Robert strode through the halls of Licia Palace, half flushed with anger and embarrassment and half thrilled that the causes of the above were over. He tried not to dwell too much on what might be running through Eirian Lindval’s mind upon having met the Princess, Herbert and seen him in their company. He had to admit – they’d…affected his behavior more than he would have originally cared for. Despite himself, he’d felt the need to quietly assure Eirian Lindval that one did indeed “become accustomed” to Herbert Dubhan; to his manner of speaking, his lack of formality and his abundant familiarity with the Princess.

 

“I can assure you, that although Mr. Dubhan is…fond of breaking protocol, he is a most capable Guard and partner.” Robert said, while rubbing his temples all the same. “He and the Princess share a particular confidence in each other. Mr. Dubhan was raised by the late Princes Dwayne and I believe it comforts her…to have someone with memories of him nearby.”

 

It wasn’t until he arrived outside of Francois Moreau’s room that Robert began to question that notion. “Popcorn?” Offered the Deamone man, in an apparent apologetic gesture. It might have worked if it wasn’t for the fact that it meant their ward was currently alone in the presence of two unknown and potentially dangerous men.

 

“Are you out of your mind, leaving her alone with them?”

“I thought we settled this yesterday. I’m right here and I sincerely doubt they’d be dumb enough to try anything now, if they meant to do so in the first place that is.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Robert replied with a scoff and proceeded to enter the room. The Princess sat in a chair at the third-realmer’s bedside, movie images flickering on a screen and the man’s quiet attendant in a corner.

 

“Princess.” He said, bowing severely and taking a stand by her side. “Given the recent events, I believe leaving you unsupervised would be…unwise.” He whispered into her ear. With a nod she indicated her approval. The entire episode promised to end quietly until the King came in and informed, indirectly, Robert and Herbert of the Princess’ marriage arrangements. Even when King Orion was gone Robert stood and gaped at the young woman in the chair. Even he was privy to her feelings regarding arranged marriages. While they were standard fare among the upper echelons of Lician society, he knew that as a Deamone Princess she retained the right to choose her own husband at any time. Until now, he’d known her to be more agreeable to that tradition than the prospect of a loveless match. Pride and sadness radiated from his heart towards the young girl before him, but it all immediately took a backseat to Herbert’s apparent outrage.

 

Obeying both the King’s order and saving his Princess what would have undoubtedly been an uncomfortable conversation, Robert gripped Herbert’s arm and walked him out of the room. Herbert fumed in silence and didn’t even offer Alarice his arm when she finally walked out to join them.

 

“How much longer until supper?” She asked softly, looking about as admonished as Robert could expect her to while keeping face.

 

“Why don’t you ask your fiancé?” Retorted Herbert before Robert could answer.

 

“Really, Herb?” She whispered back harshly, before turning to smile at a passing Quinn.

 

“Thank you for volunteering Quinn. I’m sure Mr. Moreau and his assistant will be much more comfortable with you to attend to them.”

 

“You’re having her wait on them too?” Grumbled Herbert once the brunette was out of sight, his arms crossed childishly before himself. “First you’re getting married and now you’re taking away my morning coffee! Anything else? Is Miss. Lindval getting my vacation days because who needs those?!”

 

“Oh for the realms! Put a cork in it Herbert.” Robert snapped, turning them away from the Princess’ room and towards the King’s selected dining room instead. If she changed he’d have to bear his nonsense while she dressed. Alarice seemed to have no protest to this, choosing to chatter softly about Eirian being lovely and pleasant and asking him questions about her. The subject was a pleasant change of pace and Robert was smiling most amiably when they joined the King for dinner. Of course – it wasn’t an entirely pleasant dinner.

 

“I was not informed of the Princess’ engagement.” Herbert stated outright, as soon as he, the King, the Princess and Robert were alone.

“I’m not engaged Herbert.” Alarice murmured serenely, placing a napkin delicately onto her lap.

“The Princess has agreed to consider a list of suitable candidates. To be put together by the Council and Court respectively. I did not think your consultation was required, Mr. Dubhan. She has only agreed to become engaged to one of them and of course…she retains her rights by Deamone law to reject the list outright. Though, of course the committee on the matter will seek to gather men suitable to the task in all ways: appearance, breeding, intellect, political benefit…”

“I represent the interests of the late Prince in all things regarding the Princess – King Orion. That was the agreement and the role the Deamone Council entrusted to me. I should have been informed of this before it took place.”

 

A flicker of what could have been anger or annoyance flashed through the King’s eyes only to be replaced by an amiable smile.

 

“Of course Mr. Dubhan. Forgive the oversight. I’ll have the list of candidates forwarded to you. Satisfied?”

 

Although Herbert nodded to the affirmative, Robert had the feeling this was something he’d be hearing about later. It wasn’t something he looked forward to with any degree of delight.

“I’ve decided to walk after the first run-through.” Alarice called out through the door when her ladies had finished lacing, stuffing and tying her into her underthings and skirt. All that was left was the jacket – which she’d assured them she could manage herself.

 

It’d been a dividing suggestion. The King seemed to halfheartedly approve of her idea though he “would never partake in such a spectacle.” Robert too seemed pleased and proud of her. Herbert had been the only one to voice his opposition, suggesting that while the idea was good – it might have been too soon after the assassination attempt. In short, grumbly tones Herbert re-voiced his concerns when she stepped out the door; buttoning her jacket.

 

“If Duncan Deamone meant to frighten me, acting as if I was not might be the thing to do.”

“Or it could be exactly what he wants.” Herbert snorted, still recovering from his perceived slight.

“Lord Deamone would be a fool to attempt something now, in the middle of a military review.” Robert said, glancing anxiously at the door.

 

The two men were dressed more formally than normal: each wearing a jacket of white and black respectively, though equally emblazoned with medallions, cords and ribbons. Alarice too had been required to take copious amounts of time getting ready. Her dark hair had been hand-dried and scented lightly with jasmine oils then styled into long, thick waves and pinned half up with the rest cascading down her back. Eschewing tradition, she’d forgone a tiara.

 

“I think they’ll know who I am without it, Rob.” She said with a grin as he pointed out the absence of the accessory.

 

Her skirt had no hoop as it wouldn’t have allowed her to mount a horse if it did but it made up for it with a thick chiffon crinoline under the bleached white overskirt. The fitted, blue and white striped riding jacket had silver buttons in two rows down the front and hanging, scalloped collars. Another layer of sheer white chiffon guarded her modesty, wrapped around her shoulders and tucked into the front of her jacket. She was just struggling in in buttoning the cufflinks when Herbert stepped up muttering something about how hopeless she was. He was in the middle of tying the ribbon around her neck into a loose bow when Eirian Lindval walked in.

 

“Miss. Lindval!” Alarice exclaimed with a smile.

 

“Hold still!” Herbert cawed, pulling her back from her attempted stride towards Eirian and straightening her jacket, shawl and slipping short white gloves onto her hands. “Good to go.” He muttered after a second, giving her a shove towards her new handmaiden. “Hello Miss. Lindval.” Herbert said absently before glancing at his reflection in the mirror and adjusting his hair.

 

“I’m terribly sorry for the short notice. It absolutely skipped my mind to tell you about the military review. I hope Robert’s notes were thorough.”

“They were, your highness.”

“Have you ever ridden in court dress?” She asked more quietly with a smile as Robert and Herbert fine-tuned each other’s medals. “I only plan on riding the first run and then I will be walking for the rest of the review. Hopefully it won’t be too uncomfortable for you.”

 

Unfortunately, their conversation was cut short by the arrival of a golden armored guard who informed them that their horses were ready. Robert led the way while Herbert walked behind and Alarice walked on Eirian Lindval’s arm. Admittedly, she was a bit too nervous to continue with the small talk. All she could do was tell Eirian that she would be staying in her rooms until they left for school, at which point the Headmistress would be consulted on the matter of her living situation.

 

Horses were the most common mode of transportation on the outskirts. Stables rented them by the night and more than once shed borrowed one to ride around with Malek. It’d been to her benefit, allowing her to easily adjust to her riding lessons in Licia. Not that she’d had to ride side-saddle then, she thought ruefully as Herbert lifted her onto her horse as if she were light as a feather. With a conspiratorial grin he glanced in the direction of Robert; he was gingerly helping Eirian onto her own horse.

 

Soon enough the King had joined them and the group rode behind him as he rode in slow, steady paces through row after row of military member. Every once in a while his horse would make a stop to greet older generals and retired military. Each soldier stood straight and face forward – unblinking in their seriousness. They had gone through ranks once when they reached a podium. There they stood and watched as each regiment moved in formation: practicing drills and exercises until it was time to be addressed by their King. Orion’s speech was predictable: thanking them for their service, hoping for their continued loyalty and espousing the values of Licia. Each soldier saluted them and they prepared for the second run-through.

 

Rather than re-mount her horse, Alarice walked and shook hands with all of the regiment leaders. It severely lengthened the review but it felt much less contrived than merely riding past them with a gentile smile and a wave. Even the leaders of cadet squadrons caught her attention – the grim looks of the eleven year olds giving her a thoughtful pause though she tried not to let it trouble her too much. Finally a dismissal was called and she spotted a spot of purple in the sea of silver, white, blue and gold.

 

“Mr. Moreau.” She said, on Eirian Lindval’s arm once more as she walked up to him with what might have been too much urgency. “Please don’t bow…” She stammered, reaching out to steady him with one hand when he moved to do so. “I’m…glad to see you’re well enough to walk today. Ah…May I introduce Miss. Eirian Lindval? She is my new handmaiden and companion.”

 

Alarice hoped, briefly that she would be able to befriend the severe looking blonde girl. They would have to speak alone soon in order to get to know each other better. Robert liked her well enough and that was all the endorsement the Princess needed. But here, out in the thrumming mass of courtiers was not the place to build confidences with her new guard.

 

Francois’ offer of joining him for a walk immediately brought her back to the present moment. Not only did she enjoy his company, but it was an excellent opportunity to avoid the King for a little bit. “Id love to… I was actually planning on visiting the menagerie. I’ve heard rumors that there may be an elephant in one of the pens.”

“Well technically it’s Edouard’s elephant…” Francois said, his white teeth gleaming in a smile as he offered and she took his arm. “She followed him home when he came to stay with us and we never saw a reason to turn her away.”

 

Behind them, Alarice thought she heard a laugh and the clinking of coins. “Saving lives and adopting elephants, Mr. Moreau? Any other uniquely heroic skills?”

 

“Not that I’m aware of–but stop me if you catch me in the act of saving someone from a burning building. I’ll be sure to write it down.” Francois Moreau had quickly proved to be a lively conversationalist and his offhand comment elicited a laugh despite herself. “I’ll be sure to do that, Mr. Moreau.” She said just in time to hear the derisive, if hushed, tone of a court lady.

 

“Quel charmant.” The woman whispered (though not so softly so that they could not hear) to a companion as the two walked past. “Le sauvage belle avec le sauvage héroïque.”

 

Alarice would have been happy to ignore the comments, but Herbert seemed less inclined to do so. Calmly, she turned and shook her head. “Don’t pay them any mind Herbert. I highly doubt your guns or words will change their feelings. People are usually only convinced by action.”

 

“If that.” He sighed, smiling and then returning to his position. Still holding onto Francois Moreau’s arm, she then turned to him.

 

“Please forgive the offense, Mr. Moreau. You have done nothing to deserve the insult and I can assure you not everyone is that way here at court. …Just…” She paused, glancing at a large group of courtiers who’d stopped to gawk at Edouard (before quickly bowing in embarrassment and scurrying away.) “A…majority.”

 

Their trip to the menagerie took about fifteen minutes- a short walk for the Lician palace. Just as she’d been about to suggest they take a break, Mr. Moreau seemed tired, a male nobleman paused and bowed before approaching her.

 

“Highness.” He said, clasping her hand and bringing it to his lips. “A charming display at the review. I’m certain you’ve given the cadets some much needed inspiration.”

 

His name was First Lieutenant Chand and he was on the now-infamous shortlist. For a while – it had been between him and Robert as her potential guards. But Chand’s higher family standing resulted in him being promoted to a rank of more importance, while Robert’s loyalty had suited the position more perfectly. Still on Francois’ arm she tried to end the awkward and thoroughly stiff conversation as soon as possible. “It was not intended as a display, Lt. Chand – and it is very much them who inspire me. Not the other way around.”

 

Chand’s smile was easy going and he ducked his head bashfully. “Of course Princess.”

 

“Mr. Moreau and I are on our way to the Menagerie. Please excuse us.” The golden-haired nobleman bowed once more, nodding politely to Francois before letting them pass. Finally they reached their destination, where a small group of elaborately dressed children were gawking at the spectacle that was Edouard’s elephant. A large pile of leafy green plants, vegetables and fruit were before her in a silver trough. She appeared to be munching and posing for the crowd at the same time. Alarice breezed past the children and asked to be let into the pen along with the rest of her group. The large enclosure was easily one of the largest, roofless and containing a small pond in one corner. She had to bite her lower lip to keep from laughing in amazement.

 

“Truly Mr. Moreau, she’s stunning. …May I approach her?” Alarice asked, wondering just how long it would take Robert to decide that the obviously docile elephant constituted a security risk. When he gave his approval it was all she could do not to run up to the magnificent creature. With a gleeful laugh she shook “Reena”‘s offered trunk. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss. Reena. My you are beautiful.” She cooed, running a hand up and down the surprisingly velvety skin. “Such a lady too!” She continued, doting on the creature as it blinked its long eyelashes at her while Francois mentioned something about her vanity. “Well of course she likes to be complimented. Magnificent women always do I’m told.” Alarice smiled and then laughed when the elephant trumpeted loudly and nuzzled its trunk against her cheek.

Francois couldn’t prevent the grin from spreading wide and pleasantly across his face as the Princess began to walk toward him. He knew she’d see him—and that she’d come. So far, so good. He made a movement to bow (slightly awkward in lieu of his injuries, both past and present) as she approached, but almost eagerly a hand reached out to right him before he could complete the action. His eyes locked with her for a second as she asked him not to bow, but Francois quickly averted them casually. “Of course,” he answered. “It was such a beautiful day, I couldn’t resist going out for a stretch.”

His golden eyes drifted toward his gracious lady’s companion. She was a pretty young woman, but hardly captured his attention—she was rather ordinary, for a Lician: blonde haired, blue eyed, and obviously severe without even needing to say a word. While he had nothing against them in general, Francois found his tastes were much more suited toward…the unique. Regardless, he smiled at her in turn. “Charmed, Ms. Lindval.”

Folding his arms carefully behind him, Francois moved his gaze quickly around them, taking in the beautiful scenery which surrounded them. What else could one expect, from a palace? Although, he had to admit, he was partial to the cuts and colors of the Deamone palace. “Would you care to join me? It would be quite a waste not to enjoy the weather while it’s this clear.”

To his delight, she accepted, and soon they were heading toward the menagerie. Evidently, some birds had been whispering about Reena. It was only too perfect that the object of his interest, herself, would have wanted to sneak a peek. But as he knew, I can do better than a glance.

On the way there, he explained lightheartedly the (somewhat untruthful but very frequently recited) manner in which the elephant came to be under his care—noticing the subtle but all very present reactions by the guards and Alarice herself in regards to the knowledge that he, the “exotic aristocrat” had come to Licia on the back of an elephant. How shocking. The quiet murmurings underneath the cheerful tones of banter were easy enough to ignore, however. It was blatant insult from a pair of passing court ladies that Francois could not so easily tune out.

And yet, even as his mouth formed into a tight line, he couldn’t help but bitterly admit that it was almost an apt comparison. Almost. More than anything, the young man found himself reflecting on the bad taste it left him to have to hear his primary language directed in such harsh words against him. Like being cut with your own knife. Nonetheless, he managed to force the pleasantness back to his face as he assured his lovely companion that no offense had been taken. “I know which sort of remarks are and aren’t worth the effort to listen to.”

Once they had reached the menagerie, having had the pleasure of meeting Lt. Chand, Francois found that he would have preferred the gawking bimbos. But he supposed there was some form of blessing in having such an early run-in with a potential suitor (and rival), however small and annoying it may have been. I have a name and a face; it’s all I need to find out whether this man is even a threat. Needless to say, Francois was glad to be rid of the Lician—and once that unnecessary character was out of the way, there was nothing stopping him from actually enjoying the walk. And hey, why shouldn’t he enjoy himself on the job?

Following the Princess (although a tad less enthusiastically) to the extravagant pen where Reena was being kept, carefully sidestepping the curious children, Francois leaned against a beam. “Feel free. Reena is exceptionally docile—and she loves to be flattered,” he explained casually as he watched the manner in which the elephant and the girl became acquainted with one another. “Keep going on in such a fashion and she’ll be absolutely enamored of you in mere minutes.”

As Reena trumpeted and brought her trunk up to Alarice’s cheek as if in a mock kiss, Francois found himself joining in on her laughter. “Would you like to ride her?” Giving a short pause, he added, “she probably hasn’t gotten much exercise, if any, for the past couple of days.” As he expected, the brunette smiled widely enough to count as an affirmation, but before she could get a word in her (male) Lician guard cleared his throat, sputtering uncomfortably—but as thoroughly as he could muster—about the importance of following protocol. While they all shared an incredulous glance at the man, and began to discuss the legitimacy—or even possible existence—of protocol in regards to elephants, Francois turned his attention back to the Princess, who smiled again (albeit more sheepishly).

“I would love to,” she said quietly, and Francois stepped into the pen. It was a simple matter, making Reena bow. The years she had spent with the twins—and more predominantly, Bellamy—had trained her to specific touches, sounds, and their meanings. A touch to the soft dip behind her ear and she stooped complacently to one knee. Given her size, the task appeared fairly laborious, but the elephant appeared otherwise comfortable. Francois offered his hand to help as Alarice climbed carefully onto the wide, textured back. The way she grinned unabashed atop the steed was nothing less than simply breathtaking. Reena’s trunk curled around his arm. When she gave a small cry, Francois looked in her eyes; he could tell that she was reading him like a book.

Yes, I know, he thought, I think that she’s an exceptional young woman, as well—but don’t you look at me as if you think I’m an amateur. I thought you knew me better than that.

Untangling himself gently, Francois climbed up behind the Princess—nimbly despite his still-sore arm due to the familiarity of the act. He noticed the manner in which Alarice’s female companion looked uncertain about what she was expected to do in this situation, but didn’t move to stop him and that was good enough. “I hope you don’t mind the proximity,” the young man apologized smoothly from behind her once he had settled, “but I wouldn’t want you to slide off on your very first elephant ride.”

Once the guards seemed to get on the same page, Francois gently spurred Reena into action. He steadied the Princess when she threatened to slide off due to the heavy manner in which the elephant righted herself. Her skirts positively fanned themselves unnaturally; clearly it was not proper attire for such a venture, but there wasn’t much they could do about it in any case. But once that had been tackled, the steps became easier. Less jumpy than a horse, but easier to get queasy—both due to the height and the manner in which the cumbersome steps Reena took would cause the riders to rock gently from side to side. For Francois, it felt peaceful, almost soothing. Of course, he couldn’t guarantee how the uneven steps would affect the Princess.

More than once as they strode slowly about the yard, flanked by all four guards, it seemed as if the royal was going to tip over, but Francois was always quick to steady her with a smile. “Easy…” he’d whisper, somewhere close to her ear. Sometimes he’d give a light laugh. “You’re doing great.”

Elephant Protocol? Alarice found herself wondering in a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. If there was such a thing in the (literal) rule book it would undoubtedly be a small, rarely invoked passage that even Robert Ward would not be able to remember. Then again, there were rules for the colors of gloves and the length of hair so why not the riding of elephants? Whatever the case, the longer she let her three guards think about the matter the lower her chances of actually RIDING the stunning creature.

 

So, with a subtle and lowly-toned affirmation she found herself clasping gently onto Francois Moreau’s hand and then several feet taller. The disorientating sudden-tallness and the fact that her riding skirt’s split only partially accommodated the volume of the fabric and caused it to rise up comically brought an almost-painful grin to her face. It only faded a little when Francois’ “proximity” was brought to her attention. Should it have bothered her? Perhaps a little – even she was not immune to the fluttering heartbeats and flushes of red in the cheeks of a girl settled neatly between a handsome young man’s hips. Then again, Francois Moreau had been nothing short of courteous and polite and he was aware of her “engagement situation.”

 

“Not at all.” She smiled back politely, trying to suspend her laughter at the subsequent sliding that her unfortunately mandated wardrobe brought on. “One should always try to avoid sliding off until one’s fourth or fifth elephant ride, at least according to protocol.” Alarice added, cheeks reddened at the effort it took not to join Herbert in laughing at Robert (who had a perplexed look on his face that was followed by an out-loud wondering of what page in the Protocol book that rule was on.) Though she might have ordinarily been more concerned about the potential to fall from such a height, Francois reassuring grip kept her feeling safe…and paradoxically a little unnerved. While he seemed completely at-ease on his ride she couldn’t hide the giddy feelings she was experiencing.

 

“She’s so graceful.” She all but cooed, rubbing her hand gently along the elephant’s back in an admiring gesture. When the creature seemed to acknowledge and be pleased by this the young royal went on. “And so beautiful! Such a …” Occasionally, her compliments to the “lovely girl” were interrupted by her body shifting from side to side. But she took it all in good humor, laughing appreciatively along with Francois when it happened. “I am undoubtedly the most experienced elephant rider among the Royal family, thanks to you Mr. Moreau. Perhaps the King will agree to take lessons so as to not fall behind.” The thought of Orion, legs split as he sat astride Reena with a goofy grin on his face only made her laugh more. In a nervous gesture she resorted to hiding her laughing face behind her hands, forcing Francois Moreau’s hands tighter and higher up on her waist.

 

Thankfully (perhaps), this was the time Reena chose to cease her walk and as a result the time that Francois dismounted the exotic creature. Her smile had returned to its pleasant and neutral home when he offered his hand up to her; allowing her to maintain a sense of composure as she took it and jumped off as gracefully as she could. Alarice landed face to face to, in fact almost touching, Francois Moreau. Glancing bashfully down, she offered him a smile and a squeeze of his hand just before she felt Herbert’s own on her shoulder.

 

“The King is going to be here shortly.” He said, his tone even despite the obvious warning he was providing her. Threat to the “short-list” or not, it would not be to Francois Moreau’s benefit for the King to see how fond she’d grown of him in so short a time. King Orion had claimed that he was neutral about her decision, that the committee had ensured all candidates would be equally beneficial to both Licia and Deamone. But she didn’t buy it and she suspected neither would Herbert. Briefly, she allowed herself to consider Francois Moreau. Though she knew nothing about his wealth or prospects – he was obviously of Deamone heritage but removed enough to live in the Third Realm. “Connected enough to one of the realms to be agreeable to them. But, not so much that the other could not grow a bond with them as well. An ideal position, really.” The King had said, about a similar young man whose name escaped her completely. The thought, though it happened in a matter of milliseconds, made her blush and grasp compulsively onto Herbert’s arm. He was her go-to, always, when she needed to feel grounded.

 

“Perhaps we should leave Miss. Reena to rest.” She remarked, after a pause and a short breath. So it was that the four of them were standing outside the pen a minute later when the stomp-stomp-stomp of the King’s guard reached their ears. At the mere sight of the golden-haired man the entirety of the courtiers and servants sank into demure bows. Alarice hesitated uncertainly for a second…waiting until Edouard assisted Francois’ bow and assuring herself he was secure before dipping into a respectful curtsey herself. The word “Majesty” rippled across the sea of people and ended on her own lips. His lineless face appeared pleasant and easy, she could only guess if the inside matched the outside.

 

“Princess.” He responded, thoroughly ignoring the rest of the people around him. “And Mr. Moreau. Good to see you’re feeling better. Is this extraordinary creature yours, by any chance?” The maliciousness that Herbert and Robert’s gentle joking had lacked was not absent in the voice of the King.

 

“The King enjoys zoological pursuits in his spare time.” She explained softly as King Orion observed Reena from the relatively safety of the outside of her enclosure. In between jotting down notes in a leather-bound journal, he addressed them once more. “The Princess is quite strapped for time, in light of preparations for her return to Licia school. As I’m sure you can understand Mr. Moreau.” Whereas Alarice had felt no need to learn more about Francois Moreau than he’d volunteered to her, the King apparently shared no such feelings. “But we always try to spend some private time together. We will be sharing a private dinner tomorrow…would you care to join us? …You don’t mind, my dear do you?”

 

“Whatever pleases you pleases me, my King.” She replied automatically, though her gut twisted at the idea of an interrogation over dinner. When Francois politely agreed she wasn’t sure whether to feel delight (at the chance to spend more time with him) or sheer terror (at the King getting the same.) She settled for giving them both a reason to leave.

 

“My King, as you’ve said – I have many preparations to make before I depart for school. And…” Trying to communicate to Francois a need for immediate escape, she shot him a quick look of warning behind the King’s back. “Mr. Moreau looks unwell. Perhaps this excursion warrants some rest on your part?”

 

“I do admit, I am feeling…rather fatigued. Perhaps I was a tad ambitious…”

 

His ready agreement let her relax, if only a little. It wasn’t until the King (without ever once turning to face them) dismissed them merrily that she stopped holding her breath.

 

“Make sure that Mr. Moreau and the Princess make it safely to their own room, James.” Orion added on, speaking to one of his armored guards who gave a quick nod and then extended his arm along the path back to the palace. “Princess, Mr. Moreau?” He said, effectively splitting the group into Francois and Edouard and herself, Robert, Herbert and Eirian as they walked. The return to the rooms was silent and the last words she was able to speak to Francois before he retired to his room were “Thank you for today, Mr. Moreau. I hope you rest well.”

 

Having said goodbye to him, “James” then further escorted her back to her own room and left with a stoic bow. Alone with her three guards, a jumble of feelings and the realization that she hadn’t eaten all day she turned to Herbert. As usual, no words were needed.

 

“I’ll get Qui…well…I’ll get someone to get started on dinner. Come on Rob, we may as well give the girls some time to get to know each other. Besides, I bet if we look really hard we can find the Elephant Protocol…” With an imaginary tip of his hat (and a wink) at both women, Herbert escorted Robert out of the living room quarters and left them alone. Thoroughly exhausted, Alarice took a seat on one of the lushly upholstered, chaises in the room. Feeling a bit like a child about to be scolded, so confounded were the depths of Eirian’s eyes, Alarice invited the young woman to sit down as well.

 

“This must all be very…disorienting…Miss. Lindval.” She chuckled softly, “I don’t imagine Herbe…Mr. Dubhan’s making it easier for you. I think he means to be…friendly but ….he has very wide boundaries.”

 

Male laughter could be heard from one of the other rooms, words like “joking” and “ridiculous” jumbled with “elephant” to form a vague explanation of the conversation being had between them. “He and Mr. Ward had some initial difficulties but as you can see they’ve become quite close and I’d like for all of us to be friends.”

 

“Dinner is ready your highness.” A petite, short-haired maid called from the doorway. Rising, Alarice waited for Eirian to stand before walking with her to the dining room. Although four places were set, Robert and Herbert could still be heard joking from afar.

 

“They’ll be a while.” She explained, with a smile. “Whenever they’ve been apart too long they tend to appreciate each other and the reprieve they give themselves from guarding a teenage girl all-the-more.”

 

As if to prevent any protests from Eirian, Alarice changed the topic. “I think it might help to get to know each other better if we were to ask each other some questions about one another.” After thanking a maid for pouring her a glass of water, she raised her glass in the blonde guard’s direction. “By all means, you first.”

The next couple days went by in a flurry of excitement and disbelief. Eirian was full of adrenaline the entire time. Anxious, but unbelievably enthused. One moment she was watching Robert depart down the steps from her doorway, the next she was seated in front of a council, hands folded in her lap and back straight as she answered her questions with nothing less than the utmost respect and seriousness. Suddenly she was fighting the Princess, both to her surprise and even (she had to admit) a measure of eager delight. There was a moment, however, shortly after the duel, when she found her weapon—fortified by charms—sliced through like it were rope, where Eirian felt a twang of remorse. Holding the broken pieces of chain delicately in the palms of her hands Eirian reflected upon the day in question it had been given to her as a gift by her father…but then quickly forced the soft memory back down her throat. The Princess assured it would be repaired. This was no time for sentimentality, in any case.

She had been approved as the new guard for the Princess Alarice, and was beyond elated. As stoic a mask as she continued to keep, there was a brand new light in her eyes as the young royal invited the blonde to join her for tea. As it were, Eirian wanted nothing more than to run home, rip off her corset, and gush to her mother about what had happened so she could reserve only her most composed form for her new coworkers and …she supposed, charge. It was an odd word to think. Even underneath the heavy cumbersome fabric that was foreign to her body, she could feel the butterflies fluttering in their giddy stupor. Regardless, she politely accepted the invitation to stay the night before returning home, as well as the invitation to join the other young woman for tea. How could she refuse?

It was a difficult thing to have her expectations so utterly smashed to the floor within the first hour of your dream job. Eirian wanted to strangle herself for even thinking of making such quick judgments…but it was hard not to be particularly put off of her tea when her new immediate, dark-haired superior insisted on flaunting his evident right to impropriety with the young royal. Of course, royal or not, watching anyone act the way that Herbert Dubhan was…well, it made her severely uncomfortable. She hoped, for the sake of their coexistence, she could acclimate herself as well as the Princess assured Robert had.

Robert. It was odd…watching him get as fired up as he had. She couldn’t exactly say that she disagreed with his concerns…but the Princess’ (frustrated) responses held just as much merit. If not more, Eirian found herself conceding. She was used to his strict guidance at the Academy. The blonde had to assume that it was witnessing Robert get reprimanded that startled her. It was not a sight she was quite accustomed to. One moment, she was being almost helplessly smothered by—possibly unintentional—compliments from her mentor…and the next she was watching as he got chastised like a belligerent student while she sat in her chair, doing her best to subdue the ever-increasing levels of discomfort that threatened, at this point, to actually show more wholly.

The chaotic tea party had ended quite as abruptly as it had begun. For a moment, Eirian was left alone with Robert. They shared assurances of their beliefs that the position would run smoother with time, but before long Robert had to return to the Princess, and Eirian was left with nothing to do but return home and pack. Pack, and enjoy her last evening for the next few weeks of being able to breathe normally. Of being able to talk without extending a concentrated effort to do so. But Eirian could sacrifice comfort more than easily in favor of being the Princess’ guard and companion.

It was harder to deal with her mother’s hysteric tears when Eirian announced she would be moving into the palace. They were sobs of pride just as much as sobs of despair at the idea of her daughter moving out their home for who-knew-how-long, and it took Eirian much longer to pack than it probably would have, what with Guinevere Lindval clinging to her incessantly and showering her with as many kisses as tears. Confused Turner mimicked his mother, having no idea what everyone was so upset about but assuming it must have been something awful. Eirian had to practically drag herself back-and-forth about the house, weighted by bodies and flushed to exhaustion.

As tedious as it felt, the blonde knew when the next morning came that the memory could never be filed as an unpleasant one. She supposed, in fact, that she’d rather miss it. Well, Eirian knew she’d miss her family. But she bit her lip and took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to shed a tear. The dress would come back on, and the corset, and she’d be a guard. For real. There was no room for weaknesses anymore.

I am a young woman now. Not a girl. Not a cadet. There were things she had to sacrifice. The first, and hardest, would be being a daughter. Eirian knew, of course, that her family would always be there…but they were now a luxury. Not the steadfast home she could count on to return to night after night.

And Eirian knew she was ready. She was so ready that she could feel her heart pouring into her fingertips when she flexed her hands. Of course, the blonde could concede that could have simply been a lack of circulation.

***

The next day found Eirian smack in the middle of a military review. Although she had never been on the side of the line that sported the Princess, somewhat awkwardly astride a horse (fairly embarrassed that Robert had had to help her up thanks to the still unfamiliar way in which the skirts inhibited her movement), it was an event that Eirian felt thankful she at least had decent knowledge of. What kind of guard would she be if she had never been present in the lineup of a military review? Of course, she had never been of a rank important enough to brag about. Just a notable cadet standing her place, as ordered.

The ordeal in general went over without trouble. It was longer than the young woman expected, due to the Princess’ decision to dismount and greet far more than her fair share of soldiers—but it was an action that caused Eirian’s heart to swell in admiration. Alarice was going to make a splendid queen, and it would be an honor to guard her.

It felt like there was more to take in after Robert was wrapping his hands around her tiny waist and assisting her in dismounting from her horse (Eirian felt a bit flush for an instant where their bodies touched) and she was back on her two feet than before. Now there were names and faces to remember. The young Francois Morreau and his bodyguard, who lurked behind them like a sullen tower as the guards kept a close eye on the purple-haired gentleman walking arm-in-arm with the Princess. The handsome lieutenant Chand who greeted the Princess at the door of the stables that had become their destination.

And then, most of all was the Elephant Protocol. Or rather, the question of whether or not it existed. Eirian hadn’t learned much about elephants in the form of a steed. And the one that the Princess petted fondly certainly seemed harmless enough. Eirian watched silent but troubled as Robert and Herbert argued over the correct form of action—and the Princess simply took charge for herself and mounted the large animal. She wondered if she should say something, but when Herbert actually noticed, he just laughed. With a joking nudge into Eirian’s side, he winked.

“First rule of guarding: pay attention to your charge.”

She could practically feel Robert’s blood boiling, but just nodded serenely.

The three (or four, rather, but Eirian found it was hard to really count Edouard, he was so unnervingly quiet) followed the couple on the elephant as they rode slowly about the grounds—thankfully not straying far. But Alarice seemed to be having fun, and that was what mattered, right? She certainly wasn’t in much danger. Every time she threatened to slip, her male companion gently helped her back into position on the elephant.

Suddenly, that was over as well. The sound of Orion’s guard approaching (Eirian was sure she’d grow accustomed to it quickly) sounded just in time for the two to dismount, and soon she found herself bowing in line with the rest of her party. Silent and observant as the exchange was made, Eirian tried to pick up as many subtlties as she could—but everything was so new to her in the palace such a task was more easily said than done, and before she could reflect on anything said the group was being escorted (it seemed odd to her that another was necessary given the amount of guards already available, but who was she to question the motives of the King) back to the palace.

And then she was left alone with the Princess. Eirian stood stock-straight, even after her commanding officers had left the room. Regardless of the casual way Alarice sat, Eirian didn’t even think or ask of sitting until it had been offered to her. Still, the blonde felt a tad awkward as she accepted the invitation, carefully sitting across from the regal brunette.

Eirian gave a polite nod. Friends. It wasn’t a word Eirian would have chosen, if she had been speaking. In her years at the Academy, she hadn’t found any use for friends, instead studying independently where she was able. She had no qualms working in a team, but outside of duty…such bonds had never really occurred to her to pursue. As the Licia School’s Hall Monitor, the notion of friends became even more troublesome. Eirian couldn’t afford to feel soft toward other students lest they turned out to be a troublemaker or idle gossip. However…it seemed wrong to voice such thoughts in response to the Princess’ serene wish. So, instead, the words she chose were more carefully picked—but not necessarily untruthful. After all, she did want to be able to work well with the individuals she’d be spending most of her time with from now on.

“That would be most agreeable.”

As the two headed toward the dining room, Eirian couldn’t help but relax, if a little, at the explanation that the men would not be joining them for their meal right away. She had nothing against them, certainly, and it was no less intimidating to be sitting alone with the Princess…but already, the blonde found herself appreciating the brief reprieve from Herbert Dubhan. Although, she couldn’t imagine anyone would need a reprieve from guarding the Princess Alarice, of all people—but didn’t have the opportunity to make that thought known.

“I think it might help to get to know each other better if we were to ask each other some questions about one another—by all means, you first.”

Eirian couldn’t help the flush that made its way to her cheeks. She hadn’t—couldn’t think of any questions. Wouldn’t that be inappropriate? Her asking silly questions of the Princess? And what was there for her to even find out? Eirian doubted she’d gain all that much from leaning the other girl’s favorite color…and then the unthinkable happened.

As if of its own mind, Eirian heard the words come out of her mouth.

“How long…did it take you to…get used to wearing dresses like these…”

Eirian wanted to kick herself. What kind of a question was that? Yes, she wanted to know, but most, if not all women at court seemed graceful in their gowns, drifting through the halls effortlessly, as if they didn’t even need their lungs. Surely, the Princess had had plenty of time to get used to. Eirian felt foolish. She knew she was going to get laughed at. What kind of silly, inexperienced girl asked about dresses?

“I was luckier than most…during my…childhood I was not required to dress as one must at court. But they started me on corset training quite young so…I’d say there was a year of discomfort around…14 or so and then it became much more natural.” A pause, then with a tiny laugh, “well…about as natural as one can be when one’s organs are compressed so.”

Honestly, Eirian was floored. She wasn’t really sure what sort of response she was expecting—after all, she had to admit that the Princess seemed far to courteous a character to flat out laugh…but she had actually answered it as if it were a perfectly normal question. In that moment while her brain whirled in circles attempting to catch up, Eirian found herself blurting, “but how can you manage to fight in them the way that you do?”

“They are quite cumbersome aren’t they? I suppose it’s because I started learning swordplay in a dress and here at court. I can only practice in approved attire. If I’m going to spend my life in gowns Herbert and I persuaded the King I should be allowed to continue learning to defend myself in them.”

Finally, Eirian felt herself able to return the smile that the Princess seemed to wear so easily. “I believe everyone should be given the right to defend oneself,” the blonde assured, firmly but agreeably. Guards or no, everyone could do well to know ways in which to protect themselves; one never knew when they may end up alone with an adversary. Eirian knew she may have been a minority opinion on this matter, particularly where nobles were involved, but it didn’t seem right to her to think that people of wealth could very well be helpless without their guards. If they needed guards, it only seemed reasonable that they’d want to be able to ensure their own safety without needing to rely on others.

“I quite agree,” the Princess started, “though…I must warn you that it’s not common knowledge outside of school and the King’s private council that I practice swordplay. …It’s not…hrm…considered very appropriate for a female royal.”

Eirian’s face took on a hard—but much less severe than before—mask once more as she readily complied, “I understand completely.”

The blonde cleared her throat as what threatened to be an awkward silence began to encroach upon their conversation—not being able to think of any further questions, Eirian was going to offer to answer anything that the Princess wished, when an enthusiastic whoop from the other side of the doors interrupted her train of thought.

Eirian turned just in time to witness the doors opening with a dramatic crash. In his hand, Herbert held a large (and fairly dusty looking) book. A huge grin was plastered across his face as he bellowed, “We found it!”

When both the girls seated at the table responded with nothing but a thoroughly perplexed countenance, the man elaborated: “Elephant protocol.”

Eirian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“I was JOKING Robert, good grief. Do you honestly think we’re going to find anything in here about elephant riding?”

“The protocol book has been perfected over centuries; I’m certain that at some point one Royal or another had to ride one and if so it would have gone into this book.”

The two men peered over opposite pages of the over-large manual on all things decorum, propriety and protocol. There were a few “pocket” versions, which Robert always seemed to have nearby – but a full copy resided in the rooms of each Royal. Easily the height of Herbert’s forearm, it was also a very wide book – printed in mockingly small text. Currently they were situated in the portion of the book relating to transportation, though Robert had argued that the section for Entertainment would have been more useful. “Elephant riding is simply not a practical means of getting around!”

“It served Moreau and his shadow well enough, didn’t it?”

“Yes well…it’s still impractical.”

The Deamone man gave a roll of his eyes and continued down the tiny lines of text, the lack of substantial breakfast making him have to pause and take a break every once in a while to rub his drying eyes.

“There’s nothing here.” He grumbled after a few minutes.

“It has to be here.” Robert insisted, flipping the page. Both men spotted it at the same time. Herbert’s expression was reticent, but his blonde companion was practically glowing. “I can’t believe this.” The Deamone man chuckled before bursting into hearty laughter. Herbert picked up the dusty book and carried it triumphantly into the room where the two women were having their meal.

“We found it!” He declared, striding confidently over to the Princess and laying the book out before her – a cloud of dust rising in the air. “Elephant protocol.”

Alarice’s expression broke into what could only be described as serene anticipation. The dark-haired man at her side guided her sight onto the specific lines,

“Oh dear.” She laughed lightly. “I’m not supposed to ride without a …howdah…What is that?”

“It’s a type of saddle, highness.” Robert interrupted, apparently having memorized the decorum for elephant riding already. Anyone could see that he was displeased at the thought that they’d breached protocol – however obscure and irrelevant the offense had been. “We shall have to have one made…” A maid in the background scurried out of the room, the invisible request no doubt already making its way through the palace. The war had cost battle-ready Deamone only a third of what it’d cost unprepared Licia – but Licia had much richer reserves. And in this golden city, budget was all but a distant memory. Alarice had moved to protest but the maid was gone and there was little she could do.

“What’re we having?” Herbert asked loudly, slipping into his seat beside his charge. Robert rolled his eyes and stood at the door, his arms behind his back. The rest of the meal seemed to fly by quickly, at least until the subject of her engagement came up.

“You do realize that the King means to see if Mr. Moreau possesses anything that might make for an advantageous marriage, don’t you?” Herbert said bluntly as he picked something off of the Princess’s plate with his fork and shoved it neatly into his mouth. Robert made a little noise of disapproval, but explained to Eirian. “Her highness has consented to waive her right to choose a husband, in favor of reviewing a list compiled by the advisors of both kingdoms.” Herbert rolled his eyes, “Yeah and she didn’t see fit to tell me about this decision at any point.” The man grunted.

The young royal seemed to pick this moment to stand, which caused both men to straighten and stand respectively. “I’m going to bed.” She sighed softly, glancing apologetically to the blonde girl. “Miss. Lindval would you please help me prepare?”

“But I…” Herbert began to interrupt, before he was silenced by one of Robert’s raised brows. “…I’ll go sweep the room, Highness.” The man finished, his eyes hardening. It was clear there were things left unsaid – and that they would remain so, at least for this night. Robert joined Herbert in his sweep and only when they were sure that the room was clear did they allow the two women to enter the innermost chamber of the Princess’s quarters, her bedroom.

“When the Princess is situated, report back to me. I’ll be standing out here.” Robert whispered to Eirian, his hand making momentary contact with his new partner’s arm as he held her back. When she was gone, he couldn’t forget the warmth of the skin that had seeped through the thick material of her dress. It stayed with him for the rest of the night.

The redhead wished he could have willed the date to move itself forward a few months—or a few years. He wished he could have told Rubin and Odolf and everyone else that he just wasn’t ready. And yet, when Hayden looked at their stoic faces he knew he didn’t need to. They had just as much confidence in their young charge—that was to say, none at all. He couldn’t blame them, even if it hurt. When he had looked at himself for the last time in the mirror before being hurried out of his dorm room and toward the ballroom, all he had seen was an awkward skinny redhead in clothes that were way too nice for him. His face had begun to fill out now and become healthier and less that of a scraggly, malnourished orphan, but it hardly helped. He still looked just as out of place and just as disappointing. The only piece of him that belonged to the role of the Deamone Prince was those bright green eyes, however large and full of insecurities as they were. It didn’t matter what any of them wanted, though. The start to the Licia School’s semester was upon them and they were out of time.

As Hayden braced himself and allowed the guards to nudge him gently forward, he looked down at his hands. They were cold and clammy and he wanted to wipe them down the front of his fine suit, only that would be improper behavior for a prince, and Rubin was watching him. Rubin almost always watched him. He’d make this judgmental throat-clearing noise whenever Hayden did something he had been expressly told to remember not to do. Hayden really hated that noise. It made him blush—as did most things—and feel lost. The months, weeks, days he had been training under the strict tutelage of his guards and (occasionally) his father felt like seconds now. They slipped like sand through his fingers and gathered into uselessly scattered puddles at his feet. If given the opportunity, Hayden would have stopped to try to gather them. Unfortunately, to do so would have meant to trip over himself as they walked down the stairs and into the ballroom where everyone was waiting. All the peers he had yet to meet—including his cousin, the Princess Alarice.

Blinking one, two, three times, Hayden took a deep breath and urged the anxiety inside of him to establish itself elsewhere. The princess was there already, adorned in a blooming gown that made her look for the world like a rose. Most importantly, with her professionally patient and serene smile and her hands folded delicately in front of her as she approached the microphone and give her speech, she looked like she knew exactly what she was doing. All he could think about was how he was going to have to follow her. How she was, according to his father, a scheming girl who wanted nothing more than to keep them apart. How she must have hated him before she had even met him. It tore the boy up inside—but right now he needed to make Lord Duncan Deamone proud. He needed to give a good speech and express his expectations for a good year. Having never spoken in public before—let alone to so many people and in such famous company, let alone as the only son of a notorious man, let alone as a Prince—however, left Hayden sadly…well, speechless. It was extremely inconvenient.

Silently, he tried to reconstruct the carefully-rehearsed speech he had prepared. Silently, he tried not to stare at the all-around lovely brunette as she addressed the crowd, or at any of the guards that had accompanied her or accompanied him. He tried not to think about how he couldn’t see his father anywhere, but since the man had promised to be there, he must have been there somewhere and it meant that Hayden couldn’t mess this up. Not that he was off to a very good start, mind you. His first real debut as a Prince and he was late. That, or the Princess had been early—but knowing his luck, Hayden was sure it was his own fault. Even if he hadn’t been in charge of his own schedule. Either way, Hayden was sure it wasn’t helping the Princess’ image of him (even though Duncan had told him not to worry too much about her opinions).

The room erupted in applause and Hayden nearly jumped from his chair. Even when he didn’t, his heart managed to find a new home in his throat. Right. It was his turn. Trying to appear as steady and as calm as he could manage, Hayden stood as the Princess took her own seat. He put one foot in front of the other and concentrated on breathing evenly. Whatever you do, he told himself, don’t stutter.

The first thing he noticed was the microphone situated for the Princess’ formidable height (at least compared to his five-foot-two-inches self). He reached for the lever to lower the instrument, but before he could grab the metal, Rubin was there to correct the mistake. Rubin was always there to correct the mistakes. Hayden felt himself smiling, for once thankful that he could at least do one thing right automatically—be charming in his own, pathetic right. He’d been told that before, anyway. That ‘with a face like that, nobody could say no to you’. Well, people had told him no before. But at least they tended to look a bit guilty about it.

“Good evening,” he started, then promptly forgot the rest of what he had been expected to say. Hayden smiled wider to fend off the growing sense of panic, spoke slowly to appear calm. At the very least, he could try to remember the lessons in diction (his father had seemed particularly displeased with the stammering). “It’s an honor and…a privilege…to be able to share this—experience with all of you. I fear I…surely cannot say it any better than the Princess has, before me, but I have…I have faith that this will be a great year.” Hayden paused. Hesitantly, unsure if he should say anything else, feeling guilty and awkward that his speech was so short but also afraid they could hear his heartbeat echoing out through the microphone, he took a step backward. The crowd applauded again—though this round was more polite than enthusiastic. More unsure. Hayden leaned forward again to add a mumbled “thank you”, but found the microphone had already been switched off. Maybe they had anticipated his fumbling.

And then he was seated again. Music began to play. Then he was watching as the students began to chatter and attack snack trays and sweep one another into dance. Hayden felt cold, like he was going to faint. His legs felt like they didn’t belong to him and he couldn’t control their shaking. For as hard as it had been to get through his public bumbling, it was even harder to sit up straight and face his dark, imposing father as he seemed to materialize from the shadows before beginning to approach him. So Duncan Deamone had been watching. Hayden couldn’t even fathom how disappointed the lord must have been with his squirrely son.

It wasn’t as bad as Hayden was anticipating, though. Well, it was. Just different. Duncan smiled at him—a measured you-could-have-done-better-but-I-won’t-complain-right-now-in-public smile. “Go ask the Princess for a dance?” he suggested, though it was more of an order than anything else. Hayden looked hesitantly over at his cousin, who was watching the students and seemed somewhat lost in thought. Then he looked down at his polished black shoes.

“Is it…”

He hadn’t even gotten the weak protest out of his mouth before he found himself somehow, suddenly, inexplicably, stumbling forward and toward the other noble. Hayden…honestly couldn’t remember ever having stood up. His anxiety seemed to be having some rather unfortunate side-effects on his memory. “Excuse me,” he started meekly before remembering his station as (more-or-less) the young woman’s equal. “I mean, um, hello—I was wondering, I mean hoping, I mean I’d be delighted i-if—”

Hayden didn’t even manage to make it past an uncomfortable hello before one of her guards (the scary Deamone one) had stepped in between them. The young prince would have positively fled at the way he was being glared down upon if it hadn’t been for the men behind him preventing him from running or hiding. He was trapped.

Alarice watched, her face a placid lake of a mask, as her cousin stepped up to speak before Licia school. Though she did not allow her eyes to drift to it, beneath her gloves she could still feel the slight roughness of her skin where Orion’s little light show had cut into her arm and left a small scar. It wasn’t the first, it wouldn’t be the last. Her last week in Celeste City’s grand palace had been brief, far too brief. Made briefer by her harried schedule: dinners with foreign dignitaries, some of the men on the now-infamous shortlist and all her free evenings were spent with the King himself. She’d hardly had a moment alone, had yet to truly get to know her newest guard and after their run-in in her greenhouse had seen neither hide nor hair of Francois Moreau or his companion. Perhaps that was for the best, Herbert had suggested with a critical brow as he pulled his charge closer in order to adjust the flyaway tendrils of her hair. He hovered over her as a mother hen would and was reluctant to give up his place by her side to Miss. Lindval. The three of her guard stood near her now, the men in their suits and Eirian in a gown of gold that she had approved to a very relieved Lician guard. The speeches had become easy, second nature to her with her practiced smile and easy tone. Once they’d been fear-inducing, nerve-wracking events with a pain that was more than imaginary for every misstep. As Prince Hayden fumbled through his own, Alarice felt a twinge of pity; a twinge she had not yet decided whether or not to fight.

 

“Duncan’s son…” Herbert had grumbled in his bored tone when the redheaded royal walked in. It was an unnecessary observation. There was no escaping that familiar gleam of green, the way it swirled and absorbed the light of the ballroom’s chandeliers. “My cousin…” She’d corrected sweetly, continuing going about the room and greeting the children of such and such noble, or the oft-stammering scholarship students until it was her time to speak. By then, the multitude of faces were familiar and it was as comfortable as speaking to a single person. While she would be continuing her education, this would most likely be her final year of true study at Licia school and she was a little sad to see it go. The sadder sight, however, most definitely belonged to anyone looking at the new Prince’s efforts. When he was finished, Alarice clapped politely, rose, and promptly returned to the weary task of mingling. She wanted very little more than to get away from it all, from the restricting satiny softness of her gown and the itchy sting of the pins holding her hair in its soft chignon. Robert and Herbert took their turns making introductions and to each new person she presented Eirian; whose reaction to the whirlwind of the last week was nearly inscrutable. Nearly. “Are you quite well, Miss. Lindval?” She asked during a lull in the socializing, as the music and dancing began. “I am certain that there are few dangers here tonight. Robert, perhaps Eirian would care to dance?” Neither Lician seemed keen to agree with her suggestion and Alarice shrugged off their abashment with her usual good nature, easing her way along the perimeter of the crowd. These were the best and brightest, gathered under a singular roof to propagate the idea of unifying Licia and Deamone. This was where it had all started so many years ago… A gentle elbow caught her attention just before an even gentler voice and when she turned her own eyes were staring back at her.

 

Herbert’s reaction belayed his talent, beating even Robert in his haste to create space between her cousin and herself. Somewhere, the string of a violin went sharp and while the music carried on she could not help but think it had quieted somewhat. The swirl of gowns too had slowed, as eyes landed heavy on her back and those of each royal’s entourage. “Prince Hayden,” Alarice began, her slender hand reaching up the muscled knots of her guard’s arm and brushing him just slightly to the side. With the slightest incline of her head she greeted his guards as well, “Masters Rubin and Odolf, I believe?” Know your enemy. Orion and Herbert had warned when they presented her with the details of her potential successor’s household and guard. Rubin was no larger than Robert, but Odolf was a mountain of a man with an expression of stone to match. Making her knowledge of that intimate detail of Hayden’s life clear, she breezed onto the next greeting as though her stomach wasn’t turning in its place. “And my Lord Uncle, how rare for you to grace us with your presence.”

 

“Princess…” Duncan purred, sidestepping his son and the men who watched him and holding out his hand expectantly. The serpentine motion of his hand made Robert stiffen behind her and she saw Herbert reach for his holster out of the corner of her eye. “Careful…boy.” The Deamone noble chuckled, his eyes leveling with the gun slinging guard in narrow slits. Professionalism went out the window as Herbert took a step forward, the familiar click of his glock sounding through the now silent ballroom. Alarice’s face grew pale, but if her nerves were shaking her voice did not. “Enough, Herbert.”

 

“Yes, quite enough, Herbert.” The deposed Deamone Prince sighed, grabbing his son’s shoulder and shoving him forward. “After all, we are all family here are we not? A ball is not a ball until her majesty has danced, perhaps you will do my son the honor?”

 

It was only at the mention of him that she thought to look down at the boy caught in the middle of the tense standoff. The Princess waited as he gathered his wits, offered her his arm and escorted her out onto the floor that had begun a timid imitation of the motions it had ceased at the sounds of confrontation. Waltzing required little thought and, accustomed to the schemes of Lician court, the halfbreed heir wondered if the band had chosen to play one specifically so that all those around them could best peer and try to listen in. Occupied with the task of watching her and Duncan, Alarice knew that she could trust her guards to watch over her and so she focused her attentions on her dancing partner. “The nerves pass with time.” She assured soothingly. There was not yet a reason other than the boy’s blood to distrust him; that being said, his blood was more than enough reason on its own. Still, it was (it always seemed to be) in her best interest to be amiable. “Eventually one learns what needs to be said, depending on the situation; then it does not matter if you forget the words you’ve practiced for you find the ones that are necessary on your tongue through practice.”

 

Licia School’s headmistress had sensed the tension in the air, as she always did, and could be seen talking calmly to Duncan Deamone. Though she wished desperately to hear what was being said, the pair were too far away and the conversation beyond brief. The next thing she knew the dance was over and Duncan Deamone was striding towards her at a pace slow enough for her guards to reach her side before he did. “Son,” He crooned, squeezing the boy’s shoulders in his grip. “I am afraid it is time for me to depart.” His hands clasping behind his back innocently, he then leaned in and planted a moist kiss on his niece’s cheek. “Until we meet again, dear Princess.” The dulcet tones of his voice, syrupy and sickening would not abandon her even after he had abandoned the ballroom. Feeling an intense need to breathe, she dismissed herself from Hayden’s company under the guise of having other people to attend to. And while she did indeed attend to a few more of the names on her list of ‘important guests’ Alarice’s true goal was to wait for the entire ordeal to liven up enough that she could get away.

 

“I’d like to take in the air.” She announced, not leaving room for questioning her decision. “Robert, do please dance with Miss. Lindval, she looks lovely tonight and I would hate for her to miss the chance to be shown off.”

 

“I’ll watch her.” Herbert grinned, shoving his partner with a good-natured little shove towards the dance floor. The grin faded, however, the second he and Alarice had crossed the threshold into the courtyard. “Are you well?” He inquired with much hesitation, as the Princess promptly began to splash cold water onto her face. The spot where Duncan had kissed her burned, a product of her mind alone and yet the heat of it spread so fast that she was tempted to rip off her bodice just to breathe. “I need a moment alone…” She begged, her eyes searching the male’s imploringly. “Herb, please.” Her uncle was gone, she assured him – and she would not wander far. “When they start the tango, you meet me back here.” He grumbled, his face even parts worried and cautioning. It was all Alarice needed to hear. Heaving a sigh of relief, she took off her shoes, picked up her skirts and wandered away from the elegantly manicured lawn and into the thick bramble of trees beyond it. Her hair snagged on a branch and she yanked the pins out one by one until it was a loose tumble down her back. By the time she made it to the clearing of Licia school’s lake, it was covered in leaves but she didn’t care. Minding the need to keep distance from the pitch-black waters at this time of night, she promptly plopped herself down on the floor and reclined backwards. Hands on her stomach, she counted breaths and stars in a single beat. In listening for the sound of the music to shift, she very quickly found instead that her eyes were growing heavier and heavier. “He’s gone…” She reminded herself, as she lay there and listened to the swish of the wind on the surface of the water; but the Princess shook with fear nonetheless.  

Zeke was feeling a touch sour. Not that it was particularly easy to tell when he was feeling anything other than a varying degree of sour, mind you. The trip from the half-Lician’s home in the Third Realm to the school in which he’d be residing for the year had been long and bumpy and lonely—save for the company of the churning butterflies in his stomach. The Constantine was a proud boy, as was his father before him and his father before him, so naturally he’d be hard pressed to do anything other than ignore his nerves. Still, they persisted to an annoying degree—though this was perhaps to be expected. It was, after all, the first time that he had traveled to Licia. Alone no less.

His mother’s open weeping over ‘her baby growing up’ had been enough to fill him with dread (and embarrassment) without the events that followed. It wasn’t as if Zeke didn’t know what to do—sure, he didn’t have any firsthand experience, but he had undergone his father’s own special brand of etiquette training in preparation for this very moment. Not that Zeke knew much of his father’s intentions. That would imply that his old man actually spoke to him any more than necessary (or barked at him, more accurately). He just knew what he was supposed to do—namely: attend the Licia School, follow his written instructions as they were provided via letter, and avoid being an embarrassment.

Zeke was allowed to enjoy himself during the coming year, but doing anything to even remotely tarnish the family name would not be tolerated.

It was nearly dark by the time his carriage finally pulled up to the gates of the school, and the opening ceremonies had already commenced. Already late and not getting much later, Zeke took his time changing in one of the excessively ornate restrooms he found, until he could definitely be mistaken for a proper Lician—fully adorned in rich creams and golds. Or well, could have if it hadn’t been for the hair that resembled fresh pine needles and the teeth as sharp and menacing as a shark’s (though to be fair the teeth were much less conspicuous except for when he smiled, which was rare enough).

Nobody seemed to notice him slink into the ballroom late, too busy watching something-or-another along the dance floor that he couldn’t see through the thicket of attendees ( and frankly what need did Zeke have to concern himself with dancing? It wasn’t as if he intended to do anything more than skulk around, himself). Nobody cared about the glasses-wearing young man creeping awkwardly along the walls. Nobody even bothered to turn a wary eye his way when he found his way outside, into the crisp night air of the surrounding forestry.

But once he had, he relaxed, breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he shouldn’t be avoiding the ball. His father would be livid if he knew…but Zeke didn’t care. At least the trees wouldn’t judge him. Zeke couldn’t help but laugh to himself, under his breath, though it was a sound easily masked by the crunching of leaves beneath his feet. My green-haired kinsmen.

The cold air flushes his cheeks and his nose lightly as he walks. Zeke puts his hands in his pockets, glad at least that the thick material of his jacket keeps him warm against the rapidly descending chill. Nothing unbearable, but it would’ve certainly been much more irritating if he had been wearing casual clothes.

Eventually, he stumbled across a clearing with a dark lake. “Huh,” he huffed.

For a good few minutes Zeke contented himself with staring out at the calm body of water. But then with a sigh, he leaned back to rest against the thick trunk of a tree, not caring of he got anything on his back, though it would be obvious to see against the light shades. It was almost immediately after that he noticed the body of the girl on the ground in his peripheral vision.

Besides being incredibly pretty, she looked more miserable than he did. That, if nothing else, inspired the normally broody young man to speak up. He managed a grin, however painfully out-of-place it looked on the somewhat-severe curves of his face. “Not really your scene in there either?”

The prospect of Duncan Deamone traipsing through the forest to put an end to her was as amusing as it was unlikely. However, when the branches parted and the figure revealed itself to the dim light of the moon it was not her uncle – but the same boy she’d sparred with from behind the safety of her cumbersome armor earlier in the morning. In spite of her embarrassment at being caught in such a position, she opted to wait and observe him as he took in the deceptively (if dark) innocuous looking lake. When he addressed her, she was sure – he didn’t recognize her, or perhaps couldn’t see her, though she’d have thought the gown would have been a dead give-away. Decorum demanded she make herself known, but having avoided doing so once already Alarice didn’t see the harm in continuing this little moment of informality for as long as she could. Anything to get her mind off the sweet words she’d had to shove out of her mouth for the benefit of her Uncle, his son and the general population of the school.

“Like much of life in Licia, they are frightfully complex and cumbersome, if – apparently – necessary evils…balls, that is.” Truly, she would have liked to have been able to slip into the easygoing banter of her youth. But just thinking back to those days was difficult and the finer intricacies of casual conversation were all but lost in the Lician court. Still, the Princess hoped her messy state might ease any of the tension her formality might create. “Given that the only alternatives I can think of would be a very awkward meal at a rather large and tense table or some rambunctious night on the town with a few hundred of our sure-to-be closest friends, I think I like this best. It’s much easier to sneak away from.” Then, in a passingly casual if thoroughly serious warning. “I would not recommend approaching that lake. They say a monster lives inside that can devour a man whole. And i’m afraid that for once ‘they’ may be saying something worth listening to.” Her blatant dislike of “them”, rule makers and starch shirt stiffnecks made clear, Alarice remembered herself and had the grace to blush for it. “Forgive me. I speak quite out of turn.”