"A year," Bryce whispered again as they rode away from the village, his face still ashen with shock. "A whole year of my life... gone."
Gregory glanced at his companion with concern. The prince seemed utterly shaken, and Gregory couldn't blame him. To lose so much time in what had felt like mere days was horrifying to contemplate.
"What do we do now?" Gregory asked after they'd put some distance between themselves and the village. "If someone really did use magic to trap us in that desert, they must be incredibly powerful. And they're likely still in the capital, close to your father."
Bryce was silent for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he straightened in his saddle, some of his royal bearing returning.
"We continue on to the capital," he declared. "It's still our best option."
Gregory blinked in surprise. "Are you certain? If someone went to such lengths to remove you from the picture—"
"All the more reason I need to return," Bryce interrupted. "My father is in danger, perhaps the entire kingdom. I cannot hide away while some usurper plots against my family."
"But they'll be watching for you," Gregory protested.
A grim smile touched Bryce's lips. "Will they? The old man said I'm presumed dead. After a year, who would be looking for a ghost?"
Gregory considered this. "You have a point. If we're careful, if you stay disguised..."
"Exactly." Bryce nodded. "We enter the city quietly. Keep to the shadows. Gather information. Then, when the time is right, I reveal myself to those I know I can trust."
Gregory still felt uneasy, but he had to admit the plan made sense. "You'll need more than just caution," he said, studying the prince's face. "Your features are too recognizable, even after a year."
Bryce touched his face self-consciously. "What do you suggest?"
A slow grin spread across Gregory's face. "Well, for starters, that royal haircut of yours has got to go."
Bryce's hand flew to his hair—dark, wavy locks that fell just past his shoulders, currently tied back in a style favored by nobility. "My hair?" he asked, sounding genuinely dismayed.
"Unless you want to be recognized the moment we step foot in the capital," Gregory said, his grin widening. "What's wrong, Your Highness? Too attached to your pretty curls?"
Bryce scowled, but there was a hint of resignation in his eyes. "Fine," he muttered. "But let's at least wait until we're somewhere private."
They continued riding until they found a small stream surrounded by dense thickets. It was the perfect spot—secluded and with water to clean up afterward. Gregory rummaged through their meager supplies and produced a small knife he'd picked up in the village.
"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to a flat rock by the stream.
Bryce complied, though not without a final, longing touch to his carefully maintained hair. "Just... don't make me look ridiculous," he pleaded.
Gregory chuckled, enjoying the prince's discomfort perhaps a bit too much. "No promises," he said cheerfully, and set to work.
He started by cutting off the leather cord that held Bryce's hair back, allowing the dark waves to fall freely. Then, with methodical snips, he began to shorten it dramatically. Locks of hair fell to the ground around them as Gregory worked, occasionally pausing to assess his progress.
"How's it looking?" Bryce asked nervously after several minutes.
"Hmm," Gregory replied noncommittally, circling the prince to view his handiwork from different angles. In truth, the haircut was turning out better than he'd expected. With his hair cropped close on the sides and slightly longer on top, Bryce looked younger, less refined—and far less like the royal portrait that had hung in Mulrich's town hall.
But Gregory wasn't about to admit that. "Well," he said with exaggerated doubt, "it's certainly... different."
Bryce's hand shot up to feel his newly shorn head, his expression a mix of horror and resignation. "How bad is it?"
Gregory couldn't maintain his teasing any longer and burst out laughing. "Relax, Your Highness. You look like a perfectly ordinary peasant. No one would mistake you for royalty now."
Relief flooded Bryce's face. "Thank the gods," he murmured. "For a moment, I thought you'd made me look like a village idiot."
"The thought did cross my mind," Gregory admitted with a grin. He stepped back to admire his work. With the shorter hair and several days' worth of stubble on his face, Bryce was nearly unrecognizable as the polished prince who had traveled with the caravan.
"There's one more thing," Gregory said, eyeing Bryce's posture. "You need to stop standing like that."
"Like what?" Bryce asked, genuinely confused.
"Like you own the ground you're standing on," Gregory replied. "Commoners don't stand tall and straight. We slouch. We avoid eye contact. We don't stride; we shuffle."
Bryce frowned, but made a visible effort to hunch his shoulders and lower his gaze. The effect was immediate—and somewhat comical.
"Not that much," Gregory laughed. "You look like you're impersonating a troll. Just... relax a bit. Think of yourself as someone who doesn't want to be noticed."
Bryce adjusted his posture, and this time the transformation was more convincing. With his altered appearance and less commanding presence, he could easily pass for a laborer or low-level tradesman.
"Better," Gregory approved. "Now, let's talk about our approach to the capital. Do you have allies there? People we can trust absolutely?"
Bryce's expression grew serious. "Yes. There's a family—the Halvorns. They've served my family for generations. The current patriarch, Eldon Halvorn, was my father's boyhood friend. If anyone would remain loyal despite my absence, it would be him."
"Good," Gregory nodded. "I'll seek them out first, alone. Make sure it's safe before bringing you in. Where would I find them?"
"They have a townhouse in the Silverhill district," Bryce explained. "It's not far from the palace, but discreet enough for our purposes."
They spent the next hour refining their plan. Gregory would enter the city first, locate the Halvorn family, and assess whether they could be trusted. If all seemed well, he would return for Bryce, who would wait at a predetermined location outside the city walls.
As they prepared to continue their journey, Gregory found himself studying Bryce's transformed appearance once more. The prince caught his gaze and raised an eyebrow.
"What is it?" Bryce asked.
Gregory shook his head slightly. "Nothing. It's just... it's remarkable how different you look. How ordinary."
A shadow passed over Bryce's face. "Yes, well. Perhaps there's a lesson in that. Beneath the trappings of royalty, I'm just a man after all."
"Not quite," Gregory thought, remembering Bryce's magical abilities. But he kept that observation to himself as they mounted their horses and set off toward the capital.
Three days later, they arrived at the outskirts of Bridane, the capital city of Comer. Even from a distance, Gregory could see that something was amiss. The city walls, once a gleaming white, were now dingy and unmaintained. The fields surrounding the city, which should have been bustling with farmers tending autumn crops, were largely abandoned.
"This isn't right," Bryce murmured, his eyes scanning the landscape with growing concern. "The city looks... neglected."
Gregory nodded grimly. "Whatever's happening in the capital, it's affecting the entire kingdom. All the more reason for us to tread carefully."
They found a small copse of trees about half a mile from the eastern gate. It would serve as Bryce's hiding place while Gregory ventured into the city.
"Remember," Bryce said as they parted, "the Halvorn townhouse is on Silverhill Street, three blocks east of the Temple of Seiran. Ask for Eldon or his son, Taren. No one else."
Gregory nodded. "I'll return by nightfall, with news one way or another."
"Be careful," Bryce called after him as Gregory set off toward the city gates. "Trust no one."
Gregory raised a hand in acknowledgment without looking back. The warning was unnecessary; trust had never come easily to him.
The guards at the eastern gate were lax, barely glancing at Gregory as he entered the city. Inside, Bridane was a shadow of what he remembered from his previous visit years ago. The streets were dirty, with refuse piled in corners. People hurried about their business with downcast eyes, and there was none of the vibrant energy he recalled.
Following Bryce's directions, Gregory made his way to the Silverhill district. It was noticeably cleaner and better maintained than the lower parts of the city, though still bearing signs of the general decline. He found the Halvorn townhouse without difficulty—a handsome three-story building with a blue door.
Taking a deep breath, Gregory knocked firmly. A servant answered, eyeing him with suspicion.
"I need to speak with Eldon Halvorn," Gregory said. "Or his son, Taren. It's a matter of some urgency."
"And who might be calling?" the servant asked, his gaze sweeping over Gregory's dusty, travel-worn appearance.
"Tell them..." Gregory hesitated, then decided on a approach that would get attention without revealing too much. "Tell them I bring news of a ghost from the east."
The servant's eyebrows rose slightly, but he nodded and disappeared into the house. Several minutes later, an older man appeared at the door. His hair was silver, his face lined with age, but his eyes were sharp and alert.
"I am Eldon Halvorn," he said, his voice steady. "You claim to have news from the east?"
Gregory glanced meaningfully at the open doorway and the street beyond. "This is not a conversation for public ears, sir."
Eldon studied him for a long moment, then stepped aside. "Come in, then. But know that my household is well-protected should your intentions prove... unfriendly."
Gregory entered, noting the subtle presence of armed guards in the corners of the entrance hall. Eldon led him to a small study and closed the door firmly behind them.
"Now," the older man said, "what is this about a ghost?"
Gregory took a deep breath. "Before I say more, I need to know where your loyalties lie, Lord Halvorn. Are you still faithful to the royal family? To all of its members?"
Eldon's expression hardened. "My family has served the crown for eleven generations, young man. Our loyalty is beyond question."
"Even to those believed lost?" Gregory pressed.
A flicker of something—hope, perhaps—crossed Eldon's face. "What exactly are you saying?"
Gregory leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Prince Bryce is alive, Lord Halvorn. And he's returned to Bridane."
The color drained from Eldon's face. For a moment, Gregory feared the older man might collapse. But then Eldon steadied himself against his desk, his eyes boring into Gregory's.
"If you're lying," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "if this is some cruel jest or political manipulation, I will personally see you drawn and quartered."
"It's the truth," Gregory said firmly. "I've been with him since his escape from the Otagin. We've traveled a long and strange road to get here, but he's waiting outside the city now, waiting for word that it's safe to enter."
Eldon sank into a chair, his expression a mix of disbelief and cautious joy. "After all this time... we thought him dead. The king has been inconsolable, barely ruling at all. And the queen..."
"What of the queen?" Gregory asked, sensing something in Eldon's tone.
Eldon's eyes darkened. "She's changed. Since the prince's disappearance, she's taken a much more... active role in governing. Some whisper that she's the true power behind the throne now."
Gregory felt a chill run down his spine, remembering Bryce's suspicion that someone close to the throne had orchestrated his disappearance. "Has she always been politically ambitious?"
"Not openly," Eldon replied carefully. "She was always content to remain in the background. But grief changes people, they say."
Or perhaps it simply provides convenient cover, Gregory thought grimly. Aloud, he said, "The prince needs a safe place to stay while we determine who can be trusted. Would you shelter him?"
"Without hesitation," Eldon declared. "But bringing him into the city safely will require caution. The city watch has been... compromised in recent months. They answer more to the queen's faction than to the king's."
Gregory nodded. "We anticipated as much. The prince is disguised, and few would recognize him after his long absence and changed appearance. But I would feel better with an escort."
"My son, Taren, commands our household guard," Eldon said. "He can accompany you to bring the prince safely here."
Within the hour, Gregory set out again, this time accompanied by Taren Halvorn—a serious young man with his father's shrewd eyes—and four trusted guards dressed as common travelers. They left the city without incident and made their way to the copse of trees where Bryce was waiting.
As Taren laid eyes on the disguised prince, he dropped to one knee, tears welling in his eyes. "Your Highness," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "We thought you lost to us forever."
Bryce stepped forward, placing a hand on Taren's shoulder. "Rise, old friend. As you can see, reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated."
They returned to the city as dusk was falling, entering through a less-used gate where Taren had arranged for friendly guards to be on duty. The streets were growing empty as night approached, and they reached the Halvorn townhouse without incident.
Eldon was waiting in the entrance hall, and upon seeing Bryce, the older man fell to his knees, overcome with emotion. "My prince," he whispered. "You have returned to us at last."
Bryce helped the old man to his feet, embracing him warmly. "It's good to see you, Lord Halvorn. I hear much has changed in my absence."
"More than you know, Your Highness," Eldon replied grimly. "More than you know."
As servants hurried to prepare food and lodging for their royal guest, Gregory caught Bryce's eye across the room. The prince's expression was a complex mix of emotions—relief at finding loyal allies, determination to reclaim his place, and beneath it all, a shadow of apprehension about what lay ahead.
Whatever force had conspired to remove Bryce from the kingdom, whatever dark magic had been employed, the game was now afoot. The prince had returned, and nothing would ever be the same again.
