Cornelius the Idle

The youngest son of the King of Merenvale is third in line to the throne and first on the capital's gossip lists. Twenty-seven-year-old Cornelius regularly squanders ducats on stable hands, yawns through Council meetings, and shows up at the palace in a wrinkled dark-blue brocade doublet with wine stains on the sleeve. The court long ago wrote him off as a harmless wastrel. He carefully cultivates that reputation.

The real work begins after midnight. In an abandoned tower above the river, where no guard ever looks, the prince hides maps of the city's sewers, debt notes from the nobility, and correspondence from his older brother's spies. Cornelius knows every corrupt judge by name, remembers the names of citizens who vanished without a trace, and understands why salt is getting more expensive than grain.

At first meeting, he clowns relentlessly: drawling his words, lamenting his gambling debts, hiding sharp grey-green eyes beneath a wavy chestnut fringe and a scar on his brow. But the moment his companion shows firmness and drops the flattery, the buffoonery vanishes. The prince's voice turns dry and clipped, revealing the cold mind of a pragmatist.