That night, Crow found himself in the marketplace of Tamsworth yet again. He knew he didn’t want to be there, but he couldn’t remember the reason why. Everything seemed so peaceful, and the villagers were so welcoming, yet he couldn’t rid himself of the fear that he wasn’t safe. As he stopped walking to look around, he had a strong feeling of déjà vu, as if he’d done this before. Then, out of nowhere, came the familiar impulse to look at the sky. He tried to fight it, but inevitably lost the battle as his gaze lifted, and the village was plunged into brutal chaos once again.

As the panic set in, Crow spun on his heels and ran to take cover beneath the overturned cart that he remembered so clearly. However, before he reached it, he was cut off by the knight on the ebony, bloodstained mare. The man raised his sword, and the thief closed his eyes, preparing for the inevitable sting of the blade.

In the next moment, the scene changed, and he found himself in Jaxon’s camp once again with a different sword piercing his chest. The murderer’s cruel, twisting smirk was the last thing he saw before the weapon was ripped out and everything faded to red…

--

Crow shot upright on his bed, grasping at his chest and gasping for breath. His body trembled compulsively as the adrenaline from the nightmare fueled him with panicked energy, and he stared down at his lap with wide eyes. Still shaken by the vividness of the dream, he barely registered where he was. All he could think about was the consuming shock that he was alive and unscathed. Tamsworth was gone. Jaxon was gone. There was no sword in his chest. He wasn’t dead. The thoughts came to him in rapid succession, but it took some time before he was able to process through them and acknowledge them as the truth.

In fact, he hadn’t quite worked through them before the door to his room swung open and someone hurried inside. It also took him a moment to realize that the man now at his bedside, saying something and shaking his arm, was Preston. He couldn’t bring himself to speak though. His thoughts were still in shambles, and his throat stung painfully, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

The attendant continued to try and snap him out of the panic, but the viceroy just found his efforts overwhelming. He leaned away from the boy’s touch and brought his hands to his head to block out the sound of his voice, which at the moment, reminded him frighteningly of the panicky shouts of the villagers in his dream. At the thought of them, another image of the slaughter returned, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing it to go away.

Vaguely, he was aware that there was now a second person in his bedchamber, whom Preston was speaking with in a hurried tone. Crow forced himself to look up just enough to see that the other person was a knight. At once, their conversation reached his ears:

“…should get Eldon, right? This is the second time in two days.”

That was Preston.

The knight’s voice responded: “I think so. He’s clearly unresponsive.”

“He didn’t want me to get a physician last time.”

“That doesn’t matter. He’s the king’s ward. His Majesty will be furious if something happens to him, and you’ll be the one to blame, since you’re his servant.”

A pause.

“…I-I suppose you’re right. I’ll get Eldon.”

That was enough to draw Crow from his haze.

“Don’t,” he managed to rasp, drawing the attention of the other two as he let his hands fall to his lap. They turned toward him, and he swallowed to sooth his sore throat—by now he’d figured out that it hurt because he must have screamed again—before going on in a slightly stronger voice, “I don’t need a physician. I’m fine.”

Preston exchanged an uncomfortable glance with the guard. “You’re clearly worse today,” the attendant objected. “I think you need to—”

“I don’t need anything,” the viceroy interrupted with a cold glare that he turned on the knight next. “What are you doing here anyway?” he snapped, his eyes flicking warily to the sword hanging at the man’s belt. With the memory of his nightmare still fresh in his mind, the presence of the weapon made him leery. He wanted it gone. “This doesn’t concern you. Get going.”

The knight blinked, seeming surprised by the viceroy’s hostile attitude, and then indignantly tossed his head. “If you’re ever really in danger, I hope you suffer,” he scoffed as he turned and walked out of the room.

Crow curled his lip at the guard’s back and then scornfully turned his head to the side. In the back of his mind, he knew he was just making things worse by lashing out at the people who had come to help him, but he couldn’t help it. He was embarrassed that they had heard him scream yet again and was worried that they were just going to try to get more people involved if he didn’t fight them off now. He had to keep them at bay for his own defense

By the door, Preston shifted his weight nervously, seeming unsure how to approach the viceroy while he was still heated. “Do… do you want me to help you get ready for breakfast?” he asked after a short silence.

Crow shook his head. “I’ll get up when I’m ready,” he muttered, refusing to meet the boy’s gaze as he laid back down on his bed and pulled the blanket over his eyes. In the privacy of the bedsheets, he let out his breath in a shaky exhale, trying to calm his still-racing heart. He couldn’t believe his nightmares had come back—and in the middle of the castle, too. He could already tell he was going to have a difficult time hiding his dreams from others when there were so many people around him all the time.

He took another slow breath and closed his eyes. To make matters worse, he felt like he hadn’t slept all night. If things kept up like this, it was going to be hard for him to focus on his studies. He had come so far already. If he started having trouble keeping information straight, he just knew his father was going to be disappointed in him. He couldn’t afford to risk losing his position because of a few bad dreams. It was pathetic.

Crow stayed beneath the blanket for a while longer until he felt like he had calmed down enough to get up. When he pulled the fabric down from over his head, he saw Preston sitting at the table by the window. The attendant turned toward him and hesitated for a moment before he asked, “Are you ready now?”

“Yes,” Crow answered him in a low voice as he climbed down from the bed. In truth, he would have liked to stay there all day—he was dreadfully tired—but he was supposed to meet John in the Great Hall for his lesson that afternoon. He had to at least make an effort to get food in his stomach before he spent the day sparring with the older knight.

Preston nodded and stood up. “I’ve laid out some clothes for you near the wardrobe,” he announced. “The kitchen should still be serving food, so if you get dressed quickly, you may still be able to get something to eat.”

“Alright,” Crow yawned. Following the servant’s instructions, he dressed himself as fast as he could manage, and they headed to the Great Hall together to find out if there was any breakfast left.