The knight squeezed Claire's hand. "She'll wake once the sedative wears off." He deliberately omitted the crucial premise that this was contingent upon the dosage not being excessive. "We also discovered a vial of similar sedatives in Beth Keton's chest."

  "Bitch!" the Queen spat.

  "Can you trust her? I mean Leiana—or would it be wiser to have Blancheless attend to the princess?"

  (She's served me faithfully for years; surely there's no cause for concern...) The queen's internal response lacked conviction. "You're right, Rhones. Upon our return, I'll have Rebecca moved to my chambers under Blancheless's care. But now we must determine whether other foreign spies lurk within these damned palace walls. Blancheless," she summoned her personal attendant, "did you discover anything at the scene beyond that letter and this vial?"

  "Nothing else, Your Majesty," the handmaiden replied. "The letter was the sole item of significance in Beth Keton's chest."

  "What of the others' belongings? Mistress Hubbard's? Kristina Petrova's?"

  "Nothing whatsoever, Your Majesty," Rhones Lord answered. "I conducted the search of the other two women's possessions personally. They yielded nothing suspicious."

  "So, Beth Keton was the only spy." Claire's violet eyes trembled as she examined the Godman letter. "Why in seven hells would we let someone from Godma near my daughter?!" she demanded furiously. "Who authorized this appointment?!"

  "Beth Keton wasn't Southern by origin," Rhones Lord clarified. "She was from Brigar. Though if Godma were determined to place an agent, falsifying nationality would present minimal difficulty."

  "Those contemptible Southerners dared attempt to snatch Rebecca from beneath my very nose!" Claire Grace hurled the letter aside in disgust. "I want every person involved in recruiting the princess's handmaidens identified and interrogated thoroughly. Should anyone's testimony prove false, reserve them a place on the gallows." Her teeth clenched audibly. "Every individual bearing responsibility shall be executed without delay. I want every Southern conspirator in my kingdom discovered and eliminated!"

  "As you command, Your Majesty. It shall be done... However," the knight hesitated momentarily, "shouldn't these suspects be afforded proper trial?"

  "Execute them directly."

  "That appears somewhat contrary to established legal procedure..."

  "I am the law!" Claire Grace's proclamation seemed deliberately calculated to demonstrate her absolute authority to all present. Rhones Lord considered this display imprudent.

  "I must return to Rebecca." Claire leaned toward Rhones Lord's ear, her voice softening. "The remainder I entrust to you, Rhones. Promise me you won't disappoint."

  The queen departed, followed gradually by the guards tasked with managing the aftermath. Rhones Lord sat contemplatively on the bed's edge, utterly indifferent to its recent occupation by a corpse. (All incriminating evidence methodically destroyed, yet a Godman letter conveniently remains?) He couldn't help but wonder.

  He yawned several times before rising to depart. Only then did the gradually lightening sky beyond the window capture his attention.

  Dawn was coming.

  Walin Barklo Vaslov winced at the sharp pain in his posterior. Rolling over, he found his beard entangled with grass stems. "Rise and shine, Lord Walin." Fendi Firshield delivered another kick to his backside. "Time to commence preparations."

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The night sky had begun acquiring a faint luminescence, though true dawn remained distant. "Careful not to awaken the legendary 'Wrath of Walin,'" Jim Harad quipped. Walin struggled to a sitting position, eyes still heavy with sleep. "You're the last one vertical."

  The trebuchets were already under construction. Blue Rascal and Green Varmint worked industriously on the foundation. Nothing in their carefree demeanor or habitual horseplay would suggest their remarkable expertise with siege engines. They hoisted seemingly ponderous timbers onto their shoulders with astonishing ease. "Perhaps we should offer assistance," Fendi suggested. "They appear rather burdened."

  "Morning greetings, Lord Walin." Toyef Bilinski unceremoniously hauled Walin Barklo Vaslov upright, disregarding his persistent yawning. "We've already started." He gestured toward Blue and Green. "Those two rose nearly three hours before you to construct the base, but that hardly exempts you from contribution—in fact, your assistance is required immediately." He directed Walin with authoritative gestures. "You and Fendi will help Thorin and myself assemble the throwing arm."

  "I suppose that leaves me without assignment?" Jim Harad inquired, hands perched on his hips.

  "Precisely, Master Harad," Toyef confirmed with smug satisfaction. "No task suits your particular talents. Should idleness prove unbearable, perhaps procure some wine." He reached instinctively for his flask before recalling its abandonment in the woodland the previous evening.

  Jim Harad made no attempt to disguise his sentiment, extending his middle finger with deliberate emphasis.

  Walin allowed himself to be guided away, his expression suggesting continued somnambulism. "Milord!" Nate called from nearby. "Ah, Nate," Toyef acknowledged with customary casualness, as though overlooking something significant. The boy's mother was still asleep. "This is for you."

  He presented a glass vessel containing several fireflies whose pale emerald luminescence seemed even fainter than the midnight sky. "Thanks, kid." Walin accepted the jar, recognizing it as his discarded wine bottle. "It's quite beautiful."

  Toyef initially extended his hand to tousle Nate's hair but arrested the gesture midway upon realizing they stood at nearly identical height. "Return to your rest; darkness still prevails," he advised, patting the boy's shoulder instead.

  "Can we complete the trebuchet assembly before sunrise?" Fendi Firshield observed Thorin Durin wrestling with a massive timber. "Time remains sufficient," Toyef assured, moving to assist. "Remember, we possess only a single opportunity. Did our friend achieve satisfactory rest?"

  "I believe so," Walin finally contributed his first conscious utterance since waking.

  "My inquiry wasn't directed at you." Toyef tossed several thick ropes in his direction. "Secure those beams properly." He clarified, "I was inquiring about our soon-to-be-airborne associate, Walin. Has your consciousness fully returned?"

  "He slept adequately, Master Bilinski," Fendi reported while manipulating some tension cords. "When I questioned his confidence regarding breaching the fortifications, his response consisted of unintelligible groans and peculiar grins." Walin struggled with the ropes, emitting his own groan. "What creature provided the sinew for these extraordinary cords?"

  "Dragon," the red-haired dwarf replied concisely. "Fear not; I wouldn't utilize sinew remnants from the Rebellion Era." His laugh carried genuine amusement. "These are newly acquired. Each strand commands a pouch of gold... Walin!" He delivered another kick to the drowsy dwarf's backside. "Secure them properly! Constructing the arm with such inferior technique would result in structural failure before the counterweight's attachment!"

  Walin's response was merely another expansive yawn. "In all honesty, certain concerns persist," Thorin Durin unexpectedly confessed.

  "What troubles you, my child?" Walin Barklo Vaslov interjected grandly before Toyef Bilinski could respond, striking a self-important pose with hands planted firmly on his hips. "Do you doubt these fresh dragon sinews can propel our aerial traveler into the Wall of Cynthia's embrace?"

  Thorin maintained his focus on the horizontal beam he manipulated. "My apprehension centers on our projectile companion. Can it truly fracture the legendary Wall of Cynthia?" He shook his head doubtfully. "According to ancestral lore, this towering fortification has remained uncompromised since its miraculous construction, let alone breached. Many of our brethren believe the Wall of Cynthia enjoys ancient magical protection... Can a mere stone, regardless of its properties, overcome such a barrier?" His voice diminished progressively, revealing Thorin Durin's waning confidence in their imminent enterprise.