Not Another Hero

I knew I couldn't use my given name as the moniker Owen had been reserved for members of the royal family for generations.

"Marcus," I said, "My name is Marcus."

I shuffled off so I could pretend to gather documents, settle affairs, and do the things people who weren't runaway kings would do before a long journey. I picked another bar down the street and ate what would certainly be the last meal of its quality I would have for some time. The squab and lampreys were cold, but still delicious. The royal chef was skilled, but I found it difficult to enjoy my food. It was becoming clear that even this had been a tool of my captors designed to keep the king fat and happy and far from the levers of power.

I made my way back to the Last Draught and started looking for my traveling companions.



I spotted Graglori in a group of ten or so workers and five wagons and walked up to him.

"Reporting for duty, eh? I expect you'll be in the house with the other egghead."