After Elvira’s visit, Varre spent the entire day resting in bed. He felt fine, but Benjamin, ever the loyal servant, was insistent. To his own surprise, Varre did end up falling asleep rather easily and spent hours napping at a time.

  The prince was fed of course. Filling, hot stews were available at a moment’s notice, whenever he woke up. All he had to do was ring the bell next to his bed and the chamberlain, or one of Zarkon’s assistants would immediately bring in a warm meal.

  The healer encouraged this rest and ignored Varre’s pleas that he was feeling much better.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Zarkon would say, “your body needs rest. The more you sleep, the sooner you’ll be able to get out of bed and walk around.”

  Finally, when the next morning came, the prince’s room started buzzing with activity again. The king was coming and everything had to be spotless. As soon as Varre finished breakfast, the others got to work. Jury mopped the wooden floors, while Benjamin dusted all of the furniture. The girls replaced all of the candles in the room with fresh ones, even though they remained unlit. The windows were opened to let some fresh air in.

  In the meantime, Perry worked on the prince. Apparently Varre had been lying in bed for several weeks now, mostly unconscious. His beard grew out and Zarkon’s assistant volunteered to make the prince more presentable for this important meeting. She was knowledgeable about the latest court fashion. At least knowledgeable enough to convince Benjamin to allow her to continue.

  She took out a clean razor and shaved Varre’s beard. The prince felt a little uneasy with a sharp blade this close to his neck, but as a nurse, the girl must have been dexterous enough to perform far more dangerous surgeries. Besides, the loyal chamberlain watched her like a hawk. He wouldn’t allow his liege to come to harm.

  Perry worked quickly and efficiently. She first soaped up his beard and then started shaving. She held the blade close to his skin, but she did not nick him even once. Once she finished, she removed the soap with a towel. Then she held a small hand mirror in front of Varre’s face.

  This was the first time that the prince could get a proper look at his face since he woken up in this strange place. He was surprised at how clean of a shave she managed to pull off, though she did leave a moustache.

  “It’s the latest fashion for nobles of your age, your highness,” she explained.

  Varre used this opportunity to examine the rest of his face. His brown hair was long, almost shoulder length. No one said anything about cutting it shorter, so this must have been fashionable too. He was good looking. The royal family must have had access to the latest cosmetics and treatments.

  Once the prince was satisfied, Perry moved to combing his hair. The comb’s handle was studded with a couple gems. Yet another reminder of his status in this world. Not only was he being attended to by multiple servants, but even his simple tools must have been expensive.

  The girl finished styling Varre’s hair and passed the mirror back to the prince. His mane was much neater now, organized into straight strands. Benjamin nodded approvingly.

  Though the prince would remain in bed for the duration of the meeting, he still had to be made even more presentable. Jury brought in several more pillows. She put them behind Varre, allowing him to sit up straight. His night shirt was taken off and replaced by a cleaner shirt, and covered with a blue tunic on top. The colors of Varre’s family. The House of Logres. The prince would remain in bed for the entire meeting, but just in case, he received a pair of dark breeches as well. No one wanted to risk offending the king, by appearing untidy.

  Once both the prince and the room were presentable, the servants moved to the final touches. Benjamin, helped by both girls, brought in a heavy chair. Apparently it came from former duke Tymon’s study. It was made from solid wood and engraved with the royal emblem. The armrests were covered with gold. It wasn’t quite the same as a throne, but it was fit for a king. Almost literally.

  The others prepared as well. Benjamin changed into clean clothes, but he looked very much the same. He was always dressed elegantly as a chamberlain, ready for important meetings at a moment’s notice.

  The girls put on frilly dresses. Perry wore light blue, while Jury went with green. Though they spent most of their time cleaning and cooking, they weren’t just regular servants. They were apprentices of a renowned healer. Varre had no idea whether they were nobles, but they sure looked the part.

  Zarkon, as the prince’s personal physician, would sit in through the entire meeting. Thus, he had to dress appropriately too. He wore an elegant, dark blue tunic as well as a cape. He styled his moustache and covered his head in a hat. Instead of a royal chair however, he would have to be satisfied with sitting on a stool.

  Finally, as noon was approaching, Perry spotted the royal carriage riding down the street. The girl remained with the prince, but the others went downstairs to welcome the king. Varre wished he could stand up and look at the commotion outside, but he would have to save that for another day.

  He heard a loud conversation downstairs. Then, sets of heavy boots walking upstairs. Finally, a pair of heavily armored soldiers came into the room. These must have been the Royal Guards. They were fully covered in plate armor, with large scabbards hanging from their belts. At their backs, each wore a blue cape, with the same emblem of the royal family Varre had seen before. One wore a full-faced helmet, but the other held his own beneath his shoulder. He must have been the leader.

  Perry curtsied when she saw them enter.

  The commander looked at her briefly and then bowed at the prince. “Prince Varre. It is an honor to see you recovering well.”

  The prince nodded back. “Thank you. Have we met before?”

  “Captain Hakon. Head of the Royal Guard,” he responded.

  The leader turned to the second soldier and gave a quiet order. The guard walked outside into the corridor. Probably to inspect the other rooms on this floor and make sure they were safe.

  After a couple of minutes of awkward silence, the sound of loud footsteps could be heard on the stairs again. A large group of people must have been on their way.

  Eventually, a single man walked in and stopped just after the doors. He wore a similar outfit to what Varre put on this morning, but even more elegant. He also wore a similar cape to the one the Royal Guards used, though a little lighter. He had a long brown beard and warm brown eyes that scanned the room. He also wore a golden crown, studded with large, colorful gems. The king had finally arrived.

  The captain opened his mouth as if to make an announcement, but he was ignored.

  “My nephew!” the king called out and rushed across the room towards the bed, “Varre! It’s so good to see you again!”

  He bent over next to the bed and hugged the prince, still sitting up on his pillows. Varre, unsure of how to react, hugged back. As he held the king, he looked at the reactions from the others. Perry got down on one knee and looked down on the floor. The guard captain stood silently by the wall. Zarkon took a few steps inside the room, but stood quietly in the center. Benjamin, and a couple more guards crowded by the doors.

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  “Thank you… your highness,” Varre finally replied.

  The king laughed. “Since when do you call me that? I’ve told you. Please, call me uncle Mikkel.”

  The captain of the guard cleared his throat and finally made his announcement. “You are in the presence of his majesty, King Mikkel the Third.”

  His voice boomed loudly across the entire room. Perry was kneeling the whole time, but after the announcement, Benjamin got down on one knee as well. Zarkon on the other hand, put his hand at his chest and bowed deeply. Though he remained standing. Then, everyone else stood up.

  “Your majesty,” the physician began, “as I’ve explained before, prince Varre is currently experiencing amnesia. I’m afraid he lost his memories, and he does not remember you very well.”

  “Thank you, healer. You’ve done a good job,” Mikkel turned back to his nephew, “still, I’m glad to see you again boy. Very few people survive the Soulkiller you know?”

  “So I heard… uncle,” Varre answered.

  The king smiled. “As you might imagine, when I first heard that you guys got the plague I was very concerned. Then your mother died. Then, my brother. I was devastated. And yet you. Odd, quiet little Varre made it,” he put his hand down on the prince’s arm, “good job. You’ve made your family proud. You’re made of tougher stuff!”

  “Thank you. I’m still a little weak. I’ve been awake for a couple days now, but still can’t leave this bed.”

  Mikkel laughed and pointed to his nephew, “are you hearing him? This man got the Soulkiller, survived, and just three days later he wants to get out into the world already. Now that’s my nephew! Real House Logres material!”

  Benjamin started lightly clapping in approval. Perry, Zarkon, and the guards joined in.

  “Again, you’ve done an excellent job healer,” the king said, “I’m sure my own steward would like to speak to you later about your work. You can expect a message from her soon.”

  Zarkon bowed. “Thank you my liege. I look forward to being of service.”

  Mikkel nodded. “Good. Now leave us. The healer can stay.”

  The rest of the crowd slowly petered out of the room. The captain was the last to leave. He kept his eyes peeled on the king, as he slowly closed the doors behind him. Most likely, he remained just outside in case anything happened.

  “So, now that we’re alone,” Mikkel sat down in the chair and briefly looked at Zarkon, “well, almost alone, how are you really feeling Varre?”

  The prince tried to raise himself up on the bed a little higher. “I am good uncle, really. My limbs are still a little weak, so I can’t walk around just yet, but hopefully soon.”

  The king nodded and turned to the healer, who sat down at the stool. “When will he fully recover?”

  “Your majesty,” Zarkon, “prince Varre is a remarkable individual, with incredible resilience. He managed to survive the plague, but his body is still exhausted. Fortunately, all he needs now is rest. Soon, perhaps within days, he will be able to start walking again. It’s just a matter of time now.”

  Mikkel patiently listened, then asked, “any other side effects? Will the disease return?”

  “No your majesty. The prince’s body defeated the Soulkiller and he is fully cured now.”

  “Excellent, most excellent,” the king turned back to his nephew, “well, then as soon as you’re ready, I want you to come to the castle. We will throw a feast in your name!”

  “A feast?” Varre smiled, “well, then I look forward to it. All I’ve had so far are soups and stews!”

  “Good! Then I’ll tell the cooks to get ready for a very hungry guest of honor!” Mikkel laughed, “but stews and soups? Really? Do I need to send you some servants to help around the kitchen?”

  “I don’t know,” the prince shrugged, “Benjamin’s been taking care of everything around here.”

  “His chamberlain, your majesty,” Zarkon interjected, “and the prince’s diet has been a little light on purpose. We don’t want to overstress his body.”

  “I see. Well, I won’t argue with the man who managed to cure the Soulkiller. Clearly he knows what he’s doing,” Mikkel winked at his nephew, “and I’ll have my guys talk to yours. I’ll help out if you need anything.”

  “Thank you uncle,” Varre smiled again.

  The king leaned forward in his chair. “Now, I’ve heard some interesting news. Apparently Elvira came for a visit.”

  “Yes, she checked out my talents,” the prince confirmed.

  “Twenty five luck? Is that correct?” Mikkel leaned even further.

  “Yes, apparently. But I still don’t know how good that is, exactly” Varre admitted.

  “How good?” the king laughed, “let’s just say that there’s no one who comes close in all of Logres. Hell, I don’t know if there’s anyone like that on the entire continent!”

  “Elvira encouraged me to visit her at the mages’ guild.”

  “Did she? Smart girl,” Mikkel looked off to the side as if thinking about something, “I’ve always told your father that I don’t mind. That he should invest in your training a bit. But he was so traditional. ‘It’s not proper for someone so far from the line of succession to be so ambitious,’” he tried to imitate a voice, probably Varre’s father, “but better late than never I suppose. Who knows what you’ll achieve with luck like that.”

  The prince scratched his head. “Elvira said that it’s not a very well understood attribute.”

  “Yeah. People who have it seem to do better than others, that’s true. But if even she can’t explain why, then what chance do I have,” the king lowered his voice, “but that’s not the only interesting news I heard. Apparently you have some new ability too.”

  “You mean strange mind?” Varre asked.

  “Exactly. Any idea what it does? Or where it comes from?” Mikkel looked first to his nephew and then at the healer.

  “We’re not sure, your majesty,” Zarkon admitted, “senior mage Elvira did not know either. She agreed to investigate it further.”

  “Good,” the king nodded, “it’s not every day you hear about someone with an unknown ability. Especially not from the royal family. And even more especially, not when it appears on its own, in an adult,” he looked right into the healer’s eyes, “did you have something to do with this?”

  Zarkon swallowed uncomfortably. “That… is one of the theories your majesty. My treatment is newly developed and highly advanced. As you know, there’s not many healers who can cure the Soulkiller plague.”

  “None that I know of,” Mikkel glanced back at his nephew.

  “Right. And I have not had many patients either. It’s a very rare disease. The ability could… be a side effect of my treatment. Just like the prince’s increased luck. But I am not certain yet. This is why I am monitoring his health so carefully now.”

  “Fair enough,” the king slowly nodded to himself, “well, I won’t blame you for curing Varre. You’ve achieved a great result,” he turned back to the prince, “and don’t worry. It’s a great honor to carry a new, unique ability. Now you get to find out exactly what it does and how to best use it yourself. But don’t be afraid to rely on Elvira. She’s an expert here. I’m sure she’ll help you figure it out.”

  “Thank you uncle. I will,” Varre confirmed.

  Mikkel straightened up in his chair. “And now that the niceties are out of the way, let’s move on to business. Could you leave us healer?”

  “Your majesty?” Zarkon stammered, “are you sure? The prince is still very fragile, I don’t know if he’s ready for heavy topics. And don’t forget his amnesia.”

  Strange, Varre thought, it almost looks like he’s panicking. Shouldn’t I be doing that? After all, I’m the one who’s hiding who I really am. His amnesia theory is very convenient for me, but the king seems like such a nice guy. I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m sure I can handle it alone.

  “Thank you healer,” Mikkel pointed to the doors, “I will keep that in mind.”

  Zarkon swallowed nervously, but didn’t argue the point further. He walked up to the doors, slowly and kept turning around, as if he hoping the king would change his mind. But he never did. Mikkel just kept slowly staring at the old man, until he finally opened the doors and stepped out into the corridor.

  Once the doors shut, the king shrugged, “what was that about?”

  “I… have no idea uncle,” Varre admitted.

  “Right… Well, onto business. So as you know, your late father was the duke of Lindridge.”

  “Well, I heard he was a duke,” the prince joked.

  “Then you’ve heard correct. And now, with his passing, the duchy needs a new duke. Do you know what that means?”

  Varre gulped. “Do you… want me to be the new duke?”

  “Of course!” the king laughed and slapped his knee, “you are his only heir after all!”

  The prince smiled too and pretended to laugh.

  “Of course, you are officially the duke already, but we will perform a special ceremony right before your feast. Always one more thing to celebrate right?”

  “Right.”

  “Good lad. Then I look forward to it,” the king stood up and turned to leave.

  Suddenly he froze and returned to the bed. He stopped right beside his nephew, leaned over, and slowly whispered. “Do you remember the promise I made you a few years ago? On aunt Margaret’s birthday?”

  Varre froze. Was this a test? Does he not believe the amnesia story? Was it a promise so great that it was supposed to somehow transcend memory loss? Maybe I should guess, or make something up. Damn, that’d be even more risky.

  Finally, after a few tense moments of silence, the prince turned to the king. “Sorry uncle. I don’t. I’ve lost my memories, remember?” he paused, then carefully added “but Zarkon said there is a chance they might return with time, so who knows. It might come back to me.”

  Mikkel smiled. “Good answer nephew,” he put his arm on Varre’s shoulder and shook it, “there never was a promise! I’d be much more concerned if you tried to make something up!”

  The king laughed and the prince joined him.

  After a while, Mikkel straightened back up. “Right then, duke Varre, I am glad to see you back in the land of the living. I look forward to see what you achieve now, friend. As for yourself,” he paused, “you can look forward to the feast!”

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