The king gestured to a leather rucksack sitting on the floor, half hidden in the shadow of the desk.

'Some necessities,' said the king.

Gray took up the rucksack by one of the straps, feeling the rich leather. Glancing inside, he saw it held some clothes. Much finer than anything Gray's ever owned.

'Thank you,' said Gray quietly, staring down at the clothes.

'And,' said the king, his tone shifting even colder. 'This is yours.'

The king held a wand with two hands, by the merest fingertips, as though balancing a live snake. He put it cautiously and meticulously onto the desktop. The wand was made from what looked like rosewood timber.

Ornately carved. Polished and inlaid with gold details.

'It was Ryan's,' said the king. 'And before him, his great-great grandfather's. You should be able to use it.'

'I,' said Gray, before he could monitor his words, 'can't use it.'

'Well, I can't use it.' The king watched him very closely. 'Go on. Pick it up. It's yours.'

Gray stepped forward. Halted.

'Ryan's was the only cyngyrd I could salvage from the Griffin home in Hobbtown,' said the king. 'Wynn's was burnt beyond saving. Aiden's was snapped in half. Rory's was ashes. Tyler's was splintered into pieces. Your grandparents' …'

The king faded out.

He'd stated these words like they meant nothing. He was in his usual icy posture. But, Gray was struggling to keep his expression schooled, and the king must've noticed. Having it said to him like that, Wynn's burnt beyond saving, Rory's was ashes, was making Gray's chest tighten.

'This one was the only one intact,' said the king briskly. He rolled the wand further towards Gray, with the tiniest touch. 'And, as you're the only Griffin standing here, it's yours.'

The moment lingered. Gray eyed the wand.

With his head bowed, Gray took it and dropped it into his pocket.

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There was no prickle. No sting. No surge of magic.

'Thank you, sir,' Gray said. 'Thank you very much. It means a lot-'

There was a knock at the door.

'Come in,' murmured the king.

Killian stalked in, bowed formally, and silently waited for the king to greet him. He was in his regular clothes, his plain brown trousers and shirt, dagger stuck in his boot, and a large healing gash cutting vertically through his lips and down his chin.

His dark hair hung in his dark gaze as he carefully took in his surrounds. His shoulders were stiff. His knuckles were scabbed.

The king glanced at Killian. 'You'll watch him.'

Gray twitched involuntarily, glancing back at him.

'Yes?' said the king.

'Nothing, sir,' said Gray carefully.

'Killian?' said the king.

Killian's shoulders were stiff. His face was completely controlled. 'Yes, Your Majesty.'

'Drop the Your Majesties, Killian,' said the king. 'I'm not angry at you any more.'

Killian gave a small and controlled bow.

'I'll send word when his instructors are ready for him in the morning,' said the king. 'I expect you to prioritise getting him here promptly when called. Safely.'

'I know, Baldwin,' said Killian, starting to sound more like himself

The king fixed Killian with his intense stare.

Killian lifted his eyebrows. 'I'll prioritise it,' he said, defensiveness creeping into his tone. 'I got him back here safely last night, didn't I?'

'Make another move like last night,' said the king, 'and I don't care how many sorcerers you kill, I don't care how many records you hold, or awards you get, you will suffer my displeasure.'

Killian maintained a stony silence.

'I won't fight with you again, Killian,' said the king. 'Not today. We'll leave it at that.'

'Yes.' Killian's mouth pressed into a hard line. 'I return to my men tomorrow. You'll have found guardians for him soon? He can't - stay with me while I work.'

Gray glanced at Killian. Return to his men? What happened to picking his own team?

'The hours are long,' said Killian, 'you know they are. They're unpredictable. I won't be home much.'

'It won't be a problem,' said the king. 'He leaves in three nights. You can manage three nights, can't you?'

'He leaves for Krydon?' said Killian. 'Jessica didn't tell me-'

'My main concern,' the king interrupted, 'at the moment, is sufficient and trustworthy security.'

'He won't be working forever, though,' said Killian. 'You need to find a humane solution by the time he gets back.'

The king made a small sound, and bent his head over his desk, rolling up a scroll and putting it into Gray's rucksack. 'A map of Krydon,' he said. 'I expect you to study it well, even if you think you already know every nook and cranny. And I have a text for you, on griffins.'

The king studied his bookshelves.

Killian cleared his throat, staring at Gray. There was the smallest of gestures from Killian. A twitching of his fingers. Then, again.

Taking the hint, Gray accepted the offered book from the king, bowing. 'I'd be grateful to not go back to the prison, sir.'

'I realise that,' said the king coldly. He raised his eyebrows at Killian.

'OK. Thank you.' Killian cleared his throat again. 'A good home, Baldwin.'

'If I haven't found any appropriate guardians,' said the king, 'I'll just put him in the consort palace.'

With a small gesture, the king waved them out of the room.

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