Rubbing shoulders with the city''s elite is the most tedious and tiresome exercise. I''ve done it too many times, as an officer in the army and now the sheriff.


    My heart jumps in relief when the king and queen make their appearance with Princess Andrea, Sir Blouf trailing behind like a dog. The princess is the spitting image of the queen with flowing auburn hair and high cheekbones you could cut salted beef with.


    Swiftly, the room goes silent and we all take a bow. I eye the emissary in the corner, another smirk gracing his face.


    I do not like him.


    The royal family makes the rounds, greeting everyone. More bows ensue. And when that''s finished, they lead us to the great dining hall.


    I''m the last out of the Queen''s Lounge, wanting to finish my drink and gulp down another.


    Music from a string of lutists awaits when I finally arrive. The great dining hall beckons opulence. Arches of gold span the cavernous ceiling. Banners of fine silk, sirmoth wool and dragon scales made into thread comfort the walls. Round tables gleaming with silver cutlery and cups dot the floor with the royal table at the far end draped in elven cloth.


    Being the lowly sheriff, I sit with the bastard adult children of lords near the main door. Not the most glorious of honors but they never talk to me. I think I may frighten them.


    I see Seamil and Lorma further towards the front, closer to the royal table.


    I scrunch up my face, seeing for the first time Sir Blouf sitting next to the Princess.


    Of all the times I''ve been invited to the palace for dinner I''ve never seen him sit at the head table. Interesting. And should I be afraid?


    Hitting a spoon against his cup, the king stands, a big smile on his face. The lutists cease their painful plucking.


    ''Ladies and gentlemen,'' he bellows, ''thank you for coming to this celebration of the day of birth of my beautiful daughter, Princess Andrea.'' He looks over to the right of him, over the head of the queen and gives his daughter a wink. She smiles back, beaming with delight.


    All this happiness when the enemy is at our doorstep, attacking us only days ago, is beyond absurdity. I almost chuckle at the folly. Have we all sniffed gigglepowder? They take being anointed by the gods too comfortably.


    ''So stand everyone and raise your cups,'' the king continues, and all the guests do. A glint of hundreds of glasses in the air sparkles brightly. ''To the princess!''


    ''To the princess!'' everyone copies.


    The king goes over to his daughter and gives her a peck on the cheek. Then back in his place, he says, ''Please remain standing, for it is with great pleasure that I share with you all some delightful news.''


    So the rumour of news is true. Has the war ended? Is there a peace treaty? Is that why King Jabora is on the front line? Is that why his emissary is here? But if that''s the case, why would the weaselly man try to turn me? This does not make sense.


    A suppressed babble filled with anticipation echoes around the colossal chamber.


    ''On the first day of next month–'' the king pauses to calm the increasing chatter, raising his hands ''--my daughter and my dearest friend, Sir Blouf, will be married.''


    Shock rattles through the great dining hall as if a wooden dragon just crashed inside. Some of the lordesses shriek. One even faints. At the same time, Seamil finds me and we look at each other. He''s trying hard not to express his rage.


    The king continues, ''Please stand, you two.'' He nods to Sir Blouf and the princess. They stand. ''And everyone, please raise your drinks again. To the daughter I love and to my trusted advisor, may your union be eternal and filled with love.''


    The princess and Sir Blouf look at each other, a surprising warmth clearly there.


    ''Hear, hear,'' bellows a voice.


    ''Hear, hear,'' comes everyone else.


    ''Please, no more surprises tonight,'' I say to myself. My mind can''t take any more.


    As Sir Blouf and the princess sit back down, the king turns somber. ''I do wish my brother was here to see this. The princess and he were so fond of each other . . . .''


    ''You shouldn''t have poisoned him then,'' the voice in my head shouts. But I soon admonish my tipsy self for giving credence to a dreadful rumour. A lawman should never do as such. And especially someone who has been condemned to a dreadful rumour himself.  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    The past crimes of the Night Cleaver flash before me. One in particular. The first.


    Everyone over the Dragontop Mountains and beyond had been rumoured to be the killer, including an accented foreigner from the enemy''s population. The king, a prince at the time, as well. It was thought that he snuck out of the palace in disguise to commit the atrocities. Leech was another and so too were a number of vigils who were allegedly involved in some evil worship, prowling the night together.


    My mind draws back to the celebration at hand to hear the queen announce, ''Now, we eat.''


    Food, food and more food appear posthaste with every table receiving a roast pig, a platter of bread rolls piled high, plump fruit and much more.


    While the rest of the city is on rations, with many starving, and even after the theft at the granary, we still eat and eat and eat. It''s disgusting but I fill my belly, the guilt driving me to steal several bread rolls for my men, stuffing them in my clothes. The bastard children glare at the pilfering but I just snarl at them.


    I pass on the dessert, a blue velour cake lathered in sugary white icing, preferring to slip out until dinner is officially over. I''d like to leave the palace all together, to go back home, but there''s a party after and the palace would not take kindly to my departure. Someone, Sir Blouf most likely, would notice.


    With as much finesse as a newborn long-necked deer, my bad leg dead and the other asleep, not to mention a bit wobbly from the firewater, I sneak out of the great dining hall. I quickly decide to go up to the royal aviary, a place I haven''t been since I was posted there in my first year in the army. I had some good sleeps up there. Maybe a little nap will do me well.


    I meander back into the servants'' area and take a servants'' lift all the way up, finding a young soldier next to the aviary''s door. He''s sitting on a chair, sleeping.


    My heavy feet wake him. He bolts up and gives me a salute.


    ''May I help you, Sheriff Harg?'' the young man asks.


    ''Just want to look around, if that''s all right. Get some fresh air and have a good look at the night sky.''


    The young man opens the door then asks, ''How''s the celebration?''


    ''Good,'' I say, remembering the bread rolls I took. I take one out and hand it to him.


    ''Thank you so much, sir.'' The soldier doesn''t wait before wolfing it down.


    I shake my head. Soldiers should be eating all the food in the great dining hall tonight. They need it more than anyone else.


    The royal aviary smells like shit, the floor covered in it, but I like the aroma. It takes me back to my youth. Holes chiseled into the walls bustle with pigeons, ravens, owls and flying squirrels. I''d rather hear their chirping than the animals downstairs.


    I find a clear spot to sit and stare up into the open sky, Fey''s favourite star shining brightly up above.


    I miss you. And I know you wouldn''t want it but I still blame myself.


    I don''t know how long I sit in relative silence, and I may or may not have closed my eyes, but a loud squawk tells me to be on my way.


    Back down, and as I enter into the royal area from the servants'', a commotion greets me.


    ''Time to dance,'' I hear the king yell.


    Everyone is pouring out of the great dining hall. The king and queen are in the lead, acting like they''ve had too much to drink. The king pirouettes around and around as he crosses the hall and into the ballroom. I see the princess, Sir Blouf, the emissary, and Seamil and Lorma. Those two seem to be appreciating the rare time together.


    I wait until the last guest disappears inside the ballroom before following.


    With my leg, dancing is out of the question, but I really should congratulate Princess Andrea and Sir Blouf on their engagement, even though I despise the man. I can''t imagine him being king if the princess becomes queen one day.


    As I reach the entrance way, however, the lutists recommencing their babble, something catches my eye.


    It''s just for a moment, but I''m sure I saw the flash of a very familiar blue cloak. I turn my head and look down a corridor that heads off from the hall. It''s empty but I see a moving shadow around the corner at the end.


    ''What the fuck''s he doing at the palace?'' I say to myself.


    Could he have been promoted to the royal court? He is a good elixirman but the king already has many to care for him. But if he has, maybe he has access to the palace''s ingredients. I''m sure the king isn''t running out. And maybe he can pilfer some for my elixir.


    My leg groans in agreement as I trudge off to find the man. And down the corridor I go. Then rounding the corner, I see him. At the opposite end of another hallway, this one lined with paintings. He''s standing still, looking at one. It''s of a gory battle scene, body parts strewn across a blood-soaked field, a faceless blur of a warrior in the centre admiring his creation.


    I know the painting. It was commissioned by the late king to mark the victory at the Battle of the Tumefy. And that warrior is of me. We lost some good men that day.


    I''m about to call out when whispers draw my attention. A fleeting look leads to an open room beside me. And when I turn back around, my elixirman has gone. I have to chuckle. The man appears and disappears as if he''s a phantom.


    I can''t be bothered going after him. I''ll talk about my elixir when I see him next.


    The whispers from the room continue and my sheriff''s curiosity gets the better of me. I shuffle over and peek inside. And what I see, causes me much concern.


    In front of a grand fireplace engraved with dragons stands Sir Blouf and King Jabora''s emissary. They are in deep conversation but I can''t make out a word.


    Is the emissary trying to turn the king''s advisor, the king''s soon to be son-in-law, as he tried with me? Or maybe Sir Blouf has already been turned. I wouldn''t be surprised.


    Leech''s words come back to me, of a rumour of spies and traitors causing chaos. Am I looking at a spy and traitor now? Was Leech right? And could the possible reappearance of the Night Cleaver be connected? Maybe the villain was an accented foreigner from the enemy''s population after all, the emissary himself a possible suspect.


    He does look like a slimy fiend.


    And could the theft at the granary be connected too?


    Guards were ordered to the southern wall by the king but I have no doubt it was on Sir Blouf''s advice. And what about the king wanting to attack the enemy as Seamil told me, leaving the safety of the city. That had to be on Sir Blouf''s suggestion as I mused. I thought he was just being an idiot but now it clearly looks traitorous.


    And what else did Leech say? Oh, yes, something about the reservoir. Is it about to be sabotaged?


    I should tell the king but accusing Sir Blouf would not go down well. But the king could be in danger himself. If he was to die after the wedding, Sir Blouf would become king. I need to be sure before I throw any allegations around.


    I leave the spy and traitor, and tonight''s celebration.