“The boy, your nephew’s heir.” Steward’s expression turned
grave. “Shadows are slowly gathering, and poisoned roots reach for him. He is a
potential pivot point in our war. My dreams of him are hazy. Nothing is
confirmed. No decisions have been made, but he is poised on too many knife
edges. The enemy wants him, and he is vulnerable.” He nodded to Dylon. “This
one is young. I do not like to ask you to put him into the war, but a companion
who isn’t awed by his rank could be a good influence, a wall of protection.” He
shook his head. “And could come under attack for it. I don’t want to ask it of
you …”
“You don’t have to.” Ambrose gripped Dylon’s shoulder. “My
nephew is already concerned about his son’s attitude, since losing his wife.
She was a defensive wall against the flatterers and bootlickers and liars. He
suggested some time ago that Maddix needs a steadying influence, and someone
who will stand up to him.”
“Thank you.”
“The princess … is she in danger?”
“Not yet.”
“But she will be?”
“When she starts thinking for herself, and lets her heart guide …” The Steward sighed and shrugged. “I have dreamed too many branching paths ahead of her, and all of them vanish into the mist of possibilities.”
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