It was by providence alone that Prince Rodrin and I had evaded our pursuers, finding refuge in an inn on the furthest edge of the capital; succession was nasty business.

"What vulgar accommodations," Rodrin noted the creaking, half-rotted floorboards and shoddy bedding, "but, I suppose we will have to make do." Our cloaks were discarded, and in our first, slight instant of reprieve did we find a moment to process the bloody ordeal of the last few days.

"You were tasked to protect my father, your king, were you not?" The boy prince inquired; I could sense a verbal lashing on the approach. "And yet, he is dead. Worst of all, my sister has taken the throne of Uldara for herself; in what regard have you upheld your duty-bound oath, praetorian?"

I held back a snort at his tone, but only barely. It was difficult to keep from laughing out loud at the way this young man treated me like some kind of overgrown soldier dog. Rodrin's father was a boisterous yet commanding man, so to be ordered around by the boy prince was a hard change to accept. At the same time, I felt only disgust for myself; who was I to scoff at his commands? I had failed the royal family and deserved whatever berating the Rodrin had in store. The boy's face was pale as death, reminiscent of his late mother, and bore the stalwart sternness of his father tenfold.

"My prince," I began slowly, "you are correct in one respect: I failed to fulfill my oath to protect King Rodrik; I should've died alongside him. Yet, it is my belief that if I had done so, you would have perished as well. I have honored your late father's wishes in one regard: my life is yours." On bended knee I prostrated myself before the banished prince, renewing my oath of fealty.

Rodrin's stone-faced sneer softened, if only slightly, as he placed a hand upon my armored shoulder. "Thank you, Praetor," he said simply, gesturing for me to rise from the floor. He paused then, and looked me over with a critical eye. "You do well to give yourself to me, but there is no time to delay."

"As you wish, Your Highness," I replied, standing up once more. Our height and size difference was glaring; a mountain of armor towering above a prideful sapling. "Now, where might I find a bath? My clothes are soaked through." Rodrin asked in a tone that mirrored a command.

"I am afraid that there are no baths in this inn, your highness. While I believe that we are safe here, the luxuries of the palace are a world away."

My response was inadequate to the young prince's standards, "Unacceptable," Rodrin sighed, "but what is to be expected of a disgraced praetor; I must relieve myself of these garments then; undress me."

I stared at the boy for a moment, and then laughed aloud. "Your Highness, I am a soldier, not a servant! I cannot—"

"Do as I say!" Rodrin snapped, cutting me off. He was already unbuttoning his tunic, exposing the pale, damp flesh of his boyish figure. I felt my cheeks flush with anger as I realized that the prince's command was not meant to be taken lightly, though fealty always came before pride. The cool air met Rodrin's skin as he pulled down his breeches, and I averted my eyes, feeling myself blush anew. This was all so unbecoming of me, of my previous responsibilities and titles. I'd protected the throne since Rodrin was but a babe, watching him grow from a cooing infant into the sophisticated — if not unemotional — boy that he'd become.

"Very good, Praetor," Rodrin spoke low, pulling down his breeches and discarding them near the bed. "Now, I am cold. If I am not to be warmed via a bath then you must do, knight. Strip."