The Will To Smile, The Will To Laugh

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The King was on the balcony, leaning on the balustrade, watching when Charles finally arrived Mainecroft Castle. He bowed as soon as he alighted the coach, before walking into the main halls, going up to him. Strictly speaking, he stomped in.

Charles had gone to his estate, WhistleHall, when he left Carlisle Crest that night, instead of going to an inn as he had wanted to or the castle. He needed the solitude to compose his emotions and get utterly drunk. He could do neither.

He was angry; enraged still. The volumes upon volumes of alcohol he had consumed could not drown the dark emotion in him. Beth saw no good in what they had. Was he the only one who thought they were once again on neutral ground?

Charles strode into the balcony and was not surprised to find Brand too. The private council meeting with the King should have started hours ago. The young prince sat away from his brother, legs propped up on the small table before him, slowly sliding his thumb over the sharp edge of