“Teminon was arrestingly regal at last week’s Gibbous Ball; dressed in a dapper chartreuse jacket and coordinating trousers. When he danced with the exquisite Qenera Den, the grand ballroom candelabras lit his glossy black hair, and his dusky skin became a glow with a fiery inner warmth, the kind only born from the belly of Princes.”

  A snicker interrupted Tem’s reading and he lowered the paper just enough to cock an eyebrow at Krin in the mirror. His bodyguard was sitting behind him, arms crossed over his wide chest, and feet propped on a circular table beside a small arsenal of knives. His mouth was a taut line from the tension of holding in a smirk.

  Tem cleared his throat and continued reading.

  “As he made dexterous twirls across the dance floor, his arms held in perfect parallels, a single bead of sweat seeped from his square-cut jaw and down the caramel slope of his neck. As always, our young Prince, strikingly handsome, was mesmeric in his graceful prowess on the dance floor. The undulating sway of his body, from his fox like shoulders—I don’t even know what that means.”

  Krin laughed out loud.

  “—to the tight, splendid spheres of his buttocks, was a sight to behold.”

  Krin chuckled and let his boots drop to the floor, planting his elbows on his knees. “Well, you are pretty, Tem.”

  “That’s not my fault!”

  Tem waved the pamphlet in the air, causing the maidservant currently attempting to align his collar to duck. “Oh! And they didn’t forget you. Something about smoldering hazel eyes and, what was it...” Tem had to hold the paper above his head and tilt his head back to read so as to stay out of the way of the maidservant. “Ah yes, ‘the steel-spring muscles of Teminon’s stern and seductive Shadow.’”

  The maid servant made a barely audible sigh as she tried to fasten a broach on the front of Tem’s jacket, in order to hold in place an exuberant, gold silk scarf. Tem let his arms drop to his sides. As she fiddled with the pin, he stared back at his own reflection in the mirror. He saw his father’s eyes and his mother’s cheekbones. He hadn’t seen either of his parents in months. They sometimes came to the palace, but more to socialize with the other Den than to have anything to do with him. Tem didn’t blame them. They’d given him up when he was still just a boy, proud their son had been chosen as Heir Apparent even if it meant they wouldn’t raise him.

  The maid servant moved on to fastening the elaborate row of buttons that ran up the forearm of his jacket.

  “The handsomest man between the Falls,” Tem said as he held the pamphlet up again and read the headline. There was an illustration at the bottom of a woman swooning. He shook his head, then balled up the pamphlet. He scowled at it, wishing he could stop himself from reading the stupid things.

  “Eff-ee,” Tem whispered, using one of the old words for fire. Flames curled up from around his fingers and turned the pamphlet to ash in his hand. The maid tsked and Tem gave her an apologetic look while he shook off the ash.

  “They never mention my studies, my hawking, my boxing, or my writing,” Tem said. He moved to wipe the ashes on his jacket but the maid servant intercepted with a handkerchief. “They included a single line from one of my poems a few months ago and below was a parody poem all about how firm my buttocks is.” The maid servant blushed and bit her lip to stop from displaying some emotion she deemed inappropriate in front of a prince.

  “It was one of my favorites,” Krin said. He nodded to the girl. “One of hers too by the looks of it.”

  Her blush deepened and Tem feared she’d bite through her lip. He sighed. “Thank you, Netty, my idiot brother can help with the rest.”

  She curtsied, all but fleeing the room, and closed the door softly behind her.

  Krin stood and Tem held out his arm to him, allowing him to finish doing up the buttons.

  He looked at Krin’s garb. More decorated than usual, but still simple. Only one button on each sleeve. Freedom. Tem longed for the sort of freedom Krin had. He’d used to pity him, trapped, doomed to follow wherever Tem led, but recently he’d come to understand the freedom and anonymity the shadows afforded.

  Krin wasn’t exactly anonymous himself. He was on occasion overlooked by new servants or people passing too quickly while he wasn’t wearing any finery, but he was well known in Stellagrad. His features, though maybe not what one would call ‘arrestingly regal’ or ‘strikingly handsome’ were distinguished and strong. He looked just like the knights from the wall hangings that lined the ballroom. Tem knew the seriousness in his eyes was the glint of an unwavering loyalty and an ardent discipline that made him Tem’s most trusted friend.

  Finished with the buttons, Krin retrieved his own belt from the bed and brought it around his waist. Even in his most elaborate garb he never needed assistance dressing. He went back to the table and began putting the knives in the various loops and sheaths on his belt.

  Tem shook his head. Sometimes he wondered if Krin took his role as protector a little too seriously. But, that was Krin; if something was going to get done then it would get done right.

  While Krin dressed more for war than for a banquet, Tem stood beside him and flipped through one of the books he’d brought back from the library. It had marginalia in it, in a crisp hand, and a small yet detailed sketch of a Sunspot Stallion at the bottom. It was fresh, the ink slightly smeared at the bottom like the book had been closed quickly. Marginalia wasn’t legal though it was part of what Tem loved about books. He grinned, imagining the culprit slamming the book closed as old Quenreyell rounded the corner.

  Krin peeked over Tem’s shoulder as he slipped the last blade into his belt. He made a little hmmp noise which was his reaction to just about anything. If he found something sad, annoying, interesting, he always gave a little hmmp. And usually nothing more, unless Tem pried it from him. So Tem was surprised when he elaborated on the multi interpretable sound without prompting.

  “The Knight can draw,” Krin said.

  Tem looked at him. “What knight?”

  “The knight who took out all these books before you.”

  “A knight took out all these books? Here? Recently?” Tem raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

  Krin shrugged. “Quenreyell told me.”

  “Hmmm…” Tem looked down at the stack, running a hand over their spines. He spent many nights raving about books and to anyone other than Krin he probably seemed mad. Krin listened, asked questions, and retained almost everything Tem told him. But he didn’t have the zeal Tem did—that passionate, incurable thirst for knowledge—so their conversations turned more into lectures. Tem the ardent professor and Krin the passively attentive student. He’d love someone to talk to, someone who had read the same words he’d read, lived the same adventures, studied the same histories, wept over the same poems. He needed to find this man, smoke a cigar with this man, and talk of philosophy and of the romance of the past long into the night.

  Krin was watching him out of the corner of his eye as he adjusted the angle of one of the hilts of his blades. He wore a slight grin. He knew what Tem was thinking. Sometimes Tem swore he could read his mind. Mind reading wasn’t all that remarkable in the Stellagrad. But no, Krin could read his heart as if he wore it on his breast alongside the other sparkling pins and gold clasps.

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  “Her name is Emysen,” Krin said.

  Tem’s eyes widened in surprise, then he opened his mouth, and immediately closed it—a remarkably unbecoming gesture for a prince and one he’d had trained out of him as a child. One does not open his mouth if one does not mean to speak. Or, as his less than mannerly father used to say, ‘if a woman ought to keep her legs shut so too should a man keep his lips, as both acts make bastards.’

  Spoken from the King of bastardry himself.

  Tem followed up with an equally unbecoming monosyllabic sentence: “Her?”

  “A girl, yes.” Krin was giving him a knowing smile. “And a knight, and a pretty decent swordsman, I hear.”

  Of course Krin would stick on that. “You hear? So you’ve been asking about her?”

  Krin shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Why?” Tem asked, but his heart belly flopped like a foolish little boy. He already knew why and he hated that Krin was grinning ear to ear already.

  “Because I knew you’d be interested.”

  Tem smacked him on the shoulder. “Dirty little match maker.”

  “If you ask me Quenreyell was the one playing matchmaker.”

  “What’s she look like?” Tem asked, hating the elevated pitch he heard in his own voice.

  Krin held up a finger and waggeled it at him. “Careful brother, it’s too easy to fall victim to fancy over things unseen.”

  Tem grabbed Krin by the shirt with both hands. “Then let’s see her.”

  He tugged Krin to the door and pushed him out into the hall.

  “Now?” Krin asked, laughing. “We’re going to be late. The King will—”

  “The King can wait. Come on.”

  Tem started off down the hall, forcing Krin to follow. They hurried down a string of hallways, the ivory walls bathed in waning sunlight from the arched windows. They passed a servant in the hall, a young man dressed in a yellow robe. A Starburner. He bowed to Tem as he passed, then continued his duty of lighting the glass encased candles in the hall. Without lifting a finger, the wicks lit to life as the servant passed.

  Krin’s hand on Tem’s shoulder brought him to a stop just before a large foyer with four doors. The bare floor tiles ended and an elaborate mosaic began.

  Above each door, carved into the stone, was an image indicating the purpose of each wing: two people dancing for the grand ballroom, a throne for the throne room and hall, a crown above were Tem and Krin stood for the King and Prince’s chambers, and directly across was a star for the Timekeepers and the other religious—including Knights.

  “Tem…” Krin’s said, his voice a warning.

  The corridors of the Timekeepers were off limits to all but the religious unless escorted. And if anyone thought an exception would be made for royalty they were wrong.

  This wasn’t the first time Tem had snuck down the priestly halls of the palace with Krin at his heels—and they'd been kicked out more than once—but they’d been boys then, always making trouble. Twenty-two was far older than seven, and Krin was twenty-four now. Far beyond boyish trouble making—and the light punishments that went along with it.

  Tem smiled and marched across the mosaic floor.

  “Tem,” Krin said again, not a warning but a hiss this time, followed by a sigh.

  A thrill of excitement shot through Tem as he pushed open the doors. Although the outside of the palace looked like a beautiful, ornate, unified structure, the interior wings were each unique, as if different architects from different times and schools had constructed each. The Religious wing was circular. Full of celestial and planetary imagery. Black wall tiles made for a midnight sky and smaller tiles covered in gold leaf created the constellations. It was black and bright all at once—and easy to lose your bearings.

  Tem knew the way to the Knight’s hall well enough, and if he hadn’t he could have followed the golden helmed goddess, Ikotmai, stenciled onto the walls among the stars. Sometimes her constellation was depicted; a cluster of eight bud stars and one goliath. Other times she was nude except for a loin cloth and her helm, sword in hand. The image wasn’t graphic, more silhouette than anything. These were the halls of the chaste afterall—at least, the Timekeepers were supposed to be chaste, for the other Religious it was optional.

  Tem had a skip to his step as he made his way through the curving halls, Krin following silently behind him. He was unashamed of tracking down a woman he’d never met. He already knew he loved her mind. What else mattered? What better reason to be spontaneous and forward?

  His cheer slipped as he turned a corner and nearly ran into a man going the opposite direction. Tem was about to say a hastily ‘excuse me’ and be on his way when he locked eyes with the man, realizing who he was.

  Wallard Den. Deep brown eyes stared back at Tem. A dark beard framed a chiseled jaw and long dark brown hair was pulled into a bun at the back of his head. He was older than Tem by about a decade, but he was still handsome and moved with a soldier’s grace—he’d been a soldier for a long time and still led men into battle. He was incharge of most of the border disputes, him and his band of mercenaries. And Tem hated him.

  Wallard Den had a strange way of running into Tem and Krin when they were getting into trouble. Too often he’d caught them at something, too often for someone who didn’t live in the palace. Though it was common knowledge Wallard kept a lover in the palace. A doctor, and younger man—no one spoke of it in polite society, but it was frequently discussed everywhere else.

  “Prince Teminon,” Wallard said, performing a cut bow. “Where are you headed?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Tem said. Wallard Den was no more a Religious than Tem.

  Before Wallard could respond an old man in the long black and gold robes of a Timekeeper hobbled around the corner. Jorem, Grand Master of the Observatory.

  “I nearly lost you, Wallard,” Jorem said, shuffling up beside him. “You forgot your purse.”

  The old man held out a small leather coin purse.

  “Thank you.” Wallard repeated his bow for the Timkeeper and accepted the purse before answering Tem. “I was just making my customary yearly donation to the Order.”

  “What are you doing here, my Prince?” Jorem asked, turning his white, watery eyes on Tem.

  Wallard spoke before Tem could. “The prince is being kind enough to allow me to escort him to the banquet this evening.”

  Tem smiled. Because what else could he do?

  Krin, as usual, was ignored by both Wallard Den and Jorem. It was customary to pretend the King’s Blade didn’t exist. It was considered polite not to address him when possible, but Tem had always thought it quite the opposite.

  Jorem smiled and nodded and took what felt like an eternity to turn around, hobbled as he was by his age and excessive layers of clothing, robes upon robes. The Timekeepers had no conflict with ostentatiousness.

  When Jorem had disappeared back down the corridor, Wallard Den took up beside Tem, linking his arm in his. Tem grudgingly accepted, allowing himself to be pulled along beside the larger man, Krin falling in behind them.

  Thankfully Wallard decided to let the matter of Tem being somewhere he shouldn't, yet again, drop, talking instead of politics. Tem responded with all the big words and vague answers he usually gave to Den he was forced into small talk with, but he paid little actual attention to the conversation and Wallard seemed not to mind.

  Tem liked talking about ancient politics more than the modern day ones that seemed so drab, so unimportant. Where were the epic battles, the intrigue, the passion? Already he was being pressured to consider a Queen, before he’d even taken his place as King. A fact almost every Den he’d be caught alone with in the past three months had bothered him about. They talked up their nieces with drunken zeel or snuck him sketches of their pretty daughters. The position of King was by vote, not heredity, but marrying a King was still just as coveted a position.

  But Wallard Den made no mention of Tem’s lack of suitable companionship.

  The man has an agenda, Tem thought. He must.

  “I’ll leave you here,” Wallard said when they reached the foyer. “If we go in together there may be talk of conspiracy, or other things.”

  He hid a smirk with a deep bow. As he did, Tem eyed the pin on his cravat. NN. No one knew exactly what it stood for but it was a cult of sorts, perhaps a kind of religion though they pushed no ideology, claimed no creed, and named no gods. They didn’t talk about it to the uninitiated. They seemed to have no problem following the customs or practices of other faiths, such as donating large sums of money to the Order, though many tended to adopt foreign paganisms.

  Without another word, Wallard cut across the floor to the throne room, pushing open the doors and letting them fall silently shut behind him.

  He exchanged a look with Krin.

  “That was close,” Krin said.

  “That man is always close. I don’t like it.”

  All the Den wanted him to start acting like a King, but that wasn’t limited to finding a suitable Queen. If he was going to be King he would need to start paying a good deal better attention to his subjects, Wallard included.