Damien strode down the hall toward the archmage’s office. She’d chosen a place well away from noise and people. In fact, judging by the smell, he figured at some point in the past the small room had served as a storeroom for chamber pots. Damien hadn’t been brave enough to point that out.

He absently took a bite of the egg and cheese sandwich he’d begged from the kitchen, his mind elsewhere. Damien had come to an arrangement with the cook. In exchange for not stealing her rolls he could get a snack whenever he wanted. This suited Damien as he usually woke up early and hated waiting to eat. His master rose early as well and he hoped she’d enjoy the second sandwich that floated along beside him in a soul force bubble.

Damien fought off a yawn. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. The attack and torture had pumped him full of adrenaline. Add the princess’s proclamation that they were getting married, his preferences be damned, and it was a wonder he slept as much as he did. Surely the king could have found a better match for Karrie than him.

On the other hand, having seen some of the elder members of the nobility, maybe he couldn’t. Nevertheless Damien had no intention of marrying Karrie, he just had to find some way to make that clear to her and the king.

Right.

Damien wished he had time to make a quick trip to The Citadel to visit Lizzy and see what she thought about all this. The demon spirit understood relationships better than he did. Getting to be with her, even for a little while, would soothe his nerves as well. Heaven’s mercy, he wished they could spend more than an hour here or there together every few months.

Nothing marked the door as belonging to the archmage. It just looked like a plain oak door with an iron pull. It didn’t even have a lock. Not that it needed one. If she didn’t want anyone inside, a soul force barrier would keep people out better than any normal lock.

He popped the last of his sandwich in his mouth and stepped up to the door. Muffled voices, neither of them sounding happy, filtered out into the hall. Damien frowned. She must have had a meeting before him. He moved a few steps away and leaned against the wall. He didn’t want his master thinking he had been eavesdropping.

A minute later the door slammed open and a tall, fit young woman in her early twenties, with short brown hair stalked out, her face twisted in an angry scowl. She wore leather pants, knee-high boots, and a blue shirt that showed her figure to good effect. She stormed past Damien, glaring at him as she went.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

What had he done?

She turned a corner that led to the main gate. Damien shrugged. Whatever her problem, it had nothing to do with him. He pushed off the wall, walked over to the open door and poked his head in. The archmage sat in her chair behind a battered desk, head in her hands.

“Is this a bad time, Master?”

She looked up and offered a wan smile. “No. Is that for me?”

Her gaze locked on the sandwich floating beside him. Damien guided it over, transforming the bubble into a plate and landing it on her desk. “I thought you might be hungry.”

She took a giant bite out of the sandwich. “You were right.”

Less than a minute later the food was gone. She sighed. “Thank you. I always intend to get breakfast, but something often comes up. Sit down.”

Damien dropped into the padded mahogany chair in front of her desk. To his right a cherry bookcase held hundreds of leather-bound books. “Was the unhappy young woman I saw what came up today?”

“My daughter, Lane. She’s one of the kingdom’s leading diplomats. I just gave her a new assignment.”

“The moment I saw her I thought diplomat, either that or berserker. I take it she didn’t care for her new task?”

His master smiled. “No, the assignment didn’t bother her. She’s mad because I assigned you to be her bodyguard. Lane doesn’t like sorcerers.”

Damien raised an eyebrow at that. “The daughter of the archmage doesn’t like sorcerers? That sounds awkward.”

“We’ve made peace. I don’t know if you noticed, but she doesn’t have any extraordinary power. Being born the daughter of a leading sorcerer and having no power of her own was hard for Lane. Spending time around sorcerers reminds her of what she doesn’t have.”

Damien could relate to that. “What about the assassin?”

“Right, that’s the reason you’re accompanying Lane. Baron Trasker hired the assassin to kill the king. He’s a border baron, one of ten. They’ve been complaining about taxes and threatening to secede from the kingdom, leaving us open to raids from the bandits living in the badlands. Lane’s going to their annual meeting to try and negotiate a settlement.”

Damien nodded. “And I’m going to keep her safe from Trasker.”

“Partly, but mainly you’re going in case she fails. If the barons can’t be persuaded to see reason you’re to remove them from their positions.”

“As in”—Damien drew a finger across his throat—“permanently?”

“Exactly. Keeping the border secure is too important to jeopardize because of petty, noble greed. It will also make a good example for their eventual successors. I’ve spoken to the king and you have full authority to resolve this with whatever force necessary.”

Damien nodded again. She wasn’t starting him off with an easy mission, to say the least. “Does Lane know my real job?”

“No, and I prefer you not tell her until the last possible moment. I don’t want her to think I don’t have faith in her abilities.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Don’t forget to check in at each stop. If I have new information I’ll pass it along. Keep my daughter safe and come home in one piece. Good luck.”