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…