Winged
an excerpt

The boy-king gave a small smile. “It went very well, we believe. We decided upon a compromise, as Lord Hawthorn did indeed have some very good reasons for his spending.”
“Very good, your majesty.” It was a good thing that the king had been smiling only a little, as his face fell. At least it wasn’t noticeable. When his great-uncle said “very good, your majesty” in that sort of tone, it usually mean something more along the lines of “foolish boys come to foolish decisions.”

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The window itself wasn’t an unexplained, random phenomenon. Why had it exploded, one might ask? In fact, it likely had something to do with the person climbing through the shattered remains of the glass in the newly-made hole in his wall. Now this man did not have the appearance of a gentleman, as the others in this story thus far introduced did. In fact, one could perhaps describe him in one word as a “blackguard”. One could also use the terms “scruffy”, “mean-looking”, “unshaven”, “wearing an unjustifiable amount of black leather” and generally “nasty”.
Now, appearances can be deceiving. For all we know at this point, this could indeed be a simple misunderstanding. One that is difficult to explain, of course, but it shouldn’t be too hard to come up with excuses. What if this man were to simply bow and apologize profusely, claiming that his window-washing uniform had been in the wash and that he’d been forced to wear old clothes from his younger, wilder days, and that he’d simply been carrying out his duties (dutifully, as it was nighttime, if you will remember), when he had slipped and fallen through the window, breaking it. That would have been a bit of a stretch; and in this case entirely unbelievable as he was now drawing a rather rusty sword. Oh dear. What shall our king do?
Tithonus had by this time whirled around, and had caught sight of this man (who was in all likelihood probably not a window-washer) and had come to the conclusion that was probably more accurate than the one inscribed above: this man was an assassin of some sort. With a rather nasty sword. And a murderous intent in his eyes. King Tithonus swallow nervously, eyes darting about for anything he could perhaps use as a weapon. There was nothing, really. He supposed he could upturn the heavy writing desk on the man, but that was assuming he himself was strong enough to do so, and with his slight form he was very doubtful.

*** *** ***
He realized that he had absolutely no idea where they were going. All Tithonus could trust was that Papyrus did.
To his eternal relief, the man did, indeed, seem to know where they were heading to. That relief, of course, only lasted as long as Doctor Papyrus did.