“I see your mind is made up,” Paul said, addressing the court of men aiming at deposing the Prince. He stood in defense of his monarch, loyal to the last and confident in where his allegiance should lie. He knew why they were unhappy, but that mattered little. In the face of the growing threat from the south, they could little afford to ignore their defenses, and that came at the cost of other luxuries. They were facing the backlash of people who were not living in the luxury they were accustomed, but they still wanted for little. “So I will not confuse you with the facts of the case.” With that word, he turned and departed. He could feel the stares of the other rangers as he walked out, but he did not meet them. Alan Moon sat next to the aging prince, watching the proceedings with great interest.

Paul met his eyes and detected a slight nod of approval from his old mentor. He sat on the stairs to wait for the verdict, his sensitive ears hearing everything that happened inside the courtroom. The noise increased as the session ended and Paul stood up.

He entered the room and stood next to his prince, partially shielding him from view as the guards began to close in toward him. Paul faced them down, issuing a challenge for them to try and take the prince into custody. “You have already stripped him of his throne. Take this no farther,” he said as he stood in front of the half dozen men. He turned to offer Humboldt his arm, supporting the aging monarch as they exited the courthouse. He was keenly aware of the crowd forming behind them, likely intent on lynching the prince, and he was on his guard.

“Let me take him,” Alan Moon said, taking the prince’s arm from Paul.

He turned and drew a short sword from his coat, holding back the flow of the crowd. “Any so daring to try your courage are welcome to try,” he challenged, “but I will defend my prince to the end. He has done nothing but defend you in the face of a growing threat, and his life has been dedicated to being a fair and just ruler. You have removed him from office by due process and I do not dispute that, but do not undo all of that justice by becoming vigilantes and assassins.” His eyes shifted from person to person as he scanned the front of the mob, meeting their gazes one by one. Each, in turn, averted their eyes and lost their courage. “Words are wasted on the ears of those who will not listen. Do not give in to mob mentality, but think for yourselves.”

One member of the crowd shouted something incoherent and charged forward only to be cut down by Paul. Nobody else followed his foolhardy act. Paul turned, took up the arm of James Humboldt, and departed with him and his old mentor. The body of the dead man lay in the street as a testament to Paul’s integrity while the crowd dispersed, the wind taken out of their proverbial sails.

Paul sat with the old prince, supporting him through his depression. “I know my son will bow to the will of the people,” Humboldt explained one evening, “and it may mean the doom of our nation.”

“I will do what I can to prevent that, sir.”

“There may be nothing you can do. The empire to the south is growing stronger with each passing year. It is only a matter of time before they turn eyes to the north.”

“We will seek aid from our neighbors. They can’t possibly think to overpower an alliance of all their enemies.”

“Do you remember our first trip to York? When I was wounded?”

“Yes.”

“Those militants we fought were Baaman. They were the beginning of the empire that now threatens our freedom.”

Paul sat back in his chair, ceasing his mastication as the memory of that earlier episode played in his mind. It was nearly twenty years ago, but the images remained as if it were yesterday. He could smell the blood and the petrichor of the coming rain, his heart rate climbed as if he were back in that hall, fending off attackers who tried to pierce their defenses. “I did not realize. Have they really been coming for fifteen years?”

“Longer, probably,” he explained, “that was why I had to go there. I needed to establish a formal alliance with York.”

Paul ran his hand through his hair, a bewildered expression on his face. He took up the biscuit he had abandoned and began to eat it again, using it to soak up some of the gravy in his plate. As he chased the little white pools of sausage gravy with the scrap of biscuit, Humboldt watched him with a minor look of disgust in his face. “Why do you do that? It has always bothered me.”

The little pile of congealed gravy finally captured and sitting on the biscuit, jiggling slightly, Paul looked up at the only father he had ever known, a look of youthful innocence painted on his face. “I guess it’s a hangover from living in the streets.” He smiled coyly, “We could never waste any food when we didn’t know from where the next meal was coming.”

“Okay, but it doesn’t make it any less disgusting,” the old prince chuckled. He continued to eat, chewing slowly and thoughtfully as he dwelled on the past chapters of his own life. “Tell me, Paul: how did I get a son who is so weak that he can’t see the world in front of him?”

“Jimmy is stronger than you give him credit,” Paul replied, trying to get Humboldt to remember the positive qualities of his son, but failing.

“He is the one who brought the papers against me. Surely he is aware of the threat!” James pounded his fist on the table with surprising vigor for one so aged. “I never shielded him from my motivations for anything. He could always see firsthand what I was doing.”

“Don’t take it out on yourself: you couldn’t make him listen. I remember reading a similar line about leading a horse to water.”

“Do not quote my own lessons back to me.” Humboldt retorted, chuckling, “I might regret sending you out on those archaeological expeditions.”

“I would have gone even if you hadn’t sent me out. You made me want to learn about the old world.”

They sat for a moment in silence, letting the past wash over their minds like a great wave. A knock came at the door and Paul rose to answer it.

Standing outside was the younger James Humboldt, drenched from head to toe and with a panicked look across his whole visage. “Please, I must speak to my father.”

Paul stood aside to admit him, but gripped his arm as he passed, whispering a word of warning in his ear. “You are not the most welcome here. Tread carefully when you speak to him.”

James gave him a look of confusion for a moment, but was met only with the steely resolve of purposeful intent. “I am aware. I need his help.” James tried to rationalize before Paul released his bicep. “He was right.”