Content warning:

Blood/gore

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“After him!” Krystofyr’s cry echoed down the hall. 

Anders shadowed over stairways and under doorways until he reached an empty chamber at the other end of the palace with his thoughts racing like a whirlpool. 

His whole world was spinning. Sinking. He hadn’t tasted mortal fear since those first few years of life, when he wandered the strange, hostile world alone.

How long had his rivals planned to overthrow him? How long had Krystofyr planned to betray him? Could Krystofyr really have been blessed by an angel? 

Don’t think about that, he told himself. Save Gwynnyth. 

He suspected they had her locked away somewhere. No sense in seeking her out yet if the palace was crawling with traitors eager to kill them both. He needed to get those scoundrels out of the way, even if it meant picking them off one by one.

Footsteps thundered down the hall. 

Anders’ heart sank. Had Krystofyr turned his entire army against him? Forget picking them off. He grappled for a new plan.

A humanoid void in mourning rags looked too conspicuous, so he lured one nobleman away from his comrades and slit his neck. This man’s clothes were too baggy for Anders, but they fit well enough. He ditched the body and searched for a hooded cloak to conceal his lack of a face.

Next, he planted clues around the palace. A shattered plate, a disheveled bag, a play of light reflected on the wall. A strategically placed corpse or two, whenever he encountered a conspirator. He blackened pillows with soot and stuffed them into garments from his closet to fashion several dummies. Then, gingerly, he brought them to the stables, tied each bundle to a different horse, and let them all go.

Sure enough, Krystofyr led a troop of men after one horse, with commands for others to track down the rest. By then, the sun had set. Anders slunk from his hiding spot in the hollow of a tree and re-entered the castle. He had to find his wife.