Theron returned to Myr with his observations still turning in his mind.

  The Blessed One's chambers were as cold as always—stone walls down in the dungeons. The faint scent of incense that never quite masked something underneath. The click of Valgarr's many rings against stone. Something that made Theron's skin crawl, even after all these years.

  "Your Eminence." Theron bowed precisely. "I have a report from my observation of the events in Eldmere."

  Valgarr looked up from the parchment he'd been reading, beard obscuring most of his expression. "Something of note?"

  "A regime change. Via prophetic proclamation." Theron's voice remained neutral. "By a cockatrice."

  Silence.

  "A cockatrice?" Valgarr set down his parchment, slowly. "You're certain?"

  "I observed the coronation myself. The creature spoke. Prophesied weather changes. They came true—exactly as stated."

  "Cockatrices are beings of legend. Not reality."

  "This one was most definitely a cockatrice and it spoke, Your Eminence. And the people believed it."

  Valgarr leaned back, black nails drumming against the arm of his chair. "Belief is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands."

  Something echoed wetly from the drain in the corner. Theron had never liked this room.

  He extended one hand. "Your report."

  Theron placed the notebook on the desk.

  "Continue monitoring this... situation." Valgarr's eyes gleamed. "If a rooster can inspire that kind of devotion, it could prove useful. Or problematic."

  "Of course, Your Eminence."

  "Belief is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands." His smile didn't reach his eyes. It never did.

  "And Theron?" Valgarr opened the notebook, scanning the first page. "King Jorvan should be informed. He does so enjoy... opportunities."

  The way he said it made it clear this was no coincidence.

  Theron bowed and withdrew, leaving Valgarr alone with his thoughts—and his plans.

  ***

  Valgarr wasted no time seeking an audience with King Jorvan.

  "An interesting situation has developed in Eldmere, Your Majesty. An... opportunity, perhaps."

  Jorvan barely glanced up from the document he was signing. "What kind of opportunity?"

  "They've crowned a new king." Valgarr paused, letting the next words land. "A cockatrice."

  That got his attention. Jorvan's pen stopped mid-signature. He set it down carefully. "A cockatrice. You're certain?"

  "Indeed, Your Majesty. The creature prophesied, and the people believed."

  Jorvan leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Poor Eldmere." His voice carried just the right note of concern. "They must be desperate. Starving people will believe anything, won't they? Crown a bird if it promises them hope."

  "They do seem... vulnerable, Your Majesty."

  "Someone needs to help them. Properly. Before they make more mistakes." Jorvan stood, moving to the window. "They need guidance. Stability. Real leadership—not a rooster playing king."

  "Your Majesty is most generous to consider their welfare."

  "It's the responsible thing to do. Neighborly, even." Jorvan turned back, his expression earnest. "We should extend an invitation. Open dialogue. Show them that Garanwyn is a true friend in difficult times."

  "Shall I arrange it, Your Majesty?"

  "Yes. Frame it as... concern. Friendship. We're offering support because it's the right thing to do." His smile was warm, reasonable. "After all, what kind of king would I be if I didn't help our struggling neighbors?"

  Valgarr bowed, his own smile hidden. "Of course, Your Majesty. Nothing but the most generous intentions."

  ***

  At the Gilded Turnip in the Kingdom of Garanwyn, the kitchen drain erupted with slippery, hissing voices.

  Winter had settled over Myr, but The Deep Current never slept—not even when ice crusted the gutters and drains above.

  "News, news, newsss NEWS—" Blink, practically vibrating with excitement.

  "Premium intelligence for the right price, yesss—I could tell you more about palace-water, tastingsss, vibrations through the stone—" Grin, as smooth as an eel's voice could be.

  "GRIN, this isn't your schemesss!" Blink snapped. "King summons an ELDMERE-KING! From the south-kingdom, yesss!"

  "Which king does the summoning?" Agnes asked patiently, looking up from her bread dough, flour dusting her plump hands.

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  "Garanwyn-king! Big palace-king! He calls the bird-king to his palace!"

  "The king who spoke truths," Grin added. "Interesssting happenings, yesss. Worth paying for full details—"

  "Water tastesss like TRAP!" Blink interrupted. "Palace-water vibrates wrong—like TEETH and PLANSSS and—and—"

  "It's the hungry-beard," a younger voice cut in, quicker and sharper than the others. "The beard. The one who prays with sharp teeth."

  "Kwik speaks truth," Blink said. "We feel it in the currents, yesss. Wrong vibrations. Wrong taste."

  Agnes wiped her hands on her apron and crouched by the drain. "And where's Sleech, my lovelies?"

  All three eels went quiet.

  "He... checks," Blink admitted. "Said we must wait. Said he tastes water of sharp-teeth prayer-man—to be sure."

  "To be sure of WHAT?" Agnes asked.

  "To be sure there's nothing else," Grin said, and for once his voice had no mockery in it. "The trap-taste is... strong, yesss."

  Agnes straightened. "Right. I'm getting Mistress Bree. You three stay here. When Sleech is ready, we'll listen proper."

  ***

  In the Kingdom of Eldmere, two months after the coronation Benjamin had a spring in his step. Every day with King Cocky was a good day. As he strolled towards King Cocky's chambers, his feet accidentally skipped. He stopped them immediately.

  Professionalism, Benjamin. Standards!

  Bernie knocked as he entered the King’s chambers.

  Cocky sat hunched over a chessboard, staring at the pieces like they'd personally offended him. The board showed a game in progress—white pieces scattered in what Benjamin charitably called an ambitious strategy.

  "The horse moves in an L-shape," Cocky muttered to himself. "The bishop goes diagonal. The castle—no, the rook—goes straight. Why can't the king just—" He paused, then swept his wing across the board in frustration. Pieces clattered to the floor.

  "Still struggling, I see," Benjamin said, trying not to smile.

  "It's impossible! How am I supposed to see five moves ahead when I don't even understand why the horse jumps over things?"

  "Knight, Your Majesty. Not horse."

  "It LOOKS like a horse!"

  Benjamin began gathering the scattered pieces. "You're thinking too much about individual moves. Chess is about seeing the whole board. Understanding what your opponent wants before they get it."

  "But how do I know what they want?"

  "They'll tell you. Not with words—with their moves. A poisoned pawn, for instance."

  Cocky's head tilted. "A what?"

  "When your opponent offers you something that looks valuable—a free piece, an easy capture—but taking it puts you in danger. It looks like generosity. It's actually a trap." Benjamin set the pieces back up. "The hardest part is recognizing when you're being offered poison."

  Cocky stared at the board.

  "Anyway," Benjamin said, straightening. "I've prepared a list of things to consider before your next Council meeting. And also—it would boost morale after the harsh winter if you could attend the Spring Festival."

  Cocky wanted to scream. He hated public appearances, but Benjamin was right. "I'll be there."

  "You're a good king, sire. The people love you."

  "I'm miserable, Benjamin." Cocky sighed.

  "I know. But you're still good at it. Better than—" Benjamin stopped himself from criticizing King Helmut. "Oh, and this came for you this morning." He placed a letter with the official seal of the Kingdom of Garanwyn in front of Cocky.

  "Benjamin, can you open the letter for me and read it to me, please?"

  Benjamin broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. As he read, his eyebrows drew together.

  To His Majesty, the King of Eldmere,

  I hope this letter finds you and your people well after what I understand was a difficult winter.

  Word has reached Garanwyn of your kingdom's recent challenges—and of the rather unprecedented circumstances surrounding your coronation. I must admit, the situation intrigued me. A kingdom in crisis, a people desperate enough to crown... well, I mean no disrespect, but the circumstances speak for themselves.

  It seems to me that Eldmere could benefit from the support of a more established ally. Not interference, you understand—simply the kind of guidance and resources that come from experience. Garanwyn has weathered many difficult seasons, and I believe we're in a position to help.

  I would like to extend an invitation for you to visit my palace in Myr. We should discuss how our kingdoms might work together—for your benefit, of course. Eldmere deserves stability, and I'm in a position to offer it. This could be the beginning of a partnership that serves both our peoples well.

  I look forward to meeting you and discussing how Garanwyn might assist in securing Eldmere's future.

  With neighborly concern,

  King Jorvan of Garanwyn

  Benjamin set the letter down carefully. "Your Majesty... something about this feels off."

  "Off how?" Cocky's feathers ruffled slightly.

  "The words are all concern and friendship, but there's..." Benjamin hesitated, choosing his words. "There's condescension underneath. 'Desperate enough to crown'—even with 'no disrespect,' that's an insult. And 'for your benefit, of course'—it's the kind of thing people say when they mean the opposite."

  "So you think they have a secret purpose?"

  "I know they have a secret purpose. I just don’t know what it is." Benjamin picked up the letter again, scanning it. "That said, Your Majesty, I think you should go."

  Cocky's head tilted. "You just said it feels off."

  "It does. But you can't ignore an invitation from another king. And better to find out what King Jorvan actually wants than to refuse and create tension between kingdoms." Benjamin met Cocky's eyes. "Go. Be diplomatic. Find out what he's really after. Just... be careful."

  Cocky nodded slowly. "When should we go?"

  "After the Spring Festival would be appropriate. The snow should have melted over the mountain passes by then, and travel will be easier. That gives us time to prepare properly."

  "We'll plan to visit Garanwyn then," Cocky said.

  "I'll start making preparations." Benjamin moved toward the door, then paused. "Your Majesty? Trust your instincts when you meet him. If something feels wrong, it probably is."

  The door closed behind him.

  Kith emerged from the shadows near the window. "A month of freedom before you have to do royal stuff in a foreign kingdom. Lucky you."

  Cocky squawked, feathers puffing. "My heart! Don't sneak up on me!"

  "Yeah, well, I wasn't sneaking. You just don't pay attention." Kith stretched, then her expression turned more serious. "You heard what Benjamin said. This smells wrong."

  "I know. But I have to go."

  "Course you do. You're the king." Kith's tail flicked. "Just remember—you know the signal. I'll be watching."

  "I know." Cocky's voice was quieter now. "If things go sideways..."

  "When things go sideways," Kith corrected. "Nothing about this sounds right. But that's why we've got the plan."

  "Think he'll be like Helmut? Just incompetent and annoying?"

  "No." Kith's voice was flat. "Helmut was a fool. This one sounds like he knows exactly what he's doing. That makes him dangerous."