He swallowed and headed down through the castle, hastening past servants who seemed to be hurriedly preparing for the return of the king, polishing floors and silver, brushing dust from tapestries and setting out food in readiness. He pushed one aside as he moved through a hall with low beams overhead, heading for his rooms.

In those, he grabbed a sack, trying to decide what he would need to take. He threw in clothes, obviously, then coins. He took silver candlesticks, reasoning that he would be able to sell them, and grabbed jewelry. If he was not here, then his father and his brother could not do anything to him.

He was still trying to decide what to take when a servant appeared in the doorway.

What? Vars snapped, his fear turning into anger, as it so often did.

Your highness, the servant said. You need to come. Your father…

Was this what it had come to? Had they sent servants to drag him there? Would there be knights waiting outside the door, ready to carry him away?

One moment, Vars said, trying to think of a way out of it. Perhaps he could still slip away.

Your highness, the servant said. Your father has fallen in battle. You must come to the great hall.

Sheer shock dropped Vars to his knees. He tumbled, not understanding.

My lord, can I help you? the servant asked.

Vars waved the servant off, climbing back to his feet by grabbing onto a statue of some hero Vars didnt even know the name of. He didnt feel very heroic right then, barely had the strength to pull himself up again. The weight of the statue held Vars in place, staring at the servant there, barely comprehending the words.

Say that again, he said. His voice was barely more than a whisper.

Your father, the servant said. He has fallen. Not dead, but he will not wake. And your brother Rodry is gone.

That took time to sink in past the wash of fear that had been filling Varss mind. The meaning of it took even longer. Seconds passed in silence, emotions flaring through him one after the other, and all at once. Fear, horror… relief. It was too much, too overwhelming to consider.

His father was fallen in battle. Vars could just about comprehend that. But for Rodry to be gone too…

Im… Im king? Vars said.

Yes, your highness, the servant said, and then corrected himself. A regent, at least, while your father is… unwell.

Vars stood there, blinking, trying to wait for it to make sense. Then he pushed past the servant, all but running down in the direction of the great hall. He wound his way through the castles corridors, down spiral stairs and along galleries filled with the faces of dead kings. Would his fathers features be set there now? In time, would his?