The day that the envoy was expected to arrive, Coulta waited at the city gate, sitting atop the wall and gazing out over the land beyond. It was a long wait – he saw no signs of the approaching group of horsemen until dusk had begun to set in.

Coulta watched them enter through the city gate below him, and counted fourteen men in total. Thirteen of them wore red uniforms, and one of those thirteen wore a golden cord of rope tied from his left shoulder across his body to his opposite hip, a symbol Coulta took to mean that he was the captain. Riding beside this man, at the head of the group, was a man dressed in blue and tan. He also had a cord of rope draped across his body, but it was thicker and there was blue braided into the gold, which Coulta assumed was a mark of higher station. All the soldiers, even the captain, wore helmets of silver metal, but the envoy did not and his chestnut hair shone in the setting sun. He was also the only man in the group who was clean-shaven.

The man looked up abruptly and directly at Coulta, a momentary look of puzzlement crossing his face before he shook his head and focused on the direction he was riding. If Coulta hadn't been certain he was hidden from sight, he would have thought the envoy had spotted him. He shook off the sudden strange desire to show himself to the man and forced himself to pay attention to the entire group of soldiers.

Coulta couldn't help staring with wonder at the sight of them. They must have stopped before reaching the city to groom their horses, because they all gleamed far more than any steed ridden for several days could have. They were clearly there to remind Varin who was truly in control of the city.

The group moved down the street and Coulta followed silently on the rooftops. As he had expected, they stopped at the best inn the city had to offer. Coulta knew the layout well. There was a tavern on the ground floor, above which there was a floor with two large group sleeping rooms, and on the top floor were two smaller group rooms that could fit five men each, and two private rooms. He was fairly certain the group would take the top floor.

He waited and watched from the roof across the street, crouching in the shadows. The men stabled their horses in a public stable beside the inn, and made their way into the tavern. Coulta slipped soundlessly from his post and found a place where he could watch from a closer vantage point, still hidden in shadow.

He could see a large portion of the tavern from his new location thanks to the shutters being wide open and, as he had expected, the soldiers were already busy getting drunk and flirting with the girls working inside. Though he kept track of what the soldiers were up to, his gaze returned frequently to the envoy and the captain, who were speaking to the innkeeper.

Moments later, coins changed hands and the two guests made their way upstairs carrying several traveling packs with them.

As they went up the stairs, Coulta climbed easily onto the stable roof, which allowed him to see into the window on the second level. As expected, the men did not stop there. So Coulta grabbed the handholds he had planted in the wall the night before. These allowed him to climb up to just below the window and rest almost comfortably there to listen.

Luckily for him, the men chose to enter that room and not the other private room at the opposite end of the building. Coulta heard them enter and glanced up to see the window gradually grow lighter as the candles in the room were lit.

"Oh, let the men have their fun," the older man was saying. "They're soldiers, Wildas. They've spent six days on the road, away from the comforts of ale and female companionship."

"If what I have been told of these Arren whores is true, they're likely to be leaving a part of themselves here when they go home," Wildas grumbled.

Coulta could hear them moving around, as if they were getting their things organized while they conversed.

"Well, at least none of them will have to worry about fatherly duties."

There was a sigh, then, "Do you think Varin knows we're here?"

"I'm sure he has his spies. We won't know until you speak with him tomorrow. And if he does know, there's nothing we can do, except keep alert for those assassins he has."

"I suppose you're right."

"I'll keep an eye on the men, you get some rest, Prince."

Coulta's eyes went wide and he gripped the spikes harder to keep from falling to the street below. Prince?

He knew then that he couldn't make himself kill the man. Even knowing that Varin had ordered it, he couldn't make himself climb up through the window when the man was left alone. Instead, he dropped soundlessly back to the stable roof and ran back to the castle, springing from roof to roof effortlessly as he tried to escape his own shock and horror at what was being asked of him.

*****

As soon as Prince-General Decus left the room, Wildas wandered to the window and glanced out. What was it about the city that made him want to go out and wander the streets? Night was setting in and from what he'd heard, Arren was not a safe city for an outsider to take a walk in alone at night.

Tomorrow morning would be soon enough for a venture out of the inn. Hopefully he wouldn't need more than a day or two to speak with Lord Varin. Then he could leave the frustrating place behind.

*****

When Coulta got back to the castle yard he paused to catch his breath, then climbed up the castle exterior and through his window. In his room again, he went straight to the door separating his room from Teeya's and knocked several times before walking in.

Teeya was getting out of bed, dressed in her nightshirt. "Coulta, what's –"

"He's a damn prince!" Coulta practically yelled.

"Who?" Teeya asked, looking confused.

"The envoy Varin wants me to kill. This Wildas. He's a prince!"

Teeya's eyes went wide. "Wildas? Oh, no, no Coulta. He's not just a prince. He's the prince."

"What do you mean?" Coulta demanded, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Teeya was looking truly disturbed. "From what I've heard on market days, he's the Crown Prince, the oldest prince, and heir to the Grand King's throne. Coulta..."

Coulta sank to the floor, burying his head in his hands, feeling like something was stabbing into his chest and ripping into his soul. "I can't. Teeya, I won't kill him. I won't assassinate the Crown Prince. I can't have that on my conscience with all the other lives I've taken."

The voice of the young man in the inn came back to him. He was guilty of no crime. Death was not what he deserved, least of all a death by Coulta's hand. He had sounded like he cared for his men, wasn't selfish and cruel. His death would cause so much chaos and likely bring the weight of the Crown down on all of Arren. Varin would deserve such vengeance, but not the rest of the city. Not Teeya.

Teeya sat down beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Coulta... You went against Varin's demands tonight?"

Coulta shook his head. "He told me I could observe the first night, let them settle in." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Tomorrow..."

She hugged him tightly. "I think, Coulta, that it's time for you to take control from Varin."

He snorted. "How?"

"Maybe Wildas is the one your mother foresaw."

Coulta laughed outright. "I don't see how that's possible."

"I'm sure he lives in a grand castle in a big city. In Phelin. But I suppose we will know for sure tomorrow night. And I haven't seen you react quite this way to an assignment in years."

He rubbed his forehead, completely unsure of what to think. She was right about part of it, at least. Never in his life had he felt so torn by his emotions, and so confused as to what those emotions tearing him apart actually were.

A pounding on his door woke Coulta the next morning. He had slept fitfully, still fully dressed in everything but his boots and sword belt, and on top of the blankets. His dreams had shifted constantly between pleasant fantasies of a happy life and freedom, and nightmares of massive armies swooping down on him, and a headless prince being crowned king. He'd woken up during every dream, sweating and panting and clutching at his pillows and the blankets on the bed. Several times the prince in his dreams reached out for him, but he always recoiled and dropped himself back into more nightmares. His comforting shadow figure never came to him, making him feel even more lost.

He forced himself off the bed and to the door, where he found Yerik about to pound again on the other side.

"Uh, morning, Coulta," the servant said, dropping his hand to his side. "Master Varin sent me to rouse you. He would like to have a word with you."

Coulta sighed. "I will be there in a moment."

The servant nodded and went on his way. Coulta sighed again and ran a hand over his face, trying to wake himself up more. The stubble there prickled his hand annoyingly. He didn't grow facial hair very well, but it had been days since he'd last shaved, and the stubble would need to be dealt with. When he returned, as usual.

He combed his tangled hair, and changed into clothes that were less wrinkled than the ones he'd slept in, then made his way to Varin's chambers. The earl was waiting for him, and did not look happy in the least.

"I take it you were unable to complete the task last night?"

Coulta shook his head, hands clasped behind him. "As expected, they were... occupied until dawn."

It was likely, even if he hadn't been there that long to know for sure.

Varin grunted over his breakfast. "See that you take care of them tonight, or I will have to have Roane complete the task for you."

"Of course, my lord," Coulta replied, through clenched teeth.

Varin excused him and he returned to his room, feeling furious and determined to do the only thing he could bring himself to do, regardless of the consequences.

He wasn't sure how he would accomplish it, but he had the entire day to think it through. The curse was going to release him or he would ensure that his was no longer a body it could use.