Syro stood on a battlement, looking through crenels down to the Flatlands far below Castle Strongwind’s hoversone, the King’s Hoverstone, central to all the rest. Normally, the hoverstone’s height would give him chills, but today that was not his focus. Today, he was watching boats sailing through air, black hoverstones attached to the hull. Sails full of air for speed, small wings on the side to help rise and fall, such boats amazed him. Though he dreaded stepping aboard one to ride.

 Prince Robert Norman stood at his side. He was the first son to King Jeffory Norman, the heir and, one day, King. The kid was very aware of this. It meant that he got away with most everything, though luckily, he was not quite mad. Just interested in weapons. Too interested, so far as Syro’s was concerned.

 “Do you like it.” the prince said, not really asking, more telling Syro that he did. “I had it made special.”

 “Oh, yes, my Prince. I love it. It’s so...”

 The prince leaned in, his red hair flowing in a light breeze. His eyes were dark. Piercing. There was a small twitch to his lips.

 “...intimidating.”

 “I knew it. I knew it was.” The Prince went over and laid a hand on a new, dastardly weapon. “It’ll usher in a new era of defense. No one will dare land upon our hoverstone in ships now.”

 He was right, of course. His weapon was a crossbow, essentially, but built larger than Syro three times over. The arrows made to go in it were as big as the metal grates over that castle gate. There was no doubt that taking a shot from that would split a man open.

 “I dare say that no one would dream of it.”

 Prince Robert pointed out into the air. Syro looked to the place the boy was pointing, a ship, small in size, floating up towards the King’s Hoverstone. “Time for a demonstration.”

 “My Prince, I don’t think...”

 “Load!” Guards behind them loaded a pronged arrow onto the over-large crossbow. One of the men signaled when it was ready. “Aim!”

 “Is this wise?”

 “I’m a Prince; everything I do is wise, Syro.”

 “Indeed, but--”

 “Fire!”

 There was a loud, twang, and the arrow shot off, much faster that Syro expected. His heart stopped when it hit its mark. The hoverstone attached to the hull of the ship exploded. It began to list to one side, tilted dangerously, and started downwards. It would eventually crash to the Flatlands far below. A horrid way to die.

 Syro opened his mouth to...say what? Though loyal to the crown in all respects, he couldn’t disrespect the Prince without repercussion, and in his position, repercussion was unpleasant. He was an advisor to the King. But plenty of other men would love to do the same. He had to be on guard. “...marvelous, Prince Robert. Absolutely marvelous.”

 “I knew you would think so. I knew it.”

 “But, my Prince, as always you know my caution.”

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 Prince Robert beamed, elated by his toys success. “You are well known for it.”

 “As surely as the wind blows, my Prince.” He hated saying such nonsensical phrases, but they always seemed to pacify the people he spoke with. Only the Fates know why. “And so you will forgive me for saying, that perhaps shooting down manned ships is not the best way to...christen a new weapon. Not as these ships are filled with our friends and allies.”

 “These ships are filled with enemies, too. You know this, Syro. No man is completely entitled to trust.”

 I wish he’d relate that to his father. Syro said, “Of course that is true, and yet--”

 Prince Robert waved him off. “The ship wasn’t manned, Syro. I sent it out myself for just this purpose.” He slapped a hand on the weapon. “Stop being such a woman and appreciate the beauty of it!”

 “Well, if unmanned, I appreciate it more than the air I breathe.” When the Prince turned away, he cringed. Not his best line. He turned. The ship was still going down. He shook his head. The young Prince knew to trust no one, it was true, Syro was responsible for that lesson--mostly. But the Prince was a bad liar. That shipped had to have had at least one man on it. Else, it could not fly on its own. Stupid lie. Stupid. But, knowing the limits of his royal wit was useful, too. “Will you give another demonstration, my Prince?”

 “Not here. I have another posted on the other side of the castle. Father says I can make as many as I please.” He laughed. “And a lot of them would please me. I take my leave of you, Syro.”

 Syro turned and bowed. “My Prince.”

 Robert and his gaggle of goons strode off.

 Syro was left in peace.

 But his thoughts that day were not at peace. Miro, his cousin, a servant of Master Jorbert, had contacted him by letter. Apparently, Lord Gern Jorbert was to wed Lilian Bilt. An odd match, to be sure. Lord Jorbert was old, cautious, and a paranoid. He would not make such a move unless he believed it gave him an advantage. Lord Bilt would of course accept. Joining their houses gave him a certain level of prestige he could not reach, not on his own. Syro scoffed at the idea. Lord Jorbert, however. That was not a man to take lightly.

  Miro believed that the wedding would take place here, on the King’s Hoverstone, likley in Strongwind’s Great Hall. He saw sense in it. If it were a plot, a trick--or bait--better to put it out in the open. Syro bit his lip. No, he could not guess at the idea behind it.

 Having a wedding here, though...that would bring many Lords and Ladies to the castle. Friends and enemies, friends and enemies. Complications. He pondered it. The worst visitor was Khara, certainly. Lady Khara, though he would not go so far as to call her that. Murderess, perhaps. Such a thing would never leave his lips--she would do as his title proclaimed and kill him where he stood. Even in front of the King.

 Caution. That was what the event required. Caution, planning, and of course, his invaluable network of cousins. His many, many cousins, throughout the realm. The same cousins that told of Lord Gern Jorbert’s intention to marry before Jorbert made it known to the realm, and the same network that informed him that Murderess Khara had in her possession one very real dragon’s egg.