Where is it? Draka shoved his hand deep into his pack. The signet ring is small, so it was likely at the bottom somewhere. He felt around with his fingers. He jerked the pack with his other hand, bounced it on the floor, nearly throwing himself off balance from where he sat on the edge of the bed. Nothing. Draka huffed. Sweat was already making his hair stick to his head. He slammed the pack harder. Nothing, not even a jingle.

  First, he pulled the clothes and socks out and set them neatly beside the pack, even refolding the trousers the way Maud liked after searching the pockets. Nothing. Another pair of trousers, another set of empty pockets. He began throwing what we pulled out to the side. He had brought it with him. He knew he had. There was no possible way that he had forgotten it. He knew when he came here that he would need the stupid thing. He tossed a shirt.

  Gonna have to refold that. Draka harumphed with a rolling-eyed shake of his head to dig further, Maud will have my hide if she sees I crumpled it. He had to stop and smell the wrapped bread she had baked for him. His stomach growled for a taste. No, he said to himself, this is more important. Cured venison? His mouth watered. Again, he set it to the side.

  Why in the rivers did I bring these? Then, as an afterthought that made him chuckle, I just used the rivers as a curse. Talkro is getting to me. He tossed the wrap of tweezers and small scissors. Corked bottle of perfumy oil, yet another pair of socks—what is that, nine now?—a scarf. Soft trousers with the legs cut off…Draka pursed his brow at those. The slit in the front would…cause problems. Definitely never wearing those.

  Confound it! Where is it? Draka had slid onto the floor at some point and now leaned back on his haunches. He turned the bag upside down so little bits of dirt and crumbs fell onto the floor. He checked the pouches on the outside again. Nothing. He ran his hands along the bottom of the pack again, maybe it wasn’t broken loose or something. Huh, that…smells horrible. Not putting that back in the pack.

  He went to the trousers he had worn up until that morning. The pockets were also empty. Draka bit his lower lip as he tossed it.

  He put his hands on hips and looked about the room. His eyes went to the pile of folded or refolded shirts and trousers, the socks set neatly beside it, and beamed. Maud won’t be angry about those. Now, the rest that was scattered across the floor as if he had been in a raging windstorm was another story. If she were here, she would be punishing him. He didn’t want to imagine. But until he found the ring, he had to resist any other distractions.

  Did he leave it in the stables? Vigora eat it? Draka gulped dryly at what that would entail. She’d pass it just fine, it was just…once it passed. Chills shook him. He looked about the room. Only used the desk today, so not there. The saddle bags? Maybe. Maud packed those with foodstuffs, so probably not. But if he can’t find it here, he had to check. Of all the things! Fine Prince you’ll make, Draka thought glumly.

  It was when he rubbed his fingers to his thumbs that his eyes burst wide and he shook his head with a huff.

  He was wearing it.

  Draka went to the desk. Three letters, two with his signet, had to be written. First, to Pierre to have every boatload of fish brought by canal to Berone, weighed as much as it could take. Fishermen are to be compensated with something…they already don’t pay rent for their homes, since the storm destroyed their old ones. Maybe a promise of ten gold per unmarried daughter will do. That’ll be…a lot. Talkro and everyone else in this place had a surplus of daughters. Not enough men. He let out a long breath. Best he could do, regardless. He finished that one, signed it and set it to the side to be dripped with wax when he was ready.

  The second, to Gerard. Since Karl will be the one to deliver these, he wanted Karl to be placed as Maud and Aurie’s guard until his return. Also, he wanted Gerard to send word to Alcer on his behalf for them to acquire as much from their grain stores and any other food to be brought here. As much as they can gather. If they complain, he can calculate what it will cost and give the numbers to Pierre for compensation. If he does it by canal, it shouldn’t take too long to get here. Maybe a week or two from Alcer, half that for the fish from Talkro. Oh, Draka remembered when he was about ready to sign it off, assign men-at-arms to protect it and ensure it all arrives.

  Finally, to Maud. This one, he hoped to have a return from. He had so many questions. How was she? How was Aurie? Has she started coming out yet? How are her lessons going? Will she be fully converting? Baptism? From a friar, hopefully, but Pierre is in charge of that, so probably Father Hagen or one of his priory monks. And the food…yes, the food can’t be forgotten. He wrote how things were for himself, all the frustrations and the want to return to his simple home, to the simple family he felt he had—no, not going to say that—the friendship he had found in her and her mother, the hope for the war to be prevented once he met with Lord Mueller. He missed her. He missed her sass, her cooking, her curses at his messes, her smiles and laughter, the way she took care of Vigora, the way she made him feel like a fa—no—he was important to her mother and her. There, he sat back in his chair, grinning.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The grin faded as he stared at how to finish it. ‘With the finest regards,’ or ‘Thank you,’ or the like, all felt too official. ‘With love,’ felt similarly too much, would give her the wrong ideas, or encourage her mother to push her on him again. No, he needed to think of what would be best to end it with. The idea sparked and he dipped his pen to write it out.

  Karl came in right as he finished dripping wax on the first two letters beside his signature. He pressed his signet into them while waving him in. One of them was upside down, Draka cursed himself.

  “My Prince,” Karl bowed. Draka folded the letters, wrote who they were to on them and handed them to Karl. “Shall I dispatch a rider?”

  Draka shook his head and softly pressed a finger into Karl’s chest. Karl nodded as he tucked them into his cuirass.

  “Need my help with anything, my Prince?” Karl raised a brow at him.

  Draka shook his head. Couldn’t think of anything, just wanted him to go and get these delivered. He pressed Karl for the door to show him the urgency he needed the man to understand.

  Karl nodded as if he understood. Draka hoped so. He couldn’t remember if the man could read or not, so he pointed at where he had tucked the letters and motioned for him to hurry.

  “I’ll leave before the end of the hour, my Prince,” Karl said, “And I’ll take three post horses so I don’t have to stop.”

  Draka smiled. He knew he had chosen the man right. He sent Karl on his way, frowned at the Baron’s man who stood at his door like an armored statue that clicked heels at his passing, then shut the door to look at his room. He scoffed at himself. That was what Karl meant about if he needed help.

  Nina was in the stables when Draka got there. She was sitting beside Vigora’s, picking pedals from a flower. She wasn’t wearing a coif or even a head wrap. Her red hair was all curly locks and frizz. She looked up to him and grinned. She leapt to her feet and bowed, almost perfectly timed for Draka’s arrival.

  “I can read lips, too, if that helps,” Nina tipped her head at him with a grin that might look seductive to others but looked dangerous to Draka.

  No, Draka shook his head at the suggestion. That might be pressing the vow’s limits too far. He had brought parchment and a welled pen for this very reason. He looked over his shoulder. Nina tapped his attention back.

  “This is a terrible place to meet, you know. We should go somewhere else. Of course, with you being…” She looked him over, her expression both pleased and concerned, “You, everyone will notice. Especially if I’m with you. The dungeons, have you been there?”

  Draka shook his head. He didn’t even know where they were.

  Nina heaved a long sigh between short chuckles. Her eyes glanced both ends of the stables. She reached into his pocket. Draka’s back shot straight and stiff. He barely missed swatting her away when she pulled the pen from his pocket. How did she know it was there? He hadn’t taken it out since he was in his room!

  “Give me your hand,” he held it out for her. She turned it over and began drawing on his palm, “You are completely under water here, it would almost be adorable if it wasn’t so sad. Hold it straight!” She jerked. As she continued drawing lines and arrows, “There’s a sconce on the wall just over your boudoir, left side from door. Pull it with a slight right twist and that will open the wall into the servant passages. Remember, right, right, left, right, center left, then down. If you come to three doors, you missed the third turn. The kitchens, you went left too many times. Follow this, it will bring you to the stairs into the dungeons. Six doors, count both sides—three left, three right—then you’ll see a bunch of roots on the wall. Go through them and you’ll find the crypt. I’ll meet you there.”

  Draka narrowed his eyes at her. Not quite what he expected and that was a lot of directions. He looked at his palm. She had drawn him a map, complete with arrows and numbers. His eyes widened, she’s a spy!

  She handed him back the pen. “Do you understand? Should take you less than an hour. I’ll meet you there after supper. We can speak then.”

  Draka wanted to laugh. No, no, that wasn’t quite what he wanted to do. He just wanted to ask a few questions so he knew what to expect going forward. Whatever she wanted or expected from this was definitely not the same. Though, now he wanted to know who sent her and why she was among the staff. Who was her master?

  “Don’t. When we meet, I’ll explain. Now, I’ll meet you there one hour after supper. That’s two hours after sundown. Not a minute later.”

  Draka held his quizzical look.

  “I’ll be alone,” Nina rolled her eyes. With a laugh, “Like a baby stumbling into a wolf den.” And she walked past him and disappeared ducking through one of the stalls before the front door.

  When he opened the gate to see where she went, all he found was what to expect in any horse stable: hay. No doorway, no handles, not even a crease in the wood that would indicate an opening. He checked the floor with a swipe at the hay with his foot. Again, nothing.

  Draka let out a long sigh. This wasn’t how he had expected this to go. Lord, help me, he prayed as he left, shaking his head at himself. What am I getting myself into?