Crow chewed on the inside of his lip in thought as Penelope said he probably wouldn’t be able to send physicians to do charity work in the outer villages. She was probably right. He didn’t know very much about the different kinds of roles in the inner kingdom, but as far as he had ever heard, the king was the only one who ever ordered anyone else to do anything outside of the castle. Whenever there were traveling noblemen, they were always out on assignment from the king, never anyone of a lower rank. Though his title would carry weight, it likely wouldn’t be enough to accomplish the things he wanted to do.

However, the situation didn’t look totally bleak. He studied Penelope with interest as she went on to bring up her plans to get more nobles to join her efforts in restoring the outer villages. If she could convince enough people to participate, they could do quite a lot of good for the peasants who couldn’t support themselves. Of course, he knew they wouldn’t be able to stop the high taxes that the former king had set and that his own father had raised, but their efforts would definitely help out with the other difficult aspects of village life. He could already feel excitement and determination bubbling up inside of him at the thought.

“I want to help too,” he said, meeting her gaze seriously. “I’m not sure what sort of wealth my father plans to give me, if any, but I don’t need much.” He shrugged. “I’ve lived on practically nothing my whole life. Honestly, I could get by on just a few silver coins every season, especially since it seems like food and shelter are already part of the deal when you live at the castle. I’d much rather give what I have to the villagers than hoard it for myself when I’ve got no use for it.”

Crow turned to look forward again as they approached his childhood house. He walked slightly ahead of Penelope to open the door for them, letting her in first before he followed after her and closed it behind him. Once he was inside, he took a moment to look over everything. It all looked exactly like he’d left it, which wasn’t surprising since there was nothing valuable enough to attract bandits. He stepped over to the bed and sat on the edge. Glancing down, he spotted the tear in the mattress that Jaxon had caused when the killer had nearly stabbed him in the chest with his sword. He gingerly traced the frayed fabric with his fingers. If he had more time, he might have wanted to patch it, but it wasn’t important enough to delay their trip any more than they already were.

“I still haven’t figured out what to do with this place,” he mused contemplatively. “I suppose there’s no point in holding onto it any longer if I’m not going to be living out here anymore though.”