Grim leaned against the washbasin of his bedroom, staring at himself in the mirror. He’d barely slept last night, and his eyes were bloodshot. He splashed water in his face, rubbing at his eyes. Today would be his first day at Longreen’s court. The thought made him want to jump out his window. He grimaced, itching the branding scar along his neck. He didn’t have much in the way of belongings or clothes, so he pulled on his tunic and trousers from the previous night, knowing he was going to be woefully underdressed.

He almost looked around the room for his axe before recalling he wasn’t allowed to be armed. Grim sighed, turning to the door of his room and walking into the foyer he shared with some poor Venaran son of a bitch.

The son of a bitch in question sat in one of the room’s sitting chairs, a book in his hands. At Grim’s approach, he looked up with a smile. He was a young man, perhaps five or six years younger than Grim with neatly parted sandy, brown hair. The gleam in his eyes spoke of a life of comfort and few worries. Grim already hated him.

The boy closed his book and set it on the small table beside his chair. He rose to his feet. “I heard I’d gotten an interesting new suitemate,” he said, holding his hand out to Grim. “I’m Brian Barrington. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Grim stared at the proffered hand for a moment before shaking it in the Venaran fashion. “Grim Throne,” he answered.

Brian looked him up and down. “I don’t mean to offend, but I do feel I should let you know that you’re a bit underdressed for the residence.”

“I don’t have anything else to wear,” Grim said.

The boy frowned. “I might have something-”

Grim raised a hand, cutting him off. “Nothing you have is going to fit me.”

Brian looked up to meet Grim’s gaze. “Fair point.”

Grim ran a hand through his hair. “So, what’d you do to get stuck with me?”

Brian’s eyes widened a fraction then he smiled sadly. “I suppose I should have expected you to gather that. My brother, Harren, met the Marshal’s displeasure.”

Grim could tell Brian didn’t want to explain further. “What’d he do?”

Brian frowned. “You didn’t hear?”

“I spent most of yesterday in a cell,” Grim answered.

Brian swallowed, looking away. “I’d really rather not get into the details. I’m sure another noble will be happy to recount the details for you. Many seem rather pleased.”

Grim nodded, not particularly surprised. Harren was a prick. He looked to the door. “Shall we, or would you rather walk separately?”

To Grim’s surprise, Brian held out his hand. “After you.”

Grim nodded a curt thanks and walked from the room into the opulent hall. Rich, vibrant paintings hung in gilded, gold frames. The hardwood floors were a reddish hue, betraying their origin from the province of Boreal. Bowyers in the city paid a fortune to have wood like this imported for its combination of strength and flexibility, and these people used it to line their floors. Grim shook his head as he walked down the hall, looking up at the dramatized portraits of the Marshal leading men into battle.

Many of the officers who served his father had also served in the war. It was common knowledge that the Marshal was a butcher who led from the rear. Though in all fairness, he’d heard the same said of both his father and the old Rillish King.

Grim gritted his teeth as he reached the stairwell leading down to the hall where the Marshal held his morning social. He hadn’t been to one of these things since his father forced him as a child. His sister occasionally made the trip to attend, but typically only came to the larger events which Grim was still forced to attend.

He took a deep breath and began his descent down the stairs with Brian close behind. Eyes drifted to him, and conversations hushed. As he reached the bottom of the stairwell, the nearby nobles found excuses to drift further away. Grim supposed he’d want to distance himself from somebody in his shoes as well. He glanced over his shoulder to Brian who seemed content to follow him toward the food lining the table.

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Grim hadn’t eaten all yesterday afternoon, and he was ravenously hungry. He grabbed one of the small porcelain plates and loaded it with the small quiches lining the table. He turned and leaned against the table, facing the crowd. There were dozens of younger men and women dressed up in their most extravagant finery, a clear sign that the Marshal’s competition was nearing its start.

Brian was similarly gathering food on a plate next him. “Brian,” Grim said, “When does the competition start?”

Brian chewed through a mouthful of quiche, swallowing before responding, “It won’t start before the thaw. The date is tentatively set for the beginning of next month.”

Grim nodded. He had roughly three weeks to prepare for the first trial. Just a public trivia on Venaran history, of which Grim knew almost nothing. He sighed as Brian settled in beside him.

As he chewed a quiche, Grim glanced to the boy out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t have to keep me company. I’m well aware that I’m not in style.”

Brian shrugged, pulling a small handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiping the crumbs from his lips. “As it happens, I too am finding myself to be a bit of a pariah. I was hoping we might be able to find common cause in the competition.”

“Common cause?” Grim asked, eyebrow raised.

“An alliance of sorts.” Brian answered.

Grim snorted. “I’m hardly prime material for that.”

“To the contrary, I think your status as a relative outsider will be very beneficial. Do you care what anyone in this room thinks of you?” Brian asked.

Grim snorted again. “The Marshal. Maybe.”

“Then the rules you have to abide by are different than the ones I do. If you’re willing to ruffle feathers and commit some indiscretions for our cause, then I’d be willing to help prepare you prepare for the trials.” He looked up to meet Grim’s eyes. “What do you say?”

Grim stared back at him for a moment before holding out his hand. “Deal.”

Brian smiled and gave it a firm shake.

“Careful, Brian. That’s how men catch fleas,” a voice called to them.

Grim turned to observe a lanky Venaran nobleman approaching. He wore a very unfashionable beard and smelled of wine.

“Where are you hiding the wine?” Grim asked.

The man smiled, revealing red stained teeth. “I’m afraid the reserves are exhausted, my good man.” He bowed his head. “I poured the rest out in a solemn prayer for our good friend Harren.”

“Poured it down your gullet?” Grim asked.

The man grinned then looked to Brian. “I like him.”

Brian took a deep breath. “This is my brother’s friend, Rafe.”

“We’ve met,” Grim muttered.

“And it’s such a pleasure, as always,” Rafe said.

Grim glanced around the room. “This place is anything but pleasurable.”

“And we agree on so many things,” Rafe said, waving his arms with an exaggerated grin.

“What else do we agree on?” Grim asked, crossing his arms.

“We agree that one of you should win the competition this year,” Rafe said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Grim laughed. “And why would that be?” he asked, humoring the man.

“Because.” Rafe held up a finger and looked to Grim. “The scandal of a Rillman winning would humor me for years.” He held up a second finger and looked to Brian. “And if young Brian were to win, he might be able to ask a boon to save his brother whom I do unfortunately have some care for.”

Grim was about to respond when a voice angrily called his name, “Thorne.”

The conversation around them hushed and Rafe took a quick step away from him. Grim glanced to his left and saw the Marshal’s wife, lady Cassandra Longreen, approaching. He wracked his brain for the proper bow and gave it his best approximation.

She sniffed as if it were found wanting. “You have been a guest in my house for nearly a day now and have not yet come to pay your respects. Pray tell why?”

Grim fought the urge to scowl but before he could respond, Brian interjected, “Please forgive him my lady,” he said falling into a much smoother bow. “I was curious to hear about the city from a native and occupied him for too long.”

She didn’t even look at him. “I did not address you, Barrington.”

Brian swallowed and bowed his head.

Grim took a moment to calm himself. He knew there was only one answer she would take because this was about humiliating him. “I apologize, my lady. My poor manners are disgraceful, and it is gracious of you to point out my faults, that I may better them.”

She opened her mouth as if she wanted to dig into him further but was having trouble finding traction. “See that you do,” she said, holding out her ring.

Grim reached out his hand.

“Do not touch me,” she said.

Grim pulled his hand away and bent to kiss the ring.

“Kneel,” she said.

Grim tensed, anger building. The entire room was watching. He looked past her to where Longreen sat, watching him with interest. Grim bit his tongue, remembering the blod streaming from Edgar’s hand. He knelt before her, leaned forward and gently kissed the ring.

She pulled her ring away as though a cockroach had scuttled across it. “See that you dress appropriately for the occasion tomorrow or eat with the staff.”

Grim fumed, taking deep breaths as she turned from him, and he rose to his feet. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said through gritted teeth as he pushed his way to the stairwell. His boots thudded loudly against the hardwood as he marched back to his room. As soon as the door was closed behind him, he screamed, throwing one of the chairs against the wall and watched as it shattered into kindling.

His breaths came in ragged gasps as he leaned against one of the walls, resting his head against its cool surface. He’d have to endure another six months of this. He felt his fists clench as hate suffused him.