There was much to admire about Reitzke's market district.

  The colours of the kingdom were draped upon the sky itself. Banners and fgs flew from rooftop to rooftop, their numbers matched only by the seagulls sitting upon the lining.

  And all below them was a feast.

  Merchants boasting fare dripping with rd thronged the busy streets, competing for the eyes of the many visitors the kingdom's greatest marketpce demanded. Others offered toys, curios and junk of ever decreasing quality and ever increasing cost.

  Those fortunate enough to own their own shops ruled like emperors, stationing smiling maidens to draw those with thick purses and unsmiling guards to frighten those with sticky fingers.

  The rest were stall keepers, yet few begrudged their lesser presence.

  Costs for licences grew year on year, but so too did profits. Those who once staked their cims with gold now did so with iron. Once the market closed, the stalls still remained, bolted like masts on a ship.

  From Wirtzhaven in the south to Marinsgarde in the north, the finest and worst that the Kingdom of Tirea had to offer were on dispy, here to be judged, dismissed and then inevitably bought.

  Entrepreneurship filled the air of a busy spring day … yet it also extended to the ground as well.

  Rarely did the rodents of Reitzke seek their scraps where none stepped. Like the strays which darted after them, they were well hidden by the hustle and bustle, scrounging what morsels they could.

  The ones which Crown Prince Rond Contzen watched were far more discerning.

  Even so, their odour managed to still be greater.

  The rats of Reitzke, after all, were remarkably loyal to the city.

  … Or so he'd heard from Renise.

  Beside the sign of a bar constantly swinging from the coming and going of smiling customers, only two showed no interest in revelry.

  Rond watched as strangers from afar pyed the game of conspiracy in his kingdom. The rules they ascribed to were different from the ones he enjoyed. He at least wore a hood. The minimum level of subterfuge required. But perhaps it was a sign of good fortune that the test tranche of diplomats from Granholtz were still more interested in indulging in their own games than that of their ruler.

  His were not the only eyes to judge them, after all.

  A young man and woman lounged upon a nearby balcony, the sweet words traded upon their lips starkly different to the ones they held in their thoughts. Loyal hands belonging to the Granholtz Deputy Ambassador, but not his superior.

  Factions. Rivalries. Suspicions.

  Although they served under one banner, they doubted if the shade of bck they each saw was quite the same. And how right they were to. At least one amongst them was untrue.

  The Eyes of the Mirage rarely blinked, but here amidst the wiles of Granholtz and the gre of Tirea's springtime, the Dune King's observer betrayed a subtle smile.

  After all—

  “Hmmmmm …”

  She was currently deciding whether or not to buy Rond's fruit slime figurine.

  Eyes which could discern a lie from a truth as easily as a farmer gleaned a wolf from sheep peered closely, never once paying attention to the enormous amounts of sweat dripping down Rond's face.

  Muscles which Rond never knew existed clenched. All the while, the frowning woman from the Kingdom of Dunes leaned slightly to the side, her serious expression almost reflected in the fruit slime’s shine.

  She looked up with a gaze sharper than any of the knives she carried.

  Suddenly, all her focus was upon Rond. He felt as the hood he wore was being burned through. His throat gulped. The sweat seeped through his clothing and clung to his cloak.

  The Dune woman's lips tightly pursed together.

  And then—

  “This … This is amazing!”

  She cpped her hands together … and then continued cpping in frantic appuse.

  “Why, I had no idea this kingdom possessed craftsmanship so fine! For cy work, this … this is astonishing!”

  Rond swallowed his saliva as well as his words. As he tried to speak, the words caught in his throat.

  “The … ahem, the compliment is undeserved,” said Rond, doing his best to change his voice into … anything not his. “But I offer my gratitude nonetheless.”

  To his surprise, the woman shook her head.

  “No, no, no, no! I've seen markets all around the continent, from the Grand Bazaar in the Dunes to the Sunlight Festival in the Summer Kingdoms. But this … I've never seen anyone replicate a fruit slime so perfectly! And in the midst of a bounce as well! The detailing of the lines is exquisite!”

  Rond stood up a little straighter, then remembered to sck, pulling down his hood in the process.

  To be complimented by a member of the Dune King's private circle was outndish to say the least. Even so, a spark of pride lit up inside him.

  None knew his face.

  None knew his name.

  But all knew his figurines.

  They were masterworks of cy. If a swordsmith forged a bde with half the meticulous detail that Rond dispyed while making his figurines in the middle of the night when he really should be sleeping, then it would be a weapon passed down the generations.

  It was his cim to fame.

  Beyond being the Crown Prince, that is.

  That was a title handed down to him. And while many, himself most of all, doubted his competency for the role, he took a sombre pride in the fact that even if the perils of statecraft proved beyond him, he could at least have a role behind his own private stall in Reitzke's market district.

  … Not least because it also allowed him to watch those who believed themselves far more subtle than they truly were.

  Renise would pale if she knew.

  Or explode into a horrified fit. Yes, that was more likely.

  There was no need for Rond to expose himself, after all. Especially since Rose House had been founded to assume the specific duties that knights were ill-trained for.

  However, while smugglers and thieves knew the city's sewers and docks, Rond knew the boutiques, the brightly lit cafes, the private terraces and the finest restaurants.

  Foreign operatives may whisper in the shadows, but they certainly didn't dine in them.

  When it came to identifying those whose eyes and gait betrayed both their origins and their purpose, Rond knew who to observe better than any other. And so he hid in pin sight. Just as they did.

  But better.

  So much so, that not even one who whispered directly into the Dune King's ears realised who he was.

  … Yet.

  Once again, Rond's muscles clenched.

  “... How much?” asked the woman, her look furtive and hopeful. She fingered her pouch, looking for all the world like a townsgirl risking her week's wages when she had none to spare.

  “5 copper crowns,” replied Rond, his merchant's smile barely visible beneath his dark hood.

  “Excuse me? 5 … 5 copper crowns?”

  “Oh, my apologies. Is that too—”

  “That cannot be right! … It is barely more than bread!”

  Rond stopped himself from chuckling.

  A nervous chuckle, yes. But one he knew would be as telling as doing away with his hood altogether.

  “I believe in making my wares affordable,” he said, declining to mention that as the Crown Prince, he really didn't need to ask for any amount at all. “My fruit slimes are popur with both adults and children, after all. But I do sell a more expensive range of figurines. That would be my dragons.”

  “Dragons?”

  Eyes sparkled like an oasis before him. Rond felt an odd twinge of guilt.

  “Dragons, yes. Unfortunately, they are already sold out for today. The models are particurly bour intensive, and there's an unofficial reservation list I also attempt to honour. This fruit slime is, in fact, the st of my wares today.”

  “I'll buy it.”

  The look of disappointment was mercifully brief. In a fsh, a handful of coins was being presented on Rond's stall.

  He didn't take it.

  “Ma'am, um, the fruit slime is 5 copper crowns. This appears to be 5 gold crowns.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Rond blinked in confusion. But only for a moment.

  “... Ah, I see now.” He nodded in sudden understanding. “You desire change. Is there a particur amount of copper or silver crowns you wish for?”

  “I don't want change.”

  “Hm?”

  “Please take all 5 gold crowns as payment for the fruit slime.”

  “Excuse me? … I, well, I cannot possibly accept this.”

  “Nonsense. You are a master craftsman. It's horrific for me to even consider paying you anything less than what your skill is worth. I insist. 5 gold crowns. Please.”

  Rond's mouth widened, despite his many years of etiquette training.

  A moment ter … a strange noise gurgled from his throat as he watched the woman happily skipping away. Whatever her mission was, she'd seemingly forgotten it in light of the cy fruit slime figurine she'd purchased.

  Rond gazed forlornly down at his palms, at the 5 gold crowns accidentally donated to the kingdom's treasury by a member of a foreign intelligence organisation.

  Then … he let out a sigh of relief.

  Not only that he'd preserved his identity, but also that those he’d still followed throughout the horrifying interaction were no more. The diplomats and their minders had quietly dispersed, their order of business and treachery done for the day.

  The worst case scenario had not happened.

  Not here. Not yet.

  Those involved in today's cndestine meetings were none of his own. But Rond knew it was only a brief respite.

  Soon, his lords, his soldiers … even his own knights would be approached by a whisper in the dark. A pouch of coins when the purse feels lightest.

  Just like how it was elsewhere.

  The contents of the letter he received from Renise concerning Hartzwiese were not entirely unexpected, but they were deeply unappreciated. The news of Baroness Arisa Sandholt's tryst with the criminal syndicates of Granholtz had caused him to lose so much sleep that his guards had to prevent the castle physician from magically sedating him.

  Rond was sad he didn't succeed.

  However … if there was any joy to be had, it was that he'd been saved once again.

  He was not alone in his endeavours.

  Rose House was paying dividends. They could not yet compete with the career liars of other nations, but Renise was nothing if not dependable. Especially in her inventiveness.

  In many ways, she was less like a smuggler and more an adventurer.

  And so that brought about his next order of business.

  Matters of patronage.

  Allowing a nod of satisfaction at the emptied state of his stall, Rond left the market district behind–as well as approximately half of his subtlety.

  By the time he arrived at the Adventurer's Guild, more than a few gnces were spared his way.

  His hood was slightly angled, deliberately revealing the very tip of his chin. More than enough for those who cimed Reitzke's guild hall as their own.

  And for their part, they welcomed him with the closest thing adventurers could to discretion.

  It was widely known that the Crown Prince favoured the Adventurer's Guild. A rumour he was more than happy to sow. Long before Rose House came to be, he'd sought the aid of the Adventurer's Guild in the few matters where a wall of nces couldn't suffice.

  Even now, he wouldn't eschew their help. He needed it more than anyone else.

  The gratitude he now wished to convey was proof of that.

  “Good morning,” he said, his voice strangely rexed, as though instantly taken in by the raucous atmosphere. “My apologies for the sudden request, but would Mr. Quinsley happen to be avaible?”

  Before him, the familiar receptionist offered a pleasant smile.

  As always, she humoured his ckadaisical attempt at subtlety by not querying his name. And also not breaking into a blind panic. But Rond wouldn't expect anything else. Guild receptionists were famed for their professionalism.

  All the more so if they'd been hired by Timon Quinsley.

  A man of legendary repute, although few knew the true extent of his past.

  Even after all these years, Rond still found himself visiting the guildmaster's office as often as he did while a little prince pying truant. The days of yearning to be an adventurer were over, but his appreciation for the guildmaster wasn't.

  Especially as he'd yet to tattle regarding his indiscretion.

  “Good morning,” replied the receptionist, her nod the only courtesy to his status she would risk. “Regretfully, the guildmaster is away on an important errand. If the matter is urgent, I can attempt to rey a message.”

  Rond didn’t allow his shoulders to sag. He was crestfallen, but unsurprised. He was hardly the only busy man in the kingdom, after all, and Timon Quinsley was likely the only person in Reitzke whose door had seen out more people than his.

  He shook his head.

  “That won't be necessary. It is a simple matter of acknowledgement. Please convey, if you could, my deep appreciation for the guild's recent role in maintaining the peace in Hartzwiese. I am deeply grateful that the people there may continue to enjoy its bustling market free of worry.”

  “I will ensure Mr. Quinsley receives your message. I’m certain he will be deeply appreciative of your kind words.”

  Rond offered a princely smile.

  And that was that.

  With Mr. Quinsley absent and his message delivered, his short business was concluded.

  Rond offered a nod towards the receptionist, then turned … and then continued turning, all the way until he was facing the still smiling receptionist once again.

  “... Incidentally, I am told that a certain adventurer was instrumental in aiding Hartzwiese's fortunes. I believe it’s the same one who was also responsible for subduing the Smuggler's Guild, as well as a host of other matters. A certain … Juliette, yes?”

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  Rond chuckled … although not only from his sudden bout of good mood.

  “My apologies, I confess I’m still not used to hearing that name spoken in the context of an adventurer. I've a younger sister by that name also. A sweet girl who is not prone to violence. I dare say she is quite unlikely to ever consider wearing the copper ring.”

  The receptionist stared.

  Her smile and posture were both as fixed as her desk. Rond gave a cough.

  A moment ter, he retrieved a small item within his cloak and presented it to the receptionist. He hadn't been lying when he said he'd sold out of dragons for today. But he’d omitted that he was holding one in reserve, to provide as a token of his appreciation.

  A figurine of an ancient green dragon.

  In truth, he was more than a little embarrassed at the idea of presenting his own work as a gift. But it was earnestly made. And every adventurer possessed a deep seated admiration for all things dragons. He had no doubt this one was the same.

  “It is a gift,” said Rond, putting aside his embarrassment. “I had it purchased from a craftsman of apparent renown in the market. I'm told this is his finest work. If you could, please offer it to Miss Juliette as a fraction of my gratitude. Of course, there will be greater accodes once time and formality permits.”

  “I'll ensure Miss Juliette receives it. I'm certain she will be delighted.”

  The receptionist nodded. The professional smile warmed.

  A hint of recognition was revealed. Rond snapped it up at once.

  “... By any chance, I don't suppose you've had the pleasure of meeting this elusive adventurer yourself?”

  “I have, yes. On several occasions.”

  The receptionist paused.

  “... By accident.”

  “I ... I see? Then those accidents were quite fortunate. Try as I might, it seems I have as little luck offering my gratitude to this adventurer as I do Mr. Quinsley. Tell me, what is she like?”

  For a moment, Rond received no reply.

  Fearing at once that he'd asked this dutiful receptionist to overstep her bounds, he swiftly made to offer her an excuse.

  Instead … he found the receptionist smiling more brightly than ever.

  “Miss Juliette is deeply virtuous. I believe she exhibits all the qualities of an ideal adventurer. Her heart is matched only by the strength of her sword. I've no doubt that come even the deepest dark, she will continue to light the way ahead. And that she will do so while supporting the kingdom in every manner that she can.”

  Rond offered a genuine smile as the dragon was carefully received by the receptionist.

  It wasn't often he allowed the hard gaze expected of a Crown Prince to fall. But for the adventurer who had chosen his kingdom to make a name for herself, he would offer as many as could be gleaned.

  Especially as each time her name was uttered, he was reminded of a different warmth.

  One of family. And of memories.

  Rond couldn't help but chuckle as he thought of his sister, whose innocence was ever the fme which kept the cold at bay. So long as he was Crown Prince, he would work hard to ensure it would never fade.

  Fortunately, that dark day had yet to pass.

  The Royal Capital was calm. At least for another day.

  And while he didn't know what Juliette was doing right now, he had no doubt she was rexing with a joyful smile upon her face.

  kayenano