Upon Handel’s passing, the title of page was Olaf’s by right. But that designation would never bring satisfaction to Olaf as it had to his father. No, his birthright, as he perceived it, was to advance far beyond a simple page and write a complete chapter that would change the course of his family history. His aspiration was firmly in mind when he poured his first goblet of terrazka for the callow young Xander. With the malleable and highly manageable whim of the next king at his disposal, Olaf quickly paved his way to the highest position his lineage would allow, that of chancellor, confidant and curator of the Crown.

Still, Olaf knew it was not enough.

Standing at the right hand of Xander’s moral and mental decay, the chancellor’s ambition grew into bitterness and covetousness. The monarchy was not built on merit, and the kingdom was left to suffer the incompetence. Olaf exerted what influence he could, but he was often left unfulfilled as Xander’s paranoia grew with the approaching Prophecy. Many nights after Xander succumbed to drunken stupor, Olaf would convene the Four Tellers in a desperate attempt to divine a more reasonable direction for the Crown. It was during one of these strategic summits that epiphany flowered in Olaf’s fertile imagination.

Perhaps the Prophecy was not a curse to be controverted, but a blessing to be embraced. If Princess Allegra were to wed a common soldier, the Prophecy foretold, the reign of Xander the Firm would come to an end.

And what would be so bad about that? Olaf had opined at long last.

The chancellor remembered that flash of inspiration well. He had been staring at The Which across a candlelit table, and a flush had come upon him as if he had suddenly been taken by illness. He would never forget the random thought that precipitated his sudden paroxysm of clarity: What a fitting queen she would make.

It all became so clear to him. With no male heir readily apparent, the power of Mano could fall to the next in the line of succession—the chancellor. And the Prophecy, not a bloody coup, would be to blame.

Certainly, Queen Nor and Princess Allegra were details to be dealt with eventually, but first things first. The Prophecy had to be realized somehow, and Xander had to fall.

The Which had been more than willing when he told her his plan, and had quickly become his consort and co-conspirator. Now, here they were. Standing again before this monolithic obstacle, their future held at bay by the inability of a single soldier to defeat the mystery of the Tree.

“Tomorrow is not a historic day for Mano,” she said, and Olaf felt the full weight of her regret. Of another failure.

The chancellor moved his hand from her shoulder and gently caressed her face. “That day will come, my dear.”

The Which warmly took his hand and kissed it. Olaf pulled her into a passionate embrace, and their lips came together. He held her there, feeling the soft cambers of her back. He wished he could linger, but the luxury of her embrace quickly turned his desire into resentment. Why must we steal affection? he thought. Why were they denied this most basic of necessities? It was not fair.