Vorondil turned away from the mirror and took his position by the door.

  He glanced around the familiar room while the princess finished preparing for the council meeting. The walls were adorned with paintings the princess had created herself. He'd seen them countless times, but even he had to admit they possessed an allure. Each painting depicted landscapes the princess had visited, capturing every detail with remarkable accuracy. He had accompanied her on most of those trips, and it never failed to amaze him how vividly she could recreate the scenes.

  Golden rays of sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow on the ornate furniture. His eyes lingered on the bed—a lavish arrangement of blankets and pillows that looked rather inviting. The princess was notoriously unkempt in the mornings, a trait he found both amusing and endearing.

  An image flashed through his mind: the princess, her face locked in concentration, a streak of orange paint under her eye as she carefully captured a sunset they'd witnessed in the western reaches of the kingdom.

  He cleared his throat, shaking off the memory, and realized he'd been staring at the bed for too long.

  He had no need for a bed himself. One of his skills dampened his need for rest, requiring only a few minutes of meditation each day. Still, he couldn't help but acknowledge that it looked remarkably comfortable.

  A sudden, sharp shriek echoed from the princess’s dressing room, quickly followed by another.

  Vorondil reacted instantly, sword drawn as he kicked the door open with a loud crack.

  Inside, the princess and her handmaid stood atop stools, watching a large rat frantically scurry across the floor. Vorondil exhaled a sigh of relief and sheathed his blade. The rat made a break for the door, and Vorondil raised a foot to put an end to the creature.

  "WAIT! Don’t hurt it!" the princess pleaded.

  Vorondil's foot hovered in the air as the rat scurried past and darted beneath the bed.

  Vorondil’s eyes locked onto the princess, and he froze. A half-fastened corset clung to her chest, her silver hair flowing loosely around her shoulders.

  The handmaid quickly stepped forward, covering the princess with the dress they had prepared.

  Vorondil caught himself and turned sharply, but not before he saw a faint flush creep across the princess's delicate features.

  His heart hammered in his chest, but he forced himself to speak evenly. "I'll see our guest out to the garden," he said, his voice pitched slightly higher than normal.

  He stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him—though the latch, now broken, refused to catch properly. He shook his head in mild frustration.

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  Glancing around the room to make sure the rat hadn’t escaped elsewhere, he knelt beside the bed.

  Underneath the bed lay several stacks of books. He’d spent countless hours listening to the princess speak of the grand stories she loved, and he couldn’t help but smile at the thought before spotting the rat squeezing itself between two stacks of books.

  In a swift motion, he snatched the rat, accidentally knocking over a stack of books. Thankfully, they landed quietly, with no cloud of dust rising.

  The rat wriggled in his grasp, valiantly attempting to escape. Realizing the futility of its situation, it resorted to its only remaining option: sinking its teeth deep into Vorondil’s thumb.

  He hissed softly but refused to drop the foul creature. He had given his word that he’d take it to the garden, and that was precisely what he intended to do.

  He stood and left the princess’s quarters, the rat continuing to gnaw angrily at his thumb.

  Vorondil shot a glare at the beast before giving it a slight squeeze. Its eyes bulged slightly, and it promptly stopped its resistance.

  The rat stared up at Vorondil with pure, primal terror. He sighed, glancing at the squirming creature. The castle had cats for dealing with pests like this, yet here he was, burdened with the task.

  He stomped through the castle halls, the occasional servant peeking out from their hiding spots with confused expressions.

  Rounding a corner, he spotted one of the princes berating a servant. Vorondil considered taking another path, but before he could turn, the prince’s eyes locked onto him.

  "You there, guard! Come here!" the prince commanded with a sneer.

  Vorondil concealed the rat behind his back. He despised dealing with the other royals, and if they saw him carrying vermin, he’d never hear the end of it.

  The prince looked down his nose at him, emerald eyes blazing with fury. "I want this—this peasant!" he spat the word as if it were a slur. "I want them executed." He smiled smugly at the trembling servant. "See to it that it happens," he added before turning with a huff and storming off.

  Vorondil looked down at the servant. The young elf was barely fifty by the look of him, tears streaming down his face, a look of defeated acceptance on his features.

  Vorondil sighed deeply and pulled out a handful of gold coins with his free hand, pressing them into the servant's palm. "Take these and head south," he said.

  The servant looked up at him, face full of confusion. He opened his mouth to stammer out words, but Vorondil held up a hand to silence him—the hand with the rat.

  They both looked at the squirming creature for a moment, and the rat stared back at them, eyes wide with fear.

  Vorondil cleared his throat, quickly moving the rat behind his back. "Don’t let anyone catch you with those coins. They’ll think you stole them," he said, turning to leave.

  "Thank you..." the servant forced out, voice hoarse with emotion.

  Vorondil grunted in response and continued down the hall. Most of the royals had a disturbingly violent streak. He was sure the servant's offense had been something trivial—perhaps as simple as asking a question out of turn.

  Vorondil finally reached the garden and released the rat near a cluster of flower bushes. The creature looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes before glancing at the surrounding greenery, clearly seeking a path to escape.

  “Go on, you stupid beast,” Vorondil muttered, waving his hand in a vaguely threatening manner. The rat squeaked once more before bolting into the cover of the bush.

  He looked down at his hand, the faint bite mark still visible. He’d need to get it treated. The last thing he wanted was to contract some disease from that foul creature.

  Just as he turned to leave, another squeak caught his attention. He glanced back to see the rat peeking out from the edge of the bush, watching him with an almost hesitant curiosity.

  He frowned, shaking his head at the beast’s audacity. “Don’t test my patience,” he muttered, turning on his heel. He started his journey back to the princess’s quarters, deciding he’d visit the apothecary once she was safely asleep for the night.