Month: May 2012

Herbert had slipped through the high, golden gates of Celeste City’s palace without much ado. His medallion emblazoned jacket, distinctive eyes and dark hair might have given him away if his bare-minimum courtesy to the higher-up courtiers didn’t do it first. The grandeur of the palace always managed to shock him into remembering he was not in Deamone. The movement of the servants was unearthly in its precision. The whole world within the palace walls seemed to operate like a clock: golden cogs clicking precisely in to place. Today, however, there were a few stray pieces ticking to a different rhythm. He’d been made aware that the King was opening his court to third-realm visitors, a pet project of the Princess to which he’d finally given in. But Herbert had fully expected to arrive in to screen them before they actually neared his charge. Normally, this wasn’t the type of thing he would berate himself over. Today was not a normal day.

 

The first sign of trouble was the way the guards slammed the doors shut. He’d barely managed to pull himself between them in time only to have one of the younger men try to bar his entry. Cooly, he began to identify himself – but the sound of his voice drew a command from his ward. Trained eyes scanned the room, the guards pushed back by the power of their future sovereign, the King – behind a wall of even more guards assessing the situation for himself, his charge kneeling in front of a man who appeared to be quickly deteriorating in condition, one thin, sweating courtier being held by a man whose appearance immediately linked him to the man that had clearly done Herbert’s job for him.

 

By the time she’d finished telling Herbert where to take the would-be assassin he had already taken hold of him from the dark-skinned stranger’s grasp. The dungeons weren’t a place the Princess liked to think or talk about. Herbert didn’t care for them either. Ever-mindful of her experiences, he made sure to avoid the cell with the most recently replaced door, choosing one of the older rooms in the center of the dungeons instead.

 

As Herbert pulled the courtier’s arms behind him and attached them to the movable chain along the wall his eyes spotted the dark roots of the man’s golden locks. No Lician after all. It wasn’t until the prisoner was fully secured that Herbert recognized he had been surrounded by guards the entire time. His rage had been so fully focused on this man that the very sight of the men in golden armor had escaped him. “The King will want to know the man’s identity- Or who he claims to be at least. Also, summon Robert Ward…I suspect he will be needed shortly.” He spoke with an authority that belied his age and the men nodded without objection. While he may not have been a member of the Lician army, here in the palace he had the same level of authority as the King’s own head of guard and almost as much as the King himself in matters regarding the security of the heiress.

 

Suddenly, she appeared at the door, looking as if she’d walked through hurricane-force winds. Her steps were oddly silent and Herbert realized that she wore no shoes on her stockinged feet. “Leave us.” She said, raising her head in the hallmark of a royal command. Like hell. Herbert’s mind snapped only to be instantly answered by her voice and her shaking hand on his arm. “Not you.” She said, looking up at him with the same fear in her eyes that he’d seen years before.

 

“The antidote?” The Princess asked so shakily that Herbert’s mind quickly calculated the odds that the man who’d been kneeling before her was now in a hospital bed somewhere on the palace grounds. The reticence in her voice drew dismissal from the man who was still hung up by his arms. “I serve my employer and noone else. You can kill me now half-breed…I won’t…”

 

He had no intention of letting the man finish his sentence after hearing the slur that had so often been directed to the girl in her room. Herbert knew she took no offense to it…there was too much truth behind it, she’d told him. But it still boiled his blood to hear it. Whatever her lineage, she was the girl whom his truest friend had left in his care, whom he was told would view him as a brother – and who had in fact been as steadfast and loyal as her father. Pulling his fist back, he let it connect with the courtier’s jaw and delighted in the feeling of teeth popping out of their places as it did. The delight faded at the failed assassin’s imprudence, “You’ll get nothing. So you may as well kill me now.” He’d said, before spitting out blood and teeth in their direction.

 

His short-lived resolve to non-violence broke. If the man wanted to die – he would. “Easily arranged.” He growled, squeezing the air out of his windpipe with a single hand. Herbert had only just begun to apply a more lethal amount of pressure when his Princess asked him to stop. So he did.

 

When she took the gun he made no move to stop her, instead he watched with mixed emotions as she threatened her would-be murderer with a long, and painful life. He would have been proud if he didn’t notice the shaking of her arm or the way she kept adjusting her posture as if about to fall. It threat seemed to work. Just after the dangling courtier provided her with the information she wanted to know the King’s guard came into the room. He made no move to bow when the King himself joined them, he was no sovereign of Herbert’s. Alarice, didn’t bow either. Before he could stop her, she took off running once more.

 

“Wait!” He called, brushing past the guards to try to reach her. But it was too late. She was already out of sight.

 

The courtier’s screams were the next thing he heard. Deamone was much less refined in its torture. It was said that if a Deamone captive did not give the information the Council wanted he would die a brutal death and his family would be left to bear the shame, scorn and consequences. Herbert realized this was merciful compared to the slow, hidden torture that Licians practiced. Letting families wonder what happened to their loved ones while they rotted underneath the gilded halls. He kept his face a blank slate as the King approached him.

 

“Why was she here?”

“The Princess was inquiring about an antidote. Am I to assume this man attempted to poison her highness?”

“Yes. But a young man intervened and was poisoned in the progress. The medics are taking a look at him in the lesser hall. A third realmer…I believe he was here to pledge fealty. Of course, we won’t know if the young man dies. Pity. Such dedication would have been welcome, even from a third realmer. Don’t you think Mr. Dubhan?”

 

Herbert did not agree, as most Licians and citizens of Deamone did – that the third realm was devoid of culture or intelligence. He made a noncommittal grunt and reminded one of the guards to summon Robert. Orion gave him a knowing glance.

 

“I shall be meeting with the small council in my privy chambers in an hour’s time. The Princess, Mr. Ward and you will be there as well. This is the closest they’ve come to her, Herbert. We cannot be seen to be lax in our security now, it is too important a time.” Right on cue, the sounds of bones popping out of their sockets reached the ears of both men. More howls of pain followed as the King returned to his interrogation. Through a splintered tongue the courtier begged for the mercy of death, that the Princess had promised it in exchange for the antidote.

 

“Did she?” Orion’s ice blue eyes glimmered with amusement. “We cannot make our Princess a liar, can we gentleman? Very well then! Death it is! But first, who hired you?”

 

The man’s silence resulted in the sounds of chains being drawn. Herbert was thankful for his dismissal to fetch the Princess. He didn’t have an aversion to violence, no man in the Deamone army could. But he didn’t care for this brand of it. As soon as the door slammed behind him the screams became muffled murmurs. The guards that had come with him scattered, two to look up files, one to summon Robert while another accompanied him far enough to ask if he was needed before being dismissed to debrief those that had been in the room at the time of the incident.

 

Along the way to the lesser hall, Herbert was offered two yellow shoes and a pair of white gloves by a maid. He had to hold back a laugh when it was explained that they could not locate one of the two shoes the Princess had lost in her run and that she had discarded her gloves at some point during her administration of an antidote to the young man who’d saved her life. As the maid provided him with this information, a rather disgruntled looking doctor walked past them – muttering about savages. Herbert was left to wonder how many of the medics had been asked to leave when he arrived into a room with only four occupants. A doctor, with strawberry blonde hair and patient brown eyes was measuring a vial of reddish black liquid and a petrified looking ice-blonde was cleaning up several red syringes, a plant and assorted dirt that had undoubtedly fallen from the plant’s pot. His young charge was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking a bit worse for wear. Her shoeless feet dangled off the edge of the bed, peeking out from under her long skirts. Her eyes never wavered from the face of the man groaning softly on the bed. Wordlessly, he knelt down and slipped the replacement shoes onto her feet.

 

“I’m afraid that yes, your Highness some of the poison remains in his system.” Began the female doctor, holding the empty syringe in one hand and the vial of bloodied poison in the other. “I do not believe it will be a lethal amount…though he will most likely still experience some symptoms until it clears his system. We can give him something for the fever and pain, though there is no telling how the poison will affect its duration…The best thing to do now is to simply let his body clear it of its own accord.”

 

“Whatever is necessary.” She replied, softly so as to not disturb the man resting beside her. Herbert wondered how best to handle this situation. The walk alone had taken fifteen minutes. Getting her in a more presentable state, the walk to the privy chamber, explaining the situation to Robert would take up most of the remainder of the hour. As he rose from the ground he noticed the way her bare hands were clasped in her lap – trembling a little with each breath. She needed to rest, not fuss over a young man (no matter how heroic.) She continued to stare pensively at his injured arm, reddened and swollen and attached to IVs as Herbert leaned in to whisper in her ear – they were needed by the King.

 

The girl seemed about to make a sound of protest when the female Doctor touched her on the shoulder, a kindly smile upon her face. “It would be better to allow him to rest, Princess. I shall leave instructions with the nursing staff for the medications he shall need and I will be available at your leisure.”

 

“It will not do to leave the King waiting, Princess.” Herbert added, still not able to reach the Princess’s distracted gaze. The doctor and nurse bowed and exited the room, leaving just himself, his ward, the man on the bed and…the rather fearsome looking creature lurking in the corner. Recognizing him as the man who had apprehended the assassin, he gave him a nod of his head before touching the Princess’s arm. “Sweetheart…we have to get going.” Herbert continued to urge, offering Alarice his arm.

 

“We’ll post guards in the hall, outside the doors, outside below and above the room. The nurses will tend to him. There is nothing more you can do.” This seemed to do little to comfort her. Finally, Hebert reached for her jaw and tilted her head to look at him. “Come now, Orion will undoubtedly be making some decision regarding your security and you might want to be there to give your input.” The downward twist of her lips indicated he’d won this battle and his bent arm was offered to the young royal once more. But, before he could lead her out of the room the third realmer reached towards her and she moved back to his side. Normally he would have gone for his gun – clearly, today had proven that anyone was capable of attacking his charge. Seeming to recognize his thoughts, the teenager now hovering over her savior shot him a glare. Thus, Herbert instead stood and watched as the Princess covered the extended hand with her own and moved it gently back down to. “…Mr. Moreau…”’s side. Even standing next to her, Herbert could barely hear her as she leaned over and brushed her other hand along “Mr. Moreau’s” forehead as she gently asked him to “Please rest.” Herbert cleared his throat, and raised his brows in a barely perceptible manner. Regardless of the actions the well-wisher had taken – he was still a man, shirtless with his fingertips entwined in his ward’s as she hovered precariously close to his face. The subtle cough that he elicited served to remind the Princess of her position. With a bit of color returning to her cheeks she murmured her goodbyes and took hold of her guard’s arm. As they left she offered both third realmers a nod before closing the door gingerly behind her. The door had been closed, thank the realms. Or the nurse and doctor standing outside of the room might have witnessed the little interlude. Herbert had no plans of assisting his charge in disguising a blossoming romance – or indeed, of allowing her to experience one at all.

 

“The staff will talk.” He chided, walking far enough that they would not be late but stopping in a place discrete enough that he could begin fussing over her. She shot him another glare as he smoothed her hair into place, his hands surprisingly gentle as they redid the loosened braids that had crowned her head. “The staff talks either way.” Alarice all but grumbled, reaching up to straighten her crooked tiara. He chortled and offered her the replacement gloves before kneeling down to fluff out her flattered skirts. “That they do.” Herbert didn’t fully understand the limitations of behavior placed on the future-Queen. But he knew all too well how kindness could be misinterpreted as romance. Not yet of age, it would be unseemly to the Lician court for their Princess to engage in such behaviors. Even her lack of gloves when comforting the young man could cause a scandal. In a way he pitied her – but secretly, it eased his mind a great deal to know that boys were not on the list of his charge’s worries.

 

There was nothing they could do about her ripped skirt or the redness of her nose from an apparently close-call with a bout of tears. But she looked near enough to her version of proper decorum that he felt confident enough in leading her the rest of the way. It took a great deal of walking, looping, stair climbing and secret hall navigating to reach the entrance to the King’s private meeting rooms. By the time they reached it, a familiar blonde was waiting for them…

The only telephone in Robert’s house was in the kitchen, as far away from his father’s room as they’d been able to manage without it being out of earshot. The sudden noise tended to upset the older man – though their number often went blissfully unrung for weeks at a time when he was home. It was the unusualness of the event that caused Robert to spring from the phone when its trilling rung down the halls. He could feel the presence of his mom behind him as he listened intently to the events that had transpired; the lines of his face tightened with every detail until he was frowning thoughtfully. The only words that left his lips before he hung up the phone were “I will be ready in five minutes.”

 

As he rushed for his uniform he spared a glance for his mother, who followed him and was already preparing a selection of daggers for him to loop around his waist and chest. “The Princess was attacked a few minutes ago. The King is calling for a meeting of his privy council.” Jennifer Ward’s face, as always, remained a mask of impassivity. “Was her Highness harmed?” She asked, as if inquiring about the weather or the color of a bolt of fabric. Robert’s head shook to the negative and he saw her shoulders lower a bit in relief. The Ward family owed much to the Princess’ mother – and their loyalty had wholly transferred to her child upon the late Queen’s death.

 

He was ready earlier than five minutes and, as he stood in the entrance hall of his family’s small home he realized that he might very well be leaving for several weeks – that the King might determine it was necessary to send the Princess away, that he would be leaving without saying goodbye to his father. As any good mother might have been able to, Jennifer immediately grasped him by the shoulders. “There’s no time for goodbyes then. Your father will be fine. You will perform your duty as is required of you and the world shall spin on.” Robert had to agree, if only in action. “I will return if I can to bid a proper goodbye to him…and you.” Jennifer gave no response, only patted his shoulder once and turned to leave him to his thoughts. She’d been prepared, he knew, from the beginning to say goodbye to him forever one day. Such was the life of a royal guard and his family. Still, as the teleporter arrived and grasped Robert’s arm – the swirling disappearance of his family’s home caused a twinge in his chest.

 

The teleporter deposited him at the entrance to the King’s Privvy chambers. The knowledge that the Princess was unharmed soothed him – but only a little. Robert Ward was a loyal soldier in every way. He hadn’t wanted to take the vacation, he told himself. He’d disagreed, though understood the reasons that the King had believed it inappropriate for the female heir to spend more time than necessary with her exclusively male guards. And while he’d readily volunteered to stay on as a regular guard – Alarice had all but threatened to dismiss him in order to get him to leave the palace grounds. Now the absence of himself and Herbert had resulted in a close call. The guilt he felt seemed almost insurmountable.

 

It was only a matter of minutes, but it felt like forever before Herbert arrived with their mutual charge on his arm. Robert tried to remain calm as he bowed and began his profuse apologies to the Princess – for having failed her. These were promptly interrupted by Herbert (who rolled his eyes and began a quick debriefing of the situation) and the Princess (who sympathetically assured him she was perfectly well.)

 

“So…” Herbert ended, patting Robert’s slumped shoulder. “Do you think they’re going to can us?” When the remark was met with horrified looks from both Alarice and Robert, Herbert raised his hands defensively. “I’m pretty sure not. Geez. Relax.”

 

“Oh yes.” Retorted Robert, offering the Princess his arm as two attendants opened the doors to the King’s privy chambers and ushered them in. “An attack on the heir on the palace grounds and you believe relaxing is the appropriate response?”

 

King Orion’s private meeting rooms consisted of several connected chambers. At present, he was sitting at the head of a long table in one of the back most rooms. When they entered, the various occupants of the room rose and bowed before their future sovereign. The King then rose as well, indicating that the Princess should take her seat next to him. Robert bowed deeply, Herbert inclined his head as a sign of respect and the Princess curtseyed before she did as he asked. Seated around the table were several of the King’s private advisers, the elder members of the Lician court and several military heads. Standing around the room were their respective guards, and lesser military and court members – all of whom had received personal invitations from the King.

 

It seemed as if they had interrupted a heated discussion, Robert’s eyes scanned the red faces of several of the older military members – most of whom seemed quite angry at the court members.

 

“The audacity!” Shouted one older man, his double chin wobbling in his cravat. “To suggest that the palace guards are insufficient to ensure the safety of our…”

“The problem is, Lord Quoa that the guards HAVE proven to be insufficient today.”

“The most reasonable solution is to increase the number of guards on the palace grounds.”

“But such a thing may very well hinder their movement and prove in-efficient in the future.”

“I must inquire,” Began a middle-aged woman, whose hair had already begun to show sprinklings of white-blonde in her otherwise golden hair. “As to why the Princess was unguarded in the first place? Even the King has a private detail within the gates.”

 

Several heads turned towards Robert and Herbert, but where Robert might have begun to defer to the council’s better wisdom for an appropriate punishment – Herbert crossed his arms defiantly over his chest.

 

“If I may speak freely, your Majesty?”

“Please do, Mr. Dubhan.”

“It was this council and you – King Orion, who insisted that it would be inappropriate for the Princess to be on constant guard by this detail while she resided in the palace – due to it’s…gender construction.”

 

A few soft murmurings were his reply, the opinions apparently mixed. Some seemed to have conveniently forgotten the conversation had at the end of the last school year – where they had begun to express concerns for the chastity and honor of their heir should she continue to spend all of her alone time surrounded by two young men. The commentary had caused the Princess to fluster noticeably – which had only exacerbated matters. Others, particularly the military members of the council grumbled that they had not raised such concerns.

 

“It is clear.” Began Orion, immediately silencing the rest of the room, “That the Princess requires an increased guardship.” He held his hand up before Alarice could protest and she shut her parted lips respectfully. “At the very least – until she is crowned and most definitely while she attends Licia school. If this attack was perpetrated within the security of the Palace there is no telling what opportunities might be made available to imitators outside of it.”

 

“The Princess currently has a detail of four guards, in addition to young masters Robert and Herbert.” Began General Sewe – a man whom Robert recognized at once. “Yes.” Replied Herbert, rubbing his forehead as if speaking to children. “But the four men at our command are not allowed, due to decorum, to enter the Princess’s dorm or to touch her person unless Robert and I are unavailable. Perhaps if you would…see fit to loosen the restrictions that have kept the Princess’s guards three paces behind her.”

 

This statement caused another uproar among the starched collars of the courtiers.

 

“The Princess’s virtue…”

“Absolutely not! It is unheard of for a female heir to…”

“For men to be allowed access to…”

 

 

The protests went on for a minute, loud voices on either side of the argument grumbling their case. “Gentleman…” Interrupted one of the many standing guards in the room, calling enough attention that they ceased. “If I may, your majesty?” Orion nodded, while a courtier whispered the man’s identity into his ear. Robert didn’t hear it – it didn’t matter what the man had to say so long as he wasn’t contributing to the childish bickering. “You may, Mr. Russel Lindval.”

 

Suddenly it mattered.

 

“Why isn’t the Princess simply supplied with an additional female guard?” Orion’s head tilted, his hand propping it up as his elbow rested on the table. Robert’s gaze remained straight, but he could feel the edges of the man’s shape moving around his peripheral vision. The name Lindval had been burned into his consciousness years ago and he hadn’t realized how intensely until now. The exemplary young girl sitting in the barber’s chair…

 

“It is quite a deal more common now” He went on, “for Licia and Deamone to train females in combat. The Deamone Dowager Empress herself only accepts female guards.” “Handmaidens.” Supplied Herbert, looking a little less irritated than he had only a few seconds ago. “Handmaidens.” Confirmed the older Lician,

 

“I must concur with Mr. Lindval.” Robert said, offering him a short nod before returning his attention to the King. “A handmaiden is an ideal solution to the matter of maintaining the Princess’ security along with her…honor.” He concluded, remembering the last time the matter of her virtue had come up with her in the room with a shudder. “And what Deamone lady would you suggest protect our heir?” Orion inquired, to no one in particular.

 

“None.” Herbert replied. “Handmaidens are only trained to work with other handmaidens, in groups. Even if you could find someone capable of overlooking that tenant, there is the matter of assuring their willingness to work with a Lician partner.” Robert followed his partner’s train of thought. “The handmaiden in question must be Lician, then – Mr. Dubhan?” To which Herbert answered by touching the tip of his finger to his nose. “One, preferably, who is free to accompany the Princess both as a companion here at court and at Licia school. Perhaps near of age to the heir herself.” Finished General Sewe.

 

“Excellent suggestions, gentleman.” Orion finally spoke, a light smile playing on his lips. “It would then please us to arrange for interviews and inspection of suitable candidates…”

 

“With all due respect, your Majesty.” Robert said, clearing his throat as he wondered whether he really wanted to say what he was about to say. “I do not believe that will be necessary. With her father’s permission…I would like to nominate former Cadet, Eirian Lindval for the position.”

 

Robert struggled to ignore the soft chuckle Herbert made then, before seconding his recommendation. “I agree with my partner. If the lady’s father does not object- Miss. Lindval would be an excellent candidate for any position Mr. Ward suggests for her. I’m well aware of the lady’s qualifications and believe she would make an excellent companion and guard for her Highness.”

 

“Princess?” Asked Orion, of the young woman seated at his right-hand side, who had as of yet said not a word. Robert noted with pride the way that her shoulders and pose remained straight and risen as all eyes turned to her. “Miss. Lindval is held in high esteem by Mr. Ward. I too, am aware of her excellent standing both in the Academy and the high regard in which Licia school’s headmistress holds her. With Mr. Lindval’s permission – I would be most glad if the court were to offer the position to the young lady.”

 

“I’m quite convinced then.” The Lician King murmured, looking intently at Russel Lindval as he spoke. “Mr. Lindval, this court asks your permission to present the position of the Princess Alarice’s Handmaiden to your daughter, Miss. Eirian Lindval.”

“Of course, your Majesty. I am sure my daughter would be honored by the offer.”

“Perhaps,” Interrupted the Princess, glancing conspiratorially at Herbert before continuing. “Mr. Ward could present the offer to Miss. Lindval himself, along with her father? As her former mentor and potential future partner I believe he would be ideally suited to the task. Wouldn’t you agree, Robert?”

 

“If it pleases the court, highness.” Robert said, feeling a rush of heat throughout his body and settling uncomfortably in his hands.

 

“The matter is settled then! Mr. Lindval, please escort Mr. Ward to your residence where he will present this court’s offer to your daughter. We shall reconvene tomorrow morning with the lady’s decision in place and an interview taking place if she consents. After all, recommendations aside we cannot have an untested guard in place. Now then, if you’ll excuse me – there are other matters that require my attendance.” As Orion stood, the rest of the room did with him – their backs turned away from him until he was gone before the older men and women began to file out of the room themselves. Only Robert, Herbert, Russel Lindval (who received a pat on the shoulder from General Sewe) and the Princess remained.

 

Alarice, already holding onto Herbert’s arm smiled at the two Lician men remaining. “I shall look forward to meeting your daughter, Mr. Lindval. Her reputation among my guardship is…very impressive. Please, excuse me. Robert – I shall see you again when you return. Good day gentlemen.” And with that she too – glided out of the room accompanied by a guard (which soothed Robert’s concerns for her safety greatly.)

 

Now alone, Robert bowed his head respectfully towards his elder. “Forgive me Sir, if my recommendation was impertinent. I fully believe E..your daughter will be perfect for this position. But perhaps it was not my place for me to recommend her. She is…so young.”

 

Of course, it had been three years – Robert’s brain reminded him. By the time he and Mr. Lindval arrived at his home (and after its position relegated him to mind-numbing shock) he realized just how much Eirian Lindval had grown.

Things became increasingly harder to keep track of after the poison had started to work its way through his bloodstream. Even before it had gotten too far, Francois was beginning to feel its effects. The Princess, to his thankful surprise, had taken the liberty of yanking the needle out of his arm—something he would rather not have done himself, and Edouard clearly had his own hands full at the moment. Francois tried to focus, truly he did, as guards scrambled every which way and medics burst forward, the Princess staying by his side momentarily as he was lifted from the ground as if on an invisible stretcher.

Francois supposed it was the fogging of his mind, but he found himself unable—practically unwilling—to take his eyes off of her. It was even more difficult than that to let her slip her hand from his as she left running at full speed. Of course, it wasn’t as if Francois was in a position to put up much of a fight.

But it was even harder to focus once he had gotten to the infirmary, due to the white-washed faces amongst white-washed walls bustling to and fro, injecting him with who-knows-what to sustain him. The only things he really kept track of were the cold sweat that drenched his chest, which rose and fell in shallow puffs , and his brother, who stood looming in the corner. They locked eyes—it was the only thing that kept Francois completely calm, the panic of the hospital setting unable to fully set in. To the average individual, Edouard appeared indifferent, if a touch protective, a frightening and out-of-place figure. But to Francois, the one person who knew the man behind the mask, he was the only thing keeping fear at bay.

But soon, even that wasn’t enough. The poison steadily dulled Francois’ mind in waves as it increased in painfulness, until the young man found himself in a waking nightmare. Nothing but white coats—nothing but pale faces prodding him without comfort. He rolled his head to the side. Edouard wasn’t there—Fernand wasn’t there—just a man. A dead man, eyes lowered in sympathy.

“Bell…” Francois was half aware of himself attempting to calling out to the imagined phantom, but it was nothing much stronger than a weak mumble. Was he dying? Was he already dead? That would explain Bellamy, standing there as if completely unaffected from the times past. Perhaps he was there to guide his brother to the afterlife…or whatever lay beyond. Frightened and incoherent, Francois closed his eyes. Not yet, Bellamy, he wanted to say, it isn’t my time yet; I have too much left I need to do. I’m sorry.

He wanted Fernand to be by his side, but even as disoriented as he was, Francois was aware of the impossibility. Nonetheless, he remembered the last time he had been in a hospital, frightened and in pain. Fernand had been there, at his bedside as often as he could manage, squeezing Francois’ hand and offering words of encouragement.

“You’re the bravest person I know,” Fernand had said, his small face more serious than it ever should have needed to be. “Never, ever forget that.”

Francois didn’t feel brave. He wanted to disagree then, and he wanted to do so now. How could a man be considered brave when he felt so helpless? So cornered?

Gently, a hand graced his brow, brushing away the wet strands that had fallen there, and Francois opened his eyes. The face that hovered above him he hadn’t expected, but regardless he felt himself relax, a weak smile forming as if he had all but forgotten the terrors of his mind.

“Hello,” the princess said.

She was sliding needles into his arm, one by one as easily as if his skin were made of butter—but he hardly noticed. It was one dull stab after another; what was more pain, at this point? Nothing I can’t handle, Francois told himself, nothing that makes saving a life less worth it. Her hands punctuated each needle, driving away the unpleasant sensations with gentle pinches. At least for a moment.

“I don’t believe you’ve been at court before?”

Francois shook his head in response. At least, he attempted to shake his head, but the effort made him dizzy so he vied to vocalize an answer instead. “It’s quite a ways from home.”

“Might I know your name?”

Francois searched her eyes. She was smiling, so kindly, but a mixture of emotions welled behind those trademark greens he was far too exhausted to completely separate. He wasn’t sure how it made him feel. One thing at a time, anyway.

“Francois,” he answered obligingly, “Francois Moreau.”

She slipped a hand into his, and beneath the tremors Francois was halfway aware of his heart swelling in appreciation. Despite the pain, a wave of relaxation flowed through him with the action. She filled the place reserved for her brother—it wasn’t the same, but it was a good enough substitute for its purpose. “Well then, Francois…welcome to Licia. Now squeeze.”

“Thank you, Princess. I’m glad that I came.”

Following orders, Francois managed to clench his fingers around hers, grimacing at the feel of black blood oozing from the infected wound. He closed his eyes—not from disgust, but flashes of bruises and fractures and blood that he thought he had escaped. And, besides that, the burning was only getting stronger. If the young man hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that the Princess was trying to finish him off. Despite himself, Francois could feel the hospital closing in around him. Images—memories—childish pleas of Fernand, don’t leave me alone! What if he comes back after me? What if he comes for Mother, again? We’ll die! He’ll kill us!—and then the Princess’ hand, the one comfort left, slipped out of his.

He tried to smile as he turned his gaze toward the beautiful woman standing over him once more. But there was desperation as he blurted softly, before he could stop himself, “…stay?”

Of course, she couldn’t stay. He knew that, and if he was in a better state of mind he never would have asked—and he would most certainly have been ashamed or embarrassed at such juvenile behavior. But regardless, she met his weak simpering with nothing but kindness, pleading him gently to rest before following the rest of the staff out the door, and Francois was left alone. Well, alone with Edouard.

A long, tense moment of silence (that felt more like ten) passed. Francois couldn’t bring himself to meet the gaze of his lone companion, but that hardly mattered. Fernand, assured they would not be disturbed, dropped the act. His face contorting in anger as he stepped out of the corner.

“What were you thinking?”

“Mon frère—”

“That was not part of the plan!”

“I…had an idea. I improvised.”

“We don’t improvise! That’s what gets people like us killed.” Fernand took in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let the air out slowly. His frustration was palpable. “You didn’t have an idea, Francois. I know what happened, you’ve done it before—but never to this compromising of an extent. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your small heroics over the years. But why? Why now? Why do you always have to be so selfless!”

“I wasn’t being selfless…”

“You’re right. You were being careless.”

Francois was silent, save for the raspy rise and fall of his chest. Now, he actually wanted to rest. But he knew this was something he needed to face. He couldn’t risk Fernand wanting to switch places for the remainder of the mission, out of anger and apprehension. It was too risky…and, as it was…

“I thought…if I took the poison…it would endear her to me. You saw the way she looked, didn’t you? When she sat here? She’ll be back…and she’ll…”

Quickly, Fernand grabbed a waste basket that was sitting nearby and rushed to Francois’ side, just in time to catch the sickness that Francois had been trying hard to hold back. He curled there, on his side, trembling, and didn’t finish his explanation. Fernand softened, finding a cloth to hand to his brother to wipe his mouth with.

“I saw, mon frère.” With a sigh, he added, “and it was a good plan. Your intuition has always been spot on. You just…know that I hate seeing you this way.”

Francois nodded, but before much longer, with Fernand’s understanding acquired, he found himself once again dozing into a fitful sleep.

At one point, probably not much after he had managed to find a shaky peace, Francois awoke to the sound of the door. He rolled over, practically causing the maid who entered in the room to throw the tray she was carrying into the air. She took one brief look at him—her face pale and eyes wide—before putting the tray at his bedside as quickly as she could manage and darting back out. Fernand rolled his eyes.

“Close-minded Lician pawns,” he grumbled, shifting uncomfortable from the position he had once again leaned himself against in the corner. Francois simply stared at the plate. Just looking at the simple salad adorning it gave Francois the urge to be sick again.

“You can have it,” the invalid offered dully, to which Fernand merely snorted.

“No, thanks.”

Francois squeezed his eyes shut once more, pleading under his breath for rest.

***

She wasn’t screaming, only pleading.

S’il vous plaît, je suis désolé, I didn’t mean to anger you. Don’t hit me again, don’t—

They were watching from the door. Two small heads stacked over each other. Fernand held Francois by the hand while Francois cried silent tears. They knew they shouldn’t have been watching but they couldn’t help it.

And there was so much blood. And he wouldn’t stop hitting her—not even when she fell to the ground. The tall, dark, angry man.

You’re hurting her! You’re killing her! Stop it! She’ll die!

Francois ran forward, slipping away from Fernand before his brother could hold him back…and then the bloodied hands were tight around his neck as his father dragged him to the window—

***

“Mr. Moreau…? Mr. Moreau?”

Francois’ eyes snapped open with a start, causing him to jolt as his consciousness tried to catch up to his vision. If her hand hasn’t been resting (gently) upon his chest, Francois more than likely would’ve sat up so fast he would have smacked into the Princess. Underneath her cool fingers, his warm flesh heaved from its battle with the unseen enemy.

“Francois…shh…shh…It’s okay. Everything is all-right now…”

After a long moment of staring desperately into her eyes, he relaxed, falling heavily back upon the bed, his eyes lidded heavy, but out of exhaustion as opposed to ease. Regardless, she smiled, seeming relieved as he cleared his throat.

“…Princess. You…came back.”

“I’m sorry to wake you, Mr. Moreau,” she explained with a nod, “But you seemed to be having some….restlessness. Can you stand? I’d like to change your bed sheets and I’ve some food coming.”

“Yes…I…I can try.” Weakly, Francois shifted himself closer to the edge of the bed and swung his legs down. He managed to stand about halfway when a sharp pain ran through his side from the awkward angle he managed to step on his bad leg, and barely managed to grab onto the Princess (who had quickly moved to support him) before he would have fallen to the floor. Thankfully, Edouard took over for the young woman, whom he more than likely would have ended up taking down with him, and she busied herself with changing his sheets as Francois was brought carefully to the single chair left in the room.

“I’m not used to being this…in need of assistance,” Francois breathed as he sat heavily, putting a hand to his head with a weary sigh. “I’m truly sorry for all the trouble.”

But Alarice simply shook her head, never breaking from her folding. “Mr. Moreau…you saved my life. There is no way you could trouble me. In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask…why did you come?” Then, before Francois could reply, she added, “And if there is anything I could do for you, please name it.”

This time, Francois was the one to smile…if a bit weakly. “I came to offer my support,” he lied brilliantly, “I suppose…it isn’t of much consequence; loyalty from someone like me hardly means much—but having been given the honor of speaking with you, I know now more than ever I want to give it. All I can ask is that you accept it.”

It would have been an appropriate place to bow, he noted mentally, but he was afraid that if he tried such a move, he’d somersault into a heap on the floor.

There was a moment of silence. The Princess finished changing the sheets, and then straightening herself, she admired her handiwork with what appeared to Francois as a bit of accomplished pride before she spoke again, firmly and like a true royal. “Prince Dwayne once said,” she began, “that the loyalty of one man meant more than the falsity of a thousand.” Flashing a smile, her voice softened as she assured, “Mr. Moreau no one who pledged their support to me could ever be of no-consequence. I am honored to receive, “someone like you.” to court.”

Then, tucking a loose strand of hair behind one ear and averting her gaze bashfully, the Princess amended, “The court…I mean.”

As Francois watched her, he suddenly found himself breaking into a toothy grin beneath his haggard eyes. “You…aren’t wearing gloves,” he observed, more matter-of-fact than anything else (although one may not have been totally imagining things when hearing the subtly coy hint to his tone). “Now that I think of it…you weren’t wearing them before, either, were you?”

Almost immediately after he had managed the rhetorical question, the door opened, revealing a set of maids and attendants carrying trays and furniture alike. Francois watched as his bed was moved to one side of the room while another was brought for his brother (guilt seeped in as he realized exactly how long Fernand had been standing), along with food for both of the brothers and a chair for the Princess.

Once everything had been arranged, the group hovered awkwardly for a moment before Alarice curtly dismissed them with the promise that “Mr. Dubhan will be joining me shortly.”

As soon as they were gone, the Princess prepared a needle that had been brought along with a bowl of oatmeal, using a damp napkin to gently wipe his shoulder in preparation. She hesitated—but only long enough to bring a hand to his forehead. “I’m afraid you’re still a bit feverish, Mr. Moreau. This will help, I promise.”

“Thank you,” he breathed as the needle slid quietly into his skin.

He swallowed the quick flash of Bellamy dead on the floor, blood spread beneath him in a cool puddle—the shot was for the fever. There was nothing to be afraid of. Before he could stop himself, his eyes flickered to the tall man sitting on his cot, munching his meal appreciatively (but quietly and as politely as possible). There were no ghosts of the past to haunt him. Or hurt him.

Francois didn’t know if she noticed anything; she was busy pouring a powder into his oatmeal, explaining how it would help him sleep. He would pray for a dreamless sleep, at that, devoid of the demons that had followed him into the immaculate room. As he reached for the bowl, the Princess rested her hand gently on his, lowering it. “There’s no reason to waste any energy Mr. Moreau,” she chastised, taking the spoon in small, bare hand. “Save it so that you may recover.”

Brows furrowing, the young man began to protest, but was halted by the spoon full of oats entering his half-open mouth. Francois sighed internally, supposing there was no real need to protest, especially if it was something that the Princess wanted to do. If nursing him to health attached her to him, than he would be more than willing to let her feed him like a child. And, if he was being quite honest, Francois supposed his arms were rather tired.

Before too long, Francois could feel the effects of the powder setting in, the warmth from his stomach traveling up and making his brain a delightfully peaceful haze. He was only half-conscious by the time a guard—the same dark-haired one from before—appeared at the door, exchanging a brief dialogue with his charge before going out of sight once more, and even less so when another appeared—this one as strikingly Lician as he was wholly unfamiliar. The blonde came in only to provide the Princess with further clothing (a shame; he had been quite enjoying the view), before leaving with a respectful nod. She seemed to notice how much effort it was beginning to take him to keep his eyes open, and once she had slipped on her robe and gloves, set the oatmeal aside and (with the help of Edouard), dragged Francois back into bed. “Good night, Mr. Moreau,” the Princess Alarice bid, in gentle formality, and Francois nodded sleepily as her figure blurred and retreated before his eyes.

“Good night…your highness…” he mumbled in response, eyes shutting of their own accord while he fell limp against his pillow.

“Peace be with you, mon frère,” was the last thing Francois heard before he finally drifted into a dark and quiet slumber.

Eirian would have liked to say that she was having a good day. In all aspects of the word…she was. The weather was nice, and she was with (the majority of) her family. Peace and quiet save for the excited squeals of her mother and her brother as they romped about the house in their innocent giddiness. And, to give her mother a much deserved break, Eirian had decided to spend the day doing a majority of the housework, including the dinner for the night. Starting early in the day, after she had completed her morning routine (exercising, for the most part), Eirian donned light shorts and a gray tank top—clothing she normally would have considered improper, but hardly considered herself now that she was home with no prying eyes save for her mother and small brother. Cleaning and cooking…despite the fine soldier she had been trained to be, Eirian found it oddly calming, the sounds of playful interaction that floated in from the other room causing her to smile.

But it wasn’t a full smile, not really. It hardly went past the surface. Not that she wasn’t grateful for the…joyful simplicity of the time she was given to spend with her family, but so used to the rigid structure of the Academy, or her academic and professional duties at the Licia school that Eirian found it…uncomfortably lacking. Despite herself, she found a hand coming up to rub the back of her neck—as if to smooth a nonexistent crick from the stress she was used to piling upon it. Strands of her long, wheat-blonde hair tangled themselves between her fingers, but they slid out easily as she straightened due to the care she took in managing them.

With a deep breath which she let out upon a sigh, Eirian finished preparing the vegetables she had been chopping and grabbed the apron that hung neatly in their kitchen’s small pantry. White, frilly, and much cleaner than it probably should have been, it clearly belonged to her mother: the perfect example of a Lician housewife. Thinking about it, the thing was probably more for show than anything, and Eirian wasn’t wearing anything she was afraid of staining…but regardless, felt compelled to don it. Better safe than sorry—and why not use the apron for its intended purposes? Tucking her hair behind her ears, Eirian quickly tied the ribbons of the apron into a bow behind her waist and set about mixing the ingredients for the chicken and spinach casserole.

Mixed, and tried with all her willpower not to think of the training she would have been much more comfortable doing.

“Eirnan!”

Eirian nearly jolted at the voice that broke her from her thoughts, but managed to turn the surprise into a smile. “Yes, Turner?” she asked in a sweet coo, eyes gentle as she looked upon the cherubic boy who barely reached the countertop, turning away only long enough to stick the casserole into the oven.

“Mine!”

“What?”

Puzzled, Eirian shut the oven and turned around, just in time to witness her brother giggling mischievously whilst grabbing the abandoned mixing spoon from where it had been resting upon the counter, still covered in the goopy uncooked casserole mixture. Shaking her head, she laughed, knowing what he wanted. The silence from the other room could only have meant that her mother had dozed off on the sofa while her son had focused his attention on coloring (and Eirian could hardly blame her; the woman had been entertaining Turner nonstop nearly all day), and he had tired of independent fun.

“Oh no, you don’t, you little rascal!” Eirian called playfully, mocking impatience as she gave chase—and didn’t get very far.

As soon as she left the kitchen, heading after the excited boy, the front door had opened, causing Eirian to stop immediately in the narrow hallway between the two rooms. She beamed—there was only one person who could have been coming, although it was a mystery to her as to why he could have been off duty so soon, and without warning.

“Father!” Eirian greeted, eyes light in happy surprise. Russell Lindval smiled back, although there was something in his expression she couldn’t quite determine.

“Eirian,” he told her heavily, only causing her confusion to widen, “there’s someone here to see you.”

And with that, her father stepped aside to reveal the man she had not initially noticed, standing behind him. He stood tall and respectful, just as she had remembered—no, more so than she remembered…but her mentor appeared no less strong and efficient as he had the day she had graduated from the Academy three years ago, the last time she had seen him. For a moment, she could feel a strange knot of giddiness and alarm well in her throat at the pleasure of seeing him once again, however unexpected and full of potential implications it may have been.

Eirian supposed it was because she hadn’t ever bothered to make any friends throughout her student career; he was the closest thing she had.

At some point, the young woman’s hair had loosened itself, and fell like silk about her neck and shoulders as she righted herself, standing as straight as a plank. A name formed upon herself, but she righted that too as she greeted the other blonde. “Mr. Ward…”

All at once, Eirian remembered exactly what it was she was wearing and, feeling the beginnings of a flush make its way to her cheeks, she undid the apron and folded it in her arms as quickly and neatly as she could manage. She suddenly found herself scolding her choice of wardrobe for the day; she should have been prepared for anything, no matter how unexpected, but there was nothing she could do about it at this point.

The only thing there was to be done, as her father graciously allowed Robert passage into their home, was to hear him out. After all, hadn’t the older man said that he had come to see her? That begged the question why. Eirian didn’t want to be blunt, and by no means did she want to rush such a rare visitation, but…

“…for what purpose do I owe this honor?”

There was something to be said for the immediate knowledge that one did not need to engage in the act of small-talk. It was comforting to Robert, who had never particularly enjoyed idle chatter. He’d gotten into the bad habit of it, usually because Herbert didn’t seem to be able to get through any long period of silence when he, the Princess and Robert were alone. The two of them spoke easily to each other, but often tried to get Robert to join in. He’d gotten better at it – but not nearly so much as to feel comfortable speaking to Russell Lindval on matters like weather. Such things were for deeper friendships than he had with the older man.

 

The trip to Russell Lindval’s home was uneventful enough. As usual, they had to pass through all the security clearances and like any good military man – log their hours and purpose for departure. Robert was certain that Mr. Lindval’s mind was weighed heavily with the proposal that was about to be put on his daughter’s lap. It was not an easy assignment to accept, nor a safe one. There had been several attempts on the Princess’ life after her debut. Some had even taken place at school – which she had (thankfully) remained blissfully unaware of. But the boldness and audacity of the most recent attack really did warrant increased security. He couldn’t help but wonder of Russell regretted speaking up now that his suggestion had resulted in his only daughter’s life being mixed into the equation.

 

If he had any such troubles, there was no indication. Robert was immediately distracted from the question when their carriage came to a stop …right next to his own home. He a chill travel down his spine but his face was a mask of placidity as the two men stepped to the Lindval home’s doorstep. He stood behind, silent until the older man stepped aside to reveal him to Eirian.

 

“Mr. Ward…” Her voice was pleasant to his ears, but the years of academy training allowed him to continue the façade of indifference. This was a serious matter, not a reunion between friends. In perfect, four-second time he took a step forward, bowed and pulled Eirian’s hand from its tight grasp on her discarded apron and to his lips. “Miss Lindval.” He spoke into the delicate skin before straightening his back. The gesture was not required of them when they were…younger, when she was younger. In his head he’d maintained an image of the short-shorned, diligent, admirable, serious little girl. She was still petite but no longer quite a girl, rather, a truly beautiful young woman. N…not that it mattered. After all, children did grow up. Not that she was a child per se. Not that he cared! His mind was once again allowed a reprieve as Eirian’s father allowed him entry into the home and shut the door behind her.

 

The three stood in the entrance hallway of the home, until Eirian broke the silence. “…for what purpose do I owe this honor?” Always to the point. He thought with pride.

 

“Perhaps there is somewhere more private we may speak?” He asked, uncertainly to Russell Lindval – a gentle smile playing on his lips at the sight of a toddler running around with a spoon. The question lead the three of them to a small child’s room. It was quiet, smelling of baby powder and clean linens. There were a number of chairs…small ones, currently occupied by stuffed inhabitants. Only one adult-sized chair was available and the three of them seemed to come to the silent agreement to stand.

 

“I come on the business of his Majesty King Orion and the Crown Princess Alarice, Miss. Lindval.” He left the explanation up to her father, which he did perfectly given the minor detail that was allowed to be disclosed to a civilian; about the nearly-successful attempt on the Princess’s life. Robert then completed the thought by explaining the matter of the Court’s objection to her exclusively male detail and thus the need for a female handmaiden of Lician decent to serve as both companion and supplementary guard to her.

 

“With your father’s permission, I have suggested to the King that the role be filled by yourself. The suggestion has received preliminary approval, pending a meeting with the King, Princess, the small Court and the current guard detail. …Assuming you accept, that is.”

 

Eirian gave him her thanks for “thinking of her.” Robert had kept track of his former pupil’s progress over the years. It surprised him to hear her surprise at his suggestion. Of course she should be the first one nominated to the position, she was the best cadet he’d seen pass through the ranks in ages. Not that Robert Ward was of a type to stroke her ego by telling her that. So, instead, he decided to continue on with only the slightest nod of acknowledgement.

 

As he spoke, the seriousness of what he was offering to Eirian Lindval began to weigh heavily on Robert’s heart. True, Eirian was of-age and perfectly capable of making her own decision. But a part of him couldn’t help but remember the young girl he’d taken under his wing. “The position would require both that you guard the Princess’s life but also that you…. accompany her where male guards may be deemed inappropriate. It is not without its perils, Miss. Lindval. I suggest you consider this matter very carefully before choosing.” He knew he didn’t have to add on that last part, this was Eirian after all, yet he did so anyway. Perhaps in an unconscious desire to spare her from the grueling, dangerous job. It did not serve its purpose.

 

“I understand the dangers that would accompany such a position. But, regardless, I can tell you immediately that I accept. I can think of no reason which would prevent me from wanting to serve and protect the Crown.” Her voice never faltered, gaze steady and serious and her shoulders and back as straight as any soldier’s. Robert felt a swell of pride, which he quickly squashed in favor of continued efficiency.

 

“Then, I shall report your response to his Majesty. The formal review will take place promptly at 9am tomorrow morning, at the Palace.” This was where Robert hesitated. The request had been passed onto him by the guard at the gates of the palace. He wasn’t sure of its purpose, but it was his highness’s command. “Mr. Lindval, the King also requests you attend the meeting as well. But the Princess has ordered that I escort Miss. Lindval to the meeting myself. I believe it is her intention for me to more fully brief Miss. Lindval on the offer.” His own mother had taken remarkably well to the sudden lack of discretion when he had taken up his own guard position. Royal guards were not as ordinary soldiers – they held the crown’s secrets as close to their hearts as their own, dying to defend them in some cases. Of course – Robert often felt he was less privy to the Princess’ secrets than Herbert was. But almost certainly, both would end up taking a backseat to Eirian. Not only was she accomplished, kind and dutiful – she was a true friend. She was in every way a proper lady and…

 

There was a spoon on his chest. The giggling, smiling toddler attached to the spoon slid it down the front of his jacket and a button came undone. Thus Robert Ward’s jacket and shirt became coated in what appeared to be spinach and a sort of sauce.

 

“Oops!” Declared the beaming child, who released the spoon into Robert’s waiting hand. “Sowwy!” Robert just smiled in return, letting the boy finish his explanation. (“Missed!”) Robert then shook his head exaggeratedly. “Oh not at all Mr. Lindval, I was not particularly fond of that jacket anyway.”

 

Then, an older woman who resembled Eirian greatly appeared at the door. Her face was a little flush, her short hair the tiniest bit ruffled – but her smile was beyond compare and he tried to wonder if Eirian had ever smiled at him in such a way. Then it struck him that this was her mother. Repeating his earlier show of respect, he kissed Mrs. Lindval’s hand and murmured that she need not trouble herself.

 

“I was just leaving. I must change before I report back to the King.” He explained. “You’re quite the gentleman! Oh, now wait just a minute! You can’t leave so soon, not when dinner’s just about ready and you’ve come all this way. Stay and eat with us–you can borrow one of my husband’s shirts to make up for Turner’s accident.” Unconsciously, Robert found himself turning towards Eirian Lindval. He hoped that the call for help that had quickly blared out in his head had not spoken itself aloud.

“The one who didn’t cry, right?” Alarice asked, absently as she walked side-by-side with Herbert through the halls of the Lician palace. He nodded in reply. The Princess bit her lower lip to suppress a smile as some noble ladies walked up to them. Occasionally, the bolder ones would steal glances at the handsome Deamone guard while he waited patiently. This happened several more times as she was stopped by passing nobles who offered their greetings, support, general well wishes and occasionally (frequently) tedious small talk. It had been her intention to re-join Francois Moreau as soon as possible – but as soon as possible ended up being “You can see him in the morning.” In no small part due to Herbert’s hovering.

 

“Have you eaten today, Princess?” He’d asked – already heading in the direction of her dining room without hearing her answer. Unlike the dorms at Licia School her quarters in the palace spanned almost an entire floor or the palace. They were second in size only to that of the King and Queen, which actually did span an entire floor. Both were supplied with their own kitchens, bathrooms, a main bedroom as well as those for guests (one of which currently housed Francois himself), studies, dining room, small meeting rooms and shared a large private library, ballroom, greater meeting rooms and other amenities which had thus far escaped her notice.

 

There was some humor to the fact that some of the doors they passed opened to rooms she had not yet explored. Secretly, she’d been working on her own map of the Palace – which bore less tiresome titles and more functional ones, her greenroom on the first floor bore tiny hearts and the second Protocol room featured rows of “ZzZzZz.” Corridors with portraits of her mother featured neatly stylized skulls and crossbones, hidden in delicate fleur de lis. Of course, there were some rooms she had no intention of opening. Her quarters were those designated for the second-born…her mother’s old rooms, those for the heir, had been offered to her and she had promptly refused. The dead Queen’s memory already haunted her too much for her liking, Alarice didn’t need any more reminders of her. This arrangement suited her much more anyway, her quarters were more intimate and housed fewer staff than any of the other nobles’.

 

Many of her staff were actually those of Licia school, who did not work during summer breaks. It helped to have familiar faces in the vastness of Court, moreso after a rattle like the one she’d had. She offered her smiles to them as Herbert lead her by the shoulders into a chair. Less than a minute later, a large meal was set on the table before her. Herbert stood idly to the side, checking his nails for imperfections. “Would you care to join me, Herb?” She asked as she speared a selection of vegetables with her fork and ate them. He took one glance at the selection of steamed fish, salad, fruit and chicken and gave a heavy sigh. “I guess.” The Deamone guard replied, as he took the seat next to her and attempted to create a sandwich from the chicken, some bread and the bits of bacon scattered in the salad.

 

“Why is it always rabbit food?” He muttered darkly, biting into the makeshift sandwich and not bothering to dab the excess from his mouth. “It’s like they want you to starve before you hit the throne. What, are they afraid the crown will be too tight on your head?” The young royal laughed as her guard and friend affectionately ruffled her hair. These were the moments she’d craved – an informal sort of closeness with one of the only people who knew her for whom she was instead of just what she was. They had become fewer and farther apart over time and she knew her upcoming coronation might mean their end entirely. Even now, some of the maids were eyeing the affectionate pair with suspicion. But if there was anything that Alarice did not plan on giving up for the throne – it was her friendship with Herbert.

 

“I think it’s because it’s neater to eat.” Of course, there was something inherently delicate about a fish fork. “Or maybe bloody steaks aren’t pretty enough?” The outskirts had provided her a fair amount of mixed cuisine and she had to admit sometimes she missed red meat and more flavorful foods. Of course, how would she explain a craving for a hearty Mosh Stew when she had no way of having learned about the mixture of leftover vegetables and discarded fats with small quantities of sliced beef during her “studies?” No. She had to sustain herself on greenery and light meats, insubstantial though they might have been to the Deamone palette. If nothing else the food was helping to ease the shaking of her limbs and the fluttering of her heart. The darklore, which had been mostly dormant over the summer, had begun its teasing whisperings. Most of them about the shirtless man currently residing in one of the guest bedrooms.

 

“Do you think she’ll accept?”

“If she’s anything like Rob? She’ll probably jump all over it.”

The Princess’s eyes and fork lowered, she wasn’t unaware of the dangers Robert and Herbert faced on a daily basis because of her. But Eirian Lindval was around her age, as far as she knew. “Is it wrong? To offer it to someone that young…” But she stopped herself before the thought went on. She knew exactly how old Herbert’s mother had been when she started working as a handmaiden.

“Assuming she’s competent? She knows what she’s getting into. Of course, none of it would be necessary if they’d just get the damn sticks out of the…”

“Shhh!” The Princess admonished, before thanking the servants who removed their empty plates and replaced them with a selection of deserts. “Language, Mr. Dubhan, really!”

Herbert just snorted at the airy tone she’d taken for the benefit of the staff. When they’d gone, he reached across her and picked up a chocolate éclair. It was gone in two bites before she’d even begun on the fruit tart she’d selected. Over the last of their meal the Princess inquired into how he’d spent his vacation (“In Bed.”) and remarked that she hoped there were not too many scandals for the crown to pay off. “Looking after my reputation, little dove?”

 

The rest of the day was a flurry of paperwork, some of which was so tedious that she was half-sure it was unnecessary and that Herbert was just trying to keep her mind occupied. Some documents she rejected, what need did she have for a back to school party at court, did the royal gardens need another five dozen small trees along the pathways? Others were actually legitimate concerns; she needed to review the Royal Guard before she left – it was a twice yearly tradition that ceremonially cemented the royal’s place at the head of the military. With only a week left for school – she agreed with the proposal that the event take place in two days’ time. By the time the stack was gone and she had time to look out the gilded window it had grown dark outside. Blowing air between her lips like a disgruntled child, she slid down on the great plush chair in her study and removed her gloves. Underneath them, her fingernails still had some remnants of dirt.

 

“Herb?” She called out, only to find that he was already standing behind her. “All done?” He grinned down, gathering the papers and passing them off to a waiting maid. “Yes.” The young royal replied primly as she stood and walked to another maid, whom she asked to prepare a bath for her. Even if Alarice had been allowed to draw her own bath – the materials used for it remained hidden in one of the many unexplored rooms. It was only seconds later that the maid re-appeared, informing her that the bath was ready for her. “Herbert, can you please see to it that my greenroom was otherwise untouched when they returned the Calabar?” He would know she didn’t trust anyone else in her one sanctuary in the gilded world of Court. “If I’m done (with what, she did not specify) I’ll be in my room.”

 

The bath, as usual was heavenly. The water was infused with gardenia and jasmine oils; the scents of which clung to her skin as she dried off. It had been quite a journey from having to have attendants PRESENT while she bathed (what if she slipped and fell?!) to them merely joining her when she rang the bell to inform them she dressed and was ready for them to help her with the long mane of a Lician noble. She’d never allowed them to dress her again post puberty – that had been too drastic a line for her to let them cross. After picking the simplest of the offered nightgowns, she sat and let them dry her hair, comb it free of any tangles and help her braid it off to the side.

 

Herbert wasn’t outside the door when she was done and a thought struck her. Her head cocked high, she informed the guards to tell Herbert she’d be “where she told him” (she had said she’d planned to visit Francois Moreau…he’d just denied the request). The bowed and didn’t protest when she walked in the opposite direction of her room and towards the bedroom where Francois Moreau was resting.

 

There was a chair in the hall that she immediately recognized as belonging to Francois’ room. Two guards stood in front of the door, one appearing to snore and the other looking off in the distance. Whatever reservations courtiers might have had about attending to the third realmer, she’d thought she could trust the guards to be steadfast and loyal. He’d saved her life – they should have shielded his too. The bored one woke the other upon seeing her and both men fell to the knee.

 

“Why is this here?” She asked motioning to the chair.

“The…chair, Princess?”

“Yes. Why is it not in the room? And where is the rest of the furniture”

“…We…had the furniture removed from the hall, Majesty. We did not think it would be needed…”

With a soft sigh, Alarice tried to calm her temper. A maid walked down the corridor and stopped to bow and ask if “your majesty needs me, for anything?”

“Yes. Please take note…”

 

Quietly, the Princess entered the room, behind her the maid had pulled out a small pad and a pencil. Her eyes flickered and her head lowered at the sight of Francois’ assistant before moving over to his master. Francois laid in the bed, sweating, groaning and struggling in his sleep. “How long has he been like this?” She asked the assistant, who said nothing. His silence befuddled her, but not as much as the fact that he was standing in the corner of the room – looking more than a little uncomfortable.

 

“Has Mr. Moreau’s assistant been standing here the entire time?”

“He refused to leave, Princess.”

“Yes…naturally. I was referring to the lack of bed.”

“There’s a chair…highness.”

“Indeed. Please have a bed brought immediately, as quietly as possible.”

 

The maid nodded and jotted down the note, following it up with the rest of Alarice’s commands.

 

“Also, please send for medicines from Dr. Sewe ask her for Essence of Ziziphus as well. Arrange for some food to be brought, something easy and plain and something else for Mr. Moreau’s assistant – preferably something palatable to a Deamone palate. ”

 

As she’d spoken, she’d walked up to Francois and had laid her hand gently on his forehead. He was burning hot and the saline solution that dripped the fever medicines into his system was all but empty.

 

“Ah yes…Please find and ask Mr. Dubhan to investigate the identity of the nurse that was left in charge of Mr. Moreau and have him dismiss her. …That will be all.”

 

With a deep bow, the maid left Alarice alone with Francois Moreau and his assistant. She could hear the maid whispering to the guards and one of them departing, while the other peered protectively inside. Her attention wasn’t on him anyway, rather, it was on the man experiencing a deeply troubled sleep beside her. Carefully, she bent over him and placed a hand on his chest.

 

“Mr. Moreau…? Mr. Moreau?” He stirred beneath her touch. Very quickly, his cat-yellow eyes snapped open and looked up at her. Underneath her fingertips, she felt the muscles of his chest ripple and the pressure of him trying to sit up – still half asleep.

 

“Francois…” She made a soft shushing noise, brushing the hair away from his forehead. “It’s okay. Everything is all-right now…” The cloudiness of sleep left his gaze and finally he stopped trying to push himself up. His smile brought color to her cheeks and his voice caused a rumbling sensation beneath her fingertips.

 

“…Princess. You…came back.”

“I’m sorry to wake you, Mr. Moreau, But you seemed to be having some….restlessness.”

 

It was the most pleasant way she could think to mention nightmares. They were all too familiar companions of hers – she didn’t want to intrude on his. He nodded his head in understanding and she removed her hand from the bare skin of his chest. It was slightly damp with sweat and a small frown crawled onto her face as she realized that the sheets were the same ones that had been on the bed as he’d been treated; they were dirty, blood and sweat no doubt soaked into the crisp white silk.

 

“Can you stand? I’d like to change your bed sheets and I’ve some food coming.”

 

Although he nodded and agreed, she was vastly grateful for the speed with which Francois’ attendant helped her hold the stranger up. Together, they settled him down onto the chair. Moving deftly, she pulled the dirty silk off the bed and pillows, folding them neatly and setting them aside before pulling out fresh ones from the armoire in the room. As a child, her head of household had always made her make her own bed. It was not a skill she’d had to use again in a long time – but she was satisfied to find she could still manage to leave it crisp and lineless. So engrossed in her task was she that it took her a second to process Francois Moreau’s words.

 

“I’m not used to being this…in need of assistance, I’m truly sorry for all the trouble.” Inside, her darklore laughed and she cracked a sympathetic smile. “Mr. Moreau…you saved my life. There is no way you could trouble me. In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask…why did you come?” In neat, short movements, she slipped the pillows into new cases. Absently, she added on “And if there is anything I could do for you, please name it.”

 

“I came to offer my support. I suppose…it isn’t of much consequence; loyalty from someone like me hardly means much—but having been given the honor of speaking with you, I know now more than ever I want to give it. All I can ask is that you accept it.” Alarice wondered if Francois Moreau knew just how much like him she was. The thought brought touch of sadness to her eyes and she let herself process it before replying, retreating to the mechanical act of layering another clean sheet and then a comforter on top of it. Her eyes wandered over the finished product – Mathilde would have been proud.

 

“Prince Dwayne once said that the loyalty of one man meant more than the falsity of a thousand.” Smiling at Francois Moreau came easily as the thought completed itself. It was nice to be able to quote her father without having to fear Orion’s conflicted gaze…Or at least, that was what she told herself as her eyes locked with his. “Mr. Moreau no one who pledged their support to me could ever be of no-consequence. I am honored to receive, “someone like you.” to court.” Heat flushed throughout her face as she noted the slight mental slip-up. Unconsciously, she tried to cool her face by brushing her fingertips along it in the guise of correcting a stray strand of hair. “to the Court…I mean”

 

The bareness of her hands reached her notice around the same time as it apparently reached Francois’. His question was (thankfully) interrupted by the arrival of her requests – first the furniture, then the food and medicines. She was glad that they had arrived after she’d finished changing the sheets – though the maids flashed her the quickest of glances as they collected the discarded ones. Trying to maintain an aura of control, she took a seat besides Francois on the recently-returned chair. The staff looked at her, then to Francois, then his assistant, than her again. The disdain was practically written out on their foreheads.

 

“Mr. Dubhan will be joining me shortly.” She smiled, waving her hand in Orion’s signature sign of dismissal. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Mr. Moreau’s attendant enjoyed his meal, his silence a curiosity to be remarked upon at a later date. Ever-more conscious of her bare hand now, she felt her cheeks flush as she brought it up to his forehead. Still warm, too warm. The needle of a more immediate-acting version of the fever medication was prepped and slipped into his arm with his thanks. She nodded mutely and then began to mix the Ziziphus into Francois’ own meal. But his gaze was not on her, or even fully in the room as far as she could tell. She said nothing – some things were better left unsaid.

 

His distaste at being fed like a child bemused her, but only in a nostalgic sense. How many times had an injured (arguably due to his own foolishness) Malek done the same? The task was performed with the expertise she owed it – each tablespoon carefully measured and cooled. She was silent for the most part, her eyes remaining demurely on the bowl and on his lips – cheeks still reddened at the sight of her bare hands (which suddenly seemed as scandalous as a bared anything-else.) Thankfully, the flush had subsided by the time Herbert stepped into the room. The glint of fury in his eyes told her she was in for it later, but even he knew better than to disturb the scene before him with his over-protective anger.

 

“Is everything all right, Princess?” He murmured into her ear. She smiled and nodded in response, her eyes flickering to Francois who was already starting to look a little drowsy.

“I’ll be outside the door. And we’ll…speak…then.” His hand came up to rest on her shoulder in a gentle pat, she covered it with her own and gave it a squeeze before he stepped out of the room. Rather than be able to fully enjoy Francois company – she was interrupted once again, this time by Robert. He was more alarmed than Herbert had been at the fact that his charge was alone with two men. But his displeasure only showed in the line of his mouth and the presentation of a gold-brocade robe and gloves. His knowing look shamed her enough that, when it was time to put Francois to bed, she slipped them on before laying a hand on the handsome stranger.

 

“Good night, Mr. Moreau.” She all but whispered as he was tucked in. With surprising ease, muscle memory was a wonderful thing, she collected the discarded dishes and medical implements. “And to you, Sir.” She murmured to his assistant before slipping out of the room. Waiting for her outside were both Herbert, Robert, the two guards other than the ones who had been originally assigned to the post and the same maid as before (who insisted on taking the dishes with a an aghast expression at the sight of her Princess holding them.) Leaving her and the two guards behind, she, Robert and Herbert headed back down the corridors towards her own chambers. Once they were far enough away that they could speak without disturbing anyone – well…

 

“The next time you sneak off again…”

“I didn’t sneak off! I told you I would be attending to Mr. Moreau later.”

“And I told you you’d be attending to him tomorrow.”

“I didn’t agree to that.”

 

Robert’s disapproval was both more severe and much more silent. Her lips pursed and she sighed out an apology to both men (which neither seemed to accept wholeheartedly.) Trying to change the subject she turned around and walked backwards so as to be able to face the two.

 

“So…” She began coyly, fingering the end of her braid. “How was Miss. Lindval?”

 

Herbert let out a whoop of a laugh and immediately covered his mouth with his hand; only revealing it again when he’d settled it down to a teasing grin. “Ah yes, Robert. How was she?” Robert paused walking just enough to show he’d been thrown off guard – a costly mistake in the presence of his two dark haired companions. They exchanged eager glances and each wrapped an arm around Robert’s shoulders.

 

“Did she agree?

“Did she recognize you?”

“Did you recognize her?”

“What does her mother look like?”

 

“Wh…what does…that….” Robert’s mouth hung slightly ajar, frowning in confusion in the general direction of the Princess – who only burst into laughter at his reply. “I hardly think that would play a role in her ability to fulfill her duties.”

 

“Now, now.” Herbert chuckled. “I think you can afford to be a little pickier than that! I happen to believe looks are very important in the fulfillment of…duties.”

 

“You’re mistaken, Herbert.” Robert replied, bewildered. “A soldier only need be dutiful, prepared, capable and honorable…physical appearance plays no role in the appointment of Miss. Lindval to the task…”

 

“You still haven’t said whether or not she accepted.”

 

“I haven’t?” Herbert snorted and the Princess shook her head deftly. “Forgive me, highness. Yes. She has consented to be reviewed.”

 

“It shall have to be a most thorough review, wouldn’t you say Robert?”

“Y..yes. Of course…”

“Will you be taking part in the review, tomorrow?”

“Yes, Princess. I believe I shall be one of many.”

“Easy tiger! I thought she was young? 18, right? And you want the entire council to take part? I think we’ll just hang back and let you handle her…”

“Why would that be necessary?” Robert asked. “She’s perfectly able to handle herself and the small council…”

 

The three of them were now standing just outside of Alarice’s bedroom. The Princess remained outside, biting down on her lower lip to suppress a laugh while the two older men swept her room. Deciding to take it easy on her Lician guard, Alarice bid the two men good night and settled into her bed after what had proven to be a long day. Behind the shut doors, she could hear Herbert and Robert continuing to chatter. The sound had become a comforting one and she fell asleep to it; a smile playing on her lips.

 

 

There was a strange…fluttering in her chest when Robert stepped forward, took her hand, and promptly laid a kiss upon the soft flesh with his even softer lips. For a moment, Eirian had forgotten to breathe as she watched with surprise that…wasn’t at all unpleasant, she noted—before discarding the thought and composing herself before Robert could rise. And then she reminded herself to breathe again.

Afterward, Eirian had nodded when Robert asked for a private place to convene, setting the apron neatly on the kitchen table before herding the men into Turner’s room—it wasn’t exactly the fanciest meeting place, nor the most spacious, but she figured it was the best place to go to avoid Turner. The last place the excitable child would have wanted to be was his room—for fear of being forced to take a nap. Evidently, however, she had been thoroughly mistaken in the decision. At first, maybe, it seemed to have been going well, but as soon as Robert had said what he had come to say, and Eirian had eagerly agreed to the proposition…

“Oops!”

Eirian went pale. Turner had come up on them so fast Eirian hadn’t had the chance to catch him before the spoon in his hand splattered across Robert’s chest in the apparent effort to give the stranger a taste of the night’s dinner. She had to give Robert credit; he handled himself gracefully in the face of children…it had actually caused a spark of delight to rise in her chest—not that it lasted long in the endless sea of her embarrassment as she pulled Turner to her knees. “I’m sorry,” she professed, “I thought we’d be…safe…”

Behind her, her father was chuckling lowly, but it hardly concerned the young woman. Instead, she found herself growing even more horrified as her mother, newly refreshed from her short nap, glided to the doorway with her usual cheer and bright smile. “My goodness!” Giggling, she observed the scene in front of her, but her eyes landed almost immediately upon their handsome visitor. “You must be Robert; Oh! It looks like my son likes you—he even brought you a messy present, the silly billy. Eirian, be a dear and fetch a…”

The woman was cut off only by Robert’s lips against the back of her hand—a gesture that reminded Eirian of the twin kiss she had received. It brought a quick jump to her heart, and she felt her throat tighten. Just a formality, Eirian reminded herself as her mother complimented Robert on his gentlemanly ways, nothing to be bothered over.

“I was just leaving. I must change before I report back to the King.” He explained.

“Oh, now wait just a minute! You can’t leave so soon, not when dinner’s just about ready and you’ve come all this way. Stay and eat with us–you can borrow one of my husband’s shirts to make up for Turner’s accident.”

The woman was insistent, not that Eirian was surprised. Her mother’s hospitality knew no bounds—there had even been an instant where Eirian had been forced, while she had still been a member of the Academy, to bring Robert a slice of cake that her mother had baked, out of appreciation for his hard work in training her daughter. Eirian doubted he still remembered that…or at least, hoped he didn’t. And now, imagining Robert sitting with them at their table, eating the food that she had cooked…it wasn’t embarrassing, exactly, and not quite that unpleasant, but she wasn’t exactly sure if she’d be able to bear it. Especially if he happened not to like it. Eirian didn’t want him to get a new impression of her as a bad cook—if she was to be his coworker, after all, that could prove to be highly distracting.

“Mother,” Eirian tried, seeing the desperate look upon her mentor’s face, “I really don’t think it’s—”

“Posh!”

Guinevere Lindval waved a dismissive hand at her daughter before putting her hands on (flustered) Robert’s shoulders and practically steered him out of the room and toward the master bedroom. “I insist! You can change in here, dear—just pull a shirt from the closet.” Shooting him another smile—well, the same smile had never really left her fair face—she spoke to Eirian once more.

“I’ll have your father help me in the kitchen if you fetch a towel for your handsome friend to clean himself up with.”

Eirian sputtered, not sure how to respond or what to try and counter first…before ultimately heaving a sigh and giving an apologetic glance at Robert before nodding. “Go with Daddy, Turner,” she prompted the young boy, who was quickly scooped up into his father’s arms (before the large man lumbered out after his wife after he gave his daughter a proud squeeze on the shoulder), then followed everyone out and fetched a towel from the cupboard.

Taking a deep breath, Eirian contemplated changing before facing Robert once more, her hand heavy upon the knob of the cupboard, but instead shook the idea from her head. At this point, the best plan of action was to act casual. I’ll only draw attention to myself if I show insecurity, so—

Eirian stopped dead in both her tracks and her thoughts as she made her way to her parents’ room and came face-to-face with a set of (she had to admit) well sculpted abs. Not that she had expected Robert to have anything less but it was improper to expect anything at all, let alone see it! Willing herself not to blush and averting her gaze bashfully, Eirian held out the towel for Robert in exchange for the soiled shirt he had been wearing.

“My mother can be…excitable,” she professed apologetically, “once she gets an idea into her head it can be difficult to assuage her…”

To her surprise, he smiled. It was an interesting comment with the stock-straight pose he carried himself in. “Not to worry, Eirian. Determination is hardly something to apologize for. It’s a good trait to possess. And one that runs in families, I believe.”

Eirian found it harder not to blush, that time, but saved face by giving a small smile before turning away from him. “I’ll give you your privacy to change; I’m sure the table will be set and ready by the time you’re done.”

Closing the door behind her, Eirian threw his shirt in the wash—figuring it would be ready and dried by the time that they had finished eating.

Sure enough, Eirian was just setting the casserole on the table when Robert emerged from the hallway, and she shot him a smile, glad that the shirt fit him well enough to not look severely uncomfortable. Motioning for him to take a seat, the rest of the family likewise pulled out chairs—except for Turner, of course, whom Guinevere lifted into a higher chair by her side.

When everyone had filled their plates, her mother was, of course, the first to speak. “Eirian made this herself, you know,” she informed as she looked at Robert, then reached over and squeezed her husband’s hand in hers lightly before bringing it back. “She’s such a wonderful help, I’m almost cross with you for wanting to take her away from me!” Then, with a small laugh like bells, she positively beamed. “I’m only joking, of course. I’m just as thrilled as they are about this opportunity. Do you quite enjoy your job, Robert?”

“Every job poses its challenges,” the guest responded cordially as he mulled over his food. “This one offers…very unique and specific ones. But the Princess is a gracious employer and Mr. Dubhan is as steadfast a partner as I could ask for.”

The lot of them smiled (Turner giggled merrily), but Eirian’s smile was the softest of all. She knew she hadn’t officially received the position but she couldn’t help but feel Robert’s words excite her. To meet the Princess…to work directly with the royal family, side-by-side with honorable and capable guards…it sounded like a dream.

It was Turner that Robert turned his gaze to, his expression tender as he watched the way in which the small boy played with his food. With a chuckle—Eirian could have sworn that there was a bit of relief for the shift of attention away from himself—he commented, “He’s quite an energetic child. I…don’t recall E…”

Eirian snapped her eyes from Turner to Robert just as the man amended, “…Miss. Lindval mentioning a brother in her time at the Academy.”

“He wasn’t born until a couple of weeks after I graduated,” Eirian confessed before her mother could take the opportunity to ramble.

“We hope that when he’s old enough, he’ll make a fine cadet,” Russell boomed, much more relaxed now that he was surrounded by his family. His smile was as large as he was. With a laugh, he added, “I’m sure he’ll be spry enough, if nothing else.”

“If he’s anything at all like Eirian, Turner will be just perfect,” Guinevere chimed. Eirian’s smile was much more superficial, this time, as well as more obviously uncomfortable as she found her eyes falling to her plate. She ate the rest of the meal quietly, doing her best to listen to the idle chatter that spanned the rest of the meal—answering questions or prompts when necessary. To tell the truth, Eirian had never really been much a fan of idle chatter. So much thought could be filled in the span of a silence, but talk of such things as the weather had always felt a measure…contrived. The young woman was almost relieved when the meal was over, and leaned over to take Robert’s plate for him and put it in the kitchen when her mother stopped her.

“I’ll clean up, sweetie—I’ll be needing to give Turner a bath, anyway. Spend time with your friend!” Turning her brilliant smile once more to Robert, she confessed, “it was absolutely lovely meeting you at last; our doors are open any time you feel like visiting.”

Trying to suppress her awkwardness, Eirian was quick to fetch Robert’s shirt for him, and waited patiently as he changed out of her father’s and back into his own. It wasn’t until Eirian saw Robert to the door that time finally started to slow down again. Walking side-by-side with him was almost…nostalgic. All that was missing was a stack of books he was helping her carry after she found herself being tripped by a fellow cadet who was…well…less than a fan. Not that those were particularly welcome memories, but Eirian had found that any rotten situation became instantly more positive when it gave her the opportunity to socialize with Robert. He was, after all, her mentor, and had given her more than enough drive not to take to heart any of the mean-spirited jibes by her peers. Upholding virtue and honor wasn’t always met unchallenged.

Eirian was taken out of her thoughts when she felt Robert’s hand slip into hers. Startled, she watched as he quickly brought her hand up to meet his lips once more, that familiar yet oh-so-foreign feeling of warmth creeping under her skin she couldn’t quite understand. “I’m glad…Miss. Lindval,” he murmured as he did so, “to have had a chance to have seen you again. I admit I did not think I would again.”

Then, relinquishing her from his grasp and cleaning his throat, he stood straight as the soldier he was, informing her that a dress would be sent to meet the protocols of the palace, and that he would pick her up promptly at 8.

There was a pause, and for a brief instant he softened again, as he quietly informed her, “I’m pleased I was wrong.”

“As am I,” Eirian replied, and she stayed upon her doorstep, reflecting on how true those words were, as she watched Robert reach the sidewalk. It almost seemed a chore to drag herself back inside.

Robert had waited for a brief moment before slipping back into his own house. For the first time in a while, he questioned his position in the Royal guard. After all, what kind of man didn’t notice that he happened to live next door to his…pupil? True, Robert hardly left his family home when he was there – occasions that grew rarer as time went non. The discovery made him feel unobservant and foolish. Luckily, he had little time to dwell on the matter. After returning home he packed up his few belongings, bid his father goodbye as he tucked him into bed and stood outside his mother’s door. She was ironing out several cadet’s shirts and barely glanced at him when he announced his departure. The cold, dimly lit house was left behind as he rode another carriage back towards the palace grounds.

 

The white walls of the palace grew fainter at night, so much so that the gilded gold and bright lights appeared as a golden silhouette. He was shown to his temporary quarters and then led to the King, who accepted Eirian Lindval’s consent and dismissed Robert promptly. When he found the Princess’s chambers empty, save for the golden robe and gloves she was required to wear even during her nightly routine he was at a loss. Thankfully, one of the maids – whom he recognized as being on leave from Licia school bashfully informed him that she’d seen the Princess heading in the direction of “Mr. Moreau…ah…the gentleman who saved her highness’s life.” This particular maid always seemed to Robert a touch frightened, so he was careful to smile at her and thank her for the information. With the brocade robe and gloves in hand, he strode towards the direction of the guests room. Herbert was standing outside of one along with two other guards. The doors were slightly ajar and the soft sounds of conversation could be heard.

 

“The Princess is alone…?”

“Yup.” Herbert responded, his hand ever-on the gun inside his jacket as he tilted his head to ensure that the tall, turkey-leg-eating assistant was still munching on his meal.

“Herbert that is totally irresponsible. She is a young lady and…”

“Which one do you think is going to attack her – the one with the drumstick down his throat or the one with a poisoned arm who’s half a spoon away from passing out on her?”

 

That only gave Robert pause for a moment. With a sarcastic glare of a glance borrowed straight from Herbert’s own book of responses, Robert entered the room as quietly as possible. The Princess was feeding her guest, the now-infamous Mr. Moreau. Aside from her nightgown, she was otherwise un-attired and for some reason it reminded him of Eirian Lindval’s appearance in her home. Unlike Herbert, he did not see fit to leave the room and when the Princess stood to assist her guest to his bed – he held out the robe and gloves expectantly. Soon enough his charge was in the more acceptable (to him) position of walking down the hall towards her own bedroom with Herbert and himself.

 

While Herbert bantered back and forth about the Princess’s conduct, Robert contented himself in giving her a disapproving stare. She was certainly aware of the expectations for a young lady, which were even more important for a Royal to follow. Unfortunately, the tide of disapproval became one of mirth…directed squarely at him. The talk that followed served only to confuse and frustrate him. Even the reprieve that sweeping the Princess’s quarters provided him didn’t last long – as soon he and Herbert were sitting alone in her the Princess’s receiving room.

 

“Is your Miss. Lindval as admirable as ever? Still your star cadet?” Herbert chuckled, thanking “Quinn” for the coffee she readily provided him. Unlike at the school, the two men were not allowed in the same room as the Princess without female accompaniment – for the sake of her virtue. The idea that he would pose any danger to her majesty’s chastity was laughable … though sometimes he wondered about how affectionate she was with Herbert and he in return.

 

“If I would’ve had any doubts about her abilities I would not have recommended her. Her conduct and graciousness was superior.”

“Oh I see.” Hummed Herbert, his eyes sideways giving his partner a bemused glance. “Were you happy, to see her again?”

 

Happy? Pleased and glad had been the words he’d used…but that giddy tightening of his stomach, foreign as it was, could easily have been described as happy. He tried not to dwell on the thought that the sight of Eirian Lindval had brought him more than a professional sort of fulfillment. But neither would he deny that it had.

 

“Yes. I daresay I was.”

 

“Good, good.” Herbert leaned over to set away his coffee and then paused – sat straight up and pointed squarely at his chest. “Robert, why do you smell like A Summer Breeze?”

 

“Wha…t? What does a summer breeze smell of?”

“No no not the WIND. The detergent!”

 

Robert could practically feel the blood in his face draining. Some time ago, Robert had informed Herbert of the fact that the Academy tended to use only unscented detergents and softeners, so as to not encourage vanity. The story had also brought on one of many renditions of the tales of Eirian’s Haircut – another functional necessity of the academy. The habit had continued on throughout the years and while the detail was miniscule, it did not surprise Robert that Herbert Dubhan’s sharp nose caught the difference. For a second he considered lying. But then that would imply that something shameful had happened, something to be hidden. And it hadn’t! After all – what did he have to be embarrassed of?!

 

“There was an…incident in the Lindval home. I was temporarily divested of my shirt and jacket.”

 

Herbert’s dark brows raised high up on his forehead and he took a long, hard sip of his coffee. “So you…what. Just fell out of your clothes?”

 

“Her toddler br…”

 

His partner’s mouth hung wide open, a look of utter surprise on his face. He glanced at the Princess’s bedroom door as if afraid his shock would wake her. “There’s a kid?! You never mentioned there was a kid….”

 

“Yes. However I believe he was not born until after she graduated. A few weeks, she said.”

“Was she…you know…getting fat around that time?”

“…Excuse me? …The child isn’t hers!! Herbert! The very idea!”

 

The Deamone man raised his hands defensively. “My mistake. Now…about the lack of shirt….”

 

The vast majority of the night went this way, much to Robert’s dismay. If another guard hadn’t switched out with him he probably would not have been able to get much sleep, so energetic was Herbert’s intent to learn as much as possible about his potential new co-worker. It was a good sign…he thought. Though for some reason Herbert’s reputation with women made him nervous. Not that Eirian would allow herself to fall into Herbert’s notorious charms. Not that…it was his business if he did. He shook the thoughts away as he reached the Lindval family home. He’d stared intently at his watch until the hands reached 8am and then reached up to knock upon the door. Before his second knock, the door swung open to reveal Eirian Lindval in what could best be described as a very-very pretty dress.

 

Men, like women, when formally attending court were required to dress appropriately. Typically Robert eschewed the complexity of court garb – but his position allowed him the freedom to wear less cumbersome outfits than that of noble lords. The long, navy blue, bore a few medals above his breast that dictated his position and various honors. Underneath he wore a double-breasted waistcoat in silver and a lighter blue, the King’s guard wore gold, and a white high-necked cravat. Heavily starched khaki pants and tall black boots completed his outfit – which was utterly irrelevant in the face of Eirian’s.

 

Certainly, he was aware that the designs of the royal court were meant to enhance a woman’s figure. This type of thing was discouraged in the Academy but he’d understood, as he hoped Eirian did, that whether or not they were there in a professional capacity or a political one – the Princess’s guards represented the Princess herself in their behavior and dress. Unfortunately, that sometimes included indulging in the fineries of court life. Somehow…Eirian’s engagement didn’t seem nearly as disagreeable as his own, or other woman’s. Herbert had jokingly suggested that he should arrive with a corsage, or a bouquet…of course he hadn’t done so but suddenly Robert wondered if he should have.

 

The pale blue of the dress complimented her eyes and made them sparkle. The white shawl tied around her shoulders brought attention to her creamy pale complexion. There was a silver strip of fabric emphasizing her waist of the same fabric as his waistcoat. Her meteor star too was looped around her waist. Ever prepared. He thought proudly. Her long blonde hair was half down, half up – the front most parts pulled back and up – exposing the length of her elegant neck. Despite her obvious efforts, Robert could tell she was nervous. So he cupped her small hand with both of his before he brought it to his lips. “Miss. Lindval. Good morning.”

 

“Mr. Ward. G…good morning.” There was a look of determination about her, along with the nervousness. It was part of why he admired her so; the fact that she never let her personal feelings interrupt the efficiency of her work. Robert smiled up at her and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. He’d intended to bid Mrs. Lindval a good day and assure her that he would take care of her daughter, but she had seemed quite a bit more excited about the prospect of taking a photograph than hearing him profess his dedication to Eirian’s safekeeping. They stayed just long enough for a few photographs, one with his arm draped around Eirian’s shoulders at Mrs. Lindval’s insistence. By the time they were safely in the carriage on their way to the palace – Eirian seemed about to explode with apologies.

 

“It’s only natural for your mother to be proud, Miss. Lindval. Even being offered this position is a great accomplishment. However.” This was the part of the conversation that Robert had been dreading. “Miss. Lindval…Eirian. I have no doubts as to the successful nature of this upcoming review. With that aside…you must realize that this job has…perils. Life threatening perils. In the past year alone Herbert and I have thwarted fifteen attempts on her highness’s life. With her upcoming coronation…I suspect the number will only rise.”

 

“…I am not afraid.” Her concise, straightforward response created a great deal of pride in her former mentor. It had only been three years, but already he could see how much she’d grown and how she’d fulfilled every potential he saw in her. Still, there was a vulnerability he felt an odd longing to protect. Despite himself he found his hand on hers, the fingers threated gently and …just as he was contemplating squeezing it – he shook it. “There would be no shame in being afraid, Eirian. But what I admire most about you is not allowing your fears to cloud your judgment. I believe you will make an excellent guard.”

 

The Princess had not specified what exactly he was supposed to brief Eirian on, so Robert covered the basics. Although the two shared equal responsibility as the Princess’s head of guard, Herbert Dubhan was both older, more battle-experienced and outranked his Lician partner. Eirian would be spending the primary amount of her time under Herbert’s tutelage – as until now he had been Alarice’s primary close range guard while Robert more often served as a scout and perimeter guard. Their guard detail was not considered a part of the Lician nor Deamone military – but were technically free agents so as to be as impartial as possible to the whims of the Lician court and the Deamone council. As the Princess’s guard it would be expected for Eirian’s focus to be primarily on the Princess…even beyond the King.

 

“Each Royal, the King and the Princess are assigned separate units for a reason. If we were to focus on preserving the life of the King…or they on the Princess’s it would jeopardize our efficiency. Similarly, our loyalty is first to her highness and second to the King. We are often in a position to possess intimate knowledge of the Princess’s life, which she may or may not always want the King to be privy to. As her companion, you will be required to use your discretion in what you do or do not divulge to the King, the Court, the Council…even to myself and Mr. Dubhan. What you do or do not share should often be kept in mind along with how it may serve or hurt the Princess.”

 

Eirian, ever the attentive student, seemed to be absorbing everything he said thoughtfully. Though her questions were appropriately placed and short, their ride soon came to an end. He jumped out of the carriage first and held his hand out for her to hold while she unboarded. The two walked side by side her arm looped in his. “It is typically considered inappropriate for a young lady to walk alone. If a gentleman is unavailable…” He raised his glance slightly towards three young women, obviously noble, walking with their arms looped. “ladies will walk together. You will have to offer the Princess your arm if Mr. Dubhan and I are unable to do so. The close contact allows for you to pull the Princess out of the way of danger …so the protocol also serves a protective purpose.” The grand golden gates opened one after the other, and Robert stepped up to calmly inform the perimeter guards of their purpose. They were directed to the “Marble Meeting room.” One of the larger, private meeting rooms. Just as they reached the double-wide doors and the footmen announced them, Robert remembered the last piece of important knowledge he had to offer the young woman on his arm.

 

“Mr. Robert Dubhan of the Princess’s guard. Miss Eirian Lindval of Licia School!”

 

“Above all. The Princess’s guard must be able to restrain the Princess herself…for…certain situations in which it may be necessary. I have reason to believe there might be a request for you to show your…physical ability. Whatever happens…you must try your hardest not to lose.”

 

The doors fully opened, the two were free to walk into the large meeting room. At the head was a table, made entire of marble. The Princess and King were seated at the front, her slightly to his right. Herbert was sitting next to the Princess and there was another empty chair next to him. Several other guards were standing there as her the same group of Lords and Ladies that served in the more intimate Small Council – who decided matters of state. Although military members that were allowed to attend the meetings typically stood Russell Lindval too – had been offered a seat – an empty chair beside him. Pulling his arm straight he guided Eirian into the room – stopping to bow halfway as they approached the two Royals and only continuing on when the King indicated they could. He deposited her at the seat next to her father, pulling out the chair for her and pushing it back in before joining Herbert at the table.

 

“Eirian Lindval.” Began the King, staring down at the paper in front of him. “Eighteen as of…this Spring. Congratulations. Graduated from the Royal Academy three years ago with Highest Honors and was accepted into Licia School with an assignment of Hall Monitor. You are in your final year and you aspire to…a military position.” A few chuckles resonated throughout the room and Orion’s lips twitched. “It would seem your ambitions have been accomplished, Miss. Lindval. I was a Hall Monitor myself. How do you like the position?”

“I take pride in being able to keep the halls of Licia School safe and orderly, King Orion.”

“And how would you feel if given the position of guard and companion to her Highness?”

“I would consider it a privilege. The greatest honor I could ask for would be to serve the Crown…which I have nothing but respect for, Majesty.”

“Do you believe holding both positions will help, or hinder your performance in them?”

“Majesty, I believe, essentially, that the positions go hand-in-hand. If the halls are safe, it is more likely that the Princess will be safe, as well.”

“Miss. Lindval,” Began an older woman – with sharp grey eyes and the wizened expression of someone who has probably seen quite a bit. “What are your feelings regarding the possibility of having to travel away from Licia with the Princess when she is called to Deamone? As the heir to both thrones she will be expected to spend an equivalent amount of time in both realms. You must understand this position would require quite a bit of time away from home. As I understand it…” She flipped through the pages – a maid near her glanced at the page and then ran to flip the King’s own papers to the same document. “You have spent all of your life in Celeste City.”

“I have no qualms being away from home for as long as it is required of me to be so, Ma’am.”

“Miss. Lindval. You will be working closely with her Highness. What would you do if she gave you an order in direct contradiction to one of the King, or Mr. Dubhan or Mr. Ward?”

“My priority would be to follow the orders given to me by her Highness. I would not see it to break that loyalty unless those orders put her at risk.”

“What If,” Began Herbert, his hands clasped in front of him. “Mr. Ward gave an order directly contradicting my own?”

“I would first consider the order of the superior officer.”

“As you are aware. Yesterday there was an attempt on the Princess’s life.” This time it was General Sewe speaking. The three star general had experience both on the battlefield and on the political front. He went on to explain the circumstances of the attack and the posed the question, “how would you have handled this situation if Mr. Dubhan and Mr…Moreau had not been there to intervene?”

“If there was no room to apprehend the assassin before he assaulted her Highness, I would have taken the attack, myself.”

 

That answer tugged at Robert’s heartstrings, though he made sure to keep his expression neutral. Some of the Lords and Ladies of the court were not so capable – most of them showing looks of approval while the Princess herself seemed to consider Eirian Lindval with a severe expression. Just as Robert was considering the inappropriateness of his emotional response he found a new reason to restrain himself.

 

“Miss. Lindval,” Began one of the same Lords who had objected to Herbert’s suggestion that protocol be dismissed so that they could guard the Princess more closely. “As a young lady yourself how do you feel about a position that would require you to work so closely with men. I’m sure you’re aware that we would also expect you to safeguard the Princess’s chastity, virtue and honor as well as her life.”

 

More chuckles resonated throughout the hall. While Herbert snorted audibly the Princess’s pale cheeks colored slightly. It was not unusual for the matter of her virtue to be discussed – but for it to be done so blatantly and in front of another young lady! Eirian’s response, however, was ideal.

 

“My time in the Academy as a soldier saw me working and training with men and women alike. To me it’s not about proximity but about professionalism – which I think both Mr. Dubhan and Mr. Ward exhibit. There does not seem to me to be a question regarding the intentions of them towards the Princess. But I do take the responsibility of keeping the Princess uncompromised…in all aspects of the word, seriously.”

 

Alarice, who had remained mostly quiet throughout this leaned in to whisper in the King’s ear. He nodded agreeably and spoke.

 

“Miss. Lindval. I understand you’ve brought your weapon.” He gestured to the space between the entrance and the table – more than enough room for what he was about to ask for. “Please. A display of your abilities.”

 

“P..perhaps.” Robert interrupted, glancing quickly towards Eirian. “A change of wardrobe? Majesty – court attire does not allow itself…”

 

“If Miss Lindval is to serve as the Princess’s guard she will be required to be in court often. That means following protocol. If she cannot move in the proper attire she will be considered unsuitable for the position – Mr. Ward.” Interrupted the King – his point too valid and firmly stated for him to push farther.

 

Without missing a beat Eirian stood and prepared her weapon. Though it was clear to Robert that she was somewhat hindered by the voluminous skirts of her dress – she performed extremely well. The court considered her display for a long time many of them jotting down notes. Then, much to his surprise – the Princess stood.

 

“Majesty.” Herbert said, standing along with his charge and walking to one of the maids. She produced a sword, the unique shape and length of which Robert instantly recognized. “I have but one more request before I voice my opinion on the matter of hiring Miss. Lindval. If this court will allow – I believe she and the Princess should spar.”

 

The room exploded in outrage. Robert himself felt numb with shock. Of course, he’d expected them to partner Eirian in a fight…but with himself, or Herbert. The thought of his charge and his…former pupil was alarmingly troubling. Eirian for her part stood in place looking slightly startled but maintaining her composure. “Silence.” Sighed the King, who appeared to have expected this turn of events. “I’ll allow it.”

 

“Miss. Lindval.” Smiled the Princess, ever easy and graceful as she strode up to Eirian with her sword in hand. “Please feel free to begin at your leisure.” If Eirian’s gown was cumbersome, the Princess’s seemed designed to prevent movement outright. The pale green gown dragged slightly on the floor, the Princess’s breath moved in the soft shallow breaths that corsets demanded. Her dark hair was tied up so as to not drag along with it by Herbert, before he took the sword’s sheath and stepped out of the way.

 

“As you command.” Eirian replied to the Princess, before beginning her attack. The meteor hammer required more momentum than the Princess’s sword – so the blonde took a few steps back to swing the chains back and forth. The Princess kept her sword down, not yet attacking but focusing on avoiding the swinging chains and the spiked metal balls attached to their ends.

 

For a time it seemed as if it would be an eternal game of dips and dodges before Eirian unexpectedly twisted the meteor under one arm, around her back and sent it flying straight towards the Princess’s chest. There was not enough time to dodge the ball completely, so instead Alarice stuck out her sword and caught the chain with it, twisting it from side to side until the length of one end had looped around her blade. Eirian gave a strong tug of the chain trying to disarm the Princess, who smiled confidently and sliced her blade towards the ground. The sword had once belonged to Prince Dwayne, he knew, and was incredibly strong. Still, even Robert was surprised to see half of the chain cut off and roll onto the floor – leaving Eirian with half a weapon, but an easier to handle one at that.

 

“Ah…We’ll…get that repaired.” Assured the Princess, still smiling as she stepped away from the fallen chain and began to take a few swings at Eirian– which the former cadet responded to by swinging the shortened chain towards the Princess to counter. Every once in a while, the metal ball struck the Princess arms or a blade came close to slicing a limb or sliced off but the two women seemed fairly equally matched.

 

Suddenly, Alarice dipped down as Eirian was spinning the hammer for more momentum and swung her legs underneath the older girl’s. It sent the young blonde for a fall from which she recovered flawlessly, rolling out of the way just as the Princess’s sword struck air above where she’d been and standing up. Without the momentum of constantly moving chains, Eirian was suddenly temporarily weaponless. Just as the Princess was about to strike at the rest of the chain, Eirian butterfly twisted out of the way – giving her meteor hammer instant movement and landing what appeared to be a well-placed blow squarely on the Princess’s chest. A few gasped, but then it became perfectly apparently that Herbert Dubhan was maintaining some sort of shield around the bodies of both women – the energy of them shimmering with the landed blow.

 

Neither seemed to let this distract them. The Princess was temporarily stunned from the force of the blow, though it had not injured her and the split second cost her the match. The meteor swung around the Princess’ body, the chain closing in on her and pinning her arms to her side – rendering the sword in her hands useless. Just before the King called for a stop to the match, the young royal dropped to the floor and swung her legs up and towards Eirian’s chest – knocking Eirian Lindval onto the floor herself.

 

“Well then, Mr. Dubhan.” Orion spoke, chuckling softly. “I believe you should be satisfied with Miss. Lindval’s abilities with this demonstration?”

 

“Indeed, Majesty.” Herbert replied, already helping the Princess free from the confines of her chain. Robert stood immediately, walking for the Princess when he found himself strangely pulled toward attending Eirian first.

 

“Are you all right, Your highness?” He asked of the dark haired woman who was smoothing her hair back into place.

“Oh, absolutely Robert.” She laughed, her face flush and joyful. “That was wonderful, Miss. Lindval.” She called out over his shoulder before taking Herbert’s arm to stand. “Yes it was. Thank you, your Highness. I’m flattered you thought so.” Eirian responded with a smile, her breathing only a little labored as she spoke. Herbert fussed over the Princess like a mother hen, smoothing her skirts and straightening her hair. At some point, the Princess’s crown had fallen and Robert managed to locate it and place it back atop the heir’s head. It was only when he was satisfied that he had properly attended to the Princess that he also picked up the cut half of Eirian’s meteor hammer and walked to her side.

 

“You did very well.”

 

Eirian nodded and as he sat her back down next to her father, he gave her shoulder a gentle pat. The rest of the meeting was silence, or at least it may as well have been. Whispers, maids passing message back and forth and other forms of subtle message passing happened as they took their seats. When an attendant walked over to Herbert and quietly asked him for his vote, he spoke out quite loudly.

 

“What was that?”

“Ah…your vote…Mr. Dubhan?”

 

Rather than respond, he merely raised his right thumb up over his head. “Got that?” He chuckled, before whispering something else into the Princess’s ear (apparently she agreed with whatever it was he’d said.) When the tallies were said and done it was the Princess who spoke.

 

“Miss. Lindval. It is the decision of the Small Council to approve you as my guard and companion. You will have twenty four hours beginning tomorrow to gather your things – as you will now be expected to share my living quarters here in the Palace. I ask, however, that you please indulge me and spend this night here. So that we may speak privately about your new appointment.”

 

Orion and the other council members filed out of the room one by one. The Princess then stood and smiled sweetly at the two Lindvals in the room. “Please, take your time. I will be waiting outside for you Miss. Lindval. Mr. Lindval, thank you for coming today. Excuse me.” Robert had to fight to keep his next straight as he followed his partner and charge out of the room and shut the door behind him. From now on, he realized, he would be working side by side with Eirian Lindval.