Another short, this one about a character you haven’t seen much of yet (and another character who might just be important). This is set in the past, probably just a few days before the events of the memory in Chapter 6.
[details=Kay]It was a beautiful day. Spring touched the air with a golden glow and a gentle warmth – in the months to come it would turn to the dry, blazing heat of a Terrik summer, the streets of Gildstone filling with the scent of hot stone and sweltering people.
But for now it was a good morning for a ride. He’d taken Sal, the bay mare, out for a few circuits of the Upper Lawn, and now was walking her back to the stable block. As usual, the Master of the Stables was waiting, doing all but visibly wringing his hands. Kay had to remind himself, again, that it wasn’t the man’s fault. In his position Kay would be just as worried about the sole heir to the throne taking out one of his horses, with the severe consequences that would follow should said heir fall from the saddle. A responsible prince probably shouldn’t take even this small risk, but if he had to be any more responsible he was going to end up never leaving his chambers, and going slowly insane.
A few of the younger court ladies, who would never normally go near the stables, were camped out under the line of trees leading out to the Upper Lawn, all prettily arrayed in their Maltheran lace and ribbons. They watched as he rode past, and giggled among themselves. One, bolder than the rest, waved at him.
Kay brought Sal to a halt and dismounted, passing the reins to a waiting stable boy. He exchanged the customary pleasantries with the Master of the Stables, and turned towards the entrance to the path through the gardens that lead back up to the palace. He was expecting Steward Elithan to have appeared already, but there was no sign of the man. Ser Yula was there, though, in her customary light armour, one hand resting lightly on the ornate hilt of her sword, her pale hair almost white in the sunlight. She met his eyes as he approached and inclined her head briefly. “Highness.”
“Has something happened?”
“Elithan sends his apologies; he got caught in an argument between House staff.” She delivers the update in a near-monotone, her Kesh lilt only faintly evident. Elithan had probably been more effusive, but Yula was never one for undue emotion.
“Where’s my father?”
“His Majesty is meeting with the Master of the Treasury. Then the Council of Commerce. Then the Maltheran Ambassador.”
“A full morning, then.” Kay sighed – his chances of being able to catch Father for the conversation he’d been mentally practicing all morning seemed to be wilting. He looked again at Yula – she’d been his father’s bodyguard since Kay was a child, more now a family friend than a servant. Would Father have said anything to her? “You haven’t by any chance heard Father say anything about my suggestion the other day…?”
“Yes,” she said. “And the answer is no. Absolutely not.”
“What?” Kay had expected resistance, but not flat-out refusal. “But-“
“It’s too dangerous.”
He’d expected that argument, and prepared several counters. Apparently he was going to have to practise them on Yula. “I know that obviously there are some security considerations with banditry on the roads. But there are several ways of getting around that.”
“Bandits aren’t the only danger up north,” Yula replied darkly.
Oh, now he understood. “You’re talking about – “
“Drel’mak,” she almost spat. It meant, in typically poetic Kesh fashion, something like a destructive wave, a creeping plague, something deadly and inescapable. A scourge.
“—the Awoken?” He sighed. “I know you don’t like mages, but don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?”
Her eyes narrowed. Though her voice remained level, a hint of iron crept into it. “There was a magelord once, who in response to a town that refused to send its sons to war, had the youngest children trapped in an unbreakable glass box in the town square, so that their mothers could watch as they slowly died. There are more stories like that. Worse stories.”
“A thousand years ago!”
“Highness, I don’t not like mages. They have a greater responsibility than most, and I admire those who realise that. But we aren’t talking about any ordinary mage, and no one can be trusted with that amount of power.”
Kay frowned at her. “And you’ve been talking about this with Father, haven’t you? You told him it was too dangerous for me.”
“I have a responsibility to your safety.”
Kay silently cursed – Yula’s word against him made it even less likely that he’d make Father see sense. And making Yula change her mind would probably be impossible, but couldn’t she see that she was letting her own prejudices colour her judgement? “I understand that your background had a certain focus on these things, but there are really much more important things to be concerned with.”
She made an exasperated sound. By Yula’s standards this was a display of unusual agitation. Kay could even see a flush of colour on her weathered cheeks. “And now you sound like Galinar. Why do none of you people see this? There is no threat like the drel’mak.”
“Your Highness!” Elithan materialised from the door to their side, breaking the tension. The poor man was almost puce with the effort of appearing dignified and composed, even though he was clearly out of breath. He bowed deeply “My most sincere apologies for my tardiness, your Highness!”
“It’s fine, Elithan.” Kay took one more look at Yula, who said, “Enjoy the rest of your day, Prince Kayeuris. And … think about it.”
Oh, he’d think. He’d been patient and obedient. Now he was just going to have to take matters into his own hands.
[/details]
Would not last long in an apocalypse, because of this urge to help everyone and give anyone a second chance - or a third… Save that person being swarmed by zombies at risk for my own life? Yeah, I’d be that one. 
Just ask the Zombie Exodus series. 
Power corrupts. Or at least being brought up in a system of extreme privilege and machiavellian backstabbing does.
