The change in Quincey’s behavior did not escape Cassian’s watchful eyes, though the knight had counted on it, since as the new king the long-haired man had many duties and they had hardly seen each other in the past few days.

Nevertheless, he found the time and had the brown-haired knight summoned to his new study. The very same study where Quincey had lost his trust in him, though he still doubted whether what he remembered had been real. Especially when he was becoming more and more convinced that he was the only one who remembered the two years that had yet to come.

He had no reason to protest, since Cassian was trying to be understanding and, instead of throwing his friend into the duties of the new position at once, he allowed Quincey to gradually grow used to all the responsibilities of the Messenger-at-Arms, unaware that the knight already knew them from another life.

For now, he did not have to be the king’s shadow and spend every day at his side as he once had, for which he was grateful.

Typically, as Messenger-at-Arms, he would finish his morning training, check on his horse, and then head to the king’s study to learn the orders for the day. During the morning briefing, he would find out what the king required of him and whether he should prepare for a journey. Then, he would either depart on a mission or join the other soldiers guarding the castle. In the event of a meeting of the king’s council, he also had to be present, standing by the monarch’s side.

Though Quincey was only twenty-three at present, he held immense power in his hands, greater than most knights. Not only did he possess diplomatic immunity and had to be respected wherever he went, but he had also received a set of keys to rooms others could not access, such as the private passages, the archives, or the king’s personal library.

Quincey was also the only one allowed to open the king’s correspondence, even in his absence. Though it might seem that Leander would be the one to receive important messages in the king’s stead if necessary, it did not work that way. At least not when a Messenger-at-Arms had been appointed.

Avoiding the king was therefore impossible, and the brown-haired knight learned that sooner rather than later.

“Your Majesty, you summoned me?” He entered the study with a formal greeting and a neutral expression he had practiced in the mirror for hours beforehand. It was difficult, however, when his gaze kept dropping lower, to the place where the long scar stretched, the same width as Cassian’s sword.

“Quincey.” The monarch seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when he saw him. It almost seemed he had feared the knight would refuse his request, though that had not been within his power.

For a moment, the Messenger-at-Arms was thrown into a memory from only a few days before, when their meeting had looked the same. Just one day before he learned that nothing had been as he believed and uncovered the true face of his friend.

“Is all well?” Cassian asked and stepped closer. It took all the knight’s strength not to take a step back. “I know I have laid many duties upon you all at once, and we have had no time to meet over a cup of wine, yet I would be loath to let our new titles stand in the way of our friendship.”

Meeting after a long day in Cassian’s chambers had been their tradition, though there had not been many chances when it was possible. In his past life, Quincey had been constantly on the road, while the king had been overwhelmed with devising plans to keep the peace.

“There is no cause for concern, Sire,” the knight assured him, trying to make his voice sound gentler, more personal, as it once had when they used to speak here together.

The long-haired man, however, still did not look fully convinced.

“I am well, Cassian.” Quincey did what he knew would persuade him and, for a moment, dropped the title. “I do not want you to think you chose the wrong—”

“There is no one more deserving of that title than you.” The king did not let him finish and immediately dismissed such a possibility. In his past life, Quincey would have been touched and pleased by such trust, but today it was bittersweet.

“I am glad you think so, my king.” Despite the warning chill running down his spine, the knight stepped forward, further closing the gap between them. “I merely do not wish to disappoint you. Nor my father. I know I am ready. If you grant me greater duties, I am prepared to prove it.”

The long-haired man seemed ready to protest, but this time Quincey did not let him speak. “I have heard the talk. People believe you are showing me favor, that I hold advantage because I stand in the king’s good graces. I do not wish them to doubt me, and if I must prove I deserve my title, then so be it.”

“Who said such a thing?” Cassian frowned, looking genuinely angered that anyone would dare question his decision. Once, Quincey would have thought it was because he cared for him, but now he was no longer sure whether it was simply because someone had dared question his authority.

“It does not matter, Cassian.” While the king’s tone was full of anger, Quincey’s was the complete opposite. Like fire and water.

The long-haired man seemed ready to argue again, but in the end his expression slowly shifted until it reflected the same calm his friend outwardly displayed. “How may I help? What would you have me do?”

“Give me more duties,” Quincey answered without hesitation. “I know you do not wish to send me on a mission just yet, and that you are easier in mind when I remain within the castle, so give me something I may carry out here.”

Cassian nodded, as if it made sense to him, and he seemed to immediately consider what solution he might propose.

“May I offer a suggestion?” A thought suddenly sparked in the knight’s mind.

“Anything, my friend,” the king agreed at once. “Anything that will help you adjust and show all that they would do well not to forget who you are.”

Quincey gave him a small, genuine smile, for a moment forgetting everything that had happened. Yet his warmth quickly soured when Cassian shifted before his eyes and his memory recalled the look in his eyes when he had sacrificed him without hesitation.

“Allow me to study in the royal library,” he said quickly, lest the loss of his smile appear suspicious. “I am to stand at your side during political debates, and if I am to advise you and hold your cause during meetings of the royal council, I must know more than I do now. You have studied these matters your entire life, but I know only what I have seen.”

Fortunately, Cassian agreed without hesitation, deeming it a good notion, and so the very next day the scar-chinned knight found himself alone in the chamber that offered more answers than any other. Now he merely had to discover what exactly he was seeking.

He had brought a notebook with him in which he had written down everything he could recall, from Cassian’s final words after he had run him through to his last moments with Leander, though those were difficult to revisit without recalling every dreadful detail.

At the same time, Quincey attempted to sketch the potion he had seen in the second-born prince’s hands, though that proved the most difficult, since at the time he had barely been conscious and possessed little skill in drawing besides. He therefore also described in words what he could remember, the peculiar herbal taste and something that had looked like liquid gold.

It was not much information, but it was a beginning, and the fact that he had managed to enter the royal library without guards shadowing him or anyone seeing what he was doing there was the greatest success of the past few days.

Now he had several hours to read the books that were meant to aid him, all while feigning that he studied more about the kingdom itself. In truth, he did so as well, for Leander’s words about the true heir still haunted his mind, and thus the first volume he reached for was The Chronicle of House Eldricourt.