The next morning at breakfast, King Oskar looks like a man who has wrestled a bear and lost. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. He keeps blinking, as if the daylight hurts him. He shuffles to the table and collapses into his chair. He ignores the food. He ignores the wine. He just stares at the table.

  “Good morning, Your Majesty,” I say brightly, buttering a scone. “Did you sleep well?”

  Oskar’s head snaps up. He glares at me with the ferocity of a cornered badger. “ The sun,” he rasps. “The sun did not set last night.”

  “I assure you it did, Sire,” I reply. “I watched it go down myself.”

  “Then why,” he hisses, pointing a shaking finger toward the window, “was there a beam of pure, blinding white light searing my retinas all night long? It was like sleeping inside a diamond!”

  “Ah!” I clap my hands together gently. “You noticed the new street lamps! Aren't they marvelous? No smoke, no smell, just clean, safe illumination for your subjects.”

  “One of them,” Oskar says, his voice trembling, “is pointing directly at my bed. It shone in my face. I closed the curtains. It shone through the curtains. I put a pillow over my head. It shone through the pillow.”

  “Fey luminosity is quite… penetrating,” I admit. “It is designed to banish shadows. I thought you would appreciate the added security. No assassin could sneak up on the palace now. They would be spotted from miles away.”

  “I do not need security!” Oskar shouts, drawing the attention of the entire room. “I need darkness! I need sleep! I spent the entire night squinting!”

  “Oh dear,” I say, looking genuinely distressed. “That particular lamp must be… misaligned. A wonky fitting, perhaps? Workmen can be so careless.”

  “Fix it,” Oskar growls. “Turn it off. Smash it. I don’t care. Just make it dark.”

  “I cannot simply ‘turn it off,’ Your Majesty,” I explain patiently. “The alchemical reaction is permanent. It will glow for a thousand years. And the housing is tamper-proof to prevent theft.”

  Oskar puts his head in his hands and groans.

  “However,” I add helpfully, “I can have the workmen check the angle. But they are very busy paving the square near the bank. It might take them… two or three days to get back to it.”

  Oskar looks at me. He knows. He knows I did it on purpose. But he cannot prove that a lamp is an act of treason. He cannot prove magic because he doesn't believe in it . He is trapped by his own worldview and my bottomless budget.

  “Two days,” he whimpers. “I have to sleep in the guest wing?”

  “It is for the best, Your Majesty,” I say, taking a bite of my scone. “Think of it as a change of scenery. And look at the bright side, at least the streets are safe.”

  Kenric chokes on his coffee. I pat him on the back.

  “Careful, husband,” I whisper. “We wouldn’t want you to lose sleep over my little… civic improvements.”

  “What are your plans for today?” Kenric asks. “I want you to see if you can buy up all the houses that are adjacent to the new embassy compound,” I reply.

  If we’re using those houses then we’ll be able to detect any one trying to do something like tunnel into the vault.

  “As for me, I need to visit the Mercenary’s Guild Hall,” I reply.

  With all the supplies, materials and other things being delivered to the new embassy, I’ll need to hire some guards. It won’t do to allow things to start walking off. I intend to be generous but not that generous. The Mercenary’s Guild Hall is exactly what I expected: a large, timber-framed building that smells of stale beer, cheap wine, oiled leather, and unwashed men. It sits on the edge of the lower district, far enough from the palace to avoid scrutiny but close enough to the gate to find trouble.

  I sweep inside, flanked by Inaba and Miyabe with the rest of my honor guard, Melina and Larissa behind me. My dress is a deep midnight blue Fey silk, elegant but cut simply enough to suggest business. I am not here to dazzle. I am here to buy muscle. The interior is a cavernous common room filled with tables. Men and, surprisingly for Centis, a few women sit in clusters, sharpening weapons, throwing dice, or nursing tankards. The noise dies down as we enter. It isn’t often a high-born lady walks into their den, let alone one accompanied by warriors in exotic lacquered armor.

  A burly man with a thick, braided beard the color of iron filings steps forward. He wipes his hands on a leather apron.

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  "I am Wulfric," he rumbles, looking from Inaba to me. "Guildmaster here. If you're looking for lost trinkets, try the City Watch."

  I give Wulfric a look that makes him cock his head and study me. It is a look that every former solider knows. It says, without ever saying a word, "Don't try me."

  "I am not looking for trinkets, Guildmaster," I say, my voice cutting through the silence. "I am Princess Víl? of the Fey. I require a captain and sixteen men. They must be sober, skilled, and capable of keeping their mouths shut."

  Wulfric raises a bushy eyebrow. "We have plenty of swords for hire. Standard rate is—"

  I wave my hand to cut him off. "I do not want 'standard'," I interrupt, reaching into my purse.

  I pull out a gold coin and flip it into the air. Wulfric catches it with surprising speed. He looks at the Fey gold, his eyes widening. I explain what they’re being hired for.

  "I am establishing the Fey Embassy and the Royal Fey Bank. I need guards who can stand watch over a vault, not bouncers for a tavern brawl. I pay triple the standard rate. But my standards are… exacting."

  Wulfric bites the coin, nods, and then bellows to the room. "Line up! The Lady is hiring! High stakes, heavy purse!"

  The room scrambles. Within moments, I have nearly forty men and women standing in a rough line. They look rough, scarred, and hungry. Good.

  "Inaba," I say softly. "Test them. I don't want anyone who can't hold a line against a charge."

  Inaba nods and steps forward, drawing his practice sword, a wooden bokken he prefers for non-lethal instruction.

  He points to the first man, a giant named Bjorn. "Attack me."

  Bjorn laughs and swings a heavy mace. Inaba flows like water, sidestepping the blow and tapping Bjorn behind the knee, sending the giant crashing to the floor.

  "Next," Inaba says calmly.

  It takes an hour. It is a brutal display of efficiency. My honor guard rotates this task with Oshida, Miyabe and Usami taking turns. They toss the local mercenaries around like sacks of grain. Many are dismissed immediately for being too slow, too drunk, or too undisciplined.

  Eventually, we whittle the group down to about twenty candidates who managed to stay on their feet for more than ten seconds. One man stands out. He is older, perhaps in his late thirties, with a face that looks like it was carved from granite and eyes the color of a stormy sea. He fights with a spear and a short sword. When he sparred with Usami, he didn't win, but he didn't lose either. He fought defensively, controlled, and smart. I walk down the line of those who passed the first culling. This is the part that matters. Skill can be taught; loyalty cannot.

  I stop in front of a lean man with a scar running through his eyebrow. "What is your name?"

  "Gunnar, My Lady."

  “Have you ever stolen from an employer?” I ask.

  He shakes his head and looks angry. I inhale deeply. He smells of sweat and steel, but underneath, there is the sour, curdled milk scent of deception.

  "Yes, you have," I state flatly.

  Gunnar blinks, his hand twitching toward his belt. "I have never—"

  "Leave," I order. "The Embassy has no room for thieves."

  He opens his mouth to argue, sees Inaba’s hand on his hilt, and slinks away.

  I move to the next. A woman with short-cropped blonde hair and arms like tree roots. "Name?"

  "Sigrid." she replies.

  "Have you ever sold secrets?" I ask.

  She meets my gaze. "I sell my sword, Lady. Not my tongue."

  I sniff. She smells of sawdust and honest exhaustion. No rot. No sourness. "You are hired. Stand over there."

  I work my way down the line. Torben. Einar. Falk. Runa. Soren. I weed out three more who smell of greed and betrayal, leaving me with exactly sixteen guards. Finally, I stand before the older man with the spear. The one who held his own against Usami.

  "And you?" I ask.

  "Haldor," he says. His voice is deep and gravelly, like stones grinding together.

  "You fought well, Haldor. You fight like a man who is tired of killing, but very good at it," I say, watching for his reaction.

  He doesn't flinch. "War is a young man's game, Princess. I am looking for a post where the enemy is in front of me, not commanding me from behind."

  I give him a grim smile. That’s a sentiment I’m familiar with.

  I step closer, inhaling. He smells of pine, old leather, and… grief. But there is no deception. There is a scent of iron integrity, cold and hard.

  "The Embassy will house gold, Fey artifacts, and secrets that could topple kingdoms," I tell him quietly. "Discretion is paramount. If you see something… unusual… can you keep your counsel?"

  Haldor looks at me, then glances at Inaba, whose blind eyes are fixed unerringly on him. "I have seen enough strange things in the borderlands of Codegor to know when to look away, My Lady. If the coin is good, and the orders are honorable, my mouth is shut."

  "And if someone offers you more to open a door in the night?" I ask him.

  Haldor snorts. "My honor is the only thing I have left that hasn't been taxed or stolen. It is not for sale."

  The air around him rings with truth. It is a crisp, clean scent, like winter air.

  "Then you are my Captain," I decide. "One hundred gold ducats a month. You answer to me, and to Lord Kenric. No one else. Not the City Watch, and not King Oskar. Are we clear?"

  Haldor’s eyes widen slightly at the sum, but he snaps to attention. "Crystal, My Lady."

  I turn to the sixteen others. "Sigrid, Torben, Einar, Runa, Falk, Soren, Jorgen, Astrid, Leif, Dagmar, Ulolf, Brida, Sten, Knut, Valdis, and Haldor."

  I memorize their names instantly. "Report to the Old Mint within the hour," I command. "You will find Melina there. She will issue you Embassy tabards—green and gold. You are no longer mercenaries. You are now members of the Royal Fey Guard of Dobile. Act like it. Oh, and no kicking the cats."

  Now I just have to have their uniforms made up. I’ll need to do this in the bank vault. Like all Fey guards, they’ll be dressed in Fey silk. Winter uniforms, for now, with all the necessary accoutrements.

  I toss a few coins to Wulfric, who is grinning like a wolf who found a sheep pen unlocked. "A finder’s fee, Guildmaster."

  As we walk back to the carriage, Inaba falls in beside me. "The Captain... Haldor. He has potential."

  "He has a spine," I agree. "And in this city, that is rarer than Fey gold."

  Now, the Embassy is clean, lit, and guarded. It is time to move the first shipment of goods into the vault. The ship Kenric and I arrived on was far from empty. I brought things Kenric couldn’t persuade the rest of the trade delegation to negotaite for. I also brought some things for myself. I want to see Oskar’s face when he realizes I have a better private army than he does. If Kenric can buy up the houses, one of the houses can become the new guard barracks.

  How long will take it before Oskar breaks? Anyone want to make any predictions? Let me know in the comments...