I HAVE thwarted fate.

I MUST have done so.

But had wind or cold or scavenging animal taken the babes? With effort, the boy-king stretched his tender intellect around this question. What would it mean if they hadn’t been eaten? Hadn’t been chilled to their bones? His smooth brow grew furrowed as he attempted to envision the consequences. What if they didn’t…

There was that word he couldn’t quite bring himself to say.

He ordered more honeycake. He ordered more cushions. He ordered the fan waved with more vigor. He rubbed his brow. A bit of an ache.

“More figs.”

“Close the blinds.”

“All the blinds.”

“Quiet the street.”

“Send them away.”

“All the supplicants—yes, send them away.”

“No, I will not see them today.”

“Send her away, too. Yes, my own mother.”

“Send her to the house that was mine when I was eleventh. Yes, that one. Make it fine. See that she’s… pleased.”

“More cushions.”

“Close the blinds.”

“More honeycake.”

“Send them away.”

As the years passed, the hiccups of hesitation grew so that no pillow or fan or sweet dish could stop the discomfort. He found himself even unable to sleep. He lay on his bed; he rose from his bed. He paced his dark chamber; he stalked the long halls. He roamed farther and farther each night, all through the corridors, all through his rooms—empty but for the guards bowing their heads.

One night found him having wandered all the way to the fish pond.

He hadn’t been here. He remembered, vaguely, a gardener asking if it should be built, and himself ordering, Yes, build it, for surely a king should have a fish pond. A pool, really, with its marble walls and marble floor, gleaming and white. It seemed like a fine thing to have. No weeds, no mud, no plant out of place—just a well-tended pool with well-tended fish intended for eating.

Pulling a branch from a nearby tree, he sat on the edge of the pool and poked at the fish in the water. He felt a little like he had as a child when he’d stood on the bank beneath the trees. He attempted to enjoy the quiet splashing; he attempted not to feel the uneasy hiccups building in his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine himself small again, but he saw only the darkness before him. The darkness was infuriating. Why could he not picture those trees? Or envision the frogs? The way they jumped? Why could he not feel now as he did then? He slapped at the dark water and the dark fish under the surface.

The night passed with his splashing and staring at the dark water. He did not even notice when dawn arrived and the fish-keep came to feed his scaled charges. Only when he heard, “You there! I’ll not have you harming these fishes! Get away! This pond belongs to the king!” did he look up and see the old man approaching.