Rhoden had spent his life preparing for the worst. Some might have considered this extreme. Rhoden felt it was merely practical. The more uncertainty in a situation, the more things were likely to go wrong. The ancient scholar Escapelius had been the first to put this correlation into words, and when Rhoden had read his writings, the truth had resonated with him.

For, as fate deemed it, bad situations tended to escalate around him, no matter what he did to avoid them. It was better, then, to assume that a situation would deteriorate around him, rather than being surprised by it. It was better to be prepared.

True, his normal daily routine was quite mundane and predictable. Hardly worth mentioning. The problems that could occur within it were small, insignificant. But whenever he left the comfort of the familiar, he carefully considered and planned to allow for every possibility, every bad situation. He had been caught unawares before. He disliked that feeling more than anything in the world.

So, naturally, on the day that he was to risk his every hope, his plan was meticulous.

The sky above was cloudy as Rhoden and his uncle, Lord Horst Bellenan, walked down the short drive towards the expansive manor belonging to Lord Erastus Hestran. Rhoden wore his most comfortable, but respectable, boots, and a cloak, in case it rained. His clothing was ostentatious and edged in embroidery—enough to remind Lord Hestran that his guest was a royal prince—but not so flamboyant as some of the new fashion that had recently become popular. The collar was stiff and scratched at his neck, but he did his best to ignore this. Within his chest, his heart thumped rapidly. His hands, usually so calm, trembled.

Rhoden’s uncle, shorter and stockier than him, squinted up at the sky. “Rain’s coming,” he muttered.

Rhoden glanced up as well, trying to calm his mind. “Yes,” he said. “But we should be done before it arrives. If not, I am prepared.” He fingered the oilcloth in his right pocket.

Horst eyed him. His dark beard covered the lower half of his face and made his expression difficult to read.

“Nephew,” he said. “Again, I must question the wisdom of this action.”

“And again, Uncle,” Rhoden said firmly, “I will not back away. I have a chance to read the Chronicles, and I must take it.”

“Suppose he does not honor your request,” Horst growled. “Suppose he turns you away without a word.”

“I will try again. If Hestran won’t see me, I’m certain Cael can convince him.”

“Yet, you did not invite him.” His uncle looked around at the winter-bound gardens spread out before the manor, the bare branches and musty leaves. “He would surely have come, you know.”

“I know,” Rhoden said softly, almost to himself. “But this is something I must do for myself.”

Sensing his nephew’s resolve, Horst was silent.

Together, they climbed the steps to the door and Rhoden’s uncle gave a firm knock. A moment later, the it swung open, revealing a servant in scarlet livery. Rhoden met the man’s eyes and was unsurprised to see that they bulged slightly. He did his best to ignore the all-too familiar stare.

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“Prince Rhoden and Lord Bellenan to see Lord Hestran,” said Horst.

The man tore his eyes away and licked his lips.

“They’re expecting you, your Highness, my Lord,” the servant said hoarsely, standing aside to let Rhoden and Horst enter. “This way.”

Rhoden felt relief wash over him. He had passed the first obstacle. Despite the confidence he had shown his uncle, he had been prepared to have been turned away at the door. Now that they were inside, however, Rhoden pondered on the servant’s words: They’re expecting you.

They?

Lord Hestran will have invited his wife, Rhoden thought. Of course.

Irritated thoughts flew through his mind as the servant led them down the hall. This was to have been a private meeting between himself and Hestran. Perhaps he had misunderstood the man’s meaning, though as he thought it, he knew he was wrong. Lord Hestran was known for being manipulative and stubborn, which was why Cael and his uncle had warned him away from this course of action. It was likely that Hestran had changed the terms for his own advantage, and Rhoden’s options were becoming tenuous.

Should have expected that, he thought bitterly. When one dances with the devil…

He racked his brain. That Hestran would have a third party privy to their conversation had been one of the less-likely scenarios he had considered. The topic they were to discuss was delicate, even secret. He had supposed that Hestran would have wanted to keep it as quiet as possible. Knowing that he had invited someone else to the gathering, most likely his wife, presented an additional difficulty to the situation.

Lady Hestran was an unknown factor. In his limited time within the royal court, Rhoden had only met her once. He had heard from reports that she was fiercely loyal to her husband. A potentially dangerous combination. He clung to that knowledge. It would be difficult to convince Hestran to let him borrow and read the Chronicles if the man’s mind was made up and his wife was there to support him. Rhoden would need a way to convince them both, or else set them at odds. He set his jaw. This was turning out to be more difficult than he had imagined.

Armed with what little information he had about his hosts, Rhoden followed the servant until he stopped before a set of double doors.

“Lord Bellenan,” the man said. “If it pleases, you will wait here.”

Horst turned to Rhoden.

“I would join you,” he growled softly, his eyes bright. They dared Rhoden to disagree.

“You can’t,” Rhoden said, feeling his heartbeat quicken as he looked at the doors. “That was the agreement we made. Lord Hestran and myself. No others.” Though Hestran may not have upheld his bargain, he thought.

“And if he does not honor it?” Horst asked, reading Rhoden’s mind.

Rhoden clenched his fists. “I must do this, Uncle. You cannot always be at my shoulder.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Horst would argue further, but then he sighed through his beard and stepped away. “I’ll be waiting when you return.”

The servant cast one more swift look at Rhoden before he opened the doors and walked through a short vestibule. At the other end, he swung open another pair of double doors, then stood aside to let Rhoden pass.

Rhoden had a fleeting glimpse of a wall of mirrors, a disorienting sense of a room filled with people. A moment later, he realized that the mirrors had only barely exaggerated the number of people within the small space. At least a dozen men sat in padded chairs behind several long tables. Every eye was fixed on him.

All the preparation, every detail, every fact Rhoden had remembered, suddenly vanished from his mind. He scanned the faces, realizing he recognized very few. The rest were strangers.

The servant addressed the room.

“Prince Rhoden, my lords,” he said, and retreated.

The doors thudded behind Rhoden like the closing of a tomb.