Every morning the Sheriff of Nottingham woke to the sound of birdsong and to the screams of the condemned in the undercroft. Unperturbed, the man would rise and stretch, extending his arms up over his head and overexaggerating a yawn, and begin his day. Ignoring the mounting paperwork on his desk, he would make a beeline for the room that adjoined his bed chamber, where, throwing off his silk robe, he would step into his morning bath—a luxury even few nobles could afford these days—and often break his fast at the same time, languishing in the water until it grew cold or he grew bored, whichever came first. He would raise a limp wrist from the water and ring the little bell placed for him beside his breakfast tray, the sound summoning two or more servants to towel him off and attend him while he dressed.

Yes, every morning was much the same for Sheriff Vasey, Chief Deputy of Nottinghamshire.

Even now, as he sat informally in his chair with his leg thrown over the side, contemplating his excruciating boredom, there was no denying that during the day he lived a life of privilege. Cheek pillowed in his fist, he stared at some vague point of interest past Guy of Gisborne's shoulder as the other blathered on and on about something-or-other, his eyes having taken on a glassy, disinterested sheen several anecdotes back. His thoughts drifted like an errant flock of sheep, breezing from one topic to the next: he contemplated money; Marian; Guy of Gisborne's uncanny likeness to a shaggy black bear he had once seen perform in a traveling circus; the fate of the peasant man he had sentenced to hang tomorrow for humming half a verse of King Richard's march; the unidentifiable scrap of food caught in the wiry hairs of Gisborne's beard; how good Marian looked astride a horse; Prince John's impending visit...

"... and then there's the matter of Robin Hood."

"Of what, now?" Vasey interrupted, finding his daydreaming infringed upon. "Speak up, Gisborne! For God's sake, must you always mumble so?"

"My apologies, Sheriff," the other mumbled quickly. "But Hood is becoming quite a problem—"

"Don't you think I already know that?" Vasey spat, his tone of voice appropriately petulant, appropriately irritable. "He's surpassed being just a nuisance to become a full-blown threat to Prince John's empire! And how are you progressing in your arrest of this outlaw?"

"We had a bit of an altercation two days ago," Gisborne divulged, his wormy lips parting to reveal an ugly, stained smile. "I managed to inflict him quite a nasty wound across the broad side of his shoulder."

"Hm," Vasey hummed noncommittally, wincing at the memory.

"If he is one of the nobles in disguise, as I believe him to be, he should be easily identifiable at tonight's feast. A solid pat on the shoulder ought to give him away. I intend to flush him out, all right!"

"How uncommonly brilliant of you, Gisborne," the Sheriff drawled. "While I think your theory misguided and, quite frankly, a waste of time and taxpayer money, it's an infant's first step in the right direction."

"I won't disappoint you, my lord."

"Superficial flesh wounds are disappointing to me, Gisborne!" Vasey let loose with a demonstrative slamming of his fist on the arm of his chair. "I want his head delivered to me on a stake before the month is out!"

Guy of Gisborne bowed, missing the brief flash of mocking laughter in the Sheriff's eyes. The other man rose again immediately when a commotion just outside the receiving room drew both their attention. Vasey sat back in his chair, suddenly attentive, green eyes glittering with... surely it wasn't amusement? "What is that awful racket? Has yet another prisoner let themselves out of the dungeon?"

"My lord, there is a small matter to attend to this morning..." Gisborne's brow, however, had knitted itself into a Neanderthal's approximation of confusion, and the deputy sheriff turned on his heel to stroll quickly to the great double doors. He disappeared between them; more shouting issued from the hall, and Gisborne returned, face flushed as ruddy-red as a slab of undercooked beef.

"A prisoner requires your deliberation, my lord, but it seems that Lady Marian has inserted herself once more into the proceedings—"

"Marian! Insertion!" Vasey repeated delightedly, clapping his hands. "Well, what are you waiting for? Send her in!"

"My lord..." Gisborne began apprehensively. "Do you think it wise? The last time she was allowed to attend a public hearing, her very vocal objections nearly rallied the peasantry against you."

"Yes, she's marvelous, isn't she?" Vasey agreed without really listening. "Send her in, Gisborne; don't make me repeat myself! I could use more attractive company this morning."

As Gisborne turned away once more, the Sheriff took a moment to wince privately to himself and massage his right shoulder conspicuously. He worked it around in the socket, rolling it a few times, before giving up with a sigh. Left untreated, the wound he had sustained from the fight with Gisborne was sure to become infected, and he would lapse into fever in a few days... but that seemed to him the least of his problems at the moment.

Yes, the Sheriff of Nottingham had a lot of problems. Chief among them, he was living a lie: the personality he affected for the world, for gentry and peasantry alike, was a total sham. The most accomplished thespians in the country would have fallen sadly short had their talents been measured against Vasey's grasp of his character. He was corrupt; a sadist; a tyrant; but that wasn't who he was, not truly. Ever since the prince had sacked the former sheriff, Sir Edward—Marian's father—and passed the title off to Vasey, Vasey's life had reduced itself to a part he played. The Sheriff of Nottingham was a boorish, corrupt coward, albeit handsome—even his talents for deception couldn't extend that far. Despite the vile part he played, he wasn't wanting in female admirers, attracted to his dashing good-looks; his unconscious charisma; to his power and the security such a union promised. Prince John's court was as full of swine as it was silly women, and Vasey—the real Vasey—because of this, for the most part, favored his time spent alone.

When you made your bed in a viper's nest, you didn't tend to want to lay with them.

There was the one glaring exception. There was one person in court, one who shared his most secret and carefully buried ideals, that he wished to have by his side at all times, but how could she help but despise him? Noble creature that she was, Vasey had swiftly established himself as the mortal enemy of every principle she held dear. Wanting her to want him, yet willing her to feel nothing but contempt for the sort of man he was forced to be when she was around... it was all very complicated.

But Sheriff Vasey was nothing if not a schemer. For months he had managed to keep his Robin Hood persona intact, and the rumors abounded. Was the man an outlaw? A villager? A deserter from King Richard's army? Or a nobleman, as Gisborne seemed to think? (And Gisborne really was hitting a little too close to home with that one.) Nobody would ever suspect the Sheriff of Nottingham of being his own nemesis, and what better way to subvert the Sheriff's wishes than to become the man's enemy? Again, it was all very complicated—but politics usually were.

With Prince John's impending arrival in Nottingham, and the welcome feast scheduled for that evening, Vasey thought it high time the king's brother met Robin Hood. It was high time Marian met Robin—and as the Sheriff, he would personally ensure that she did not miss tonight's main event.