Augustus wasn't sure if the meal was good or if he was so ravenous that just about anything that fell into his stomach would be comparable to the fine dining of the best chefs in the imperial palace. The humble stew, made of dehydrated vegetables and beans, was cobbled together by the woman who watched Augustus and Claude eat with a neutral expression.
But the crown prince could pay little mind to the woman whose presence represented more secrets that his father had not divulged, because one fact surpassed them all: his mentor, Lord Wolfgang Amarellius, the Mad Dog himself, was still alive.
Unconscious, but breathing.
Though his belly had complained, the first thing that Augustus had done once they had been granted entry was to rush to the side of his father's right hand man. Even under the blankets, the Mad Dog was barely recognizable. His shock of red hair appeared paler and washed out, his face and body visibly thinner where it had once been thick with corded muscles.
