The king raised his hand to his haunted and haggard face. He absently stroked his bedraggled beard and discovered it still damp from dribbled terrazka. He lurched suddenly and purposefully out of the observatory, remembering that he still had a half-empty bottle.

* * *

No one was surprised by the monarch’s sudden departure. They all knew the reason. The chancellor watched him slouch away with the smooth, blank expression that comes from constant friction, but the queen watched Olaf.

She sensed an unusual serenity about him that struck her as odd given the circumstances. She had long viewed him as the very embodiment of a busybody: incessantly busy with his plans and strategies, busy with the constant custodial care of the king, busy with everyone else’s business. So much so that Nor often judged that his reach exceeded his grasp. But now, Olaf had no business being calm. His empty-handed optimism hinted at something else afoot.

“This Prophecy has consumed him. He can think of nothing else,” the queen said, as much to herself as to the room.

She turned to the two men, noticing immediately that Olaf looked away. The Why still had not looked up, but the queen cared little for his complicity.

“Your thoughts, Chancellor Olaf?” Queen Nor asked suddenly.

It had the desired effect. Olaf’s head snapped toward her, a look of surprise and guilt on his face. It was obvious that his mind had been elsewhere, and the last thing he expected was for the queen to solicit his input. He stared at her blankly for a moment too long.

“Am I interrupting something?” the queen continued pointedly.

“Of course not, Your Highness.” Olaf chuckled. He recovered his composure with an obsequious smile. “I was simply lost in thought. Concerned for the well-being of our king. I merely wish to remain a calming presence for him.”

The queen raised a doubting eyebrow and stepped closer to him. “Believe me when I say, Chancellor, that your concern is beginning to concern me. And calm is not a word that anyone I know would ever attribute to you.”

“You’re very rarely calm,” The Why offered helpfully.

After a poisonous sideways glance at The Why, Olaf tilted his head toward Nor in seeming sincerity and deference. “My Queen, you misunderstand me,” he said. “I am not complacent. I have come to believe that this will pass, so I optimistically plan for the day after the accursed constellation.”

Queen Nor studied the chancellor’s face, but he was once again unreadable. There was honesty in Olaf’s eyes, but even that left the queen feeling uncertain. She could not find reason to refute his statement, so she had to take him at his word, as glib as his position seemed to be. She had caught him out once. She doubted he would allow her to do that again. At the very least, she could make sure he knew his place.