To say that the Royal Council was full of infantile sycophants was an unfair generalization. Roel did not by any means intend to defend the advisors, but it was crucial to see them as they truly were. While there were men on the council who fawned at the king’s every move, they were the minority. Surviving in the council meant carefully maneuvering around the other members and the king’s attempts to shift blame off himself.

As he glanced over the twenty or so clergymen and high nobility, he thought of the prince. In a few years, he would be invited to these meetings. He couldn’t imagine baby-faced, bowl-cut hair Charlie sitting among these vultures. They wouldn’t tear him apart, not immediately. They would carefully watch him from above, make note of where he bled most and often, and then sink their claws in him when he stopped to rest.

Roel kneeled before the king. “I await your orders, Your Majesty.”

“Rise, Sir Roel.” If he hadn’t met the king the previous night, he would’ve sworn that the king was the same as always. It was subtle, but the king’s tone was sharper than it usually was. “Your next task will be a thankless one. It is imperative that you maintain your silence for the rest of your days.”

Roel’s chest tightened and he felt the urge to grip his hilt, but he knew that such a move in front of the king was foolish. King Matthieu had never given him this kind of task before, but they had been common under King Maxime. They usually involved actions that would never be transcribed into poetry and songs – framing opposing nobles, assassinating enemy generals, and exterminating entire family lineages.

Even the king, said to be directly descended from the Lord, was bound by the system of honor. There were things that would never be accepted by the people. Assassinations, for example, were cowardly, and massacres were condemned as heretical acts of savagery.

But a kingdom cannot be built simply on ideals of honor and dignity. Divine Paladins were the perfect pawns. A paladin wouldn’t disobey orders, but he also wouldn’t want his legacy tarnished by being associated with such shameful acts. It was in his best interest to not be caught.

These covert missions gave Roel a contradictory sense of guilt and guiltlessness. The latter caused the former. Slaying monsters and protecting the people were tiring duties. The praise he received for doing so only exacerbated his exhaustion. Covert missions, however, gave him a chance to shed his armor and the responsibility of wearing it. It was guiltless work.

And that was where the guilt came from. He should want to kill monsters and protect the people. Shouldn’t he? He had often rationalized to himself that this was just an indirect way of doing so and that a kingdom couldn’t be created from good will alone. But self-justification was a luxury reserved for royalty and nobility. It didn’t matter how he felt or why he did whatever he did because that would imply there had been a choice. There had never been a choice. The answer would always be the same.

“I understand and obey,” he heard himself say.

“You will return to Prince Ghislain’s camp to deliver a royal decree. The decree will order him to direct his troops and the prisoners back to his own dukedom and await further orders. This should give you a few days.

“At the most opportune moment and before they arrive at the dukedom, you will kill Prince Ghislain. Leave no witnesses but the number of casualties is irrelevant. However, among the ranks will be a noble and Ghislain’s chief advisor, Marquis Joseph Chastain. You must keep him alive. And no matter how you kill the prince, you must make it look irrefutably like the work of Graecian heretics.”

A deluge of emotions and thoughts overwhelmed Roel. Firstly, he was impressed and disgusted with the king. Neither the king’s expression nor his voice had changed once. The plot to murder his own brother was divulged not with an air of confidence but inevitability. Though, if the rumors about the king and his siblings held some strand of truth, he couldn't be too surprised.

Being well-versed in the Royal Court’s schemes, he saw now why he had been a perfect pawn – his participation in the siege would make him a greatly welcomed visitor and allow him to surveil the prince. But these were just shallow qualifications, small advantages that would make it easier for him to complete the task. It didn’t have to be him; it just happened to be him who would carry out this task.

Paranoia: or was it that they specifically had chosen him for the job? It was possible that they wanted him to get caught. Lady Romane had told him of such a story. The 77th Paladin, Sir Quentin, had committed adultery with a marquis’ wife. When the marquis found out, he had bribed members of the Royal Council to assign the paladin a monster-slaying quest that happened to be near his fief.

Predictably, Sir Quentin chose to stay in the marquis’ residence. What he didn’t realize was that the monster was a large but harmless slime beast that the marquis had tamed. So, that night, during the act of infidelity, the marquis had released the monster into the room, and it had swallowed the paladin and the marquis’ wife whole. The monster’s semi-transparent, viscous body was a perfect trap because it rendered the paladin immobile. The following morning, the marquis took his pet monster for a walk and a public display. And that was how the 77th Paladin had “died.”

That story, however, was usually one told at a tavern on a raucous night. (Of course, it omitted the details about the marquis’ bribery and added several sexual innuendos.) If Roel was caught, there would be no laughs or hoots. To kill a prince, a descendant of the Lord, was not just an act of treason but also of heresy. He couldn’t think of who he had offended to such an extent.

He regretted not getting closer to the princess. Prince Charles would be too young to understand how to help him, but Princess Caroline’s favor would discourage any conspirators. But he had only talked to her for one night. There was nothing more he could’ve done with such a brief encounter.

And as quickly as all those intense thoughts and emotions had arrived, they were just as quickly dulled by the one thing he had become the most familiar with. He wouldn’t call it an emotion; it was more of an opaque veil that covered his entire body.

Exhaustion.

Why did it matter if there were conspirators? The world was full of pitfalls and snare traps, and it was usually by avoiding one that you ended up in the other. The most control one was ever given was in deciding if he wanted to rush in headfirst or feetfirst.

“I understand and obey,” he repeated.

He noticed that the king’s expression faltered, but only for the briefest of moments. “Good, you will be well-rewarded upon the completion of your task.”