The following weeks passed in much the same manner. Quincey feigned that he was growing accustomed to fulfilling his new duties as Messenger-at-Arms, yet Cassian had still not dispatched him on any mission. If the knight remembered correctly, in his former life it had taken nearly two months before Cassian allowed him to leave his side and sent him forth with his first important message.

Now, however, the knight was determined to change that and depart the castle sooner. Not only because he wished to keep his distance from the king, so that he might for a while rest from the pretense that all was well, but also because Leander’s words still haunted his mind, and thus he needed cause to visit his mother.

Quincey had never had reason to doubt his origins, having been raised by loving parents, but after his research yielded no new vital information, he resolved to ask directly the one person who had known him from the moment he came into the world.

The knights of the royal guard were bound by duty above all and could not visit their families whenever they pleased. Once, they had been permitted to visit them once every two weeks, however with the heightened vigilance following the king’s death, it had been reduced to but a few hours once a month, if at all. Quincey therefore urgently needed a pretext to leave the palace.

As on every morning, his steps led him toward the king’s study, though today with greater resolve.

“Your Highness,” he greeted the king seated behind the desk, where maps and documents requiring his approval lay spread before him.

“Quincey,” Cassian acknowledged his presence, yet as swiftly as he raised his head, he lowered it again. It was plain he bore many duties, and the knight immediately took it as an opportunity to relieve him of some and turn them to the perfect plan.

“What are my orders for today?” he asked, and then dared to add, “I see that the weight of the crown presses heavily upon your brow. I hope you allow me to assist. Am I not your Messenger-at-Arms?”

“You need not remind me of your station, Quincey. I have not forgotten.” Cassian lifted his gaze to him once more. A flicker of amusement softened his features. The brown-haired knight was the only one who dared address him with such familiar candor, a trait the king had cherished since his days as crown prince. It seemed, then, that Quincey had chosen the proper approach.

“Does that mean you will permit me to help? I like not to see you troubled and weary, Cassian.” The knight tempered his tone to sound concerned, making it plain to the king that he still regarded him as his friend despite the change in his title.

The long-haired man rubbed his tired eyes, proving the truth of Quincey’s words, and then tapped upon the heap of parchments. “Nothing here requires your sword, Quincey.”

“I am certain you shall find something I may assist with,” the knight protested. “Please, allow me to help.”

The king did not answer at once, fixing Quincey with an intense gaze that he found difficult to hold. Fortunately, it did not last long, and after a few moments, Cassian sighed, giving the impression that the mission had been successfully accomplished.

“This morning I was informed that Master Ermes, one of the chief archivists, passed in the night. He had begun an important reform of the crown’s taxes and a ledger of debtors which must be brought to the castle. I had intended to send one of the knights, yet you are right. This shall serve as a fitting first mission for my Messenger-at-Arms.”

Quincey could hardly believe his luck. The moment he recalled the late archivist and remembered where he had resided, he realized that not only did everything proceed according to plan, but he would not even need an excuse to visit his mother.

“It shall be my honor.” He bowed his head in both assent and respect. “Yet may I make one further request, Sire?”

Cassian waved a hand, granting him leave to speak.

“Master Ermes resided in the same quarter as my mother. I would wish to visit her briefly, with your permission, of course.”

A faint smile crossed the king’s face, likely at the thought of Quincey’s mother. After all, they had grown up together, and just as Alaric Acerbo had brought his son to the castle to acquaint him, so too had he brought his beloved Harathea. At that time, the queen was no longer living, and so both princes enjoyed the warmth of a maternal presence.

“Convey my greetings to her, and excuse that I could not invite her to the coronation,” came Cassian’s reply to his request. “See that she lacks nothing.”

“She would be proud of you, were she to see you,” Quincey responded instinctively, though the words tasted bitter in his mouth. He knew, however, how much they must have meant to Cassian, who no longer had any living parents, and the knight’s mother was the last tether he had to a mother’s love.

“I am glad you think so.” The brown-haired knight knew there was an unspoken “but” hidden in Cassian’s words, yet as king he could show no weakness, even as duties piled upon him and he likely lacked both the strength and experience to bear them without sacrificing his sleep and sanity.

Quincey remembered well how arduous the first weeks of rule had been for the long-haired man in his previous life, though then he had truly acted as Cassian’s shadow, never allowing him a moment’s doubt that he performed well. 

Now, Quincey tried to do the same to avoid suspicion, but he did not offer as much encouragement, nor did he spend as much time with him as before. In any case, he was meant to betray him, so it mattered little whether he remained the king’s closest friend and confidant.

“I know so,” he assured him.

Their eyes met once more, and this time the knight strove above all to pour as much honesty and grace into his gaze as possible, hoping to earn Cassian’s trust.

It worked, and the king offered no further sentimental words or doubts about sending his friend on this errand. Instead, he handed him a silver key bearing the royal seal and gave the final instructions.

“Go there. Offer the widow my sincere condolences and see to it that every scroll from his study is brought directly here, to my desk.”

“It shall be done.”

Since the archivars kept their keys constantly upon their persons, it was more than likely that Master Ermes’ body had been brought along with them to return to the crown without delay and prevent any risk of theft. To access his documents, Quincey needed a spare key.

He had everything he needed now; all that was missing was Astrum. Fortunately, Quincey had hoped for Cassian’s approval and had already ordered his stallion saddled so he could set out immediately, even though the journey was not far.

The Gilded Quiet was a district still located in the Upper City beneath the citadel walls, yet furthest from the main thoroughfares and noisy marketplaces. Here stood older houses, many handed down through generations, with large inner gardens and high walls offering families privacy and comfort. It was the most secluded district of the upper class, a reward for those close to the royal family who wished to live in the background.

Here lived not only Master Ermes with his family, but Quincey himself had grown up here, knowing it as well as the palm of his hand.

The journey was short, at least in the saddle of his swift horse. He passed through the main gate first, where the guards immediately recognized him, their gazes drawn to the badge on his cloak, marking his station.

As he trotted along the paved streets, the sounds of hooves echoed in his ears, the pace slow so as not to risk injury on terrain made more for men than for beasts.

Quincey and Astrum passed courtyards, administrative buildings, armories, and barracks, then wound through narrow lanes where the first houses of the upper echelon rose, homes of the wealthiest merchants, high officials, and important courtiers. All found shelter and a sense of security here, for guards stood at every corner.

Only when the streets narrowed and the stone houses grew less dense did the knight know he was near his childhood home. The Gilded Quiet earned its name for the serene silence that always reigned there, and it was no different now.