn will be loyal. I don’t think you will have much worry about him getting drunk with power. Ulfnar could be a threat if he were ever interested in more than whoring and gambling.”

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Ulfnar did have a kind of roguish charm to him that many people found endearing. Charm only took a person so far with the nobles, however. They could see through such things. They wanted a king who would look out for their interests as well as his own.

“Was that why Ulfnar took the blame?” Alfyn asked.

“Yes. You need him to be viewed as childish and untrustworthy. Though, to be honest, I don’t think he has any interest in the throne. He just wants the privilege being a royal offers him.”

That was true, and he was locked up safe in his apartments, not even allowed visitors. His father had even banished him from the family dinner. A lucky thing, if Alfyn were honest. None of them liked the family dinner.

His mind kept sending him back to the Fenns and the troubles they had been having with that border. Based on all reports the skirmishes there were increasing. That would be a good opportunity to put Aeolwyn in harm’s way.

“If Aeolwyn is no danger to my claim, being so far away from Teorton, then we should encourage him to want to stay there,” he said. “Perhaps we should give him more responsibility when he arrives?”

“Indeed,” his father agreed. “Having to take orders from those beneath you is no position for a royal to be.”

He presented his father his ideas on how to give Aeolwyn more responsibility. His father was surprised at his change of heart. Mostly because he failed to see the risks his brother would be facing. Giving a 12-year-old that much responsibility would only put him in one place: the ground. Exactly where Alfyn wanted him to be.

***

The raid on the camp had been nothing but trouble. The company had to spend three extra days cleaning up and tending to the wounded. The village elders had not been happy about it, and cost Alaric more than just time. If these sorts of things kept happening, he would run out of gold before they got to Fort Camulan.

The bandit raid was a bold one. They were outnumbered 10 to 1 and still they attacked. He hadn’t understood it until they went through the pockets of one of them and found a crudely drawn sketch of a young boy. He didn’t have to guess who it was. It bore more than a passing resemblance to the young prince, who was now missing.

The flap to his tent opened up and Captain Flint came in. He was the one Alaric put in charge of cleaning up after the bandit raid. For the last few hours he had been examining the grounds and figuring out what happened.

“Sir,” the captain said curtly and saluted.

“Well?” He asked. Alaric was not in a pleasant mood. The bandit attack unnerved him and the fact that Aeolwyn had vanished during it upset him. If the king found out he’d lost the prince, it was more than just retirement that was in store for him. He would have a neck stretching to look forward to.

He was neither royal nor noble, so if it came to an execution, he wouldn’t be provided the honor and dignity of a beheading. No, he would be hanged like any common criminal. He would fall on his sword before he let that happen.

“The cleanup is nearly complete. As per your orders, we have dug a large pit away from the village’s fields, and away from their water supply. The last of the bandits has been dumped and we are now filling the hole back up.”

“What of our losses?” he asked.

“Twelve, sir. Two dead and ten injured.”

He was thankful that the casualty list was that short. Considering many men were with drink, and almost none in armor during the fight, it could have been much, much worse. He would have the remains of the two soldiers preserved and returned to their families. The injured who couldn’t walk could ride on the wagons with the women.

“What of the prince?”

Flint shifted uneasily. He knew that losing Aeolwyn was extremely bad news for everyone involved. It wasn’t only the general’s neck that might be stretched.

“We are unsure of what happened,” Flint finally said. “We haven’t found a body or any trace of him. His tent and horse were still in camp.”

“He couldn’t have deserted then,” Alaric said. “He wouldn’t have left his horse. Could he have been taken?”

Flint shrugged, looking lustfully at the water jug on the table behind Alaric. It had been a busy few days and there had been little chance for eating or drinking. Alaric considered offering him a cup but dismissed it. He was furious that this had happened, despite all the guards he’d ordered to be camped near the king’s son. The inability to keep Aeolwyn safe was as much their failure as it was his.

“It’s hard to tell because of the mess the battle made of any tracks, but I don’t think so. According to our reports, he was there and then he wasn’t.”

That was peculiar and suggested to Alaric that magic had been involved. A teleportation spell perhaps? If so, that didn’t discount the possibility that he had been kidnapped. “Is anyone else unaccounted for?”

“Just two. Galafar and Egnever.”

“Those two are his friends, are they not?”

Even more strange. If he were kidnapped, why would his captors bring those two along?

“More or less, sir. Galafar seems to be obsessed with his care since the incident with the goblins. But by all accounts, Egnever’s opinion of the boy has soured.”

He had heard that. Egnever had been exiled for the same reasons as Aeolwyn. If that had happened to Alaric, he would not be pleased about it either. Egnever was a mage. Could he have had a hand in it?

“Have the area scanned for magic residue,” he said. “And I want a search party sent after him.”

Flint nodded. “What of the other two?”

“I am betting the three of them are together. Once you have your search party, prepare the army to move.”

Flint’s face looked shocked. “We’re not staying?”

“We’ve overstayed our welcome as it is, captain. And we can’t wait any longer besides. The Fenns could be attacking as we speak, and I’d rather be the one in charge there. Dismissed.”

“Sir,” Flint said and left the tent.

Alaric was extremely troubled by this whole thing. He prayed Aeolwyn wasn’t dead. On the bright side, a target such as the prince had much more value as a captive than he did as a corpse. But if he were kidnapped, who could have done it? It wasn’t just a random attack. The bandits had known who their target was, and they knew where the army would be.

It was true that they hadn’t made a secret of the prince coming along with the army. Making his departure public was a condition of his exile. But who else besides the Star Children would have had motive to attack? If it were them, wouldn’t they just send one of their own? Why would they hire mercenaries for the task when they were more than capable.

He also couldn’t discount the possibility that Egnever had done it. His dislike of Aeolwyn was well known, and he was a mage. If magic were involved, he was a likely suspect. But Alaric didn’t think Egnever would resort to murdering the prince and had little to gain from a ransom.

He shook his head and started to gather his things. They were moving on today, and the soldiers weren’t the only ones who needed to prepare.