“No introductions,” the Coin said. “Our presence will be noticed quite readily on its own.” He lowered his voice, peering at Cyrus over his mask. “Walk tall, Vagrant. Thanet needs you, now more than ever.”

Cyrus straightened his posture, crossed his arms, uncrossed them, and then signaled he was ready despite feeling anything but. The greeter flung open the double doors, and the pair strode through them into the mansion’s opulent ballroom. It paled compared to the hall Cyrus had played in while growing up in the castle, but it was a fine attempt at recreating the white walls, gold-chiseled pillars, and array of paintings across the ceiling showcasing the beautiful countryside of Thanet.

Though music played, no one danced, the dozens of people within busy whispering and drinking from tall glasses. Their eyes turned his way. Discussions ceased, as if everyone present held their breath. Fear froze Cyrus in place. He wasn’t a highly trained killer anymore. He was fourteen, eyes red with tears, being forced into a dancing hall.

Behave, the Usurper King had ordered. His clothes were the finest silk, his blond hair braided with silver and gold. Smile. Show them how greatly we care for you.

When Cyrus refused, the man had grabbed him by the neck and dragged him into attendance. All eyes had been upon him, just as they were now. They’d been full of pity then. What did they see in him now? His skull mask felt paper-thin. His mouth dried out. Should he draw his swords and prance about? Give a speech? He didn’t know. He wasn’t trained for this. He wasn’t ready. Give him a blade and let him kill, anything but this. The stares. The whispers. They were getting louder, less subtle.

“Follow me,” the Coin whispered, tugging on his sleeve. The command pierced Cyrus’s paralysis. Relieved to have even the simplest of orders to follow, he did as asked. The flamboyant man kept his voice low so no one could overhear amid the hum of the party. “Walk about, mingling, and say nothing. You are best when a mystery. I will be near, and help when I can, but this part you have to manage on your own. I must appear deferential to you, not the other way around.”

They parted. Cyrus stood in the center of the crowd, lost like a piece of driftwood in the ocean. What had begun as fascination suddenly turned into everyone ignoring his presence. No one approached him. Were they frightened of him? Or unimpressed? Gods help him, he would strangle Thorda for this.