“Collin, you have to get up.”

Crow groaned and rolled over on his plush mattress, dragging his pillow down over his head. “The sun isn’t even out yet,” he whined to Preston, who stood at his bedside with a frown. Despite his haughty challenge to Penelope, all of his willpower to get ready for the day before her had flown out the window as soon as he’d dozed off last night. The bed was the perfect temperature in the cold room, and he wasn’t used to rising before he could see daylight. He burrowed deeper into the blankets, grumbling into his pillow, “It’s a crime to wake a man up before dawn. I should send you to the stocks.”

“Don’t be difficult,” Preston sighed, unperturbed by the empty threat. “It’s not even that early. Days are shorter in the winter.”

“This is cruel and unusual torture,” Crow asserted stubbornly without moving. Beneath the blankets, he could hear his attendant’s footsteps receding from the bed, and he relaxed as he guessed the boy had given up. However, in the next moment, he let out a startled yelp as he felt something cold touch the back of his neck. Jumping upright, he lifted a hand to the afflicted spot and shot a glare at his servant who stood with a half-empty cup of water in his hand.

“Good morning, my lord,” Preston bowed to him.

“You’re an ass,” Crow muttered.

“You’re awake,” the attendant shrugged and gestured to the dresser, where he had set out clothes for the viceroy to wear along with a few general tools to fix up his appearance. Crow exhaled resignedly and climbed down from the bed. As annoying as his servant’s method had been, it had done the job. He had gone from half-asleep to wide awake in less than a second.

After he spent some time combing his tangled hair and trimming his beard, he changed into the outfit Preston had chosen for him. Of all the lavish clothes he’d put on his body, this set was among the gaudiest. He studied his reflection incredulously. The boots and black trousers were nothing new, but it was the first time he’d ever worn a surcoat before. The long top flowed down to his knees and the fabric had been dyed a bold red. At the edges of the collar and sleeves, the shirt was adorned with gold accents, accounting for the second color of Brerra. It was quite obviously a uniform designed for a representative of the kingdom to wear, and since his father had been the last to hold that position, the clothing fit him perfectly.

In the back of his mind, he wondered what his mother would say if she could see him now. She had always told him that he bore a strong resemblance to Albin. If she had seen him put on the previous viceroy’s uniform, would she have been reminded of the day she’d met his father? From the stories he’d been told, it had sounded like his parents had met when Albin had been on his way to another kingdom. His father had probably been wearing the same surcoat he’d put on now—or at least, a variation of it. He shifted his weight, unsure what to think about that.

“Ready?” Preston’s voice drew him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Crow nodded, turning away from the mirror. It would do him more good to focus on the present rather than dwell on the past. He faced his attendant and suddenly blanched, “Oh gods, it’s back.”

“What?” the boy blinked confusedly.

“[i]That[/i],” the viceroy pointed at the hat in his hands. It was the same one he’d refused to wear the day after he’d been formally given his title—black with a wide brim and the feather of some kind of bird.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Preston rolled his eyes and stepped over to proffer the headdress. “You’re acting like it just rose from the dead.”

“I [i]did[/i] burn it in my mind last time I saw it,” Crow muttered without moving to accept the hat.

“Well, it’s still here,” Preston looked down at it. “And you have to wear it to distinguish yourself as the king’s ambassador.”

“Why does being the king’s ambassador mean I have to look like a fool?”

“It’s really not that bad,” Preston exhaled impatiently. “Come on, Collin. Just put it on already. We need to get going.”

Crow set his jaw, prepared to keep fighting with the boy, and then growled under his breath as he snatched the hat out of his hand. He didn’t understand why it was so important that he should wear it, but he didn’t want to waste any more time than he already had. Now that he was awake, he was determined to beat Penelope to the courtyard again. He put the headdress on and turned back to the mirror, wrinkling his nose with distaste, “I look ridiculous.”

“You look like a nobleman,” Preston shook his head.

With the issue finally settled, the two headed out of the viceroy’s bedchamber to eat at the Great Hall. To Crow’s relief, it seemed like his attendant was right. Nobody in the castle paid him any more attention than usual as he passed by, and he realized that decorative outfits like the one he had on really were normal to the citizens of the inner kingdom. The knowledge made him relax, and stepped into the nearly empty dining chamber with a yawn, noticing offhandedly that Penelope was nowhere to be seen. He wondered if he had beaten her there or if she had already passed through.