The shadow slipped past the guard, who was still at attention despite his snores. Leonard couldn’t decide if that meant if discipline was lacking or not. He tutted all the same. Frederick should really know better than to sleep on duty.

  Padding up to the queen’s bedchambers on cushioned soles, he slid a bottle of olive oil out of his pocket. Dabbing some onto a rag, he worked it into the handle of the door. He wished again that he could oil the hinges in the same way, but knew that security trumped any showmanship. Or Flair. Or style.

  He was about to start complaining again. He could feel it bubbling up inside him. He decided to keep it ready till he had a captive audience.

  Deciding enough was enough, he packed everything away again. Slowly, gingerly, almost lifting, Leonard eased the door handle down. He took his time, making sure no sound came out. The last time Rosalind had gone off to tour the city, he had performed a “security inspection” of her quarters, which included the disassembly and polishing of the handle mechanisms. Any rough spots that may have been there were smoothed away, and the metal parts fit together so smoothly it had almost felt like silk.

  But he didn’t have time, then or now, to work on the hinges. He vowed to make them his priority at the next opportunity. He would not be denied his prize just because some servant had forgotten to perform basic maintenance.

  He opened the door barely enough to let himself in, the handle rubbing uncomfortably against his stomach. As soon as the last of him had slipped into the room the door was already shut, blocking the light from entering behind him.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He saw the bed, prominent in the center of the room. He strode forth, his steps muffed by the many rugs that coated the cold hard floor of the queen’s chamber. He knew he had her now. She was at his mercy, and all he had to do was claim his reward.

  The pillow that hit him from behind was no small shock. He instantly ducked and rolled, wincing at the crack he heard as he came up facing whoever had thrown the pillow.

  Queen Rosalind was standing behind the door. Her hands on her hip, expression nothing short of absolute and total fury.

  Dampness made its way down his leg, and a pungent odor made itself known to the two occupants of the room.

  “Olive oil” Leonard said, by way of explanation.

  Rosalind just groaned.

  -

  “I’ve told you a thousand times my name is RosaLINE, not RosaLIND”

  “Yes Rosy”

  “And not Rosy either! Honestly, how am I supposed to rule the kingdom when I can’t even get my own knights to say my name properly!”

  “Sorry your majesty”

  “And knock off that majesty stuff. Honestly, you never listen.”

  “No, your majesty”

  Rosaline sighed. Leonard always managed to exasperate her.

  “So? What was causing the bandits to act out?”

  Leonard, eyes fixed firmly to a spot above and to the right of Rosaline’s actual face, said “They were being funded. Locally it seems. The payments were too regular and in the common coin.”

  “That’s not proof. Any halfway decent saboteur would make some effort to hide their trail.” The queen pointed out.

  “Yes, your majesty. But there would be an exchange of currency, or a trade of large value. The treasurer was sure the money flows hadn’t changed. He has a good head on his shoulders, if not good hair on his head.”

  Rosaline paused, considering. Even if it was a foreign power, they would have to have someone acting locally. Not an insignificant someone, given the scale of the activities so far.

  “Majesty?”

  “Yes, Leonard?” Rosaline said, distracted by the implications of the thought.

  “What gave me away?”

  “What?!” she snapped, her train of thought careening dangerously off the treacherous scaffolding she had built.

  “I’m sure no one saw me, and I walked past a few mice without them even noticing. So how did you catch me?” Leonard had to know.

  Rosaline sighed again, and pointed at the door handle.

  Leonard followed her finger, then followed the string tied to the handle up across the ceiling and down again till it ended at a little silver bell right above the royal pillow.

  “That's cheating.”