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.

Alarice had to stifle her laughter as Robert suggested he stay behind in case Eirian somehow couldn’t find her way to them. His dark-haired partner, ever droll, suggested that perhaps she wouldn’t “do.” If she couldn’t locate the Princess when she was less than three feet in front of her; which, they literally would be when Eirian and her father exited the room. The halls at the palace were wide enough to accommodate four or five ladies with voluminous skirts walking side-by-side. They were wide enough that even when courtiers stopped to greet the Princess there was no stoppage of traffic.

 

The three of them stood patiently…well…Robert stood patiently. Herbert and she quickly resorted to discussing the fight – her mistakes, Eirian’s. “You haven’t been practicing.” Chastised Herbert who had her sword hanging on his hip. He was the only person she could ever imagine entrusting it to…for some reason, weapons and Princesses didn’t mix in the Lician court. “I haven’t particularly had time.” She replied, a little shortly. “Why don’t you try getting O…King Orion to add it onto my list of duties?” Herbert had no reply, only gave her an expecting look… “I’ll be able to practice regularly once I’m back in school. It’ll be the first thing I do on the first morning back, all right? I promise.”

 

“I’ll talk to the King about giving you a few sessions during this week. I’d feel a lot better about this entire thing if I knew you were ready to protect yourself too.”

“Her Highness has no need of being able to protect herself. She has us to watch over her and Miss. Lindval as well.”

“We can’t be there for her always.”

“It is our duty to do as such!”

 

Robert seemed irritated she thought; normally, he let Herbert go about his self-sufficiency rants without complaint (even the occasional agreement.) Even Herbert seemed to notice, but his response was…less than constructive.

 

“Your girlfriend made it in, Rob. Relax.”

 

Instinctively, Alarice smacked her hand lightly against the side of Herbert’s arm. But it was too late. Robert had gone from irritated to downright flustered.

 

“Eirian Lindval is a child, Herbert. She is my former pupil and now our co-worker. In no way has she or will she ever be my girlfriend. The very idea is laughable.”
“Testy.” Herbert grumbled into the Princess’s ear just as the doors swung open.

 

Clearly, someone in the room had called for the palace blacksmith – as one of his attendants was approaching Eirian with a request for her meteor hammer and assuring her that they would return it to her quickly. “Miss. Lindval,” She smiled at the young woman. “In the meantime, would you care to join us for afternoon tea?”

 

“I’d be honored, your Highness.”

 

Behind the two women Robert and Herbert were laughing to themselves – a welcome sight given Robert’s very recent snap. Alarice raised a questioning glance at Herbert, who shrugged dramatically and walked up to her to offer her his arm. With a gentle pat she informed him she’d prefer to walk with “Miss. Lindval, if you don’t mind Herbert.” To which he replied in the old language of Deamone, a tongue not at all commonly found in Licia but which her nursemaids had (inexplicably at the time) insisted on teaching her. His response was something to the effect “I’ll just have to escort Robert then, Princess. Do you think he’d want to be the gentleman or the lady?” Which, in turn elicited a laugh as she looped her own arm through Eirian’s. Robert, having begun to pick up tiny bits of the language over their time together gave a short, awkward sort of chuckle…the kind one gives when one is not actually free to laugh but feels inclined to do so anyway.

 

Despite herself, she felt a sort of giddy excitement at the prospect of finally having female companionship. It hadn’t exactly been a group of her peers that had raised her – all older women and one older footman who scorned at all but the most necessary of conversations. She was good at playing the part of the proper Court Lady with the others when it was expected of her – but there was something immensely tedious about it all. And while Herbert and Robert were kind, if overprotective, they weren’t exactly the type of company she felt she could gab to in the way she watched other girls her age do.

 

“Robert has told us some things about you. But it’s quite different to hear about a person from another party than it is from the person themselves. Please , tell us about yourself.”

“Well…I attended the Royal Academy starting at eleven. Mr…Ward was my squad’s mentor and leader…”

 

Herbert chuckled, raking a hand through his dark hair as a few courtesans stopped to giggle at the sight of the two handsome men flanking Eirian and herself. He liked to play up to the image in the court, but sometimes it caused problems. She’d already had a stern talk with him about not flirting with Eirian and hopefully it’d sunk it. “I think what her Highness meant was to ask about your personal interests. What little Robert hadn’t already bragged about we discussed for two hours prior to your admittance to the review meeting.” Alarice bit back a smile and Robert appeared to look as disconcerted as possible. “Bragging implies the impressive statements have no merit, Herbert.”

 

“I think we’d all agree Miss. Lindval has merit, Rob. There’s no need to get so uppity. Geesh.”

 

She was used to their back and forth banter. At first, it’d caused her genuine distress…the two men were so opposite each other that it seemed it would be impossible for them to get along. But their shared purpose and ultimately similar dutiful natures had bonded them fairly quickly. They seemed to have civilizing influences on each other. Robert had been almost robotic, practically suicidal in his overzealous dedication to his job. Herbert too had a broody aura of heavily burdened purpose when he’d come to his job. It was true that they’d bonded quickly enough once reunited, but the addition of Robert to their mix had given Herbert license to hope. So, rather than brood (as would have been his tendency) Robert just grinned at his partner and continued along with him, Eirian and herself as they headed towards her suite.

 

“I…am quite partial to…reading and study, Highness. Ah…expanding my knowledge of unfamiliar subjects…”

 

She thought she could hear a hushed, breathy chuckle behind them but at this point the halls were so filled with courtiers and buzzing servants that it could have easily been her imagination. “I’m quite fond of reading myself, Miss. Lindval. Perhaps we can give the Royal Library at school some much needed attention.”

 

It took the some time to move through the palace, especially when she had to stop so often so as to not slight anyone at court. Within the palace walls, she was expected to pay respect to everyone to whom respect was owed. At least in the gardens, a passing nod would do. Luckily, the novelty of the recent events kept most of the stops to well wishes and expressions of concern for her safety. Eventually, they left the public floors and reached her own. There were several ways to her rooms, the one they took this time did not lead her past Francois Moreau’s a fact that she regretted considerably. Never mind – if she planned on getting away with visiting him later, she had to fulfill her duties now.

 

Soon, they were seated in the small dining area of her floor. Because it was that off time between breakfast and lunch, the larger dining table was gone and in its place was a more intimate tea table. Atop it sat several silver trays of pastries and small tea sandwiches: Cucumber, watercress, turkey, Chicken and artichoke and various cheese spread sandwiches. A selection of maids are available, most of them borrowed from the school. Their golden skirts swept the floor as she entered the room and swished against their legs as the pulled out chairs for Eirian and herself. “Thank you.” She murmured. There were no menus in the palace, foods were made to order – so she calmly placed her order, waiting for Eirian to finish doing the same before continuing with her line of small talk.

 

“I understand your father works for General Sewe’s family, Miss. Lindval. Is that how you came about your military aspirations?”

“Yes. The Lindvals have traditionally been successful in guarding, and it had always been my intention to follow that path, as well. My father is…a very inspiring man, to me.”

“I see.” She nodded in response to Eirian. “How proud he must be of you.” The Princess added on, proud herself at the only slight twinge of sadness that crept into the statement. “And what do you do when you are not training?”

 

“More training?” Suggested Herbert. Already the food had arrived and all but one of the maids had left. Perhaps a little too casually, he dropped himself onto the seat next to her and lifted a sandwich from off her plate with a winsome grin.

 

“Studying…actually.” Replied Eirian, who seemed perhaps a touch uncomfortable. “Herbert’s company is an acquired taste.” Robert called from his corner of the room. Unlike Herbert – he didn’t care to join them for meals. He’d cave more and more often at school when they were all running from classes to paperwork to meetings like scared rats but never at the palace. “Quite.” She agreed, giving Herbert a warning glance. “But he’s perfectly harmless.”

 

Herbert just smiled his easy smile and grabbed another bite off of her plate – she’d ordered them for him more than for herself. “And surprisingly adept at his job for all the sandwiches he eats.” Robert joked, his face impassive save for the slight twist of his lips.

 

“Am I?” Herbert blinked, quickly accepting the glass of water the maid handed him without having to be asked. “Rob…I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. Does…does this mean we’re friends now?”

 

Robert merely ignored his partner, though the hint of a smile never left his lips. Alarice watched Eirian sympathetically. Certainly, it couldn’t have been easy to suddenly be thrown into this group. Especially not when they behaved as they did when alone – that is, so completely differently from how they behaved to the public eye. Unfortunately, Herbert seemed keen on increasing the discomfort.

 

“Miss. Lindval, I must say – your hair has grown out quite beautifully.”

 

Instantly, Robert’s and Eirian’s faces appeared to flush; a mirror reaction which amused the Princess considerably and caused both herself and Herbert to laugh softly for a second. “I…I really must apologize for Herbert, Miss. Lindval. I think we were both a little curious to see how your hair recovered from the incident.”

 

“I…incident?”

Alarice smiled as reassuringly as she could manage. “Ah…the induction process of the Academy involves regulatory haircuts?”

“Yes, Highness. It does. But…what…incident?”

 

She and Herbert glanced at Robert expectantly. His face was still a mask of serenity, albeit one with a few cracks visible to the trained eye.

 

“I had not expected to meet my cadets on that particular day, Miss. Lindval. I took note of your…stoicism during the regulation process and was impressed. I believe that is the incident to which her Highness and Mr. Dubhan refer.”

 

“Robert isn’t easily impressed.” Explained Herbert, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin and polishing off the water. When he was done, he strode back to the man in question and cocked his head in his direction. “So, suffice to say that his high regard of you means quite a bit to us.”

 

Us Alarice’s mind repeated, making her smile. Herbert had once told her that Prince Dwayne had shared his belief that, had they grown up together, she and Herbert would have been raised to treat each other as siblings. It wasn’t necessary. As soon as they had been reunited, they’d fallen into that pattern and remained that way ever since. It was nothing against Robert, though she knew it bothered him sometimes, but Herbert Dubhan was the only other keeper of her secrets inside the Palace walls. And the other one was…well…elsewhere.

 

Teatime was over sooner than she would have liked. Unlike most court ladies, Eirian had only seemed shy…not removed or cold or judgmental, particularly when it came to the way she acted around her guards. It was not usual, she knew, for noble ladies to speak to their guards. Let alone have them nicking sandwiches off their plates or throwing inside jokes back and forth. It was a closeness she was thankful for and one she hoped to extend to the young blonde woman.

 

“This has been lovely, Miss. Lindval.” She said, placing her napkin on the table and ascending. “But I’m afraid I have something to attend to. I shall look forward to continuing our acquaintance tomorrow.”

“Your schedule has nothing until your dinner meeting, Princess.” Robert interrupted, looking at her quizzically.

“I intend to visit Mr. Moreau, Robert.”

“Is that wise…Highness?”

 

Robert rarely questioned her actions. He almost never complained about the time she spent among her plants or books or about her occasional disregard for protocol. So it took her by surprise when he did…of course, she knew why.

 

“Given the state he was in last night? I think so.”

“The maids and nurses will look after him, Princess.” He continued to press, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“Like they looked after him last night?” Herbert snorted. “The boy was half dead with fever Robert. I had to let the nurse go, she said she didn’t think it was prudent to attend to the savage third realmer. Even though he saved her future sovereign’s life.”

“It is the duty of all citizens of Licia and Deamone and those who pledge fealty to the Princess to give up their lives for her if necessary.” Robert quipped, sounding like a manual on propriety.

“Robert…” Alarice finally interrupted. She’d stood quietly as he and Herbert argued but that last statement had done it. In a span of twenty-four hours, one man had died because of her (and her Uncle), another had almost died to protect her and two more had asserted they would have done the same. It left a bad taste in her mouth. “Can you deny that every injury, even bit of pain that Mr. Moreau is suffering was intended for myself?”

“No, Princess. I cannot. However…It is the honor of…”

“Yes. I know.” She mumbled irritably. “It is also the honor of the sovereign to observe noblesse oblige. He travels to Licia from the third realm to pledge his loyalty and the least I can do is insure he recovers smoothly from the injury he sustained while preserving my life. What kind of Queen will I make if I expect others to suffer for me and am not willing to go out of my way to ease that suffering as much as possible?”

“Princess…”

“I want to hear no more objections regarding my attending Mr. Moreau. I owe him a great debt and I intend to pay it off.” Her eyes softened and she walked up to Robert and patted his hand. “Don’t fret so, Rob. I promise I won’t do anything unseemly. Why don’t you see to it that Miss. Lindval recovers her weapon and returns safely home?” She turned her eyes to Eirian, who’d been put in the unfortunate situation of having to witness their first spat of the school year. “Excuse me, Miss Lindval. I hope you have a pleasant day.”

 

She held onto Herbert’s arm, who chuckled as they walked towards Francois’ room that she’d “sure told him.” Quietly, she inquired as to whether or not Herbert had seen to it that Francois and his attendant be provided with medicine and food. “They should be drawing his bath now.” He confirmed, knocking on the door on her behalf – though his trademark impatience made him open the door before a reply was made. Still smiling, she let go of her guard and slipped into the room to find the-savior-of-her life sitting up on the edge of the bed. Stretched before him was the arm that had become recently acquainted with quite a bit of poison, medicine and a fair share of needles.

 

“Mr. Moreau.” She said, trying suppressing what threatened to be a rapidly spreading flush across her cheeks. “Good afternoon. You seem much recovered. How wonderful. Do…do you mind if I take a look?” Focusing her eyes soley on the general area of his wound,

 

“Not at all.” He said, seemingly unaware of his state of (un)dress. Tentatively, she strode towards him and knelt down a little to be at eye level with the wound. From the looks of it, the new nurse (a male – Herbert had told her, less afraid of being ravaged than any female nurse) had seen to his task relatively well. The swelling and mottled color was considerably improved. She let her still-gloved hands run over the path she’d stung along his arm and shoulder and found that they had resulted in no hard nodules. “It’s healing very well.” She commented, breathing a small sigh of relief. It was a job well done she had to admit, especially given how long it’d been since she’d had to give emergency first aid.

 

“It’s a privilege and a pleasure to see you again, Your Highness.”

“You’re mistaken. The privilege is mine, Mr. Moreau.” She smiled up at him, releasing his arm and clasping her hands in front of herself.

 

There’d been something strange about the ripple of his muscles and the way they moved underneath her fingertips – but she said nothing. His attendant, still silent, stood in the room as well unnoticed until she’d risen. “I…have been meaning to ask. What is your…companion’s name? I’m afraid I have not had much success communicating with him. He has been most dutiful and I’d like to thank him for it.”

 

“His name is Edouard. I’m afraid he’s not much one for chatter…” He laughed, a sparkle in his eye that automatically made her want to laugh as well…though she settled for a smile “His knowledge is limited in regards to any of the more common tongues.”

“Then I must ask you to thank him for me.” Oh wait. “And…I don’t believe I’ve properly thanked you for saving my life.”

“Please…no thanks are necessary. You’ve shown more than enough kindness in the stead of one. And, regardless, it was not an action I would even need to think twice of repeating.”

 

She couldn’t stop the frown in time, she knew. That would be the third person today. She thought guiltily. “The necessity could be debated. Your deserving of any assistance I might provide could not be.” She murmured, a little more demure than before. “But I thank you nonetheless.” Herbert peeked into the room then, or rather, pretended not to do so as he casually opened a door for a maid. This one was clearly a Northerer, like Robert, with her thick brogue. Dipped into a deep curtsey she informed her Mr. Moreau’s bath was drawn and ready “…as well as one for his …companion…Highness.”

 

“Forgive me Mr. Moreau. I took the liberty of requesting it. It would be best if the wound was kept clean…” She explained, “If you and Mr…Edouard would follow Miss. Kent I’ve also ensured that a change of clothing be provided for you both.”

 

When the two men were gone, Herbert joined her. “I already asked for someone to come in with what you asked for: entertainment stuff, flowers, reading material, movies, snacks. Need help changing the sheets?” He knew her too well, sometimes.

 

“I think I can manage.” She smiled, completing the task faster than last night and having just folded off the discarded bedding when the rest of the things came in. She took care in arranging everything around the room. She’d opened one of the larger windows to let in fresh air and was neatly tying back the curtains when Francois Moreau returned, looking worlds better.

 

“Mr. Moreau, Mr. Edouard. I hope your bath was pleasant.” She felt herself breaking eye contact quickly and motioning to the changes. “I’ve taken more liberties, I’m afraid. I hope you will consent to stay until you’ve fully recovered and that the room is to your liking.” Straightening her shoulders determinedly she began to make for the exit. “I should…leave you to your rest, I think. Mr. Moreau. Unless there is anything else I can do for you?”

Francois found the night to have been good to him. A heavy weakness still leaded his legs and created a thick heaviness in his skull—a veil that served to separate Francois from the lingering fever that plagued him. It was nothing that he couldn’t handle. In fact, Francois could just imagine Fernand joking about hangovers that they have had which had been worse. That was, if Fernand had been at all in a jovial mood. Even when the brothers had been graced with privacy (not terribly hard, considering how thankful the majority of the staff was to avoid them), Fernand’s legs had been ailing him, so his mood had shifted expertly and eagerly into the stony-faced stoicism of Edouard. It didn’t make for very good conversation. Of course, there was no way that Francois could blame the man; he’d been in the costume before, and it hardly allowed for comfort.

As a result, Francois had taken to thought. It was much easier to think, now, despite the small bursts of soreness that would take him when he tried to move himself too ambitiously. Staring at his hands, flexing his finger, he questioned his own motives. He had been sure, the night before, that he had not been emotionally compromised when he had jumped in front of the poison dart…but now Francois wasn’t so sure that the excuse he had given Fernand hadn’t been anything but feeble. In truth, Francois wasn’t precisely sure…why. It was as if his body had moved of its own accord, reflexively. Part of him knew that Fernand had been right—he had been playing hero, but Francois didn’t want to admit that.

And Francois supposed it couldn’t be denied that this had turned into a remarkable opportunity. Why not take the credit? It would more likely keep them in their employer’s good grace—and the gods only knew that one didn’t want to fall out of Duncan Deamone’s favor. Besides, Francois thought, it doesn’t matter how I go about this. As long as the result is the same.

Deep in thought, the tan young man hardly heard the door open, his golden irises flicking upward only at the sound of the familiar voice. Immediately, Francois mirrored her trained smile, thanking his stars that he was coherent enough now to more easily control his thoughts and actions—and separate the two. It was with some satisfaction that he noted the abashed, yet subdued, way that she gazed upon him—more a girl than a Princess, but trying all the same not to blur those lines. Francois had to force himself not to chuckle. The girl-Princess and the boy-spy. How quaint.

The thought perplexed him as much as it amused him, but Francois did his best not to dwell on it as he calmly allowed Alarice to inspect his arm. They talked a little—nothing of much consequence. The progression of his health and his gentle flattery concerning the pleasure of seeing her again (and so soon), her official thanks toward his selfless actions and his courteous reply. But Francois had to admit…when he had proclaimed his willingness to take the assassination attempt in her stead, something in the Princess had seemed perturbed. Not that it was anything he could precisely place, and thus he filed it as inconsequential. After all, he doubted he’d be given any real reason to do so again in the near future. Her guards would be even more alert than before.

It was with thankfulness that surprised even himself that Francois hobbled off with Edouard to the bath that had been prepared for them. He shot one more smile over his shoulder at the Princess, after thanking her for her consideration, before disappearing after Ms. Kent. It wasn’t long before they were left alone to wash themselves—Francois found himself eternally grateful for the indifference (or outright aversion) of the staff. He certainly didn’t want some random women fussing over his bath—and he knew that as much as Fernand may have enjoyed it, he certainly couldn’t afford letting anyone see him out of disguise. Not that the fact stopped him from all but lounging in his own tub with an audible sigh, and inching his fingers underneath the wig and allowing his colorful locks—identical to Francois’—to come tumbling readily down his shoulders.

While Francois didn’t waste any time bathing, scrubbing himself thoroughly and efficiently and hardly taking the chance to savor the water, Fernand practically soaked, lazily content. Francois supposed that was easily enough for him to do—he wasn’t the one who had gotten poisoned, and who now had the increased pressure of having to remain in-character without the reprieve of disguise. But, despite his troubled thoughts, Francois could feel his muscles relax underneath the soothing waves of hot water.

Before too long, the duo was out and dressed—naturally, Fernand took longer to prepare himself, needing to dry his hair and re-implement his disguise. It was fortunate that the legs of the new pair of clothing that had been provided for him was long enough to cover the stilts of his modified boots. Francois had to concede that he felt better—levels better than he had all morning or all night. One didn’t realize exactly how grimy they were until they were clean again.

“Mr. Moreau, Mr. Edouard. I hope your bath was pleasant.”

The Princess greeted the two men the instant they had been escorted back to the room, and Francois’ smile was soft as they both silently expressed their thanks.

“I’ve taken more liberties, I’m afraid. I hope you will consent to stay until you’ve fully recovered and that the room is to your liking.”

As Francois followed Alarice’s eyes to observe the chances she pointed out to him, Edouard re-established himself to his position. His smile became a positive grin as he spotted a neat spread of movies resting on his bedside table. Taking the few steps that divided him from it, Francois ran his hand across them until they came to a stop upon one case—for no particular reason. He held it up just as she began to make for the exit. “I should…leave you to your rest, I think. Mr. Moreau. Unless there is anything else I can do for you?”

Francois held up the movie in response—The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Dramatic, but sweet. Nothing to overtly sentimental, and Francois wasn’t particularly a fan of comedy. “Stay and watch this with me? Movies are much more enjoyable with good company.”

The Princess seemed to hesitate for an instant, as if unsure whether or not she had the luxury of staying for a couple of hours, but then smiled, her eyes sweeping down to her dainty gloved hands before she answered in the affirmative. “Let me just inform my—”

She made a move to tell her dark-haired guard outside the door her wish to stay, but he nodded immediately. Efficient, Francois thought.

The Princess pulled a chair beside his bed as Francois sat himself back down upon it—his head thanking him for the reprieve from standing. Almost as soon as the movie began, large baskets of popcorn were swept into the room courtesy of the staff (naturally, Francois offered his thanks), and Alarice politely offered some to her guard, who took—Francois noticed—a large helping for himself. He made a mental note. Familiar, too.

Truth be told, Francois’ heart wasn’t really in the movie. He flashed a glance at Edouard, who returned it. Francois could feel the unspoken approval. Every chance to spend time with her only helped them. That said, he tried hard to pay attention—or at least appear to—but couldn’t help but watch as the fair young woman beside him silently pulled one thin glove from her hand and lay it upon her voluminous skirts. That was when Francois noticed a white kernel that had gotten lodged in her silken chocolate strands, and had to bite back a bemused chuckle.

“Pardon me, Princess,” he practically cooed, “but would you mind…holding quite still for just a moment?”

Gently, he reached forward and touched his fingertips to her hair, curling them around the stray kernel and sliding it down, her hair slipping through his fingers like water until only the popcorn sat in his hand. His eyes had remained locked with her glittering greens until the deed was done, and then he smiled, holding up the evidence. “One got lost.”

Her measured stare almost rattled him. “Mr. Moreau,” she breathed steadily, “Why did you jump in front of that assassin?”

It was a question…but it wasn’t. It was more than just a question. Francois had the feeling that his answer had the possibility to change their relationship as it was beginning to bud. He could feel several calculated responses spinning out through the gears of his mind.

And Francois decided to tell her the truth.

“Because I knew I could stop a girl from getting hurt when she hadn’t done a thing to warrant it.” He kept her gaze, but it softened indefinitely as he quietly admitted, “if I may be so bold…I would have done the same had you just been a stranger on the street, fealty or not. I can’t stand…permitting violence to go unchecked when I could easily do something to prevent it.”

Francois cleared his throat and broke his gaze away. He noticed his hands had drifted toward her own ungloved one as he had spoken, of their own accord, but brought them smoothly back to his sides before any damage could be done. “Forgive me,” he sighed, “I hope I hadn’t spoken too frankly.”

There was something heart fluttering about his smile though Alarice refused to acknowledge it as more than a passing moment of teenage-hormone induced bashfulness. Francois Moreau’s boyish, grinning and wholly inappropriate request almost made her forget her place…almost. It was true that her schedule was officially free of engagements, King Orion having decided that she should rest and recover after “the incident.” Thus far resting and recovering consisted of one early morning Kendo session, a quiet breakfast with the King, meeting, sparring and shocking Eirian Lindval, scolding Robert and playing hostess to Mr. Moreau and his guest. A movie sounded…nice. It brought a smile to her face and she agreed.

 

“Let me just inform my—” Herbert must have thought it was a good idea too because his normal attitude about her spending alone time (without him – rendering it less alone than she’d prefer) was replaced by one of gentle encouragement. Or at least as much gentle encouragement as Herbert could fit into a nod and the order of popcorn that joined them soon after she’d taken a seat. He’d only had a few of the tea sandwiches and was eyeing the popcorn with a look of well-disguised want. With a smile she offered it to him, popcorn would be difficult enough to consume with her gloves, and he took it with a friendly grin before returning to his post at the door.

 

Adopting the passive, gentle posture that was all but required to sit through endless court and council meets – she tried to watch the movie. Of course, mother daughter talks and a dying mother quickly made her eyes wander down to the popcorn sitting on her lap. After some thought she realized it would be all but impossible to eat with gloves – the flawless fabric would have absorbed the butter most uncomfortably. So, with mixed feelings of embarrassment (that Francois Moreau had seen her bare hands twice now – a sight which only Herbert and Robert had been allowed for years) and annoyance (that she should feel embarrassed about baring her HAND at all) she gently pried the short white glove from her left hand.

 

“Pardon me, Princess,” His surprisingly smooth voice murmured. “but would you mind…holding quite still for just a moment?” The “lost” piece of popcorn taken care of she felt her eyes unable to move away from his. There were floating specks of bright yellow, darker golds and hazels all forming a stunning contrast against the sharpness of his pupils. People had long told her that her eyes were beautiful, though the truth of it was that her eyes were transparent – like all Deamone Royals the depth, color and clarity of her eyes was determined by her mood, her strength and her energy at any given moment. But Francois Moreau’s eyes, sharp and piercing were to her altogether unsettling and stunning. So stunning, perhaps, that she couldn’t help what came out of her mouth next.

 

“Mr. Moreau, Why did you jump in front of that assassin?” It wasn’t something she’d intended to ask. Actually, it was something that she actively avoided thinking about. Her avoidance made her feel even worse when Francois Moreau’s answer relieved of a guilt she didn’t know she’d been holding in. His “Frank” and admirable response hit somewhere close to home, honesty, straightforwardness and an equal respect for all lives weren’t common in the Lician court. Suddenly, she had a whole new respect for the man beside her. And respect meant truth.

 

“There’s nothing to forgive Mr. Moreau. I would always prefer to hear a frank truth than a beautiful lie.”

 

Absently, the hand that had come to rest on his beside moved up to brush the previously popcorn adorned strand of hair back in place. On the journey she could have sworn she felt her hand skim his – though she pretended not to notice. The movie’s gentle buzz, Herbert and possibly Robert in the hall and the eyes of his assistant around them forgotten, she whispered softly…

 

“Herbert….Mr. Dubhan,” Her eyes flickered towards the shadow cast by the dark haired man “has been injured on my account more times than I care to remember. Though, I don’t think I will ever be able to forget any of them.” Her voice stayed steady and soft as she spoke, carefully measured so as to not let anyone but Francois hear her. “The father of my Lician head of guard Mr. Ward was injured at the Academy where young soldiers are trained to value my life and that of the King’s above their own. He too bears wounds I’d rather forget. Due to yesterday’s…incident…today his former cadet, a woman but a year older than myself declared that she would rather forfeit her own life than endanger mine. And her reward was to be granted a job that almost guarantees that one day it may come down to that possibility. Her former mentor, Mr. Ward then proceeded to lecture me on why it is “the duty of all citizens of Licia and Deamone and those who pledge fealty” like yourself, to sacrifice yourselves for me.”

 

There was a measured pause as she sighed heavily. These were words that she’d longed to speak…but to who? Certainly not Herbert who was just as willing to sacrifice his life for her as Robert, as Eirian and as they all believed others should be. Not the King, or courtiers, or the military men and women who had themselves gone through the Academy training. Of course, soon enough she realized just whom she WAS speaking the words too and she felt her face grow hot and red.

 

“I’m sorry.” She said, bringing a bright and placid smile to her lips. Alarice was thankful of all the hours spent training that she could call upon the calm face of politician when her emotions were so muddled in her head. “Now I have spoken out of turn.”

 

“You have nothing to apologize for…but I like to believe that the men and women who pledge their lives to a sovereign do so because they have hope in the ideals that the sovereign represents. With so many individuals pledging their fealty to you, Princess, you must inspire a remarkable amount of hope… At least, that’s what I see.”

 

Gently, without thinking she reached out and touched Francois’ arm. “You’re very eloquent Mr. Moreau. I shall have to do my best to live up to the ideals I represent, to deserve such loyalty from my people and kindness from yourself.” Her smile was easier now, more genuine. After another moment she replaced her hand on her lap with an additional “Thank you.”

 

Not wanting to keep the moment as serious as it had become she held up her popcorn in the general direction of Edouard. “Would you like some popcorn, Edouard?” She asked – though his staring and silent response (or lack of) let her guess he didn’t. “Perhaps later.” She mused with a soft smile, returning her attention to the film.

 

As the scene on the screen became more adult, it took all her willpower not to avert her eyes. Used as she might have been to Herbert and Robert’s naked torsos, there was currently one very near to her that she was not-so used to viewing. “Mr. Moreau. If you don’t mind I’d like to know more about you. I’m afraid that at the moment all I really know is that you’re a brave, eloquent young man who has pledged fealty to me and hails from…if I’m not mistaken….the…southwestern third realm bordering Deamone.”

 

“That is correct. You’re very observant…” His reply made her smile sadly, not always. The Princess found herself thinking as he went on with a chuckle.

 

“But I’m afraid that there isn’t much of interest to talk about where I’m concerned. I live with my mother and spend most of my days caring for her. She suffered from a severe spinal cord injury when I was young and has a hard time getting by on her own.”

 

“Is she well…with you here?” Alarice asked softly, feeling a pang of guilt at having the woman’s son here recovering from injury when he may very well have been safe and caring for her. “She prefers the solitude, so we downsized greatly after my father passed. But she agreed to take on a maid before I left.”

 

“And are you a fan of solitude, Mr. Moreau? Mr….Edouard seems a loyal companion.”

 

No one but Herbert ever seemed to smile as easily with her as Francois seemed to have taken to doing. It was a welcome change…most of the ways he was different were.

 

“I think everyone is a fan of solitude at times and I am certainly no exception. But I do enjoy having a companion or two.”

 

“And how did you two come into each other’s acquaintance?” It was a bit odd to speak about someone in the room with them – who could or would not speak for themselves. Granted, it was something she’d been subjected to often and she was more sensitive to it than most.

 

“I found him wounded in the jungle when we were both rather young. I couldn’t get much out of him, but I was able to make out enough that he had gotten attacked by some sort of animal, and it didn’t seem as if he had any family. I took him home and cared for his wounds, and he’s stayed with me ever since. I think he seems to believe he owes me his life.”

 

“You’ve quite a heroic streak Mr. Moreau. I’m thankful then, to know you and have your loyalty.”

 

Feeling like you owed someone your life was something she could understand…how many people was she indebted to now? Alarice wanted to be less inquisitive, really – but there was one more question floating around in her head that she wanted the answer to.

 

“And what are your plans for your stay in Licia?”

“I’ll be attending the Licia School at the start of the term.”

 

This took her by surprise. “Is that so? I do not believe you attended last year, when I started my studies there. Congratulations. It is a great honor to be invited to study there.” She could hear the tone of amusement in her own voice – the kind of thing that only those poor souls who had been subjected to Licia School’s unorthodox method could know. “It is…an interesting learning environment.”

The movie continued on for some time, the dancer’s lithe body reminding her a little too much of another elegant dancer. Every once in a while Francois Moreau would ask her questions, which she answered as honestly as public backstories and the thickly veiled language of the Lician Court allowed. At some point, she could hear Robert’s voice in the hall. Just before he stepped in and announced his belief that she should not remain “unsupervised” Alarice slipped her hand back into the glove. His sharp eyes stayed on the two and the conversation trickled off to little more than polite responses on her end. She’d given Robert a hard enough time earlier. Towards the tail end of the film, another visitor joined them…The King.

 

“My King.” She murmured demurely as she dipped into a low curtsy and rose in time to place a hand on Francois Moreau’s shoulder – even the King wouldn’t force an injured man to stand just to bow.

 

“Princess.” He replied, lowering his head and bowing in return. “I had hoped to seek your advice on the military review tomorrow, but I was told you were entertaining company.”

 

“Yes my King. May I present Francois Moreau and his companion – Edouard?”

 

Orion spared a polite smile for the bedridden third realmer, no such thing for his savage companion.

 

“Mr. Moreau. I hope the Princess has extended an invitation to stay until you have fully recovered. The Crown is in your debt.”

 

“Yes, your Majesty. She has.”

 

“Excellent.” The older man gazed about the scene they’d created, popcorn and a movie with a chair at the man’s bedside. She knew what he’d say before he said it – of course he would, it was the newest thing available to him to rattle her.

 

“Mr. Ward I think we can trust the Princess to behave appropriately with her guest. Join Mr. Dubhan at his post outside.”

 

“Majesty.” Replied Robert, who was still on his knee and would be until the King left.

 

“After all, now that she has taken on a handmaiden and agreed to be betrothed I doubt she would behave salaciously. Not…” He continued, eyes sparkling and smile precisely uplifted. “That our fair heir is capable of such a thing. Is that not right right Princess?”

 

If their smiles had been sword they would have been equally matched. “I’ve no intention to endanger the marriage agreement, My King. Shall I see you at supper?”

 

“Indeed Highness. I shall look forward to your thoughts on the matter of the review.” If he had not been gliding out of the room, Orion would have not appeared to have been leaving as he bid the room’s inhabitants a good day and left – his thunderous guard behind him. Daintily as she could when her blood had gone cold, for she had not yet bothered to tell Herbert or Robert the news (it had not seemed appropriate to do so given the circumstances of the past day), she settled herself down into the chair.

 

Unfortunately, Robert seemed to have forgotten his orders and stood there staring at her with the smallest of gapes. Herbert appeared at the door and gave her a pointed stare, which she replied to with an airy sigh. “Can I help you, Mr. Dubhan?”

 

“What the hell was that?” He said, dropping the formalities and appearing to forget that it was not just the three of them. “What was what Herbert?” Alarice replied, ignoring her gloves and popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth as she pretended to watch the movie. “Don’t play Princess with me you know damn well what I’m talking about.”

 

“Language Herbert.” She hummed, though whatever response he had cooked up was promptly interrupted. “That’s enough Herbert. Perhaps we can discuss this later.” Robert said, remembering himself and grabbing Herbert by the arm. “Princess, supper will be in an hour’s time and in the greater dining room. You will need time to dress more appropriately.”

 

“Movie’s almost over Mr. Ward, thank you.” She all but laughed as the two men retreated to what had almost certainly become a hall of confusion. “I’m sorry about that.” Alarice murmured to Francois. Just how many people was Herbert going to unsettle today?

The deposed Deamone prince reveled in the way Jacqueline Triean’s legs went tight around his waist as he groaned into her neck. She clearly took care to maintain her physique…he would have had much less use for her over the years if she hadn’t. Her supple, lean body felt good against his hardened one. It was even better when it was under him for the purposes of alleviating his frustration. His warm, soft lips trailed down her collarbone to the full, lushness of her breasts and finally the hardened buds of her nipples. With a wry grin he circled one with his tongue, the other caught and flicked back and forth between this thumb and forefinger. “It has been far too long, Madam Triean.”

“My Lord?” Called Milina’s voice from outside the heavy door that barred her entry into his bedchamber. “Master Rubin has arrived…”

Duncan rolled his eyes and pulled back. He grasped one of Jaqueline’s aforementioned legs and drew it lazily over his shoulder. As his hands ran down from her breasts, sides, hips, thighs and up her long legs her resounding moan brought a soft smile to his lips. “And far too short.” His eyes focused onto hers, he let his cheek slide back down until his mouth brushed against the crook of her thighs. “You can see yourself out I trust?” He murmured never once breaking eye contact even as his tongue slid further…and further down…

…

One quick shower, assisted by some lovely new maids from the south later and Duncan Deamone was walking through the servant’s quarters with his most loyal (male) assistant. The ignorable, black and grey clad background-people tended to drop into a bow or avert their eyes at the sight of their former leader. Now, he was given only as much respect as any elected Lord would have – it disgusted him that some thought that was all he deserved.

“Milina tells me the boy has not yet mastered any of his powers. That he’s a failure in matters of history, politics and protocol and that his most redeeming quality is that he tries hard.”

It wasn’t a question so much as a complaint. Not one for the boy’s tutor and future-guard, but for the boy himself. Thus far he had proven himself unworthy of bearing the Deamone name, the money that had been funneled into his education and preparation. For a blip of a second he found himself wishing that he could feel secure in bringing Helen out of the shadows…maybe then he’d have an heir worthy of succession. But no – he needed his precious trump card in case the boy proved an even greater failure than he already was. After all, as the older twin she had a greater claim. He had only presented the boy as the eldest to ensure a male succession. Suddenly, that seemed much less important that ensuring a competent and loyal puppet.

“He’s weak. And he will need to be guarded carefully lest he fall to the…influences of that place. You’ve gotten my notes on whom he is to avoid. The halfbreed bitch, the blood traitor guard, the headmistress are all to have as little contact with him as possible. And remember. You are to avoid the Arre woman, but take care not to agitate her. It would be more trouble than its worth.”

“Yes, My lord.”

“You’re a good man, Rubin. Better than most and that is why I’m trusting you with this duty. I would not part with you for anything less. I don’t enjoy being surrounded by imbeciles.” To prove his point he waved his hands around the room, sending nervous maids scurrying like roaches. They’d ended up in the receiving rooms – where large packages were inspected and sent through the palace to suit their various purposes. It was also just the place to serve his.

“But you’ll be needing some brute strength. Perhaps more brute than strength. You’re well trained and you could handle a muscle man on your own…of that there is no doubt. But it is far more difficult to watch over someone else and yourself than it is only yourself. We need someone dumb and strong that can be manipulated easily. A pliable fool…”

“I need carry more…da?” Asked a large, mountain of a man as he jumped out of the back of a delivery truck with what appeared to be seven sides of beef balanced on two wide shoulders.

Duncan didn’t have to say a word. “I’ll have him checked, my Lord. If he’s suitable he will be briefed and prepared by tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll hold you to that Rubin. Now if you’ll excuse me…” Duncan’s lip curled in disgust. “I’ve a son to see.”

…

He appeared to be struggling through a lesson with Milina on the history of past Deamone rulers. While the names came easily enough – he didn’t appear to realize that each had their own political leanings that lessons that could be learnt from them.

“Nevermind the damn dead Kings.” Duncan declared, pasting a gentle smile on his face. The boy cared for these ridiculous displays of affections. Small touches and smiles that made him feel loved. Whatever it took…Duncan’s inner voice snorted as he strode over to clasp his son’s shoulder.

“How are you, Prince Hayden…son? I hear you’ve made some wonderful progress! Soon you will be in Licia school making Deamone proud. I could not be a happier father to a more worthy son.”

The glistening look of admiration and love almost made Duncan gag. …Whatever it takes….He reminded himself.

Francois found he actually had to force himself not to scowl when King Orion entered the room—clearly for the sole purpose of rubbing the Princess’ betrothal in his face. Well, that might not have been the sole purpose, but it disappointed Francois enough to believe it. He kept his face, of course, being respectful and polite as it was expected of him in the presence of the King—and found it even more difficult to remain complacent at the reaction her guards (most specifically the dark-haired guard) had to the unexpected announcement. It wasn’t the language or concern in which the response was formed, but rather the closeness that it represented. Naturally, Francois had already noticed that the two must have had some sort of bond, but…

This will require some further research. Close was one thing, but the manner in which he responded to her betrothal was something all-together unexpected. Especially considering it wasn’t exactly uncommon for arranged marriages within the royal courts. In fact, it was basically standard. Granted, the young man didn’t know exactly how understanding the full extent of this relationship was going to help the mission, but it never hurt to know too much—not when you knew how to hide that you knew it.

After the movie ended and, he bid good evening to the Princess, and he could rest assured that no more maids were going to skitter in and out, Francois brought his fingers to his temples and laid back against his pillow. “And the day was going so well,” he groaned. Fernand looked as if he was about to break something, his darkened face scowling in frustration.

“Betrothed,” he grumbled, “Just what we need: a rival.”

“Not betrothed,” Francois sighed, “agreed to become betrothed.”

“What does it matter? There are going to be who-knows-how-many suitors you’ll have to beat in order to keep her in your favor.”

Francois nearly rolled his eyes as he propped himself back up on his good elbow. “This is an unwelcomed complication, yes…but it could still be an advantage, yet.”

This time, it was Fernand who rolled his eyes. “You can’t truly be so absolutely confident in your charm as to think that you can so easily out-woo countless men you don’t even know.”

“No,” Francois grinned, “But my charm doesn’t hurt. I’m merely suggesting that I have the upper hand on time alone. You saw the way she spoke to me today. And besides…how better to stand out in a crowd of suitors than to be more interested in friendship than marriage?”

***

The morning began as uneventful as they had all seemed to begin at the Licia Palace. There was a new maid—a brunette who smiled at them and didn’t seem quite so ruffled by the color of their skin and third-realm origin. It was a welcome change, at least, but one of little consequence overall. The two were left alone to eat and clean themselves up, and it was at that time that Francois sauntered over to the room’s window, brushing the last tangles out of his hair as his eyes caught a sight that made him grin.

“I think now would be an excellent time for a walk—don’t you, Edouard? To stretch out my legs, certainly.”

His disguised brother spared a glance as well, his eyes lighting up in understanding, and the two were soon on their way out the hall, Edouard following closely behind him. Francois had to admit that it did feel nice to walk freely again; his legs felt stiff from lack of use, and although he was sure he would get tired fairly quickly, Francois had a feeling that the fresh air would do his body good. And it felt as if they had been walking for hours by the time they navigated their way to the sight he had beheld—Francois remembered the gracious noisy King commenting on the day’s military review. Naturally, Francois wouldn’t interrupt the tedious affair of what seemed to be mostly walking and talking—on horseback, the Princess surrounded by her guards (as well as a new, female guard who looked as if she was trying to appear about as stoic as she was uncomfortable on her horse). But a chance run-in on his stroll could be easy to explain, as well as idle curiosity to justify observing the latter part of the military review.

By the time he was in eyesight of the Princess (but most certainly out of the way), she had almost reached the end of the line of military personnel that had been organized for review. He noticed that she stopped to dismount and approach what may have probably been considered an abnormal and unnecessary amount of individuals…but yet Francois found himself smiling at the display. She was nothing of not considerate, wasn’t she? And here I thought I was something special, he thought with silent mirth.

Now, Francois supposed that all he’d have to do was wait for the men to disperse—which didn’t look like it would be all too long—before he had the opportunity to spend a nice, casual stroll with the object of his intrigue. The weather was almost as fair as she was, after all. It was an invitation that seemed innocent enough.