While many parts of it are infested with criminals, degenerates and other such detestable groups much of my kingdom is similar to most others. Distant factories belch smoke into the sky, traveling merchants yell about the quality of their goods in the streets, preachers yell about sin and repentance while beggars fight for coins. Even in the more gentrified areas near Castle Black hundreds of people walk through the streets going from one point in their life to the next, they travel around me and in turn Yen -whose arm is yet again entwined with mine- like we're rocks in a river, it's rather entertaining to watch one person who shoved their way ahead see me and scurry out of the way.

"Is it always like this for you?" Yen inquires.

"Unless I want it to be different," I say absentmindedly flipping a copper coin at a street performer who catches it with impressive dexterity. "Makes me wonder how it goes when the crown lies atop my head."

"Maybe it's you they respect and not the crown," Yen claims.

"They fear the crown and I couldn't even begin to guess what they think of me."

"What makes you think that?"

"A king could order anyone in this kingdom dead because he doesn't like the way they laugh, now while he may not be king for long if he does do such things frequently the people will still fear his ability to do so and will always fear someone with such power."

"What about you though? They may fear your power but they could love you."

"I was never much good at inspiring love," I sigh. "Disappointment I can do, shocking is practically a hobby and angering is more fun than eating and I like to think I'm decent with dispersing fear but I wasn't born with a natural gift with love nor did anyone see fit to help me develop any skill at creating it."

"You doubt yourself far too much," Yen states.

"Only in very, very few areas, in all the others one may find me guilty of quite the opposite."

I turn and head into a nearby winehouse, while I'm but particularly fond of the drink it'll be nicer to sit somewhere where the conversation won't have to be yelled to be heard or held in a room next to a whore attempting to please far too hard.

Twelve tables intended to hold four reside within the small venue, seven of which are occupied by small groups of two or three men and women none of whom look particularly happy and who can blame them? Trapped here in the safety of this kingdom fearing what its less friendly denizens will do to them should they try to traverse through the southern forests. While a hundred good men on good warhorses could easily crush a thousand savages very few can afford such a luxury and are trapped here forced to spend their accumulated wealth on shit wine here, shit fish east and a dangerous amount of flagellation west. A bored man sitting behind a counter looks up and his eyes go wide. I assume him to be the owner as he's the only person here not drinking.. He awkwardly stumbles out from his station, clumsily chambers over to us and kneels before me pathetically.

"How can I serve you, my prince?" He asks pleadingly.

"By supplying us with a table," I begin. "Then a bottle, we'll tell you if anything further is required."

A man sitting alone to my left stands up suddenly and offers his table to us.

"Thank you," I say politely, smiling thinly as I take his seat while the man whom I presume to be a owner slowly rises to his feet. Yen sits opposite me, she almost looks like she belongs in a setting such as this.

"Do you have any preferences, my prince?" The owner inquiries.

"I have many," I say, "but I'll trust you to choose whatever you deem to be the most suited for me."

"And for you?" He asks Yen.

"The same as him," she answers after little consideration. The owner bows curtly, turns around and calmly walks off, forgetting to take the previous man's half empty bottle with him. I pick it up and hand it to the generous man who's still standing.

"Yours, I believe," I say as he takes it.

"Thank you my prince, this is most generous of you," he says pathetically as if I've handed him a gift.

"How?" I query, genuinely confused as to the logic he used to come to that conclusion. "I gave you something that was yours, that's not generosity, that's common decency! Eventually I will give you something that's mine to which you'll respond ‘thank you my king for this stretch of land or these minimalistic taxes or fair laws’ and that will be generosity! And it will also be soon."

"Thank you nonetheless my prince," the man says, clearly unsure of how to respond.

"You're welcome," I sigh, waving him away.

"They respect you," Yen says plainly once the man sits down at a different table with his drink.

"No they just know grandfather did rather unpleasant things to the people whom he deemed guilty of not respecting him," I respond, tapping my fingers against the table, "and fear that I am similar to him."

"Had it been fear the first man would have prostrated himself and offered his most expensive barrel to you," Yen claims. "He would have shook when you gave him the responsibility of choosing a drink for you. Yet he instead dropped to a knee, asked how he could serve you and left nearly sweating pride. That man would have begged for your forgiveness after that short speech, instead he thanked you for the wine and left. On top of that the whole room would have gotten up, bowed and then immediately evacuated if they feared the presence of the lower classes offending you, they respect you enough to know better."

"Half of the people here can profit or lose from my rule," I reason, "it makes sense for them to know-"

"Do your people fear you or seek to leech off of you?" Yen questions grinning, that little glimpse of white teeth beginning to frustrate me. "Or do they hate you? Mock you? Pity you? Wish to dethrone you? Execute you? Humiliate you? From what I've heard they don't seem to feel or fantasize about such things. Some are a bit unsure of you, your less princely activities worry them but very few question your ability to rule and those that do fail to mention relevant reasons."

I open my mouth to speak but for once find myself at a loss for words.

"Answer this," Yen begins. "Have you ever harmed anyone who's wronged you in no way?"

"Can you find a man who will answer that with a yes?"

"I trust you to be truthful."

"No," I sigh. "No I have not."

"Have you taken more than you should?"

"No."

"Have you used your title to hide from consequences?"

"No."

"Are you a fool?"

"Is a fool intelligent enough to answer that with a yes?"

"Can you think of any reason why the people might think less of you? Any reason at all?"

"Not the people," I say slowly searching my brain for anything that disproves that statement. I find nobles I've mocked, widows I've made, lordlings I've mutilated and criminals I've only recently brutalized but no working men, no maidens, poor housewives or merchants.

"Then why are you convinced they do?"

"It's always safe to assume the worst," I say leaning back into my chair. It's not wrong, it's also much easier to find rattling about in my head than the actual reason,

The owner returns with a pottery jug and two cups covered in silver foil to make them look more fit for the upper classes. I pull a silver coin out of my pocket and press it into his hand after he sets down our wine.

"Thank you," I say politely as I fill the cups myself.

"It's an honour my prince," the owner says, bowing before turning around and walking away.

"Tell me-"

"No," Yen cuts across me before I can even finish the question.

"As much as I appreciate your attempted foresight it wasn't going to be a yes or no question that-"

"We've talked about me, you've learnt where I was born and some of what I've done along with the fun tricks I can do, I wish to talk about you."

"You're making demands to a man who is paying you, above your status and soon will be above the status of every man in this kingdom," I point out.

"You've brought a whore to a winehouse," Yen counters. "It doesn't seem as if you care much for the way things usually work."

"I don't when they don't benefit me," I agree. "You may ask any question you please but try to avoid boring me."

"You concluded I'd only been working at the Fallen Angel for less than a month based on the fact that you hadn't seen me, do you visit monthly?"

"Used to be weekly," I say passing a cup to Yen, "but grandfather started to die at an impressive rate and I just couldn't bear to let him leave this realm without an audience."

"And you've been going there since you were fourteen?"

"It was at that age that my dear cousin decided to educate me on the uses of a prick and all the wondrous things that can be achieved with one."

"And your grandfather-"

"Oh he fucking despised it," I state. "Sinful boy! You'll never be a king if half your citizens are your own bastards! If you won't be educated by words I'll teach you using the belt damn you!" I take a sip of my wine, it doesn't taste much better than vinegar and I suspect that the cups weren't cleaned very well. "Fortunately he couldn't do a thing about it."

"How come?" Yen inquires. "Surely the king is all powerful-"

"His options were imprisoning me, beating to the point where I would be convinced not to disobey him again or ordering all the brothels in Lutom not to serve me. Now not only am I hard to imprison in doing so, grandfather would have made himself look like a tyrant and a prick. The second option would have been more doable but as his previous efforts proved he could crack ribs with a poker and it still wouldn't dissuade me from seeking pleasure in flesh and if he went much further than that questions would be asked which would lead to distasteful answers or hard to believe lies. Third option is just impossible. The worst a brothel would do is find a way to sneak me in, no one's brave enough to deny a future king entry even if it means disobeying the current one."

"He cracked your ribs with a poker?"

"Among other things yes."

"Is that how your chest was marked?" Yen's tone seems more curious than pitiful, which is a refreshing change for once.

"It was how one of the marks was made," I answer.

"Tell me about the others."

"Not much to tell," I shrug. "Got the first when I was six from a bottle thrown at me because I was caught conversing with those in the black dungeon. Some are from belts, flails, fists and clubs while others are from knives, daggers, forks and bits of glass, one or two are from boiling water and hot metal. Whoring prompted the use of one implement, disrespect brought another. Sometimes he did it for a reason, sometimes he lured me into giving him a reason to do it and sometimes when someone really chewed on his nerves he just invented one so he could take his frustrations out on my flesh. Never marked my face though, knew that noticeable wounds lead to usually correct conclusions, he could be a smart bastard when he wanted to be."

"Do you hate him?"

"He's dead, no point in wasting feelings like hate on decaying meat."

"Did you hate him?"

"When I was young I despised him, spent most of my free time imagining strapping him to a cross and turning all his sharp knives against him. Took five years of his hatred after the first incident to finally begin to learn from it, learned what his goals were, how he tried to reach them, how he did it, what he did wrong, how to do it right, took five years to appreciate his teachings, took five years to be able to look at the man and smile. Took seven to learn all I could, took eight to begin to pity him, took nine before he became too ill to strike me or give the order for someone else to."

"How did his death make you feel?"

"How does crushing an insect who annoys you with incessant buzzing make you feel?"

"Not much."

"Then you know how I felt to have the nuisance removed."

"What about your father?"

I pause for a moment. My good mood withers and dies as soon as she mentions him. I briefly remember the pathetic tears he cried, his bed caked with all manner of filth, the twisted mess of his torso, the wounds he inflicted upon himself in delirium, the things the doctors did to subdue him and what he was afterwards. Those procedures were carried out using tools that would not look out of place within a carpenter's workshop and could not honestly be referred to as medicine. Their outcome could not be considered preferable to insanity.

"What about him?" I reply calmly trying to keep the memories buried deep within me. "Didn't live long enough to get the opportunity to beat me and even if he did he'd be too busy fighting in some petty squabble with our neighbors or the black hallows to be bothered with hitting me."

"What killed him?"

"An arrow to the belly made the wound," I answer truthfully, "crawling through a field of dead men probably tainted it and a few weeks of fever ended him."

"There's rumours that he-"

"There's rumours that we're winning in the black hallows!" I snap suddenly, anger slipping into my voice. "Rumours that the cruel one has died and his knights are scattered! Rumours that pine needles help with pox sores and rumours that little black pills manufactured in Mentus can make you a god! Rumours start as lies and evolve into stories that even children find hard to believe!"

Yen stares blankly at me for a moment.

"I'm sorry my prince," she says meekly. "I did not intend to upset you."

I look at her and for a brief second I see the face of the last man who brought the rumours surrounding father's death to my attention. I don't like what happened to that man, it was like I didn't do it, like I was just watching as someone else committed the savagery, like I was just spectating my rage, silently observing as it obliterated him. That man however was a grizzled, scummy, drunken stranger, not a pleasant woman who I was growing fond of.

"You've caused no upset," I sigh, fishing three copper rings and a silver finger out of my pocket. I place the coppers on the table and slide the finger to Yen. "I believe I should return to Castle Black."

"Are you sure my prince?" Yen asks pleadingly as I rise. "You paid for the whole day and I'd hate-"

"That merely means that the day is yours!" I say forcing a cheery tone into my voice. "Do whatever you wish with it!"

I turn and quickly leave the establishment, hoping that my bitterness will remain there for a few hours while I deal with things.