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London disappeared. Albion returned to his school in the Hidden Realm. He was trapped in a corner near the latrine. The bullies closed in around him until he could scarcely breathe. String Bean! Coward!

But Duncan had appeared, as he always did to push his way through the circle and shove the boys away from his brother.

Albion still felt the shame of relying on his older brother.

Albion had always been tall, but for several years, the breadth of his body had not caught pace with his height.

He was the bean pole. Their school masters called them all striplings, but to the bullies of the class, he was the stringling.

The weak and awkward boy who was not naturally athletic, a high crime in the Hidden Realm.

He was teased mercilessly. Even the odd color of his eyes had made him a target.

“I must insist you change your plans,” Duncan said, coaxing Albion back to the present. “I empathize with your concerns, but you ask too much of me to place you in peril willingly.”

“It cannot be news to you, brother, that His Royal Highness outranks you,” Albion said. “Are we not meant to be good citizens of this strange land? Is there any duty more sacred than obeying one’s monarch?”

“You were hardly obeying a command. How did you get the Prince Regent to agree to such a thing? He seems content with letting the situation in Chamberly unfold as it will, free from English intervention.”

“I confess I have not submitted the request yet but will do so later today,” Albion replied. “The Regent owes me a favor, so I feel assured of his assent. His Royal Highness knows something about twiddling his thumbs and feeling useless. He understands my need to act.”

“I am not trying to deter you from finding an honorable purpose, brother. But the Duke of Rostin has made no secret of his penchant for warmongering.”

“Come now, Dunc. Rostin might be a warmonger, but he’s no fool.”

“If anything were to happen to you—”

“With the Prince Regent’s favor, Rostin shan’t dare to touch me.”

Duncan propped his leather-gloved hands on his walking stick, hunching over so that Albion could not make out his features.

“It is hard for me not to see you as the boy you once were,” he said quietly. “And it is now, as it was then, my duty to protect you.”

“School life suited you, Dunc. I only feel grateful I was not the eldest. Father would have sent me away sooner.”

“I started at seven and was fine.”

“And I could wait until I was nine. Despite that, the program’s rigors did not suit me.”

“What did you find objectionable?” Duncan huffed. “Fresh air? Healthful food? A rigorous academic curriculum?”

“You see it as healthful, but I never felt I could get enough food and was denied a full stomach,” Albion said. “You know how skinny I was as a boy.”

“The regimen built mental fortitude. I believed you would benefit from it as I did.”

Albion thought back then to the schoolyard.

Look here, stringling , two of his tormentors had yelled as he traversed the passageway from the bunks to the library.

When Albion turned, rotting cabbage hit him square in the jaw.

He still remembered the smell on his skin and the cruel laughter as the boys wrapped themselves around one another, all solid limbs and barrel chests.

Duncan was at home that day, abed with a cold.

Absent his protector, Albion could do naught but hope they would eventually tire of this sport.

When Albion’s physical development finally caught pace with his height, he could have defended others in the same situation. Not everyone had the growth spurt Albion did. Those gangly boys continued to suffer the same taunts, the same cabbages in the face.

And Albion had walked away, not wishing to get embroiled once more in these terrible dramas of childhood. He could have stood up to the bullies as Dunc had stood up for him. The only problem was that long after he grew into a man’s body, he retained the fear of a boy.

A mistake that. For the past months, he had tried to rectify the mistake by working as the Benevolent Phantom.

“It did not build mental fortitude in me,” he told his brother. “The regimen made me scared and weak. I hated life there.”

He did not look at Duncan but sensed the heft of his stare as they walked at a statelier pace. “I didn’t realize those days still plagued you so.”

“Don’t apologize when I have not been forthcoming. You were the only reason I made it through. But I am ashamed to say that once freed from that awkward stage, I failed to help weaker boys. The dishonor still haunts me.”

“So this trip to Chamberly is your way of setting things right?”

“I will never make it right. Nor will I ever turn my back to a situation where I might use my power to help those in a position of weakness. And that’s where you come in, Dunc. So I put it to you again. Are you willing to help?”

His brother’s brow furrowed. “And I ask again. If you have His Royal Highness in your pocket, as it were, why do you need my help?”

“I want a diplomatic pass from the Hidden Realm.”

Dunc snorted. “Our government has kept strictly neutral in this conflict. Besides, what do you think you will accomplish while you’re there? Sticking out like the proverbial sore thumb?”

“You’re right. Any attempt at disguise or deception would turn to farce.

But Father wanted us both to serve as diplomats to the human world.

While no one can match your adroitness in this field, I was supposed to play a role, was I not?

My visit might demonstrate that the Hidden Realm is paying attention.

It could put further pressure on the Duke of Rostin.

I can visit the Sisters of Benevolence, along with Lillian, and offer more supplies.

Correspondents wishing to cover the trip might write about it for their papers. ”

Duncan’s face lit with interest before sobering once more. “I wish you would reconsider.”

Albion may never have earned his father’s respect. It was too late to do anything about that. Yet he still longed for Duncan’s approval.

“You know I will not change my mind,” Albion told him. “With any luck, it shall be a brief trip. I’ll make our family proud, brother. I promise.”