And Driar…Oh, how Cane did not want to think of Driar now. The young Red Prince who loved books more than his own family might have enjoyed the journeys Cane had found himself on—reading, studying and consuming ancient texts. Cane was a pinch relieved Driar was not at the Red Palace when he and Porethius arrived, for Driar was the one brother Cane had struggled to leave.

The rest of the unmerry band of nattery whipsteamers Cane had wished good riddance to on his way out the door.

Cane spun the ring on his forefinger as he and his fairy were led through the palace halls, smoky with dark dreams and twisted memories, where false prophets crept through the basement and a gluttonous court feasted on truthspire and misplaced hope. He twisted and twisted and twisted the ring a time again, until Porethius reached over and slapped his hand.

“Kingsblood,” Cane cursed in a low tenor so the Ruby Legionnaires might not hear. “It’s not my fault it muddles my buttons to be in this dreadful palace.” Though, it was his fault. All the fruity faults were his. “He won’t give us the drum,” Cane added now that they were talking. “As soon as the king realizes we want it, it’ll become a bargaining tool. The cost for us will be high in the end.”

“I’m certain it will be,” Porethius said.

“You might not enjoy what he asks for,” Cane returned.

The fairy stopped walking, bringing the Legionaries to a halt, also.

“What is it? Better to be out with it now, Plum. You’ll be trapped in silence the moment we’re through those repulsively decorated doors.”

Porethius blinked a time or three. “I’m not certain. The Winter wind has changed directions.”

Cane sighed. “Perfect.”

The fairy resumed, followed by the once-prince, and behind him the Legionnaires, until the tetrad passed through the doors that were, in fact, overdone with gaudy decorations. They came before the Crimson King and Cane sent his burgundy eyes to the tile floor. He had thought it would be a private meeting, but it seemed his once-father had other plans. The throne room was a packed pen of pudgy, Red-painted nobles ogling at Cane in his black mask.

Upon the dais, each of Cane’s brothers rested in their thrones apart from the empty throne of Driar, and one for the absent queen who was rumoured to have been on a mysterious holiday for nearly two full seasons. Cane’s throne had been removed, along with Quinten’s. How much smaller the line of the royal family looked now.