There will be changes, of course," Prince Tykkin said without preamble.

Konowa stood at attention under the awning of the Prince's marquee and said nothing. He'd been summoned after the ceremony for an immediate audience with the Prince. That had been over an hour ago, the Prince only now deigning to see him.

Konowa waited. A feeble breeze tried and failed to move the ludicrously large section of canvas that kept the sun at bay. The awning looked to be the mainsail for a ship of the line, making Konowa wonder if somewhere there was a vessel adrift at sea. He hoped the Prince had enough sense not to bring such an extravagance on the expedition.

"Your previous conduct was a disgrace, a stain on the collective glory of the Imperial Army," the Prince said, coming to stand in front of Konowa. "Now that I see you in person, I wonder if it might have been better to leave you in the woods. I've had reports that your conduct since rejoining the army has been less than exemplary and that troubles me. I will have nothing but the finest, Major, the finest soldiers, the finest uniforms, the finest drill, and the finest quality of character in those that serve me."

If the Prince was waiting for a reply, Konowa wasn't going to give one. He kept his eyes unfocused, a trick he'd learned years before when standing in the ranks. It kept you from staring straight at something, usually trouble. He focused instead on the various indignities his new uniform was subjecting his body to.

His neck was already red and itching from the high leather stock that ringed the jacket's collar. It kept a man's head up and made the ranks look stiff and proud when marching past a reviewing stand, but it was a dangerous nuisance in battle when freedom of movement counted. The leather ankle boots that replaced his soft hide ones were tight and hard against his feet, while his pants chafed and his shako felt like a cannonball perched on his head. His left hip ached from the saber he now carried strapped to his waist, a gift from Jaal. The three-foot-long blade had a bright white enameled hand guard with gold inlay to signify his officer status and was no doubt worth a pretty penny, but he'd take his old musket in its place any day. He willed his body to go numb and prayed that the Prince would hurry up.

"Still, I believe you will be of some small value," the Prince continued, his voice sounding a bit nasal. "But you will follow my example of how an officer in Her Majesty's Army should conduct himself from this point on."

The smell of pomade drifted from beneath the Prince's ridiculously tall shako, reminding Konowa of the cloying sap of the forest. A single ponytail of white-powdered hair hung down the Prince's back, the end tipped by a diamond brooch. Up close, the Prince's eyes only reached Konowa's chin, the reason, perhaps, that he wore tall hats. His eyes were a pale green kept in permanent shadow by a heavy brow. An equine nose jutted over thin lips, but for all of that he wasn't unhandsome, and a few weeks in the field would melt twenty pounds off his paunchy frame, giving him a warrior's build. What, if anything, would give him the intelligence to command men Konowa didn't know.

Konowa glanced over at a large folding table set up in the tent and was disheartened to see it cluttered with books. He read a few of the titles and grew even more despairing:

Basic Manual for Officers on Disciplining Troops in the Field, Be They Deemed Light Infantry or Regular, Pursuant to All Occasions They May Encounter.

Legends, Myths, and Fables of the Peoples of Greater Elfkyna and Territories of the Masua Subcontinent.

The Royal Society of Calahr's Large and Exceptional Collection of Specimens of the Animal, Vegetable, Mineral, and Thaumaturgical Worlds With Lavish Illustrations and Appendices, Volume IV.

Perfect, Konowa thought, just perfect. He's going to lead a regiment with one eye in a manual and the other looking for pretty flowers and treasure-hoarding dragons.

"Her Majesty speaks highly of you, did you know that?" the Prince asked. Something in his tone triggered a warning deep inside Konowa.

The Prince stepped closer to him, peering up at him, watching. "She followed your exploits with great interest. My gallant rogue were Her exact words," Tykkin said, searching Konowa's face for some kind of sign.

He's jealous, Konowa realized. The Queen's son, the future King, had had to listen to his mother praise another—him, of all people. It must have been especially galling. And now I've been made his second in command. This just gets better and better.

"I wasn't aware," Konowa said, quickly adding, "sir."

"Not aware?" The Prince seemed to struggle with his breathing. "Not…no, of course you wouldn't be, would you?" Whatever internal battle the Prince had waged was over, for now. "In any event, you have been made my subordinate and I expect total and instant compliance with every order. The loyalty of the Iron Elves will not fail again."

The last part was said with the Prince's face mere inches from Konowa's. When Konowa still did not move, the Prince stepped back and turned away from him. There was the sound of a stopper being pulled from a bottle and then the tinkling gurgle of wine being poured into a glass. Konowa licked his lips and chided himself for being little more than a salivating dog. Damn the Prince!

"Begging Your Highness's pardon," Konowa said at last, his voice sounding like a cannon salvo under the tent, "time is of the essence. We should discuss the matter of reforming the regiment. Marshal Ruwl informed me that arrangements had been made. When can we expect the elves?"

The Prince tilted his head to one side as he looked at Konowa. "He didn't tell you, did he? Well, well. The marshal may be wary of your temper, but I am not. The elves are in the southern wastes, and that is exactly where they'll stay. I have dispatched men from my personal staff to purchase the necessary troops and supplies from the regiments in camp. The regiment will form from the very cream of the army located here."

It felt like a blow to the stomach. "Here, sir?" The cream of the army was most certainly not sweltering in the stinking sun of this camp. "But I thought the lads—the regiment was being called back. How can the Iron Elves be reformed without them?"

The Prince did not turn around, but Konowa heard the smirk in his voice. "The Iron Elves will henceforth be a regiment more agreeably integrated with men from the Empire."

"With all due respect, your Highness—"

"It is done!" the Prince shouted, spinning around to face him. "This regiment is mine, and I will command it as I see fit. Reconcile yourself to that, Major." He let out a slow breath and composed himself. "Now, the matter is closed. A toast," he said, motioning to a filled lead crystal glass on the table.

Konowa looked at the drink as if it were poison, but finally stepped forward and took it.

"To the glorious future of the Light Infantry of the Hynta," the Prince said.

Konowa stared at the Prince, his own glass stopped awkwardly halfway up to the sky.

"Do you dare challenge me thus?" the Prince asked, his eyes narrowing to slits.

This fool knows nothing. "No, sir, but one never toasts the regiment in that manner. We did not seek glory—quite the opposite. The proper toast is only given at midnight, sir, under a black moon," Konowa said, looking down at a stupid little man who would one day be King. One quick blow to the neck would solve so many problems.

"I knew that," the Prince said, looking at him with suspicion. "However, today we start a new tradition."

"Yes, of course, sir," Konowa said. Acting on an impulse before his better judgment could stop him, Konowa gulped his drink in a flick of the wrist. "To the glorious future of the Light Infantry of the Hynta. Long live the Iron Elves…and Men. May our enemies crumble before us!" he shouted, then threw his glass to the ground. The crystal shattered into hundreds of glittering pieces.

The Prince's eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. He said nothing for a long moment. Konowa looked at him with the closest he could manage to complete innocence. A grin now would likely find him hanging from a noose.

The Prince finally downed his own drink and followed suit, breaking his own glass on the hard-packed dirt.

"You will explain to me later the traditional toast," the Prince said.

"Of course, Your Highness," Konowa said.

"Go collect my men."

"Yes, sir, at once," Konowa said, coming to attention. He offered the Prince a crisp salute before turning and stepping out of the tent, and into a whole new problem.