I exit the small hall, my eyes cast down, the bronze wine flagon cool against my hands. Ahead of me, Ferox leads Hadrian, supporting him by the shoulders, chuckling to himself.

"You're amusing when you're drunk."

"I'm glad I'm pleasing you, brother," says Hadrian, his speech even more slurred than before. "Since there's no pleasing father, I will have to content myself with this."

"We'll talk about it tomorrow, when you're in better shape. Now watch your step."

We reach the grand stairwell of the castle, wide and steep, with an impressive, elaborate balustrade. Slaves and servants normally use the dark, narrow stairwells in the towers, so I feel very exposed in this huge hall with its high ceilings, empty except for me and the two princes who have already begun to ascend the stairs.

"Nothing is enough for him," mutters Hadrian. "Ever."

"You're not doing it right."

"Of course I'm not. I'm not doing anything right."

"Oh come on, enough with that self-pity."

As I reach the first landing, my feet encounter carpet instead of stone. I wonder if I'm allowed to walk on it or supposed to keep to the floor by its edges. Thinking of that, I make a few more steps before realizing that the two brothers have stopped. I freeze in place, but it seems they're to engaged with each other to notice me. The wine flagon could as well be hovering in the thin air, as far as they're concerned.

"Fight, lead people into a battle, come back with victory, and father will be impressed." Ferox lets go of Hadrian and walks around the landing, gesticulating wildly. "We're about to strike Oflana, this may be your chance. I will help you. We can divide the responsibilities, perhaps I could command the troops and you the fleet."

"Yeah, right. I've never—"

"There is always a first time." Ferox turns to him. "This is how you gain father's respect—by proving your worth in a fight."

"I could never fight as well as you, nor lead others."

"This is not a competition. You don't have to be as good as I, just do your best, do enough, and father will notice that."

"My best is not enough for him, as you well know, and --"

Hadrian voice wavers and I look up instinctively.

Standing on the edge of the landing, he must have taken a step back, and his foot has slept off the top stair. I can almost see what's about to happen as if it already has—him tumbling down the stairs, breaking a few bones and, likely, his neck in the process.

He realizes the danger, too. I can see the understanding break through the drunken impassiveness of his face, as he throws his hands in the air, trying to regain his balance. Ferox gasps behind me, but he's a few steps too far away to help.

Hadrian's unsteady feet loose their ground, and he falls backwards.

And then he stops.

Something has grabbed him by the wrist.

With horror, I realize that it's my own hand.

Instinctively, I pull him back to the landing and there we freeze, staring at each other. Cold sweat breaks on my skin as I fully grasp that my fingers are still locked around his wrist, and I'm looking him in the eye.

A touch and an eye contact. Two separate offences at once.

Both punishable by instant death penalty.

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