“I really hate this idea,” Orden said again.

He’d said it at least two dozen times since they departed in haste from Eleysia at Cyrene’s request. Ahlvie hated that they’d had to leave her behind. Even more that he had left without saying good-bye to Avoca. Without getting to tell her how he truly felt. It was a grave mistake, and walking up to the Byern castle was making it more and more apparent how idiotic it was.

“You hate all my ideas,” Ahlvie said instead.

“With good reason.”

Ahlvie shrugged and tried to put on the airs he had acquired in his time in this very city. He’d come a long way since he first came to Byern to become a High Order. At the time, it had felt like a death sentence. But he had adapted. Not that anyone in the High Order knew what he did with his time when he wasn’t required to be at court. He preferred it that way.

But, now, they were walking back into the very castle that had tried to convict him of murder. No matter that the deaths were because of a Braj that Cyrene had killed with her powers. He couldn’t exactly tell that to anyone without being considered insane.

“Cheer up, old man,” he said, trying for jovial. “I’m a High Order in this town.”

“They suspect you of kidnapping and had you on trial for murder.”

“There is that,” he agreed. “But this is just a game, and I can play games.”

“You cheat at games.”

“Exactly.”

Orden blew out a heavy breath. “You’re going to get us killed.”

Ahlvie clapped him on the back. “We need to buy Cyrene time. You and I both know that she is the key to everything.”

“And you seem to be falling right into line,” Orden said, staring directly into his eyes.

Ahlvie cut his gaze away from Orden. He didn’t like when people looked in his eyes anymore. He never knew exactly what they were going to see. Would it be me or the beast within?

“How about we focus on what’s coming next rather than a two-thousand-year-old prophecy?”

Orden shrugged, as if it didn’t matter either way. But Ahlvie knew it did. The prophecy was everything. It was the reason he even knew Orden. It was the reason they were working together and trusted Cyrene to the ends of the earth. It was the reason they were on a fool’s mission.

Luckily, he was a fool.

Ahlvie nodded his head at the gate to the Nit Decus castle. Just being in the city for the short time he had been, he could already tell things had changed since his departure with Cyrene. The weather was arid, and with summer just approaching, it was supposed to be blooming with life. There was a lot he had to learn about being back, but first, he needed to do something stupid.

“Hey, you,” he said to the first guard he saw standing at attention.

The man observed his fine clothes, which admittedly he had stolen upon arrival, and narrowed his eyes. “What is your business here?”

“I need an audience with the king.”

“You’ll be getting no audience with the king unless you were invited to court. The king has made it clear that no one shall enter or leave the court without his permission, or did you not read his decree?”

Orden frowned at him. “Good sir, we have just arrived in the capital and were unaware of the change in protocol. But, if you could let an attendant know that we have news of Affiliate Cyrene, then I am certain we will get the requested audience.”

“The king has sent a ship to collect the Affiliate. Your information is worthless,” the guard spat at them.

“I’m certain that, if you just…”

“No,” the guard said. His hand went to his sword. “Now, move along.”

“Sir,” Orden continued.

Ahlvie put his hand out and pressed Orden back. “I’ve got this.”

Ahlvie didn’t get a chance to see what Orden’s face looked like as he stepped forward. He probably would have appreciated it as he slammed his fist into the face of the guard on duty. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes, and another guard was on him nearly at once.

“Arrest this man!” someone else yelled.

But Ahlvie was now engaged with a second guard. He was dancing on the balls of his feet, dodging swings and landing easy jabs on the amateurs who considered themselves soldiers. Then, he took a swift hit to the gut, and he stumbled back against the wall surrounding the castle. Another crack across his jaw, and he hit the ground.

He’d let that one happen at least, but, Creator, did it make his head pound. He rolled and avoided the next hit. Then, he swiped the man’s legs out from under him. He landed in a heap on the ground, and Ahlvie vaulted on top of him, pummeling his face.

He was hauled off the now-unconscious soldier as three guards yanked him backward. He kicked and spit and tried to get them off of him.

Orden was standing there with his arms crossed, staring at him with an expression that was half, Are you done?, and half, This is your idea of handling it?

“You are under arrest for the assault of two Byern guardsmen. You will be moved to a jail cell at once,” a man said, coming around to look at Ahlvie’s bedraggled face. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Just one thing,” Ahlvie said, looking at him with a mischievous grin.

“Well, spit it out.”

“Your man assaulted a High Order of the realm.”

The guard bit out a laugh. “And where is your proof?”

Ahlvie spit blood out of his mouth and then nodded to Orden. “Show them.”

Orden sighed and shook his head in frustration. “Boy, you’re as bad as she is.”

He removed a pin that High Order would wear when traveling on official business. Most of their garments were embroidered with the High Order logo—the Dremylon D wrapped in flames—but Ahlvie hadn’t forgotten this little piece.

“Where did you get that?” the guard demanded.

He reached for it, but Orden pulled it out of range.

“It’s his.” Orden nodded his head at Ahlvie.

The guard turned a horrified expression on Ahlvie. He scrutinized him up and down, as if he couldn’t believe it possible that Ahlvie, of all people, would be a High Order. He was used to that treatment. Even he thought a backwoods kid from the tiny town of Fen, lost in the north Taken Mountains, wasn’t much of a High Order. Not that he respected the title or anything.

“Release him at once,” the guard demanded.

Ahlvie smirked as the guards stepped away from him, as if his skin had scalded them. He readjusted his stolen clothing and realized the sleeve was torn. Oh well, he preferred his clothing in some state of disarray. He ran a hand back through his dark hair.

“Now,” Ahlvie said, taking the pin from Orden and securing it to his chest, “I said, I’d like an audience with the king.”

The gates parted at once in front of a sea of mistrustful guardsmen. He was sure that some of them were worried about losing their jobs over this, but that wasn’t why he was here. He thought the whole thing was funny.

Orden strode beside him and shook his head. “Couldn’t we have just told them you were High Order from the beginning?”

“Sure, but then I wouldn’t have gotten to see their faces when they realized the truth.”

Orden shook his head. Ahlvie knew that he frustrated him at every turn, but what was life without a little fun?

They were walked in with an armed guard that Ahlvie was sure had more to do with the fight he had just gotten into than any ceremony. He was shocked to see how many people were in the castle. Nit Decus was an enormous castle built into the side of a mountain. It could house half the population of the entire capital city if need be. But he had never seen it even remotely close to capacity. By the look of the number of people passing through the entrance hall, it might be getting there now.

The guards at the entrance to the royal audience room saw his royal pin and opened the doors for him. Ahlvie was astounded by the sheer volume of people in the audience chamber. Typically, it was King Edric, Queen Kaliana, Consort Daufina, and perhaps Prince Kael along with some of their favorites. But the room was nearly full.

Orden gave him a grim look before gesturing for him to go first. Ahlvie strode forward, past the eyes full of curiosity and just as many with animosity. He didn’t know how this audience was going to go, but he was gambling on a good outcome. And he usually bet well.

He stopped in front of the king’s dais where he rested in a gilded throne for all to see. Ahlvie offered him a low bow of deference. “Your Majesty.”

Orden did the same. “Majesty.”

When Ahlvie straightened, it was the first time he looked into King Edric’s face since he had accused him of murdering the Affiliates and High Order of the realm. Only with Cyrene’s assistance had he been cleared of those charges, but he knew that he was not in favor at court, nor had he ever been. He had abandoned his post as High Order to leave with Cyrene. Whatever they believed had happened, that would not go unpunished.

“Arrest them at once,” King Edric said, jumping to his feet.

Guards hurried down the aisle toward them and apprehended them. Gasps and murmurs were heard all over the room as everyone tried to find out what was happening. But, even though Ahlvie was being restrained, he didn’t back down.

“How dare you show your face here! You will be tried for treason. Take them away,” King Edric cried.

“I have a message from Affiliate Cyrene,” Ahlvie said calmly and clearly, as if the guards weren’t trying to haul him down the aisle and take him to a dungeon.

“Wait,” King Edric said. He held up his hand.

He stalked across the dais and down the steps to be level with Ahlvie. His eyes never left Ahlvie’s.

“You mention her name in my presence? You and your companion,” he said, sliding his gaze to Orden and back, “who stole her from me. You, who kidnapped her and brought her across the continent for a prize. Do you think me a fool?” the king asked. His tone was low and dangerous.

“A fool believes falsehoods when facts stare him in the face,” Ahlvie retorted.

King Edric’s eyes flickered with all the rage and fury of a man facing down the very people he had wanted to arrest for too long. Now, he had a decision. Ahlvie could see it in his eyes. Hear the message or get his revenge.

After a minute, he nodded his head to his guards to follow and walked back to his study. He gestured for Consort Daufina and some man that Ahlvie had never seen before in a black guard uniform to follow them. For the first time, Ahlvie realized that the queen wasn’t even in the room. He wondered why. Kaliana would never relinquish a royal audience.

Ahlvie and Orden were escorted into a study and forced to stand before the king, who took a seat behind a large, ornate desk. Daufina stood at his side. The man in the black uniform came around to stand behind them.

“Tell me your message,” King Edric said.

“Cyrene sent me as her messenger. She begs you not to make war with Eleysia and sent you a letter,” Ahlvie informed him. Ahlvie held his hand up, so the black-suited guard could see, and then he retrieved the letter from a pouch. He passed it to the guard.

“I should test it for you, Majesty,” the man said.

“That’s enough, Merrick,” King Edric said. He greedily held his hand out for the letter.

Edric split the envelope open and removed the letter. As he did so, a clink sounded against the desk, and everyone’s eyes were drawn to the object lying there.

It was a delicate gold pin of Byern, climbing vines in a circle.

It was the symbol of the Affiliate.

Cyrene’s Affiliate pin.

That meant only one thing. Cyrene was denouncing her title as an Affiliate and forsaking all of Byern.