"Enough!" Kroydon interrupted, again, leaning back in the throne and rubbing a hand wearily across his face. "I must be off to the border on the morrow, though I have been advised against leaving the kingdom without a proper ruler."

Theobold waited for what he expected would be his elevation to regent while the king was away, but was shocked to hear something else, entirely.

"I am therefore leaving three of me most trusted advisors here," the king continued, "though I sorely need them on the battlefield, and they will work with ye on a temporary basis if any qualifying problems should arise while I be away."

"But, majesty, I...I do not understand," Theobold stammered. "For three years I have acted as trusted advisor to Prince Valyrae. I would think that under the somewhat extreme circumstances we now find ourselves in, I would be better suited to---"

"To what, priest?" Kroydon cut in, coming forward in the throne and glaring down at Theobold. "To take full control of my kingdom now that Valyrae be dead and buried?" The king's anger was becoming nearly tangible and Theobold took another involuntary step backward.

"Never that, me lord," he denied, even though that was exactly what he had hoped would happen. "I only meant that I could better serve ye by---"

"Ye could better serve me by being dead, rather than me son," Kroydon snapped. He leaned back and wiped a hand across his face. "Enough of this. Ye will continue to advise me administrators on a temporary basis, until ye hear otherwise. Is that clear, priest?"

"Aye, it be clear, me lord. But, I do not understand yer motives."

"Me motives be private council. Ye do not need to understand, ye need only to obey. Now, get ye from me sight," Kroydon ordered and turned his face away from the priest.

Flushed with anger, his plans awash, Theobold backed out of the audience chamber and hurried to his rooms to try and salvage some aspect of this new disaster.

#

The next day, after Kroydon and his knights were safely away, Theobold was alone in the chapel, collecting his thoughts when a familiar stench washed over him. Making sure no one was within earshot, he went over to a darkened corner behind the alter and knelt down.

"What be ye here, then?" he hissed into the darkness.

"I have newsss, massster," came back the sibilant reply.

"What news?" Theobold snapped, glancing over his shoulder at the closed doors of the chapel. He could not afford to be seen conversing with the Creotin, not with rumors about that he may have had some hand in the death of Prince Valyrae