foul whisperings
As he was wont to do, Willhelm spirited himself into the capital of Elestren, into the grand castle. His magic made it trivial. The petty mortals couldnt so much as sense him. Willhelm slunk is way through the corridors, looking for nothing in particular. Eventually he settled on a pair of large, gilded doors. He knew exactly what it was. The chambers of the crown prince.
The locked doors were trivial to open. Willhelm let himself inside and began to snoop about, idlily. He pulled at drawers, opened chests. Everything that Matteo had should've been Willhelm's to begin with, so what was the trouble? Every inch of land, each jewel, every ounce of gold. It was stolen, from his mother. It was Willhelm's birthright. It was only by his grace and that of his mother that Matteo got to enjoy any of it. Hardly any of it was to the dark prince's taste but that was no matter. It should have been his.
"My, my," Willhelm murmured to himself, pulling an item out, "what have we here?"