I do not know how he had planned to end his ceremony, but he brought it to a rather abrupt close after that. At his curt signal, minstrels struck up abruptly, while at another nod the doors opened and men bore in table boards already laden, while boys hastened after them with the trestles to set them upon. At least for this feast he had spared nothing, and the well-prepared meats and pastries were welcomed by all. If there seemed to be something of a shortage of bread, no one thought to complain of it. Cloths and tables had been set in the Lesser Hall for the grand folk, and thither I saw Kettricken slowly escorting King Shrewd while the Fool and Rosemary trailed after them. For those of us with lesser rank, there were simpler but plentiful foods to hand and a cleared floor for dancing.

I had planned to make myself a hearty meal at the feasting, but again and again I was accosted by men who clapped my shoulder too firmly or women who met my eyes too knowingly. The Coastal Dukes were at table with the other high nobles, ostensibly breaking bread with Regal and cementing their new relationship to him. I had been told that all three Coastal Dukes would know I concurred with their plan. It was unnerving to find evidence that this was known among the lesser nobility as well. Celerity made no overt claim upon me as escort, but made me nervously aware of myself by following me about as mutely as a hound. I could not turn but I found her a half-dozen steps away. Plainly she wished me to speak to her, but I did not trust my wits to find suitable words. I almost broke when a lesser noble from Shoaks casually asked me if I thought any of the warships would be harbored as far south as False Bay.

With a sinking heart, I suddenly realized my error. None of them feared Regal. They saw no danger, only a spoiled popinjay of a boy who wished to wear fine clothes and a circlet and claim a title to himself. They believed he would go away and they could ignore him. I knew better.

I knew what Regal was capable of, in search of power, or on a whim, or simply because he believed he could get away with it. He would leave Buckkeep. He did not want it. But if he thought I did, he would do everything within his power to see that I did not get it. I was supposed to be dumped here, like a stray, left to starve or be raided. Not ascend to power on the wreckage he had left.

If I were not very careful, they would get me killed. Or worse, if there was anything Regal could devise that he saw as worse.

Twice I tried to slip away, and each time was cornered by someone who wanted a quiet moment of talk with me. I finally pleaded a headache and openly announced I was seeking my bed. Then I must be resigned to at least a dozen folk hastening to wish me good night before I retired. Just as I thought I was free Celerity touched a shy hand to mine and wished me good night in such a dispirited voice that I knew that I had hurt her feelings. That, I think, rattled me more than anything else that evening. I thanked her and, in my most cowardly act of that night, dared to kiss her fingertips. The resurgence of light in her eyes shamed me. I fled up the stairs. As I climbed them I wondered how Verity had ever stood this sort of thing, or my father. If I had ever thought or dreamed of being a real Prince instead of a bastard, I abandoned the dream that night. It was entirely too public a profession. With a sinking heart, I realized that this was how life would be for me until Verity returned. The illusion of power clung to me now, and too many would be dazzled by it.

I went to my own chamber and, with great relief, changed into sensible clothes. As I tugged on my shirt I felt the tiny bulge of Wallace’s poison, still sewn into my cuff. Perhaps, I reflected bitterly, it would bring me luck. I left my room and then committed possibly my most foolish act of the evening. I went up to Molly’s chamber. The servants’ hall was empty, the corridor but dimly lit with two wavering torches. I tapped at her door. There was no reply. I tried the latch softly, but it was not fastened. The door swung open at my touch.

Darkness. Emptiness. The small hearth held no fire. I found a bit of a candle and kindled it at a torch. Then I went back in her room and shut the door. I stood there while the devastation finally became real. It was all too Molly. The stripped bed, the hearth swept clean, but with a small stack of wood set ready for a fire for the next resident. Those were the touches that told me she had tidied herself out of the room. Not a ribbon, not a taper, not even a scrap of wicking remained of the woman who had lived a servant’s life here. The ewer set upside down in the basin to keep the dust out. I sat in her chair before the cold hearth, I opened her clothing chest and peered within. But it was not her chair, or hearth, or chest. These were just objects she had touched in the brief time she had been here.

Molly was gone.

She wasn’t coming back.