"The food will last us for a month, no more," Ser Arys muttered, his gaze fixed on the floor rather than the Prince he was sworn to protect.
Arys was a capable man, loyal, steady with a blade, and possessing enough of a head for command to keep the peace. Yet, in the silent spaces of the Prince's mind, the knight was a pale shadow of the man who had come before him.
He found himself aching for his old master-at-arms more than he had ever mourned his own father. Ser Eldmur would have found a way out of this labyrinth. The old knight hadn't just been a shield; he had been the ear the Prince's father leaned into when the world grew loud.
