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"N atier! Thank goodness you're safe!" King Rasdill ran up to his son and wrapped his arms around the young fox.

Natier returned the hug, relieved to finally be home. He rested his head against his father's chest, more from being dead-tired than any sort of affection he was supposed to have felt. The journey was long, and the memory of his mother's death had only made it longer. It was like a stubborn, infected cut that just refused to heal.

The courtier that had brought him into the palace whispered something into Rasdill's ear and the two retreated into a corner. Natier knew exactly what they were talking about. His hearing was much sharper than everyone gave him credit for; even with the distance and the hushed voices, he caught snatches of the conversation.

"She was killed, Your Majesty... It is a miracle your son made it back in one piece."

He saw tears forming in his father's eyes. "Did they find the body?"

"No, Your Majesty, the entire town was overrun."

"How?"

"We do not know."

Natier knew; he knew all too well. It was all his fault.

He didn't know what his father would do if he found out, so he kept quiet.

Rasdill and the courtier finished their conversation and approached him. "Natier, how would you like to see your new room?" The king extended his paw; Natier took it and followed his father up the marble staircase.

His new room was much bigger than his old one; the toys were gone, too. They were replaced with a large bookcase and an elaborately-carved writing desk. Everything seemed very serious and adult. Natier didn't mind. If anything, he wanted to leave his childhood behind as quickly as possible. It was a part of his life that he wanted to forget; between being isolated from everything by his overprotective mother and the perfect antithesis, having to beg and barter his way across the country to get home, Natier hoped that he would fare better in his life as an adult.

"How do you like it, Son?" The king watched him eagerly.

Natier smiled. "It's wonderful, Father; thank you."

Rasdill sighed with relief and smiled back, the gray showing clearly on his cheekruffs. "I'm glad you like it. It used to be your grandfather's study; I had it remodeled."

"I like it very much, Father." Natier made no attempt to stifle a large yawn.

Rasdill took the hint. "You must be very tired from your trip, Son. I will let you rest. Will you join me at dinner?"

"If I wake up in time, I would be happy to." Natier embraced his father again. "I missed you, Dad."

Rasdill sniffled and drew a paw across his eyes. "I missed you too, Natty."

He kissed Natier on the forehead and departed.

Natier stood in the middle of the sitting room and watched the door close. Once it was safe to be himself again, he walked slowly into the next room and collapsed on the bed.

Tears gathered in his eyes as he dug deep inside to find the source of the pain. He had already shed enough tears for his dead mother; whom was he crying for now? Himself? He did blame himself for everything that had happened; he was scarcely of age and, already, he had let blind love rob him of the one person in this world whom he was closest to. Natier buried his muzzle in the pillows and wept. His mother's death clawed at him, making him cry harder every time he thought back to it. He couldn't shoulder all the blame without collapsing under its immense weight. A sudden flash of insight made Natier realize that he didn't have to. His father was to blame as much as he. It was all his idea to send a peace envoy to Septimine, a province known for its loathing of the royal family. Had he not been so insistent on preserving diplomatic ties and choosing such a foolish course of action to do so, none of this would have happened.

With his guilt slightly assuaged, Natier fell asleep running his claws through the blue silk sheets.

He wasn't sure what time it was when he woke up, but it was probably quite late. Someone had undressed him and gotten him under the covers. The curtains on the windows were drawn and candles glimmered in their holders all around his chamber.

Natier sat up in bed and yawned. He no longer felt like having dinner with his father. The recent blame he'd placed upon Rasdill would make any extraneous contact very awkward.

He'd arrange for something to be brought up.

Natier reached for a pull-cord that hung next to his bed and tugged on it. There was a muted sound of a bell somewhere in the distance followed by pawsteps.

A raccoon footservant entered the bedroom. "How may I assist, Your Highness?"

"Have some dinner brought to my room," Natier said; it felt good to command again. Better, in fact, than it ever felt. "Oh, and draw me a water bath afterwards."

"Of course, Your Highness." The servant bowed and left the room quickly.

Natier smiled at the instant compliancy and fell asleep again.

"Your Highness." The servant tapped him gently on his shoulder. "I have your dinner."

Natier opened his eyes slowly. "Ah yes, I will have it in bed."

"Very good, Your Highness." The servant placed the tray on Natier's lap, being careful not to spill any of its contents. "Please call me when you are finished eating. Your bath will be ready by then." He stood by the bed, waiting for Natier to begin eating.

Natier watched him out of the corner of his eye, wondering how long the poor raccoon would stand there, waiting for him to take his first bite. He waited a few more moments; the servant stood stock still, looking off into the distance.

Natier wasn't sure why, but he got a great deal of enjoyment out of the silent obedience. He sighed, picked up his fork and began eating.

The food was better than anything he'd had in weeks; months, maybe. The chicken was grilled to perfection and seasoned with some sort of spice he could not identify.

The raccoon waited until Natier had chewed his first bite, bowed and retreated from the bedroom.

Natier finished his meal quickly and tugged the pull-cord again. The raccoon was back in seconds. "Your bath is ready, Your Highness." He took the tray off Natier's lap and wiped the fox's whiskers with a silk 'kerchief. "Follow me, please."

He led Natier down the stairs to the water baths.

The warmth and the smell of jasmine reminded Natier of all the days he'd spent in the baths as a cub, splashing around in the shallow pools with his playmates. He wondered what had become of them. They were hired specifically to entertain him, like really expensive toys. The toys were all gone, thrown out, most likely. Natier guessed that a similar fate had befallen his playmates as well.

He took off his clothes and submerged himself into the marble pool. The water was at just the right temperature, sending a pleasant warmth through his body as it permeated his fur.

"I shall return with a new outfit and scented powders, Your Highness."

"Wait." Natier held up his paw.

The raccoon stopped and turned around. "Yes, Your Highness?"

"What is your name?"

The servant made an elegant leg. "Werill, Your Highness."

"Very good, Werill, you may go." Natier waved him away and settled into the bath.

It was his first bath in a long time and he intended to enjoy it to its fullest extent. He picked up a large glass vial that was sitting on the edge of the tub and sniffed its contents: jasmine oil.

Natier turned the vial upside down and spilled the fragrant oil into the water. The scent of jasmine grew so strong that it overpowered his sense of smell. With his eyes closed and nothing but the sound of gurgling water to occupy his ears, Natier felt a pleasant disconnect from the outside world. Now was the time to figure out what to do with his life. Nobody expected anything from him; he could theoretically spend his days lazing around in bed. The idea felt good at first, but Natier slowly realized that it would never hold. He needed to occupy himself with something and fast. He went through all the things he could do in the palace, but couldn't think of a single activity that would actually interest him. Perhaps the answer lay elsewhere. The smell of jasmine was making it hard to concentrate on specific thoughts, so Natier gave up and let his mind wander.

He lay like this until Werill returned.

"I have selected an outfit for Your Highness and brought a wide variety of scents for Your Highness to sample." He laid the items out on a nearby bench. "Would Your Highness like to bathe longer?"

"No, I'm done." Natier stifled a yawn and climbed out of the pool.

He let Werill dry him with a large cotton towel and sat down on the bench.

"What scent would you like, Your Highness?" The raccoon brought forth a tray of clay jars, each labeled with the name of its scent and a picture.

Natier pointed to the jar in the center. "Vanilla."

"Very good, Your Highness." Werill dipped a soft brush into the powder and proceeded to gently brush down Natier's fur. After he was finished, he combed and detangled the fur as well.

When he was done, Natier admired the result in a large mirror that hung on the wall. "Very nice, Warril, thank you."

He wasn't sure if that was the servant's name, but it was close enough.

"I am glad you liked it, Your Highness." Werill put the brushes away. "Shall I help Your Highness get dressed?"

"No, I can do that myself, Wirril. You're free to go."

Werill bowed. "Thank you, Your Highness. Call me if you need anything."

"I will," Natier said. He waited for the raccoon to depart and began dressing himself. He'd gotten a lot of practice over the past few years and had the complex ensemble of clothes on in minutes. He adjusted his cravat in the mirror until it was perfectly centered and headed back to his chambers.

Once he got there, he began looking for something to occupy his time. He wanted something new, something far away from palace walls. "The City!"

Natier left his chambers and walked downstairs. The guards waiting by the front doors stood at attention. "Your Highness."

"I will be heading out to the city," Natier announced, waiting for one of the bears to open the doors. Several moments of uncomfortable silence passed. Natier cleared his throat. "Tonight." He turned around at the sound of pawsteps.

"Your Highness!" It was Werill. "I regret to inform you that your father has set a strict curfew for you. You are not allowed to be out past sunset. You may go to the city tomorrow morning, if you wish."

Natier sighed. "So be it." He avoided Werill's gaze and marched back up the stairs.

He walked briskly to his chambers, slamming the door with all the strength his paws could muster.

"How dare he?!" Natier hissed through gritted teeth. "After he didn't even bother sending a search party for me, he starts setting curfews?" His entire face burned red from the seething anger; his father had no right to keep him confined. The thought of running away crossed his mind several times. The more logical side of his brain was forced to squelch the idea. He'd spent a long enough time on the streets to know how unpleasant it was. He didn't mind being in the streets. In fact, he enjoyed it; but at the end of the day, he needed a warm bed to come back to. He calmed himself and began looking for other ways to spend the time.

As he scanned the room for something to do, the bookcase seemed to stand out more and more. It had been a while since he actually read a book. Before, he was only allowed to read children's stories, but this bookcase seemed to be crammed with more serious material.

Natier wandered over to the bookcase and looked over the selection. They were mostly political books; exactly the sort of thing his grandfather would be interested in. Natier had no interest in politics; he would have to grow into it eventually - his father had made that abundantly clear - but that was something he would put off for as long as he could.

The top row seemed to contain slightly more interesting books: Adventures of the Mind, Six Tears for the Sinners - Natier strained his eyes to read the last title - Temperance in Royal Society. He chuckled. "That's an oxymoronic title if I ever heard one." He reached up to the top shelf, grasped the black tome and pulled.

Something was wrong; the book was stuck. Natier applied a bit more force; still nothing. He grasped the book as firmly as he could, digging his claws into the binding, and pulled. The tome emerged partway, but refused to budge any further. Natier heard a click and jumped out of the way just as the entire bookcase swung open. He recovered from the shock and went in for a closer look. There was a stone passageway behind the bookcase that wound its way down into the darkness. His eyes adjusted and he thought he could see the bottom. Natier stepped into the passage, squinting even harder, trying to see as far as he could. Without warning, the bookcase swung shut, leaving him in total darkness.