Nix woke in the vast, empty bed, the warmth beside him replaced by cool sheets. His hand instinctively reached for Ambrose, only to find the space vacant. A strange ache settled in his chest—missing the prince felt oddly natural, despite how little time they had spent together. He sat up, scanning the room for any sign of him. Past the archway, the soft murmurs of activity reached his ears.

The servant girls from the previous night were busy arranging breakfast. Fresh bread, boiled eggs, and sausages were set on a tray, but what caught Nix’s attention was the large bowl of strawberries. His eyes widened at the sight, a rare indulgence from his youth. Quietly, he made his way to the entrance, peeking out to see if the girls were leaving.

“Come and eat, my dear!” the tall brunette called out, her smile as warm as the morning sun. Freckles danced across her nose, her demeanor gentle and inviting. The other girl, with dark blonde hair, remained silent, her expression tight. Nix remembered her trying to gain Ambrose’s attention the night before.

Feeling a bit hesitant, Nix stepped into the room, drawn more by the strawberries than the conversation. “Thank you,” he said, plucking one from the bowl. “Do you know where Ambrose is?”

“Aye, the prince has been busy since dawn,” the tall one replied. “There’s a meeting with the king that’s likely to keep him occupied for the day. I doubt His Majesty was pleased about him running off last time. He’ll keep the prince’s schedule packed tight.”

Nix’s heart sank a little, the lightness he had felt earlier slipping away. “Eat up,” the girl added kindly. “I’ll run a bath for you. You’ve got time before Professor Ithil arrives.”

Before Nix could respond, the other girl—Fern—hissed under her breath, “Yan, that’s enough. He’s not the prince. Why are you being so nice to him?”

“Because,” Yan replied, turning to Fern with a pointed glare, “he’s a guest of the prince, and Ambrose told us to treat him as such.”

Fern scoffed, turning away toward the door, but not without casting a final, cold glance in Nix’s direction.

“I’m sorry,” Nix whispered, feeling the tension. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

“Don’t worry about her,” Yan chuckled, brushing off the awkwardness. “She fancies the prince and hasn’t seen him today. She’ll come around. She’s not a bad girl, just...” Yan shrugged, handing Nix a light blue tunic and grey pants. “This is the smallest men’s wear I could find. Hopefully, you’ll stay long enough for us to fatten you up a bit.”

Nix laughed softly. He liked Yan—her warmth was a comfort in the unfamiliar castle. “My name’s Nix,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s all right if I call you Yan, right?”

She took his hand, shaking it with a smile. “Yan’s what I answer to. And that over there,” she nodded toward the door, “is Fern. Don’t worry, she’ll warm up eventually.”

After eating and thanking the girls, Nix cleaned up and changed into the clothes Yan had provided. She mentioned that Professor Ithil wouldn’t arrive until the evening, leaving him plenty of time to wander. His thoughts drifted to Hamford, and Nix found himself wondering if the dwarf had eaten anything decent since being thrown into the dungeons. He convinced Yan to leave some bread and sausages, not for his lunch, but to bring to his friend.

With the food wrapped in a cloth, Nix wandered down the corridors of the castle. The palace staff paid him little mind as he retraced his steps from the previous day, hoping to find Hamford. As he approached the main hall, the sound of shouting drew his attention. A group of soldiers was escorting a disheveled man, singing off-key and reeking of alcohol.

“Put him in the cells. Let him sleep it off,” one soldier grumbled to another, shaking his head. “Drunk before noon because his wife left to visit her sister.”

“She’s never coming back!” the man wailed.

“Can’t say I blame her,” another soldier muttered as they led him down a staircase Nix hadn’t noticed before.

Nix edged closer, curiosity piqued, when a sharp voice cut through the commotion. “Where are you going, sorcerer?”

He turned to find the light-eyed guard from the island—Callen, the same one who had led the charge to arrest Hamford. His arms were crossed, eyes fixed on Nix with suspicion.

Nix felt the temptation to lie, but something inside him urged him to stand his ground. “I want to see my friend,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “The dwarf, Hamford.”

Callen studied him for a moment before nodding. “Follow me.”

Nix blinked in surprise but quickly followed as Callen descended the dimly lit staircase. The stone corridor below was colder than Nix had expected, a chill that gnawed at his bones. He quickened his pace to keep up with Callen, the thought of bringing Hamford something warm—a blanket or more food—already forming in his mind.

“What’s your name?” Nix asked after a few moments of silence.

“Callen,” the guard replied curtly, not breaking stride.

“Thank you,” Nix added quietly. “For helping me.”

Callen grunted in acknowledgment, and they continued down the corridor. Soon, the narrow hallway opened up into a dungeon lined with iron-barred cells. In the far corner, hunched over on a straw-strewn floor, was Hamford.

Nix rushed to the bars. “Hamford! Are you okay?”

The dwarf’s gruff voice echoed from the shadows. “Quit yer yellin’, Little Witch. I’m fine.”

Despite his rough tone, Hamford’s voice held a weariness that Nix hadn’t heard before, a hopelessness that made Nix’s heart clench.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Nix said, his voice firm. “We’ll prove you were taken by the sea monster. Don’t give up.”

Hamford sighed, his large hand resting on Nix’s through the bars. “How’re you gonna get evidence of that? You can’t go back out on that sea by yerself.”

“The king’s giving us a ship in two days,” Nix explained quickly. “Ambrose is coming with me, and I’m meeting with his magic professor later today. I’ll ask for help.”

Hamford seemed to find hope in Nix’s determination. His weathered face softened, though he was still wary. “Yer a good lad, Little Witch.”

Nix pressed the cloth-wrapped food through the bars. “Take this. I’ll try to come see you again tomorrow.”

As he moved to leave, Hamford grabbed his hand and pressed something into his palm—a small, orange starfish. Nix stared at it, puzzled.

“It’ll protect you,” Hamford said quietly. “Good luck.”

Callen’s voice interrupted their exchange. “Hurry, sorcerer. Patrol’s coming.”

Nix nodded, tucking the starfish away as he followed Callen back up the stairs. They avoided the patrol, slipping back into the main hall without being seen.

“Thank you,” Nix said earnestly, bowing to Callen.

A hint of color rose in Callen’s cheeks. “Don’t go back down there alone,” he warned, his voice gruff but not unkind. “Find me, and I’ll take you.”

Nix smiled gratefully as Callen turned and walked away. With the weight of Hamford’s situation on his mind, Nix headed back to Ambrose’s quarters, wondering what the evening would bring.

Meanwhile...

Ambrose tugged at the collar of his shirt, the stiff fabric digging into his neck as he slumped across the desk. The chamber was stifling, and the drone of the elderly duke recounting tax reports on Northern cow farms was the last thing he wanted to endure. His thoughts wandered far from the drudgery of royal duties, back to Nix—still asleep in his arms when he had been unceremoniously dragged into these meetings.

A sharp tap on his shoulder brought him back to the present. The king’s advisor stood beside him, glaring over his glasses. “Sit up straight, Your Highness.”

Ambrose groaned quietly, straightening in his chair. “Chancellor, get me out of here,” he muttered under his breath.

“You missed a great deal of material during your...absence,” the chancellor replied dryly. “It is your duty to be informed, regardless of your personal feelings.”

Ambrose tried again. “I need to check on my friend.”

The chancellor’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Ah, the little sorcerer. He is... an interesting one, no doubt. But remember this, Your Highness: your responsibilities extend far beyond fleeting attachments. Your royal duty comes first.”

Ambrose bristled at the insinuation. “He’s not a ‘fleeting attachment.’ He’s my friend.”

The chancellor chuckled quietly, scribbling notes as he continued. But Ambrose’s mind was already elsewhere, lost in thoughts of Nix—his dazzling red eyes, the softness of his lips, and the way his presence seemed to fill the room with light. Ambrose had never expected to feel this way, but now he found himself consumed by it, unable to shake the thought of Nix from his mind.

As the meeting dragged on, his yearning to escape grew stronger. He needed to see Nix again—needed to know he was all right.