Kith peered into the stable after a stroll around the festival grounds. Cocky was pacing up and down, irritating the horses.

  "Can't sleep either?"

  "No." Cocky shook his feathers out. "You?"

  "Keep seeing that moment. When I froze." Kith sat, keeping her distance, not wanting to upset the horses more. "When you stood in front of me."

  Silence. Just the sound of horses chewing hay.

  "You OK?" Kith asked.

  “Yeah,” Cocky said with a sigh.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said slowly. "About your problem. You know, being king."

  "Yeah?"

  "There might be a way out. For you." She paused. "If you need out."

  Cocky studied her. "You don't have to prove—"

  "I do. To myself." Kith met his eyes. "Will you trust me?"

  Silence again. Just hay and quiet breathing.

  "Yes."

  "Then come here. And don't interrupt until I'm finished."

  Cocky moved closer. Kith glanced at the stable entrance once, then leaned in, voice dropping to barely a whisper.

  ***

  Cocky woke before dawn in the rowan tree's branches. He always did.

  For a moment—one precious, perfect moment—he forgot.

  Then he remembered. Today they would crown him king.

  His throat tightened. Dawn was coming whether he was ready or not. His body knew it—felt it in the cooling air, the shift in light.

  He didn't want to crow. If he didn't, maybe the day wouldn't start.

  But dawn didn't care.

  His beak opened. The crow tore out of him—loud, inevitable.

  Birds startled from trees. In the village, people stirred.

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  It had begun.

  ***

  "Your Majesty." Benjamin’s voice was flat. "They're replacing you."

  "Hmm?" The King adjusted a marzipan turret. "Oh. Well, that's fine. Being king is terribly exhausting, Benny. All those decisions." He frowned at his creation. "Do you think this needs more fondant?"

  Benjamin closed his eyes. Drew a shaking breath.

  At least with Helmut, he knew what he was dealing with. Incompetent, wasteful, but he meant no harm. A cockatrice prophet? That was something else entirely. What if the bird was just another leader who took everything and gave nothing back?

  What then?

  Benjamin counted to ten. Then twenty. "Your Majesty—"

  "The pink fondant, I think. It'll make the tower pop."

  Benjamin turned and left without another word.

  The King didn't notice.

  He was already humming, reaching for the fondant, completely absorbed in his marzipan masterpiece. Outside his window, the sound of the crowds gathering in the square didn't even make him look up.

  ***

  The city overwhelmed Cocky—so many people, so much stone and noise. Why couldn't they have left him in the village?

  They'd built a platform in the center. Draped it with banners. Someone had carved a tiny crown from rowan wood—no bigger than a plum, intricate and impossibly delicate. A single red berry had been fixed to the front like a jewel.

  They led him forward. The crowd parted. Silent at first, then murmuring, then cheering.

  Cocky’s legs felt like water.

  Noon. The sun directly overhead.

  His body knew. His throat swelled despite everything. Another crow erupted.

  The crowd roared with cheers. Deafening. They took it as acceptance. As eagerness.

  He looked for an escape from all those eyes. Found none.

  The crowd hushed as the ceremony started with pomp and speeches about how the new king would save the kingdom from starvation.

  Cocky’s chest tightened. Save them from starvation? He didn't know the first thing about crops or food stores or—

  Benjamin stepped forward with the crown. Their eyes met briefly. Benjamin's face was unreadable—resignation? Fear? Something else?

  The tiny crown of rowan settled on Cocky's head. It weighed nothing. It felt crushing.

  "Behold, the prophet who brought us clear skies!"

  The crowd cheered.

  ***

  At the back of the crowd, a thin man in dark, forgettable clothes went very still.

  The cockatrice had just crowed—noon, as expected. The crowd had roared with approval, taking it as acceptance, as eagerness.

  But Theron heard something else.

  That tone. That cadence. Not celebration. Warning.

  Inquisitor Theron's pen moved across his notebook. Careful. Precise.

  Prophetic tone. Warning, not celebration. Requires further observation.

  He closed the notebook. Around him, the crowd celebrated—laughing, singing, completely unaware. He slipped away, already composing his report for Valgarr's eyes only.

  The creature would need watching.

  ***

  The crowd thinned as evening approached. Cocky stood on the platform, crown askew, watching people disperse.

  At the edge of the square, half-hidden in the lengthening shadows, a hyena watched.

  When Cocky's eyes found Kith's across the emptying space, the hyena nodded once.

  Cocky's wings tucked tighter against his sides.

  Soon.