Sif decided, as he sat in Douglásc's lap at their last feast in the castle, that he would not allow Douglásc to do whatever it was he wanted to do.

He didn't want to stay in the castle very much longer, anyway. It was unpleasant to be subject to so much intrigue, and the servants were beginning to suspect his true nature.

He vaguely thought to himself that he'd pretend to go along with Douglásc long enough to enact his revenge on Calsar, then use the confusion to slip away and tail the military expedition to the faybane. Then he'd be able to stop Douglásc as well.

Two birds with one arrow. Someone had once joked to him about this method, perhaps Rágn or Brige. It made him feel a little wicked to doublecross someone, but there was no way that whatever Douglásc was planning would be any good.

As Callán stood to give a speech, Douglásc patted Sif's back twice, signalling to him that it was time for him to leave.

He flopped off of his lap, onto the floor, and snuck down the length of the table, quickly moving between all the different kinds of shoes. Noble women, noble men, entertainers and advisors, soldiers and priests. All united under the rule of the man that had taken everything Sif had tried so hard to protect.

They weren't all such bad people, were they? He didn't know. How many of them even knew of his village? Did they know only that Calsar had freed them from tyranny?

" Douglásc! Keep your cat away from the feasts!" someone complained as Sif came out from the other side of the table, and sauntered out of the main hall.

" Well, look, it's leaving, isn't it?" Douglásc genially remarked.

Callán began speaking, but Sif didn't stop to listen.

He headed up the servants' stairs, to a part of the castle he'd never been in before.

The royal quarters.

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