Samuel was familiar with the use of patsies. It was standard practice for anyone in power to operate through them, poor men and women who jumped at the chance to wield a portion of a noble’s influence, unaware that they were lambs being led to slaughter. Commoners didn’t have a high opinion of nobles, but revolts were incredibly rare. Besides the stark difference in ability between a trained knight and an irate farmer wielding a plow, the reason why was because the villains learned to divert their bad reputations onto scapegoats that were sacrificed on the altar of public opinion every other season. A constant stream of punished villains gave the disadvantaged hope that the powerful people that did terrible things would get their comeuppance one day. They didn’t have to risk themselves and their families, for the saints would always punish evil.

The prince had done the same, on a much smaller scale and for less sinister reasons. A child didn’t think of the consequences when he blamed a servant for misdeeds. To his young mind, punishment equaled a scolding from his mother and a disappointed frown from his father. He didn’t know accusing a servant of breaking or tarnishing art far beyond their means could doom their entire family.

Growing up, his tutors didn’t teach him nonsense about taking responsibility for his faults. Rather, they urged him to be more judicious in how he assigned blame as well as credit. Strangely, it was harder to give someone an undeserved merit than an unwelcome sanction. The harsh realities of the world meant that people expected betrayals. No one expected to receive commendations, especially for things they hadn’t done. It made them suspicious. Those that would jump at such a chance weren’t the kind that the prince would wanted wielding a powerful reputation.

He debated over his predicament between attending classes. With each passing day, his desire to shuck his unwanted notoriety intensified. Namely, because his fame continued to increase. He had no problem keeping an ear on the situation in the camp because it was all anyone could talk about.

Orum’s garden was producing food at a prodigious rate, something the Hall, with its dwindling supplies, was very interested in. A fresh wave of acolytes had descended on the camp with the sole mission of extending the field. The miraculous plants could be harvested every three days and, incredibly, grew more leaves when properly tended. In the week since their planting, they’d already solved the food crisis, but that was only the beginning of the plants’ effect.

With bellies full of nutritious food and hearts sparked by hope, the lifeless refugees appeared to have more energy. Several had gone back into the city, seeking what they could salvage of their homes. Many questioned what the city, functionally the Hall as they were the ones who seemed to have the most authority, planned to do about rebuilding the city and compensating those displaced. The professionals amongst them wanted to get back to work and the restless were looking for ways to help. There were rumors that work groups were being assembled to begin clearing the rubble. It was the beginning of a very long road, but the people of Quest were ready to move forward, something the prince couldn’t imagine the first time he laid eyes on the camp.

All of this was being laid at his feet. Forget the Spinach Prince, though the moniker remained popular with the younger acolytes. The people were calling him the Prince of Progress. The Merciful Prince. The Silver-Tongued Prince. A man whose words could change the future. The more benefits the field provided, the more his legend grew. The people in power had yet to be swayed by the undeserved adulation but the invites the prince had received to lunch in the private rooms of influential sons, and a few daughters, was staggering.

The circumstances led to Samuel returning to the camp for another weekend. His reasons were twofold. First, he wanted to see the progress of the field. While it was troublesome to have the miracle connected to him, the constant association had fostered a faint feeling of possessiveness, easily explained as curiosity. There was also undeniable wonder. He wanted to see the field’s progress with his own eyes. To touch one of the dark green leaves again, touch true power.

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The second and more important reason he wanted to return to the camp was to meet the refugees pushing to take back the city. After careful consideration, the prince decided that the group most deserving of his undeserved reputation were the people who’d given it to him. They didn’t trust anyone but themselves so he would “give” them control of their destinies. His hope was that he would shake hands with their leader and spout some encouraging words about how the crown supported them.

If he was lucky, it would restore some of their lost faith in the royal family, but he’d be satisfied if they were simply given the confidence to pursue their own solutions rather than hoping he would come up with another miracle.

Ewan took no chances, gathering the rest of the soldiers in the Hall to provide an escort. Whether it was the extra manpower or the revealing light of day, Samuel arrived at the camp without incident. As always, gazes followed his carriage, but there was a different feeling behind the hundreds of eyes that tracked his progress. There was life in the crowd. Some of the children even tried to approach, held back by worried parents.

It was as if he was a returning hero. If Samuel could stop thinking about the complications that came with it, he’d have to admit the feeling was intoxicating. He might have cringed if they did something as gaudy as applauding his passage, but the quiet admiration had him sitting taller, despite no one being able to get a good look at him through the open shutters of his carriage.

Lane was waiting when they arrived outside of Alyssa’s tent, or rather their tent. He was so accustomed to seeing the man there, it was hard to imagine him being anywhere else. For someone that was supposedly fine with being friends, he was sticking very close to the object of his desire. “Your highness. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve come with a proposition. I will help organize the groups that wish to go into the city.”

“What? I mean, uh.” Lane scratched at the unruly stubble along his chin. Samuel forced back a grimace. The man was starting to look shabby. He feared that if Lane didn’t get a proper rest soon, the dark bags under his eyes would become permanent. “Ah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Thing is, we don’t want any groups in the city. The rebels’ base of operations has to be in there. Until we find out where, it’s just asking for trouble, but the Hall doesn’t have the manpower or the inclination to round them up. We’re trying to get the guards to move but the captain is a right mole of a bastard. I doubt we’ll see anything of him until the capital sends peacekeeping forces. Gah, I’m getting off track. Basically, no one’s going into the city.”

“Then what are the people supposed to do all day? Only so many hands can work in the field.”

“Ah, none of the refugees are working in the field. Can’t take a chance one of the rebels gets through and sabotages the food supply again. Saints, we’re looking real hard at the acolytes too. Those plants are worth more than their weight in gold. A lot more.”

“Then what do you mean to do with the thousands of people simply lying about?” Samuel didn’t presume to think he was better trained than the people in charge, even Lane, but only an idiot would think forcing anxious people into cramped spaces without anyway to vent their energy was a good idea.

“Obviously we want to get people back in the city as soon as possible. We just want to make sure it’s safe before we do.”

“What’s safer than being escorted by two royal knights?” the prince asked with a raised brow.

“Er, I mean, they can’t guarantee that they can protect everyone. A bomb goes off and their priorities will be you first and themselves second.”

Samuel nodded. That much could have gone without saying. Guards were peacekeepers who were expected to risk life and limb keeping the citizens of the kingdom safe. Royal knights were the crown’s shields, protecting the royal blood. Soldiers were the crown’s swords, sharpened to slay its enemies. The life of a refugee wasn’t worth the life of an experienced veteran. The army didn’t train heroes that were willing to sacrifice themselves for a stray kitten. They had a duty and that duty trumped everything else.

“We explain the dangers. Those who are still willing to come can do so.” The kind of personality that Samuel was looking for wouldn’t shy away from danger. If anything, the threat of the rebels was an efficient way for him to sort out the bad actors from the viable candidates. He found that villains were usually cowards; the worst characters back home often were the most passive in person, folding before any kind of confrontation. “It’s their home. If they want to risk their lives restoring it and defying the criminals defiling it, who are we to tell them they can’t.”

“That’s…I mean…I think we need to wake Boss.”