"Even kings cannot hide the scent of a bond. The heart leaves its mark where pride cannot."
The hot water from the shower had done its duty. My skull was no longer splitting apart like an axe-worn log, but the faint throbbing lingered behind my temples like a stubborn soldier who refused to leave the battlefield. I pulled on fresh clothes, dark and simple. If I wore my crown now, it would only make me look like a drunkard trying too hard to pretend he was not one.
By the time I stepped back into my chambers, the table was already laid for breakfast. Someone, Marcus, had ordered half the kitchen to parade platters across the table: breads, roasted meats, fruits glistening with dew, enough coffee to drown a lesser man. I muttered a silent thanks to whoever had made sure coffee was included. I sank into my chair with a sigh that sounded far too content for a king meant to be haunted. That was when the door opened, and trouble walked in, not in one form, but six.
