The air is still filled with warm afternoon light, but the sun has already begun its descend, creating shadows by the walls where a man can sit and not melt into a puddle.

From my cool marble seat, I observe the empty courtyard. People vacate it quickly when I take a walk there, particularly in the last few days, when my mood has not been at its best. Those servants who are too slow or dull-witted to get out of my way quickly, receive assistance from my guards who now constantly follow me around. I have ordered that, but it only worsens my mood, making me feel like a prisoner in my own home.

"We're still not sure what kind of poison it was," Sagaristio says quietly.

He's sitting to my right, playing with the rings on his fingers, turning them around and around. "It was…" He trails off and glances at the guards standing to both sides from us. I snap my fingers to get their attention, then jerk my head. They move a couple of steps away, giving us more privacy, and freeze again, holding their swords ready.

I shake my head in dismay. That's not how I want to spend my days, with armed men guarding my every waking hour.

"It was strange," continues Messenio, who's sitting to my left. "Good thing you tested it on the slave, because it doesn’t work on pets. We gave some of it to a dog, and nothing happened. It seems that it only works on humans." He shrugs. "Gave some of it to another slave, only half a goblet—that was all we had left—and he had such pains we had to put him out of his misery. A very potent thing." He shakes his head with respect.

"Where does it take us?" I say impatiently. "What do we know today that we didn't yesterday?"

They keep quiet for a while, the breeze ruffling the leaves of the grapevines over our heads. I reach up, break off a cluster of grapes and start popping them into my mouth. Fruits straight from the tree are probably the only thing I can still eat without my food taster checking it first. Apart from annoying me immensely, this limitation is not even particularly efficient. If whoever has tried to kill me picks a slower acting poison next time, I will just have the company of my food tester in death. Still, Saragastio insisted I took this precaution.

"We'll figure it out," he says now, quietly. "We're working on it. I know you're upset, but we'll find whoever is behind this."

"We already know that it's not one of the poisons that's used in our parts," says Messenio. "It's something new and foreign, so it likely came from someone foreign."

"There're no foreigners on the island," I say, chewing on the grapes.

"Indeed?" Saragastio raises an eyebrow. "How about your wives?"

"Hm," I say, and then, the noise of hooves hitting cobblestones reaches our ears. I tense, and the guards stand a little straighter. Saragastio and Messenio lean forward. Everybody's been on edge lately.

Three riders come through the gates, and I relax again.

Emilio looks natural in the saddle, and more alive than ever. His hair is falling on his face and his shoulders, and even as he throws it back, a few strands still cling to his brow. His cheeks are flushed, and his relaxed, excited expression is worlds away from the tense, guarded one he wears when he's with me.

His white horse follows his lead flawlessly, as if they were a single body. It comes to a halt in the middle of the courtyard, and then he makes it walk around, to calm down from what seems to have been a wild ride. Then, he notices us sitting in the shadows.

"Oh?" He pulls at the reins to make the horse stop in front of us, which it does reluctantly, stepping from one foot to another. "Hello there."

"Is that how you greet your king?" Saragastio says sharply.

"Well…" Emilio shrugs. "Hello there, my king?"

Messenio sniggers. "I can see you haven't advanced much in breaking this one," he says to me quietly, but Emilio hears it.

"Oh, it needs no breaking." He reaches out and pats his ride on its neck. It jerks its head and snorts at his touch. "It's great as it is. Best horse I ever rode."

"I meant you," Messenio says bluntly.

"Ah." Emilio seems taken aback, but only slightly. "Is that what you've been doing here, gossiping about who your king does or doesn't take to bed?"

"We were gossiping about who does or doesn't want their king dead," I say, to diminish his cheerfulness which I find annoying. "Accusing fingers have been pointed at my wives."

"Oh, I wonder to whom those fingers belonged." He peers at Saragastio, then at Messenio. "Anyway, that's fine. I'm doing my investigation, too. Talking to the women and the servants, you know. Perhaps I will crack this mystery before you do. Will I get my own room then?"

Sagaristio hums thoughtfully. "I see the little prince wants to be useful."

"Are you afraid the little prince will be more useful than you are?" Emilio raises an eyebrow. "Also, the little prince is bored out of his wits. These rides are great but it's only one hour a day. I need more exercise."

"You could exercise in your master's bed," says Messenio.

Emilio rolls his eyes. "Seriously, do you ever think about other things?" His horse snorts impatiently, and he pulls at the reins to keep it in place. "All right, nice talking to you, but Manilla needs her hay, so do excuse me—my king?" He nods at me with mock respect that always makes the polite address sound like he doesn’t mean it. Then he turns his horse and rides off in the direction of the stables.

The two riders who have accompanied him and have been waiting at a polite distance as we talked—his female servant with her constantly grumpy face, and the guard assigned to escort him during his trips—follow him suit.

"I don't understand why you let him to speak to you like this," says Saragastio. "He didn't even dismount to talk to you. So disrespectful."

"I find it more amusing when he says what he thinks. I got the rest of the court to tell me what I want to hear, including you two."

"I'm glad you're amusing yourself, but there's a murderer in your palace."

"I didn’t need to hear that." I sigh. "Anyway, it's not him. He saved me."

Messenio shrugs. "It could have been a smart ploy. Pretending to try to poison you only to save you at the last moment and earn your favor. If so, it worked well. You let him walk all over you."

"I don't," I say. "And you're too smart for your own good." I rub my face tiredly. "But no, I don’t believe he's the poisoner."

"Believe what you want," says Saragastio. "Just don't die on us, will you?"

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