《The Historian's Novel》


 Chapter 1 — The Historian’s Novel

    A duet of laughter chased the wooden wheel rolling down the idle main street. Laughing while playing, with sticks in their hands, two children sung to the tune of their mutt which followed their heels; barking in the enjoyment only a dog who played with children could muster.


    ¡°Born from a dragon!¡± the older boy shouted, striking the wheel to keep it from falling.


    ¡°A princess raised in a cage!¡± the other said with excitement, tagging in on his turn.


    ¡°A garden flower is all that¡¯ll be left of Havoc the Brave!¡± they cackled, when their mutt jumped through the hoop, and its hind legs knocked the wheel to the ground.


    Amelia Strightsworth, who had been waiting for the book shop to open, considered whether there would be any worth in chasing after the runts to deliver a few whaps to their rears.


    But she couldn¡¯t do that. In every sense of the word. Certainly not while disguised, and most definitely not when the fading verses that trailed behind the trio were meant to make fun of herself.


    At least with their departure, she wouldn¡¯t be forced to endure any more off-pitch singing. Had a bard gotten lost and arrived in town recently? Or was this an example of how mean-spirited children could be. Their song didn¡¯t even make sense. Her father, Havoc Strightsworth, the Baron who owned the land which they stood on was no dragon. At best he could only impersonate one.


    And her choice to keep to herself shouldn¡¯t translate to being compared with a greenhouse raised flower. The fact she intended to relax in her mother¡¯s garden once she had bought a new book¡­ That was coincidence. Nothing more. Still, it did sour her mood. Which, coupled with a jaw that had been hurting all morning, certainly didn¡¯t make for a good start to the day.


    ¡°Too much candy,¡± their family¡¯s doctor had claimed.


    ¡°The quack didn¡¯t even check,¡± Amelia grumbled, rubbing her jaw to try alleviating the pain. It didn¡¯t make sense for it to hurt because of sweets, since the acute sensation began well before the pouring of a healthy portion of syrup atop her daily pancake mountain breakfast.


    Seeing the shop-keep approach the bookstore¡¯s entrance through the door¡¯s window, Amelia readjusted her shawl; making sure no stray strands from her dark auburn hair could tell tales. She was only too familiar with the talking-to Heimdall, her father¡¯s aid, would give her should he discover the daughter of his master had snuck out without having arranged for an escort.


    ¡°The people believe you have the blood of a dragon,¡± he would gripe, shaking his head like how Amelia imagined a disappointed father might do, ¡°it¡¯s too risky to go out on your own. At the very least, take a maid with you to help carry your things.¡±


    Amelia hmphed at the thought. Blood of a dragon? As if. Her mother had spoiled that myth when Amelia had been but a child. The truth being it was a story invented by the capital¡¯s nobility to alleviate the disgrace they had felt when a youth from a far-away place earned himself a hereditary title through his merits in war.


    ¡°Morning,¡± the bookstore¡¯s owner greeted politely, as he flipped his store¡¯s sign.


    ¡°To you as well,¡± Amelia replied, slipping past to begin excitedly browsing. With her finger tracing the shelved books on their spine, occasionally pulling one free to read a few pages, she could already feel her mood beginning to improve. That is, until another customer entered the store, carrying with him several books that he brought to the shop-keeper¡¯s son who managed the front desk.


    Amelia frowned, having hoped for a few more minutes alone. Not wanting to run the risk of idle conversation, she decided to grab a book at random, causing her sleeves to slip down.


    Revealing to anyone who looked how thin her wrists were.


    Blood of the dragon. She wished. More like, no talent for magic or anything else. Even her hair was a shadow of the Baron¡¯s flaming red mane. Really, all she had to prove his blood flowed in her veins were her front canine teeth, which on close inspection looked a tad sharper than average. They weren¡¯t much of a boon. While her mountain of a father who could tear through bone, let alone meat with his fangs, her jaw would start hurting after chewing through anything cooked longer than medium-rare.


    Holding the book to her chest with both arms, Amelia walked to the front desk, side-stepping the other patron who tried brushing against her in passing.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take this one,¡± she mumbled, waiting for the shop-keeper¡¯s son to write down her purchase.


    ¡°I say, you¡¯re around here a lot,¡± the chipper youth said, taking out a brown paper bag to stuff the book in, ¡°how is it that you can read so much faster than I can? What¡¯s the secret?¡±


    ¡°Practice,¡± Amelia answered, deciding to lie instead of revealing it was not her reading speed that was quick, but the amount of free time she had which made her weekly visits a thing.


    ¡°Dang, that¡¯s boring. I¡¯d hoped there might be a trick to it. Pa only let¡¯s me read when I¡¯m done working. But by then the sun¡¯s almost gone down so I¡¯ve never got enough time.¡±


    Uttering a half-hearted agreement, Amelia let the boy ramble about the hardships of life. All while secretly wondering how he could find enjoyment in repeating the same conversation each time that they met.


    Or maybe the shop-keeper¡¯s son really was prone to forgetting. Seeing how he reached behind the counter to bring out a second brown paper wrapped package.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember having ordered anything recent,¡± Amelia said, when the boy added the package to her purchase without jotting it down.


    ¡°You buy as many books as the rest of the town combined,¡± he said, handing the bag over, ¡°Pa says he appreciates it. Told me to bribe you with one of the new books we received to pay you back some.¡±


    Amelia smiled at that, ¡°do you know what genre it is?¡±


    ¡°Not in the slightest. He handed it to me already wrapped.¡±


    A mysterious gift? Amelia¡¯s lips curved up a bit wider. Despite not lacking in money to the extent she could probably buy the whole shop with her monthly allowance, the unexpected present left Amelia with a warm bubbly feeling that followed her all the way home.


    So joyous were Amelia¡¯s spirits, it took until she sat down to realise her toothache had at some point melted away. This called for a celebration, and soon a maid had delivered a strawberry smoothy with a layer of ground sugar and whipping cream to top it all off.


    Yet only twenty-four hours later, her jubilant mood would have re-found its replacement.


    It was a wondrous story. Toeing the line between imagination and fact. Written by a person who referred to themselves as ¡®The Historian¡¯. For as the author put it, if one¡¯s work became one¡¯s life, then the only logical thing to do would be to start calling yourself by your job¡¯s title.


    At first, Amelia assumed the book had been inspired by the Kingdom she lived in. Since it was named: ¡®A Fantastical History of the Velvetican Kingdom.¡¯ Being an avid reader of historical books, the author¡¯s idea to mix fantasy with reality pleased her. Amelia soon found herself immersed in the story.


    Written in the third person. It focused on the tale of a princess, who at birth, had been stolen away by a midwife on the orders of an opportunistic Marquess who wanted a way by which to blackmail the king. A disagreement between them over an unnamed policy having given rise to a vengeful need for retribution.


    Amelia gritted her teeth upon reading how the Marquess arranged for the first drink the Queen took after having given birth to be poisoned.


    A great many doctors had in the past confirmed that for Amelia to hold a life in herself, would be akin to suicide. To imagine beating the odds to conceive, only for her child to be stolen while she herself remained paralyzed¡­ It made her want to shout every bad word she knew at the author.


    But she couldn¡¯t do that. Her mother, Ophelia Strightsworth, had taught her to be proper. So instead, Amelia called for a maid to brew a pot of tea which she used to calm down.


    Luckily, the midwife still had a heart. After having stashed a photo of the Queen in a simple locket with little chance of being stolen for its worth, she rebelled against the Marquess of Rutherford by sending the princess away with her husband who searched for an orphanage outside of the capital city.


    Never once letting the husband know who the baby belonged to, or how her actions would result in their parting-kiss becoming a farewell.


    Many years passed, and the princess grew into a young woman whose description caused Amelia to wonder whether The Historian might secretly be a pervert. Eventually, a travelling merchant would find it suspicious a small border village could produce a drink of such quality that rumors began about how it must have been made using magic.


    With the Kingdom¡¯s nobility having an iron fisted monopoly on who got to learn magic, (Unless you were lucky enough to be born into a god-gifted bloodline) the merchant pulled a few strings to have the princess¡¯s identity secretly confirmed by a court wizard.


    Thusly, the Kingdom rejoiced. And the name of the lost yet found Princess Grace spread across all the lands.


    Princess Grace would go on to live a lavish life filled with scheming, nobles, fantasy, and a quartet of suitors who sparked enough romance Amelia found herself drinking more tea than normal to try and cool down.


    How exciting. Amelia had never dared choose from the bookstore¡¯s rose-tinted section, where those daring authors who hid behind pseudonyms wrote of a world only adults should know of.


    Checking behind her to make sure the standing maids were far enough off they couldn¡¯t possibly tell what sort of book she was reading, Amelia re-immersed herself in the handsome, beautiful characters who the princess would play with.


    There was the seductive mob boss; Vanridge Dowsinger, a fallen noble whose control over the underground world would grow to such an extend he could be considered a king in his own right. A king that decided there was only one jewel in existence worthy of coronating his achievements.


    Also, an earnest bespectacled alchemist by the name of Richter who worked for the Marquess of Rutherford. A man obsessed with the princess whose lineage was revered as being linked directly to God.


    As well as a dashing, devoted gladiator-slave called Stanton, whose talent with the blade would have him earn his citizenship upon saving the princess from a wild tiger that freed itself during a colosseum event.


    Amelia liked Stanton the most, since he had volunteered himself as the princess¡¯s duelist, when Grace found herself goaded into defending her honor against the Marquess¡¯s son, Gregory Rutherford. Whose over-inflated ego couldn¡¯t handle the notion that a woman might reject him.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Of course, she couldn¡¯t forget the mysterious mass murderer; Martel Managing, who hailed from a disgraced military m¨¦nage. A rather resentful man known for having a mystical power that rendered lying impossible in his presence. He would achieve infamy during his quest for revenge against those responsible for ruining his family. Until that is, he encountered the princess who showed him a path that led not to vengeance but something decidedly pinker.


    There was even foreshadowing the foreign prince who would visit as an ambassador might soon get involved. Which Amelia couldn¡¯t possibly see working out, since the prince, on behalf of his brother the king, held secret dealings with the Marquess, with the express purpose of ruining the Velvetican Kingdom.


    Such were the men who attempted to woo a princess whose habit of feeding each suitor small morsels to maintain interest, made Amelia eager to know who Grace would pick in the end. And how she could possibly handle the fallout.


    Except, ¡®A Fantastical History of the Velvetican Kingdom¡¯ turned weird after a point. The genre taking a sudden right turn from an embellished historical romance to plunge straight into horror. It was as if two separate stories had been stapled together. Even the third person perspective ended up switching to the first person. As if The Historian had given up on being impartial and had instead begun hiding in their character¡¯s shadows.


    Like a stalker who had grown tired of viewing their prey from afar.


    The twist entranced Amelia¡¯s want to keep reading. She continued well into the night. Moving from the greenhouse seat to her boudoir where the soft glow of candlelight allowed her to press on after sunset. There she got comfortable for the tragedy which struck the story¡¯s main cast, who developed into obsessed men lusting after a beauty. Becoming each a crazed madman, willing and wanting to do everything they could for the chance at the princess¡¯s hand.


    None saw the conspiracy that brewed outside the main plot. From the West they came, a count of barbarians who laid siege to the border whose guardian dragon had mysteriously vanished. And while the Kingdom mounted a defense in response, it soon found itself faced with more than it could handle when the Marquess of Rutherford sold detailed information on when best to attack by sea to the foreign prince. Who unleashed a great and terrible warrior bearing the blessings of a god, known only as ¡®The Leviathan¡¯, onto the Velvetican people.


    Thus did the Kingdom find itself plunged into fire. A once prosperous land pillaged and raped for its value on all sides as if they had crawled out from the very earth itself.


    Amelia found this development to be rather appalling. But if the story had concluded there, she might have been spared to feel mere dissatisfaction. With her frustrated mutterings growing only louder the longer she read, it didn¡¯t take long for the maids who served the Strightsworth household to suspect something bad might have occurred to their miss.


    So it was that when the candlelight leaking out from under the doorframe of Amelia¡¯s boudoir persisted until the wee hours of morning, did the maids gather to enter the room, to find it had become littered with papers bearing messily, paranoid notes. Each ripped or crumpled as if failures.


    The maid who gathered a few up as the others searched for their miss let out a scream when Amelia leapt up from behind a couch to snatch them away.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch those!¡± Amelia yelled, with eyes that had gotten extremely bloodshot.


    ¡°Miss,¡± the worried maid said, while the others crowded around Amelia to examine the state of a young woman who had not slept a wink, ¡°is there something wrong? Were you not able to sleep? Should we call for a doctor?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Amelia snapped, hurriedly gathering up from the floor more of the papers before anyone could read them.


    The older women made no reaction to show Amelia¡¯s curt attitude bothered them. Rather, the head-maid took the initiative to pull out a thermometer. Upon seeing it. Amelia obediently opened her mouth out of habit and kept the medical instrument on her tongue for five minutes while she continued to clean.


    Seeing the temperature readings appeared normal, the head- maid gave Amelia a sad look while ushering the others out. ¡°Don¡¯t fret,¡± she said, ¡°no matter what sickness you¡¯ve caught this time, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll pull through.¡±


    Amelia couldn¡¯t bear to stay upset. Not with the women who had taken care of her weak self growing up. ¡°Fine, call a doctor,¡± she begrudgingly said, enduring the reassuring look the head-maid gave her before hurrying out to do just that.


    Not wanting anyone else to see the room in a mess, Amelia picked up the rest of her painstakingly written notes and began piling them onto her desk where she began writing more. Only to become distracted by a set of footsteps; loud and heavy enough to reverberate through her chair, coming from outside in the hallway. Followed soon by a second pair whose faster pace gave the impression they were trying to keep up.


    Amelia wanted to snap the pen in frustration. She had half a thought to begin shouting for quiet. That is, until her tired mind recognized the man who began talking.


    It belonged to Heimdall. Her father¡¯s very own personal shadow.


    And he sounded desperate.


    ¡°My Lord! We cannot continue to patrol without you being there with us!¡± Heimdall pled, as Amelia crawled to the door to peep through its ajar crack. ¡°Your people have begun to remember you more from the songs sung in taverns than their own memories!¡±


    The fragmented breaking of a glass bottle smashing itself to smithereens caused Amelia to jump back from the door, before she could regain enough bravery to listen in as her father; the man who Heimdall chased after, shouted back with all the slurred strain of a hopeless alcoholic.


    ¡°Name one person brave enough to covet what I¡¯ve declared to be mine!¡± Havoc bellowed, and Amelia¡¯s heart refused to match his current tone to the one she so fondly remembered.


    ¡°I¡¯m only asking for you to ride with us in two days,¡± Heimdall begged, trying to slow Havoc¡¯s march by grabbing the man by his torso; only to start being dragged.


    ¡°Give me a reason why you can¡¯t do it yourself!¡±


    ¡°I have! Countless times already, you just don¡¯t think they¡¯re good enough!¡±


    Heimdall¡¯s words were enough for Amelia to act. Placing both hands on the door, she made to fearlessly go out to make a request, only to see the wine which splattered the floor and have her bravado leak out like a balloon that had been poked with a needle.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± she said, struggling to raise her words any louder than a whisper.


    Havoc, who had been trying to detach Heimdall, stopped moving. His head turning to look where only the edge of a night gown could be seen poking round a door¡¯s edge.


    ¡°Amelia? Is that you?¡± Heimdall asked, guessing the identity of the young woman who hid, ¡°shouldn¡¯t you be lying down right now? We heard you were feeling sick.¡±


    Amelia swallowed her grievance that the maids had already begun spreading gossip across the four corners of the Kingdom.


    ¡°Yes ¡ª I mean, no,¡± she said, finding it hard to put her exhausted thoughts into words, ¡°I mean¡­ What I wanted to say was, that patrol you mentioned, can I join you?¡±


    ¡°Amelia¡¯s sick?¡± Havoc echoed; his words addled by wine. His expression twisting into a grimace of annoyance.


    Amelia guessed he probably thought her a coward to hide while she talked. She almost hoped her father might reprimand her for a change. It would certainly beat the silent anger between them that never made itself known.


    Better to finally get his resentment against her out in the open than continue living atop a mountain of needles. Still, she shrunk back. In the end, preferring the status quo rather than test what might be. Grateful that Heimdall would decide at that moment to shove an accusing finger against the Baron¡¯s broad chest.


    ¡°You were there when the head-maid told us!¡± he yelled.


    ¡°Was I?¡± Havoc asked.


    Amelia hurriedly moved to interject out of turn when she saw Heimdall¡¯s hand bunch up into a fist.


    ¡°I¡¯m perfectly fine!¡± Amelia said loudly, not wanting to see the two get into a fight, ¡°Now please, can I join you?¡±


    Heimdall¡¯s expression turned as lost as Havoc¡¯s, who Amelia mustered enough courage to peek round her door to look at for all of one second. Enough time to find the Baron¡¯s glazed eyes staring right back into her own. Havoc¡¯s lips opened as if wanting to speak on behalf of their owner. But in the end, he said nothing, so Heimdall stepped up.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dare bring her without you,¡± he said to the Baron.


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll go together,¡± Havoc said, before trudging away. No doubt in search of more drink that would soon make him forget their conversation had ever occurred.


    Knowing Heimdall would remember even if Havoc did not, Amelia offered a quick apology for being a disturbance, then slunk back into her boudoir. Where she began tossing every note she had written down and committed to memory, into the fireplace she lit with a match.


    Next came The Historian¡¯s novel, which she held above the growing fire that begged for more food. Her hands shaking, Amelia opened the book to its last chapter, which held inside it the discovery that had started her tiring spiral into self-doubt. Clipped to a page, Amelia removed the aged painting which depicted their Kingdom¡¯s late queen, safely stowed it away, then furiously began ripping page after page of the book until only a couple had yet to be burnt. She clenched those final two pages upon which were written the scrawled notes of another. Of The Historian, who wondered how the dragon who had guarded their Kingdom¡¯s Western border could have possibly disappeared.


    ¡®He would have never allowed this,¡¯ ¡®Could the Marquess of Rutherford be the cause?¡¯ ¡®Where has he gone?¡¯ ¡®Is he dead?¡¯ ¡®What manner of devil must they have found, to allow them to slay such a being?¡¯


    Such were the questions Amelia once thought nothing much of. Dragons in fiction were not a rare sight, and she had presumed it to be an actual creature, until The Historian had named the fictional guardian beast.


    As Havoc Strightsworth. Her father.


    But even that could be written away as a distasteful joke. Were it not for an off-handed remark found in an earlier chapter, wherein the Marquess¡¯s son announced his engagement with an unnamed woman, whose father happened to be the dragon which had protected the Kingdom¡¯s Western border until his disappearance.


    How kind of him. How nice. To rescue the daughter of a beast before the savages could sink their claws in her. If only that very same engagement letter did not already lie on Amelia¡¯s desk. It¡¯s validity indisputably proven by the Marquess¡¯s family crest that adorned it in wax.


    The Historian had not written a story. They had lived the future that would soon come to pass.


    Happenstance? Not when Amelia had found that the devil lay not only in the letter, but The Historian¡¯s novel as well. The people, each location, everything matched with the historical records her family kept. It was a fact the novel contained information on the Velvetican Kingdom only her family or the royals would bother to gather. Which meant that either ¡®A Fantastical History of the Velvetican Kingdom¡¯ had somehow made its way back in time, or, and she feared this possibility far more, The Historian had travelled into the past for a delivery, in the hope Amelia might be able to change the future.


    She didn¡¯t quite like that prospect as much, since it indicated there might be a reason why Amelia had received the novel, instead of her father. And it wasn¡¯t as if she could tell anyone about it, since the only indisputable evidence The Historian¡¯s novel was real, happened to be the engagement letter she had received before obtaining the book.


    A letter she hadn¡¯t told anyone about. Meaning she didn¡¯t have any proof the book hadn¡¯t been made after the letter. They would think her stark raving mad if she tried telling the world of what she had found!


    Tossing the first of the two remaining pages into the fire, along with Gregory Rutherford¡¯s engagement proposal, Amelia found herself laden with a responsibility that felt far too heavy to bear. All she ended up keeping of The Historian¡¯s novel, was that very last page: A hand-written note from the author who had presumably, in their final moments, lost all sight of themselves.


    ¡®Where has she gone?¡¯ it read, ¡®is there any worth to be found in carrying on? They¡¯re all burning now. From the smoke rise the screams. Alone did I find her, as beautiful as ever but far too cold for me to dare touch¡­ I wonder¡­ Is there any meaning in clinging to life if I cannot stay by her side? Is there a cost I wouldn¡¯t pay to reverse what has happened?¡¯


    It would seem The Historian had been among the many men who desired a rose they could only ever hope to admire. How heart wrenching. To know that along with the princess who Amelia had begun to respect, would have also gone her own father. It made her want to answer The Historian¡¯s plea with a firm ¡®Yes, I¡¯ll do it!¡¯.


    Though there remained a sliver of doubt. A tiny, almost imperceptible voice that clung to the notion this might all be a horrible, terrible prank created by Gregory Rutherford.


    But that voice would be squashed should she manage to find the princess while patrolling alongside her father. Since Grace¡¯s orphanage could be found among one of the towns they would pass. If that could be done, then the rest of Amelia¡¯s hastily made plans to save the Kingdom might be possible too.


    A childish thought really. Having kept to herself for so long, forever believing that no matter how far her father descended into his drink he would always remain an immovable, invincible figure who would decide her life for her, the idea she might have to step up and play the role of a hero terrified Amelia.


    Ringing the servant bell on her desk, Amelia waited.


    ¡°You called miss?¡± greeted the maid who appeared, ¡°is there something I can help ¡ª oh my word! Are you sick enough you need a fire for warmth?! Please lie down. I¡¯ve heard that the doctor will arrive very soon!¡±


    ¡°Thank you. But I sent for you because I¡¯m in need of a handsaw,¡± Amelia said, deciding that being seen as temporarily crazy would be worth it for now.


    ¡°Well?¡± she asked, when the maid didn¡¯t move, ¡°it doesn¡¯t have to be industrial sized, just get me something that can cut through metal.¡±


    ¡°Of course, I¡¯ll get right on it. Will¡­ Will that be all?¡±


    No, it most certainly wouldn¡¯t. The handsaw was but a piece of Amelia¡¯s cobbled together plan that needed a hundred things to go right for it to ever work out.


    ¡°And prepare some tea meant to cure hang-overs for my father for when he wakes up,¡± Amelia said, turning away to let the maid know to get started.


    Alone once again, Amelia grabbed at her scalp. Running eight fingers and two thumbs through her long hair as she resisted the urge to pull in frustration. But she knew she had no time to lament her own woes. So, after retrieving her personal bottle of sleeping pills, she took twice the recommended amount.


    Enough to wake up well rested come late in the evening.


    ¡°Mom, I need your help¡± she whispered, just barely managing to prepare herself for a nap before the medicine began taking effect; bringing with it a haze Amelia swore caused the painting of the Baroness that hung on the wall opposite her bed¡¯s base to smile down at her.


    ¡°So please¡­ Can you watch over me a bit longer?¡±

 Chapter 2 — Heated Sabotage

    Maybe her mother hadn¡¯t yet gotten her message, Amelia thought, as she nursed her cut thumb with her tongue. Pulling the injured digit away to find solace in how the handsaw had not gone through to the bone.


    ¡°Ooh, that looks bad,¡± she whimpered, her voice going unheard in the carriage house she had snuck into.


    Fumbling with her clothes, using but a small lantern to see, Amelia took out the silk and gauze the maid she had tasked with finding a handsaw had given her. At the time she thought the maid¡¯s worry unfounded. But now, she wanted to give the woman a raise. Amelia¡¯s idea to sabotage the coach she and her father would be using come first light¡­ It probably wouldn¡¯t work if somebody spotted a pool of blood on the ground.


    Now if only said sabotage could go as easily as envisioned. Unfortunately, most of the coach had been constructed with metal. Meaning despite Amelia¡¯s book smarts which assured her that yes, a handsaw should in fact be able to cut it, the slit she managed to make after an hour of work was still no greater than the length of her pinky¡¯s nail.


    Nearly a fifth of her lanterns wick had burnt out by that point. Which led to impatience. That led to a fumble.


    Amelia stayed strong. Quietly sniffling through the pain as her progress grew even slower now that she only had one hand to use. There hid a wish in her heart that all of this shouldn¡¯t be needed. A small na?ve voice which wanted Amelia to run to her father for help. She told that small voice to go kick a rock. Reminding it of a childhood memory it could use to reflect on why asking her father for help would be pointless.


    ¡°What¡¯s her problem?¡± Havoc had once asked when Amelia¡¯s mother, Ophelia Strightsworth, brought to his office their crying three-year-old daughter.


    Havoc¡¯s stern face could be considered scary on a good day. And his curt question only caused Amelia to cry even louder.


    ¡°She hurt herself,¡± the beauty explained patiently to the beast, ¡°I thought you¡¯d might want to console her.¡±


    Sighing, Havoc lowered an immense arm over his desk for Amelia to be placed on his hand.


    ¡°Hold still and count to ten baby girl,¡± he said, pressing two fingers against Amelia¡¯s neck, where he felt for a pulse. Then, like a brute, he roughly hiked up her dress to examine the problem.


    ¡°She scraped her knee. You brought her to me for something of this level? With how loud she is, you would think she had lost her foot from a landmine.¡±


    That had been one of the few times Amelia remembered her mother getting angry at her father.


    ¡°Havoc you scoundrel!¡± Ophelia said loudly, rescuing her child who reached with both arms for her mother, ¡°Amelia is still a baby! Why can¡¯t you remember how you were at her age and comfort her? You¡¯re her father for heaven¡¯s sake. When she¡¯s in trouble, who else should she turn too but you?¡±


    Ophelia placed an open palm in front of her daughter, atop of which burst a small flickering flame which took the form of two dancing dolls. The use of magic effective in distracting a child.


    Watching this, Havoc dismissively snorted. ¡°At her age I was being trampled by horses,¡± he said, digging through his desk to find a small vial. ¡°There¡¯s a roof over her head. She¡¯s got food in her belly¡­ I should think all of this,¡± he gestured to the room they were in, ¡°should count towards me ¡®helping¡¯. Rub some healing balm on her, then go fetch a servant to buy candy if her whining doesn¡¯t stop.¡±


    His callous response resulted in not only a crying daughter, but a wife who joined in.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you heal her?¡± Ophelia asked Havoc, sitting down on her husband¡¯s lap while administering the ointment.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a backline healer,¡± Havoc said, though he had the decency to look somewhat ashamed when his wife glowered through misty eyes at him. ¡°It took me years to get my own regeneration under control,¡± he said, trying to defend himself under the noise of his pen¡¯s writing that gave him an excuse not to look at her, ¡°I have no time to learn how to heal others. If she¡¯s going to be weak, that¡¯s Amelia¡¯s problem. Not mine.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s memories grew fuzzy from that point. Leaving her presently, with a sour aftertaste that wouldn¡¯t quite go away. It¡¯s how Havoc had always been. He had pulled himself up from the dirt on his own and he expected others to do the same, regardless of who, or how old they might be.


    Which in Amelia¡¯s mind made it clear confiding in her father would never work out.


    Amelia decided to lament other things. Such as having not been born more like the princess from the Historian¡¯s Novel. Who could show off an ankle¡¯s worth of skin for an army¡¯s worth of salivating men to do all the tedious work for her without question. Unlike those Amelia had access to; A bunch of servants who were already spreading rumors that their miss had obtained a handsaw to cut a book in half out of anger because of its ending.


    Amelia pulled the handsaw back to see how much more she had progressed.


    ¡°My hopes for the future are running pretty low if this is what I¡¯m relying on,¡± she grumbled, after finding no visible progress had been made.


    Letting her arm rest for a few minutes, she went back to cutting. After all, Amelia had bigger plans than simply saving the Kingdom. While her father might have grown content to waste away in stagnation and let Heimdall run things for him, Amelia wanted to use what The Historian had written to elevate her own standard of living. First, she would befriend the princess, putting herself in the future royal¡¯s good graces. Finding the king¡¯s long lost daughter ought to be worth more than a few accolades. Should she decide to in the future, she might even make Domina, and have her own barony to manage. While her father could at least become a Viscount.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Of course, she might need to splash him with a bucket filled with ice cold water to wake him up to the idea.


    But if she could do it, then it might shut up those sniveling guests who occasionally visited on business with her father. And their children, who constantly droned on and on about how awful it must be, to live in the shadows of her mother in a no-name border barony. She could see it in their eyes, that they held a distain for her father, for having used brute strength to achieve fame, and for having saved and be-smitten the Lady Winchester when her escort had been ambushed once upon a time.


    ¡°Yeah¡­ Well¡­ Mom said yes, so shut up,¡± Amelia mumbled, refusing to use swears despite nobody being around to hear them.


    Because as her mother used to say when scolding her father, ¡°There will always be one person who will know. And that person is yourself.¡±


    ¡°Now if you want to show me how sorry you are; you¡¯ll do well to find another use for your tongue.¡±


    Amelia ceased cutting. Her mother had never said that.


    It took an approaching light; seeping through under the carriage house¡¯s entrance for her to realise the voice intruding on her recollections, had not been pure imagination. Hastily gathering up her affairs in a panic, Amelia scrambled to hide behind the coach¡¯s rear body. Extinguishing her lantern in time to hide from the lovers who had made of all locations, the carriage house as their rendezvous spot.


    Their entangling bodies performed a sloppy waltz to the coach. Where Amelia covered her mouth to stifle the shocked gasp that tried to escape her, when the two began to use it as a set piece for their enjoyment. They were already in varying states of undress. Amelia could only watch from her hiding spot in a trance, as the maid playfully denied the knight¡¯s attempt to further slip his hand up under her skirt.


    ¡°Here? Are you sure?¡± gasped the man, removing his shirt while asking the question.


    ¡°Take me. I want you to take me on top of the carriage.¡±


    It¡¯s not a carriage! It¡¯s a coach! Amelia wanted to shout. But showing herself now would be terribly embarrassing for everyone, so she justified peeping further to know when best to skedaddle.


    As the clothes began falling, and the moaning grew louder, Amelia watched the lovers kiss, knowing she could probably use her own forehead to boil a full pot of water. To make it worse. She knew the two servants. One, a once stable boy who had worked hard for his promotion to squire, then knight. The other, a woman Amelia often saw toiling away in the kitchens.


    ¡°You¡¯re treating me like a lady,¡± growled the woman, ¡°are those muscles for show?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame me if you can¡¯t walk straight tomorrow,¡± the knight said, and Amelia put a small space between herself and the coach, when she began to feel the jostling transmitted against her.


    Amelia felt mortified. Here she was, a Baron¡¯s daughter, watching two of her family¡¯s servants go at it like animals. The lantern they¡¯d brought casting more than enough light for her to see the supple form that began riding atop the coachman¡¯s seat in a manner that made her worry they might fall.


    The longer they went, the more Amelia¡¯s admiration for the princess, and all other women began to increase. Until that moment, her knowledge of sex could only be found from inside books. If a man presented himself to her, she would have no idea where to start.


    Nor could she for the life of herself understand the strangely warm sensation that had begun to grow round her heart. She chalked it down to embarrassment. All while her mind couldn¡¯t help but recall the more explicit events The Historian had described in their book. Her imagination, for a split second, super-imposed the princess¡¯s description over the maid who she spied on.


    Goodness. She couldn¡¯t imagine having multiple lovers at the same time. The intimacy before her looked exhausting.


    An assessment that corroborated with how the knight and maid seemed to be taking a rest. Until Amelia worked out that no, they were only changing positions. But with the knight¡¯s face disappearing between a pair of breasts, and the maid occupied with looking to the ceiling in a pure state of rapture, Amelia decided her moment to flee via crawling had come.


    Except now crawling felt a lot naughtier than it had in the past. One forearm over the other, she tried not to be self-conscious over how her body moved. Making what should have been a short distance to freedom, feel like an eternity.


    Finally, she escaped out into the night, through the door the lovers hadn¡¯t even bothered to lock, and into a warm air that felt refreshingly cool against her damp skin.


    ¡°Why couldn¡¯t they have found a bed,¡± Amelia complained quietly under her breath, looking back at the pair to make sure they hadn¡¯t noticed her sneaking.


    Only for the maid¡¯s sudden blissful cry to jolt Amelia away and into a hasty retreat. That is, after Amelia loudly slammed the door shut behind her in a petty act of revenge. Stifling the giggles that came when she heard the two yelp in surprise.


    Serves you right! Amelia gloated while running as fast as she could, (which by a normal person¡¯s standards amounted to a brisk walk) all the way back to the front entrance of the Strightsworth family manor.


    Knowing the guards would see her coming from a mile away once she stepped onto the cleared garden grounds, Amelia first stashed the handsaw in a bush. Finding as she did, a few wild onions which she placed in her pocket. Breathing in deep, Amelia did her best to calm down before approaching the guards in the distance who stood as a firm set of three; two to keep watch, the third taking his turn in catching up on some sleep.


    ¡°Name yourself!¡± one of the guards ordered upon noticing Amelia¡¯s silhouette.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s me!¡± Amelia shouted back, worried they might take her for someone suspicious in the dim light of the twin oil lamp streetlights which marked the manor¡¯s front lot.


    ¡°Amelia?¡± asked the other guard who moved passed her colleague to check whether everything was alright, ¡°I had thought the maids were exaggerating, but you look like you have a fever. What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I think my sleeping pills caused me to sleep-walk out my window,¡± Amelia said sheepishly. ¡°Please don¡¯t tell anyone. I have plans to join my father during tomorrow¡¯s patrol, and I don¡¯t want to give Heimdall a reason to tell me I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Sleepwalking with a lantern?¡± The first guard said dumbly, earning himself a slap from his colleague.


    ¡°Of course, of course,¡± the second guard said, guiding Amelia back into the manor, ¡°We¡¯ll wait to make a report, you¡¯ve no need to worry. By the time he knows, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll have impressed the Baron so much he won¡¯t even think to get angry.¡±


    It was as good as Amelia could hope for. The guards were after all, employed by her father. And though there might be less of them than there had been in the past, and their discipline might have slacked some, she could still feel the pride they put into their work under her family¡¯s name.


    And they would die along with her father. If her crackpot plan failed to work.

 Chapter 3 — Call her Princess, Call her Grace

    Every bump in the road felt like a pebble that ought to have been born a boulder. And each time the coach creaked Amelia found herself holding her breath, hoping that a louder noise would soon follow. Only, the coach she and her father sat in continued smoothly onwards; a testament to the good work of those who had built it. An accomplishment to be lauded, if it were not for Amelia¡¯s inner turmoil that desperately wanted their ride to come apart at the seems.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been jittery since we left,¡± Havoc said, pulling Amelia out from her mind¡¯s palace and back into the real world.


    His remark stunned her. Having thought it a given her father would quietly spend the entirety of their ride with a drink in his hand. ¡°I¡¯ll admit to being excited,¡± she said, keeping her eyes trained outside her seat¡¯s window, ¡°it¡¯s been a while since we spent time together like this.¡±


    Havoc grunted. Amelia couldn¡¯t tell whether that meant he agreed, or if he was holding back a dissatisfaction in having to bring her along.


    Amelia couldn¡¯t convince herself to look at him and find out. For she feared ruining this opportunity to be with her father. Such was the rarity of them being in each other¡¯s company since the passing of Ophelia Strightsworth. These days, it sometimes felt as if Havoc had fallen off the face of a cliff. He could disappear for days at a time and nobody would be none the wiser as to where he might be.


    ¡°Is the entire road going to be this well maintained?¡± Amelia asked, trying to make safe conversation while estimating the chances that her plan might succeed.


    ¡°From beginning to finish,¡± Havoc answered, which only worsened Amelia¡¯s worries. ¡°Once, the ground here looked no better than a well-trodden path. I found this gave our¡­ neighbors, ideas. Which led to my decision that our borders deserved a symbol. A line if you will, that none would dare cross.¡±


    Amelia hummed in agreement. She could remember those dirt roads. As well as the times she spent gathering flowers under the watch of her mother near them. All while Havoc stood on the highest hill to keep guard. As if daring those on the other side of the border to try and stop his workers from permanently marking the land he protected.


    And oh, how they had tried.


    One head, two heads, three heads, more. The number of pikes marking the landscape at that time had quickly risen in correspondence with the number of assassins the West had sent forth to put Havoc¡¯s legend to the test.


    Amelia smiled. She remembered having found one at the base of a hill. As well as the shrill scream of shock which Ophelia had let loose upon seeing what her daughter had brought her.


    ¡°Amelia Strightsworth! You drop that this instant or else it¡¯s vegetables for a week!¡± Ophelia had shouted. Bringing the memory to a close with the unpleasant taste of boiled brussels sprouts. Remedied only by her father, who had snuck a chocolate bar into her grubby hands later that day.


    The bonds their family once shared emboldened Amelia to listen to the small voice in her heart which urged her to sneak a glance at her father from under her wide, wool felt hat. And like a mouse who dared peak it¡¯s head out from its burrow, only to find a cat staring back, Amelia¡¯s bravery found itself extinguished. Havoc¡¯s glare was simply too much. He must have really been against her coming along. Frantically, Amelia searched for a reason to stay should her father decide to renegade on his promise and have her sent back home early.


    She found a possible excuse in the town that had begun to rise round the road¡¯s bend.


    ¡°Heimdall!¡± Amelia shouted, raising her voice for the man riding on horseback to bring his steed over to the window she opened, ¡°Heimdall, is that Lurington which I see?¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Heimdall answered.


    ¡°And would I be correct in saying that it¡¯s the closest town to the border?¡±


    ¡°You would, have you a need to be met there?¡±


    Amelia shook her head no. She only wanted her father to remember that he had promised to bring her along while Heimdall was present. Though in asking her question, she also confirmed the name of the town wherein the princess would have spent her childhood growing up.


    ¡°No thank you,¡± Amelia said, ¡°I simply wanted to match what I¡¯ve read with what I now see.¡± While in truth, she wanted to point and yell: ¡®Go! Find and bring me our Kingdom¡¯s only hope for survival!¡¯ But that would draw far too much attention.


    Hence why she began to panic as they approached the town¡¯s turn-off.


    What if the coach¡¯s wheel never broke? How could they stop for repairs if there was nothing to repair? Amelia¡¯s heart beat tremendously with worry. The trip had already taken three hours. A distance much too far for her to reasonably sneak out and visit on her own.


    She nearly jumped up in fright when Havoc nudged his foot against hers.


    ¡°Is there a point to you wearing gloves in this heat?¡± Havoc asked, pointing to the white lace Amelia was using to hide her still injured hand.


    ¡°It¡¯s for fashion,¡± she mumbled, ¡°I overheard a few maids talking of how in the capital, the lady¡¯s there have taken to wearing gloves even during the summer.¡±


    ¡°Weird,¡± Havoc said, ¡°you would think the heat¡­¡±


    The Baron stopped talking. A deep frown crossing the corners of his mouth before he placed his hand to the floor. Moments before Amelia¡¯s plan came into fruition, and a horrible shudder accompanied a loud snap.


    Havoc was already half-way out the door by the time the wheel fully broke.


    ¡°Whoa, whoa now!¡± cried the coachman, pulling hard on the reigns, when the coach hit the ground with enough force that Amelia found herself falling off from her seat.


    Painfully hitting the floor, she barely managed to catch Havoc¡¯s half empty wine bottle before it could make impact with her face. Holding a hand over the bottle¡¯s opening, Amelia curled up to try and ride out the coach that began violently shaking. She had imagined the coach ought to be heavy enough it would slowly come to a stop after losing a wheel. Never could Amelia have predicted the horses would instead panic and begin to pick up even more speed.


    The brute force of the animals alarmed Amelia greatly. They were riding with an escort, and she now feared her ill-conceived plan might result in a knight, or their steed getting injured.


    And when it felt as if the out-of-control coach had hit a brick wall. Amelia wanted to cry.


    Desperate to take responsibility for the damage she¡¯d caused, Amelia struggled to crawl-climb her way out from the slanted coach. Practically falling out the door and into the arms of Heimdall who had come to help get her out.


    ¡°Is anyone hurt?!¡± she asked him, only to grow greatly confused when Heimdall¡¯s worried expression broke out into laughter.


    Which made not a lick of sense, until she saw the front of their coach. Where Havoc stood calmly shushing the two panicked horses he held: one arm under each barrel belly. Contrary to Amelia¡¯s assumption that they had gone off road and crashed into the forest, her father, using an unreasonable, inhuman amount of strength, had singlehandedly put a stop to the consequences created by Amelia¡¯s lack of foresight.


    In relief, Amelia let herself bawl. Though she took comfort in knowing only Heimdall would see her up close as the knights were already gathering around their Baron to find out what had happened.


    ¡°Foul play is at foot!¡± Havoc said loudly, placing down the horses who sat next to each other as if afraid of becoming his lunch, ¡°I want ten by my daughter! The rest are to draw weapons and search for whoever might be the cause! Do not stray further than your eyes are able to see from this spot. If you find anyone, they are to be dragged alive and placed on the ground at my feet!¡±


    His knights sprung into action. Each one trying to move quicker than the last. Their armor glimmering under the dark blue colors of her family¡¯s crest. Cleaned and maintained even so far as much Amelia finally realised something was different than normal.


    Had the knights gone above and beyond in preparing their equipment to march?


    For so long had Amelia grown accustomed to seeing them walking around in but the lightest of armor, that the idea she may not be alone in wanting her father to regain his old self re-energized her fully. Tucking away the handkerchief she used to clean her face, Amelia let the pride she was seeing in each knight¡¯s body-language guide her feet to her father.


    ¡°Are you hurt?¡± Havoc asked, sounding so genuinely worried Amelia almost admitted that yes, she had taken a tumble that would leave a few bruises.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Amelia said, wanting to look strong in his presence, ¡°what happened?¡± she asked, pretending to not know.


    Havoc looked back at the coach, ¡°carriage wheel came off,¡± he said, and to Amelia it sounded as if her father had begun to come down from an adrenaline high, ¡°someone get me my drink,¡± he grouchily ordered, before calling for Heimdall.


    ¡°Results?¡± Havoc growled, when his aid arrived at the same time as his bottle.


    ¡°Sabotage,¡± Heimdall said, his eyes narrow, his voice nearly cracking from how angry he¡¯d gotten, ¡°no signs of ambush. They must have miscalculated. Give me the order, and I¡¯ll ride ahead to return the surprise.¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Unnecessary,¡± Havoc said, sitting down on a boulder that sunk a few inches into the ground, ¡°instead, take seven with you to Lurington for a replacement carriage to bring Amelia back.¡±


    Desperate for that not to happen, Amelia spoke up. ¡°Why not let me help? I¡­ I can represent you in Lurington. It wouldn¡¯t be hard!¡±


    Her hope in meeting the princess had only just been restored. She wouldn¡¯t let things go south so close to success. Daring to touch her father¡¯s shoulder, Amelia opened her mouth to further try and convince him, only to pull that hand back as if it had touched the fire his burning gaze held.


    It made sense. From his perspective, they had just been attacked. And here she was asking to go off from the group. Like an idiot.


    Still, she couldn¡¯t give up.


    ¡°I have faith in the knights who you¡¯ve trained,¡± Amelia said, finding the grass pretty enough to appreciate while talking, ¡°whoever did this, they wouldn¡¯t know I¡¯ve come with you. But if there¡¯s an ambush ahead, then they might be expecting reinforcements to be sent for. Wouldn¡¯t Lurington be the safest place for me to be right now?¡±


    Heimdall nodded. ¡°She¡¯s not wrong. Only you and I knew Amelia would be joining us today.¡±


    Well, them and a few night-shift guards. But Amelia held her tongue and did not correct him. Instead, she waited on her father¡¯s decision with both fingers crossed.


    Havoc gave no response. The baron instead now occupied with staring off into the distance. Signalling for Heimdall to lean in, Havoc whispered something to his aid that Amelia couldn¡¯t hear. Whatever was shared however, had Heimdall urgently nod in clear understanding.


    Her hope wavered, for the umpteenth time that day. Amelia fully believing her father had pulled rank to have her returned. Until Heimdall inexplicably dashed off in a sprint. Quick as a gazelle, he ran up a nearby hill, and disappeared over its side.


    Daring not to break the awkward silence that fell, Amelia received a surprise when Heimdall returned after a few minutes, dragging two young women by the scruff of their clothes. Along with a heard of sheep. Who couldn¡¯t tell the difference between their owners leading them on to new pastures or being straight up abducted.


    ¡°Daddy, what¡¯s going on?¡± Amelia asked, immediately wanting to slap herself for the infantile gaff in how she had addressed him. It couldn¡¯t be helped. Her brain must have returned to a childish state due to not being able to keep up with the strange development that was two people thrown in front of her father¡¯s boots.


    ¡°Before you stands the Baron of the land on which you live!¡± Heimdall announced with great force, ¡°know that any lies from this point forward, will be met with punitive action!¡±


    One of the girls kept crying. Her mousy hair used to hide herself away from the world as she curled up into a ball. The other, a blond, got onto her knees to look towards Havoc.


    Amelia, who empathised with the fear the first girl felt in being forced to deal with her father, did a double take when she moved forwards and got a good look at the blonde. With hair as golden as wheat yet with the texture of silk. Skin that knew of the sun yet remained unblemished and smooth. The blond was a beauty. Even the knights who were watching began murmuring when she stood and performed a perfect curtsy to address the Baron.


    ¡°We¡¯re residents of Lurington my lord, out tending sheep. Please, ask us any questions you might have. For such a heavy-handed method of calling us over, I imagine urgency is essential.¡±


    She even talked pretty! Had fortune smiled upon her? Amelia certainly thought so. Since the woman before her, looked like a younger version of the late queen whose painting she had found in The Historian¡¯s book!


    This must be the princess. But to confirm, she needed a name.


    Although she simply couldn¡¯t understand how the perhaps princess could stand confidently in front of Havoc, whose bloodlust began to seep from his body in dark red tendrils of power that looked ready to ignite. Even standing behind him, Amelia could feel the air growing heavy.


    ¡°Heimdall, am I incorrect,¡± Havoc said slowly, ¡°or are we a fair distance from pastures worth grazing.¡±


    Heimdall pushed up his glasses, taking in their surroundings before answering.


    ¡°They¡¯re not ideal, why, you think they¡¯re involved?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Havoc answered, close enough now to the two women that he towered above them. ¡°But I want to know why they¡¯re here and not elsewhere.¡±


    The girl on the ground cried even louder. And though the potential princess opened her lips, not a sound did come out. In fact, her hands seemed to be shaking with worry. Amelia shuddered when she realized her father might very well be brute headed enough to trample the luck bestowed upon her by providence.


    Rather what was she herself doing! Was this not the perfect time to leave a lasting first impression? Grabbing the sides of her dress, she hurried to step in front of Havoc.


    ¡°Apologies, our coach encountered some difficulty, thus my father, his lordship, is on edge. Understand he is simply worried for the safety of his knights. Any explanation you could offer as to why you are here would be greatly appreciated.¡±


    The maybe princess, her posture relaxing at having someone much less imposing to talk with, gave Amelia a thankful regard. ¡°We saw the accident from a distance,¡± she said, ¡°so we figured to take a closer look in case any help might be needed. Our curiosity seems to have done more harm than good. I take it that it was no accident to begin with?¡±


    The possible princess presented both of her arms unto Havoc. ¡°Do with us what you will. It¡¯s understandable you would need question or detain us under these circumstances. We are more than willing to wait while our identities are confirmed.¡±


    Amelia breathed in through her nose in excitement. As expected of the princess. The knights, along with Havoc who released his pressure, looked convinced the two women were most likely not threats.


    ¡°Please, lower your arms,¡± Amelia said kindly, ¡°you are citizens under my father¡¯s protection. My family is not one to judge someone as guilty without first finding fault. Might I have your names? I¡¯m certain your positions will be cleared up in no time.¡±


    ¡°Clarice,¡± said the Shepheard, still refusing to look at anyone in the slightest.


    ¡°This one is named Grace,¡± said the princess, and Amelia suppressed a desire to squeal.


    Success! Nay, this moment might be considered even a grand success in the future. For with her suspicions confirmed, Amelia could now fully commit to believing in The Historian¡¯s Novel. That last lingering doubt vanished. The princess was real. The Historian''s Novel was real.


    Oh god the Historian''s novel really is real, Amelia thought, feeling the reality of what that meant wash over her now that the floodgates of possibility in her mind had been opened.


    Could she do this?


    Turning to her father, Amelia sought approval to continue speaking. She found him with a drink to his mouth, bearing a disinterested look. Amelia could feel her lips ask permission to tremble in grief. Telling them to wait until nightfall, she managed to negotiate an undeterred smile with a future promise of sweets.


    ¡°Then I would like to both thank you for stepping forwards to help and apologise for this misunderstanding.¡± Amelia said to the two women.


    ¡°We can do more than step forward,¡± Grace said, showing a cheeky grin that Amelia just knew had managed to ensorcell at least half the men present. ¡°Why not come with us to town? I know a good craftsman whose been looking for work, we could confirm our alibis while he helps fix your coach?¡±


    ¡°Splendid,¡± Amelia said, happy to see the building blocks to the Kingdom¡¯s survival were now falling where she wished that they would. ¡°Doesn¡¯t that sound like a good idea?¡± she asked Heimdall, using him as a middleman to obtain permission from her father.


    Heimdall agreed. And soon, the princess was helping her friend up to depart with an escort of knights.


    Having established first contact with Grace, Amelia no longer had any reason to stay. Moving closer to Havoc, she thought of how best to get approval for that which needed to be asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve decided you are to return with Heimdall once the carriage has been fixed,¡± Havoc said.


    Amelia did not object, ¡°of course,¡± she said, thinking back on her plan. Originally, she had wanted to seek out the princess, put herself in a position where the two of them would meet through happenstance, and go on from there. But that had already been done! Which left only one thing.


    ¡°Father,¡± she whispered, sliding in a bit closer, ¡°can I speak with you alone for a moment?¡±


    The Baron waved his knights and Heimdall away. Once alone with her father, Amelia couldn¡¯t help but second guess the script she¡¯d come up with.


    ¡°Well?¡± Havoc asked, his voice unquestionably impatient to get on with things.


    Allowing the onion in her sleeve to fall into her glove, Amelia took a deep breath. Knowing logically, convincing her father she needed Grace to become her handmaiden, made no sense at all.


    Meaning her only recourse would be to appeal to emotion. And pray it wouldn¡¯t annoy her father instead.


    ¡°I want her,¡± Amelia said, and she winced under the baron¡¯s eyebrows that arched in perplexion.


    ¡°By ¡®her¡¯, do you mean the girl who talked with me, or the ostrich masquerading as a human.¡±


    ¡°The girl with blond hair,¡± Amelia said, biting her lower lip to give the slight impression she knew what she asked for was strange. ¡°Mother had her ladies in waiting¡­ And¡­ Well¡­ Grace left a good impression. You must have seen it, how she remained calm before you.¡±


    Up came the unneeded onion when Havoc failed to reply.


    Down came the tears she pretended to fake.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Amelia said, when Havoc opened his mouth and she worried he might refuse her outright, ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s been hard since mom left us. I was hoping to maybe try making a friend. You used to tell me stories of living in a small village, so I thought, maybe she might end up being someone like Heimdall.¡±


    Havoc nary blinked once while she spoke. Amelia wondered if by mentioning her mother, she might have unintentionally angered her father. A fret that seemed all but confirmed when the ground beneath Havoc splintered in fivefold directions. The very earth responding to the Baron¡¯s state of mind that began raging about.


    Cursing herself for not having asked Heimdall instead of her father, Amelia flinched under the hand that Havoc raised high.


    Only to fall into absolute disarray when his palm heavily coddled the top of her head.


    ¡°Hard work will bring strength,¡± Havoc said slowly, and Amelia¡¯s emotions were put on hold to try and figure out why he would mention their family¡¯s motto.


    ¡°And under us will the weak gather?¡± she said, finishing it for him. Unable to see Havoc¡¯s expression from under his hand.


    It felt strange. But Amelia kept quiet. Letting the warm foreign fuzzies in her heart spread the nostalgia throughout her. She quite liked the words which adorned her family¡¯s emblem of a blue-bird in flight. Simple in design like her father¡¯s roots, but bearing a message that anyone knew to be true.


    The moment between them ended just as quickly as it had started when Havoc pulled back.


    ¡°Do what you will,¡± said her father, turning to leave, ¡°Now head home. I¡¯ll be going ahead to meet whoever is responsible for having disturbed our outing.¡±


    ¡°Father, That¡¯s¡­ That¡¯s the other side of the border,¡± Amelia said, when she saw in which direction he headed.


    ¡°I know,¡± Havoc answered without looking back.


    His departing figure left Amelia feeling like a child who had received some attention, but not nearly enough. She huffed. Not liking the thought that anything she did might be childish. After all, her mother had hoped her daughter would grow to become a dutiful lady.


    Thus, she took one last look at his back, before running to the coach. Where she dug through her bag for a letter she had already written. Calling a knight over, she handed it to him, along with some money.


    ¡°I wish for you to deliver this,¡± she said.


    ¡°To whom?¡± Asked the knight.


    ¡°Have you heard of the rumours of a drink that tastes just like heaven?¡±


    ¡°In Lurington? Yeah, the boys ¡ª apologies ¡ª the other knights, they¡¯ve been singing its praises at every chance lately.¡±


    And do you remember the woman with blonde hair who Heimdall brought over?¡±


    ¡°Like a ray of sunlight in summer,¡± the knight sighed.


    Amelia frowned. Waiting for the knight to break out from his love-stricken daze.


    ¡°Uh¡­ Is this for her then?¡± he at long last asked, looking almost hopeful about it.


    ¡°That young woman is my friend,¡± Amelia said, sprinkling in a small lie in case the knight got any funny ideas. She wouldn¡¯t risk having the princess stolen out from under her nose this early into The Historian¡¯s story. ¡°You will find her working in the pub where that heavenly drink is produced. Enter it knowing every word you say should be treated as my own. I want you to yell, at the top of your lungs if you must, that your purpose for visiting is to seek out the person responsible for making those drinks.¡±


    The knight must have realized Amelia was serious. ¡°By your will then,¡± he said, striking his chest with great gusto.


    ¡°One last thing,¡± Amelia said, wanting to make up for her father¡¯s bad first impression, ¡°if anyone but my friend steps forward claiming to be the creator¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    Amelia impishly grinned. Knowing her next words to be naughty.


    ¡°Beat them for me. Until they beg for forgiveness.¡±

 Chapter 4 — Of People and Plans

    The morning after Amelia had accompanied her father on patrol, the princess¡¯s answer arrived forthwith on horseback. Delivered via a youth who the maids were already describing as a true gentleman. All because he had tried to make sure in talking with the guards that Amelia¡¯s intentions with ¡®his¡¯ Grace were forthcoming and honest.


    Amelia almost choked on her tea when she heard that. Surely, he knew anything said in a maid¡¯s presence would reach the ears of their master. Not wanting to appear impolite, Amelia waited until she had returned to her room before bursting out into laughter. Finding great amusement at the idea that Grace, even before rising in status, must have never found it difficult to find a man to do things on her behalf.


    Not that she found it unbecoming. In fact, Amelia welcomed the opportunistic nature of the princess, since it meant the likelihood of Grace turning down her offer was low.


    The rest of the day passed swiftly in a flurry of preparation. With Amelia busying herself in making sure the bedroom Grace would stay in (next to her own) and the drawing room where the Strightsworth¡¯s guests were received was brought up to snuff with the help of the maids. Amelia also had an expensive dress she had once secretly ordered through a magazine but never dared wear, (for it was designed to show off a great deal of skin), removed out of storage.


    Her out of the ordinary behavior had the maids curious. One of them even plucked up the courage to ask whether Amelia would be inviting a man.


    Silly gossips, Amelia thought, finding the perfect necklace to wear with the sleek, form fitting dress, there¡¯s a difference between seduction between the sexes and wanting to get your charm across to a prospective friend.


    That¡¯s right. She intended to charm the princess with a future of glamor! A stark contrast to the modest make-up and clothing Amelia had worn on patrol with her father, this new chosen outfit of hers was an assemblage designed to show off the benefits Grace could gain by agreeing to work under the Strightsworth name! Which was necessary, for Amelia meant to delay the discovery of the princess. Wanting time enough to properly water the gardens of friendship.


    Her plan, appeared flawless!


    Despite well¡­ The moral dilemma that was purposely denying Grace her birthright by a few months. A thought which worried Amelia enough that by the time the princess arrived, she had only just barely managed to convince herself into pressing forwards regardless.


    Smoothing out her dress one last time as the door to the drawing room opened, Amelia¡¯s heart skipped a beat upon finding the princess who timidly entered had also put effort into her look.  No wonder The Historian had once flowerily described Grace as a halo wreathed saint. When a simple hair-styling and light application of make-up, along with a change of outdoor work-wear to sundress, became a full transformation.


    Before, Amelia had considered Grace to be a fair beauty. Now, the princess was blinding.


    Good. A woman who could fell a Kingdom with their beauty should at least be of this level. Any less, and Amelia would have needed to track down The Historian to question them on what else they might have embellished.


    Upon spotting Amelia, Grace visibly swallowed. An expected reaction to having shown up for a job interview, only to be led straight to the boss¡¯s daughter for teatime with cookies; An intentional strategy designed to give Amelia the upper hand in their dealings.


    Also snacks helped calm her down.


    ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, under more¡­ relaxed circumstance,¡± Amelia said, from the couch she lounged on, opposite a small dining room table. ¡°Would you like some tea?¡± she asked, not giving the princess a chance to reply. Already gesturing for one of the maids standing idle to lead the princess to her chair while another began filling their cups.


    ¡°Uh¡­ Sure!¡± Grace said, eying the drink placed before her on the dining table, before turning her gaze to the bouquet in her hands as if wanting to bring up their purpose.


    Amelia grinned; she took a sip from her cup.


    ¡°How lovely, am I to assume the flowers are a gift?¡± she asked, putting into action what her mother had taught her about maintaining poise by looking directly at the princess while talking.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s a thank you gift,¡± Grace said, handing the flowers to a maid who stepped forward, ¡°We were worried ¡ª Clarice and I ¡ª that our attempt to help did more harm than good.¡±


    Her words only made Amelia¡¯s drink taste even sweeter.


    ¡°Really? How so?¡± Amelia asked, holding back in showing any of the delight she secretly felt when Grace¡¯s hands nervously shook when picking her cup up; the corner of which clattered against its plate in departure.


    ¡°Well¡­ The Baron of Strightsworth¡¯s greatest treasure is known to be his daughter. We assumed even the idea of a threat managing to come close to you might have irritated him.¡±


    Bother. Now Amelia¡¯s drink had plunged straight into tasting bitter. She only wanted the princess to feel a little anxious. Not a lot.


    ¡°There¡¯s no need to dwell on any of that,¡± Amelia said, pushing over an envelope that contained an offer of employment. ¡°Here, this is the contract I mentioned in my first letter. Do take your time in reading it over. And let me know if there are any points you believe need changing.¡±


    Grace had barely opened the letter, when again Amelia chose to poke with her words.


    ¡°I might be mistaken; however, I can¡¯t help but feel my presence is making you¡­ tense.¡±


    The letter in Grace¡¯s hand bent in half. Nervously chuckling, the princess avoided Amelia¡¯s eyes by beginning to read.       ¡°I¡¯m not surprised you noticed,¡± Grace said quietly, ¡°after my boss got himself beat up by the Baron¡¯s men, I¡¯m a mite worried that I might be out of a job. If this doesn¡¯t pan out¡­¡±


    Making sure to sound disappointed, Amelia sighed, ¡°And here I thought my reputation would have been enough for you to trust in me. Although I¡¯m sure once you¡¯ve finished reading my offer those worries will be quick put to rest. As far as I am concerned, you are already hired.¡±


    An adorable cheery tinge rose to dot Grace¡¯s cheeks. Amelia wanted to roll her eyes at the sight. No wonder the men were lining up to do the girl¡¯s bidding. That air of innocence mixed with her looks held the power to have people killed.


    ¡°These are extremely favorable conditions Miss Strightsworth¡­¡± Grace said, once finished reading.


    ¡°Call me Amelia,¡± Amelia said, before tutting, ¡°though I¡¯m sensing a ¡®but¡¯ hiding behind those words of yours.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m ashamed to say that you¡¯re right. As willing as I am to become your handmaiden, even starting this instant¡­ Can I first ask you a quick question in private?¡±


    Fantastic, Amelia thought, Grace was practically doing the work for her. Sending away the standing maids who huffed in disappointment, she waited until only herself and the princess remained.


    ¡°Go on,¡± Amelia said, prompting the other woman to sit a bit straighter.


    Breathing in deeply, Grace slowly blinked. And when she opened her eyes, Amelia found herself faced with the same focused demeanor seen when the princess had talked with her father.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been wondering since it happened. But how did you know it was me who created the drink my former employer has been selling? I can¡¯t imagine him spilling the secret, since with it they¡¯ve been bringing in more money than the rest of the bar¡¯s menu combined.¡±


    Playing with the handle of her teacup, Amelia turned her drink round and around on its plate. ¡°Is that really so important?¡± she asked, studying the watery reflection.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid to say it is,¡± Grace answered, sounding genuinely upset her request might ruin her chances at a high paying job, ¡°you must know¡­ being the daughter of a Baron, that magic is something usually associated with ¡ª¡±


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°Nobility,¡± Amelia said, finishing the princess¡¯s words. Finding a wicked pleasure in how shocked Grace¡¯s face looked. ¡°Yes, I am aware of that stereotype. However, a trip to the capital is all you would need to learn such beliefs are purely¡­ rural, in nature.¡±


    Amelia wasn¡¯t lying. with enough training, and should you have access to the right resources, basic magic could be learnt by just about anyone favored by a noble. Magic, and the understanding of nature, was not necessarily a matter of birthright, though there were exceptions like with the royal family¡¯s bloodline, or her father.


    ¡°R-Really?¡± Grace asked, and Amelia felt her heart ache for the woman who sounded as if her most fervent dream had been squashed.


    The poor dear. But no matter. After eating a lemon, the honey that awaited the princess could only taste sweeter.


    ¡°Allow me to show you something,¡± Amelia said, standing up from her couch. When Grace stood to join her, she seized the initiative, and began guiding the princess by the arm, as if they were old friends.  Amelia felt Grace shiver slightly, but since the princess didn¡¯t pull away, she persisted in maintaining touch till they arrived at a particular bookshelf.


    Humming a childhood tune as she counted the books, Amelia found what she searched for. A gasp of shock escaped Grace, when with a tilt of its spine, the entire bookshelf swivelled; revealing a gap in the wall.


    ¡°This is where I¡¯m supposed to hide should I ever fear for my life,¡± Amelia said proudly, giddy from sharing such a secret.


    Her mouth opening wide, Grace fumbled a question, ¡°You¡­ Why¡­? Please, pardon my words¡­ Amelia, but I don¡¯t think you should be trusting me to such an extent. Or anyone for that matter. Not with a secret like this!¡±


    Placing a finger under the princess¡¯s chin. Amelia copied a scene straight from The Historian¡¯s novel that ought to have happened between Grace and Vanridge Dowsinger, the underworld suitor.


    ¡°Well, would you look at that,¡± she said, softly sliding her thumb along the underside of Grace¡¯s lower lip, encouraging the mouth to close shut, ¡°now we¡¯ve both got a secret that needs to be kept. And it¡¯s not like I could gain your trust by telling you I secretly want to learn how to ride a horse. No, that would be silly.¡±


    Amelia let go of Grace. Twirling back to the hidden lever which she closed with a flip. With a skip in her heart, she walked to a large window side couch that offered the best place in the room to feel sunlight.


    Amelia patted the cushion beside her to get the princess to sit.


    ¡°Grace,¡± Amelia said, continuing with her plan despite Grace now looking bamboozled, ¡°To you, what kind of man is my father? Even if your view of him is based completely on rumors, I want to hear your perspective.¡±


    Grace appeared unwilling. ¡°I¡¯m not sure it would be appropriate for me to share what I¡¯ve heard,¡± she said quietly, ¡°drunks can get very¡­ descriptive.¡±


    The princess¡¯s warning did not bother Amelia. Since she already knew public opinion of her family had been on the downturn. Despite her mother¡¯s policies that had transformed a rural barony into a humble but well-kept estate, with their ruler hiding away from the world, it was to be expected the seedier sides of humanity would slowly begin to grow bold.


    Their family¡¯s reputation might even be called ¡®rather bad¡¯ in some places. The capital¡¯s paparazzi had on more than one occasion in their publications called their Barony more a gathering of mercenaries than a proper domain.


    Huh? You¡¯re trying to stir trouble against the reason why your Kingdom isn¡¯t being ravaged by savages? You¡¯re going to turn me wearing the same dress twice to a party into a headline?!


    Unacceptable. Amelia would drag her father and the Barony into greatness or die trying. Even if her plans might not be all that forthcoming or righteous. To improve her family¡¯s lot in life, Amelia fully intended to seek out those pivotal people who had destined their Kingdom to brimstone. Some, she would recruit. Others would need to be dealt with.


    Regardless of how dirty her hands would get during the process.


    Even befriending the princess would be based on deception. Such was Amelia¡¯s commitment to seeing things through. Before discovering the Historian¡¯s novel, she might have been willing to let things continue as they were. But now knowing the future, the responsibility she felt for the Barony which her mother once loved had never been greater.


    And like clockwork, that persistent small voice would descend from the heavens. Wrapping its ever so warm arms around Amelia¡¯s neck to whisper the soft-spoken words of the past which told a child that her mother¡¯s death had not been her fault.


    But it had. And Amelia knew she would hold with her the sin of having entered the world weak to the point her first night should have ended as her last, forever.


    Responding to Grace¡¯s concern, Amelia simply said, ¡°Loose lips might sink ships, but they can also hold truths. If you¡¯re worried about using uncouth language, then I¡¯ll say it now that I already know most of the bad words.¡±


    The princess did not look convinced. But in the end, she began talking.


    ¡°The town elders speak of him as a protector,¡± Grace said, ¡°a self-made dragon whose earliest accomplishment was to crawl his way out from his mother¡¯s corpse. Before he made for his first meal not the succor of milk, but the blood of those who had drunk themselves into a stupor after having robbed a child¡¯s only chance at a family.¡±


    ¡°W-What?¡± Amelia said, believing her ears might need to be cleaned. Having expected at most, a few mean words she thought herself able to handle.


    Grace bashfully covered her face with her hands. ¡°This is why I didn¡¯t want to tell you! All the stories about your dad are like that, they¡¯re all super gory!¡±


    The two sat together in mutual embarrassment for a moment. Amelia the first to muster the resolve to keep talking. ¡°Anything else?¡± she asked, desperately hoping the princess wouldn¡¯t catch the reservation in her voice.


    ¡°I mean, there¡¯s a lot more,¡± Grace said, which did not bode well, ¡°but most stories that aren¡¯t a rendition of your father¡¯s birth, follow how he became a mercenary at the age of seven and made a name for himself through violence, only to eventually have a leash placed around his neck by the daughter of a Duke he accidentally saved.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ Oh, okay,¡± Amelia said, wanting to ask the princess to stop. But Grace had started a roll, and it didn¡¯t look like her tongue would stop wagging anytime soon.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to understand the relationship between your parents was legendary. It¡¯s like¡­ the hottest thing ever. A Duchess to be, throwing away a billion to one future just to hook up with a roguish mercenary? Who during their courtship, came to blows with the Duke of Winchester himself before earning his title? Except¡­ There are some who say that meeting his princess might have been the beginning of the end for the dragon. So used to violence and murder had he grown, that after having finally found his place of respite, the Baron lost track of all else when his wife died. Growing disinterested with the world, as well as the people who he once swore to watch over.¡±


    Amelia tried. She really tried hard to hold back the tears she could feel forming. But she didn¡¯t quite manage to be subtle when looking for a handkerchief, since the princess desperately placed both of her hands on Amelia¡¯s arm.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry! Please don¡¯t cry. I don¡¯t believe your father is anything like the rumors make him out to be.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t blame you,¡± Amelia said, alarmed Grace would take her sadness as such a big deal. And embarrassed it hadn¡¯t even taken an hour before she flubbed up her acting.


    ¡°No, you were right!¡± Grace said loudly, and though it didn¡¯t appear the princess would start crying as well, it was clear hidden frustrations had been accidentally dug up. ¡°I know you told me to be honest, but I always go overboard when I talk. I¡­ I know other more pleasant rumors as well! Like how since the Baron is a dragon, it would be suicidal to steal from him, since he can sense if even a plate disappears ¡ª and oh my god that one doesn¡¯t sound any better at all, all I¡¯m doing is parroting nonsense! I really do want to work for you, please don¡¯t hold this against me.¡±


    Amelia tentatively patted the princess¡¯s hand until they both calmed down. ¡°Actually, I¡¯m pretty sure you¡¯re right about that last one,¡± she said, trying to salvage what had never meant to be such a complicated talk, ¡°and it should be me who needs to apologise, since I only wanted to confirm what those in his territory might think of my father from a third party.¡±


    Though it was funny for the princess to bring up a rumor Amelia had once tested. As a child, she would often hide one of her toys, proceed to tell her father she had lost it, and come morning, it would have reappeared on her bed. But there seemed to be a limit to the range of Havoc¡¯s ability. Discovered when she had testingly thrown a stuffed rabbit outside the manor gates. Only for the toy to never show up on her bed.


    She had really liked that stuffed rabbit.


    ¡°Sadly, the ¡®dragon¡¯ you¡¯ve described is as the rumors might tell. My father has become a drunkard without motivation who hides himself away from the world. He isn¡¯t violent mind you, just¡­ absent. Even I only ever see him every few months, and that¡¯s during dinners.¡± Amelia took a deep breath, ¡°Now, if I were to tell you that I only found out it was you who has been creating Lurington¡¯s most popular commodity by pure chance, would you be willing to work in my name, despite¡­ what I¡¯ve said?¡±


    ¡°Amelia¡­ Of course, I¡¯ll work for you,¡± Grace said with a hint of pity in her voice.


    Amelia turned away; not wanting to earn compassion because of a problem she had created. Ringing a service bell, it didn¡¯t take long for the maids who had left to return.


    ¡°Is there a problem miss?¡± a maid asked.


    ¡°None. She¡¯ll stay with us,¡± Amelia answered, wanting to make it clear Grace was to be treated with welcome, ¡°from today onwards, this woman will serve as my handmaiden. She will be staying in the room we cleared out that¡¯s adjacent to mine.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± said the maids.


    Amelia pointed to a sizable pouch filled with money she had earlier taken out from her allowance and placed on the windowsill. ¡°I want you to fill Grace a wardrobe. Top to bottom. If there¡¯s not enough in there for that and a new town dress for every maid who helps, go to Heimdall for more.¡±


    The heads of the maids bobbed in eager understanding before they hurried off in a frenzy of movement.  Amelia could already imagine them getting ready for a full day of shopping. But that was okay, she had already portioned away enough money to convince Thompson Brown, the merchant who had discovered the princess in The Historian¡¯s novel to work for her later.


    Grace moved closer to Amelia, ¡°I really don¡¯t need anything new,¡± she whispered quietly.


    ¡°Nonsense, now tell me your preference of color or we¡¯ll never get started,¡± Amelia said, watching the fun start as a half dozen more maids returned to begin dragging the princess away.


    ¡°I like blue!¡± Grace shouted back, after the maids had stopped moving to allow her to answer.


    Blue? Amelia thought the color oddly suited Grace, although she couldn¡¯t quite put a finger on how.


    ¡°One more thing,¡± Amelia added, just before they could leave, ¡°when you asked me about why I can trust you, do you still want to know?¡±


    The princess¡¯s head nodded yes, several times over.


    ¡°It¡¯s intuition,¡± Amelia said, her laughter the signal for the maids to finish dragging Grace out and close the door loudly behind them.

 Chapter 5 — An Ally Who Knows What is Needed

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    Peaceful days are best enjoyed when knowing the future might be cloudy.


    Which was why Amelia had been spending time inside her mother¡¯s greenhouse garden, whenever she could. Despite taking The Historian¡¯s novel as a serious warning of the future, there really wasn¡¯t all that much she could do while waiting for Thompson Brown to answer her request for a meeting.


    ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s not going to break?¡± Grace asked from close by, her head tilted upward to look with great doubt at where two cords stretched from a branch; extending to end in a flat, wooden swing seat upon which Amelia sat.


    Tucking her legs back, Amelia urged the swing to go even higher. ¡°There are two steel pegs thicker than my wrists keeping the rope in place,¡± Amelia told Grace confidently, ¡°Dad climbed up to put them in himself, I¡¯m pretty sure the tree will die before they come loose.¡±


    Reaching about as high as she could force herself, Amelia let go of the ropes for a launch, landing on both feet; perfectly balanced. Grace enthusiastically clapped in support, despite Amelia having not even managed to jump a full meter.


    Truly, what a relief it had been to find out Grace could care less for status or most social norms. She really was like a story-book character who also happened to be smart, well-spoken, understanding, and beautiful too.


    This was a good thing, what with Amelia¡¯s failure to maintain the illusion of being a serious, reliable woman. Only, that good thing led back into a bad thing, because now Grace seemed to be under the impression that Amelia was but a lonely girl who had approached her for the sole purpose of making a friend.


    No matter. Amelia secretly liked how her plan had developed. Since it was a whole lot more fun, and not entirely false.


    ¡°Are you taking a break?¡± Amelia asked Grace, while they walked together in the greenhouse, along a mossy brick road.


    ¡°Not really. I just came by to give you this,¡± Grace said, pulling from her brand-new sky-blue dress a document which she passed Amelia¡¯s way, ¡°Heimdall says it¡¯s got information about a person who you¡¯ve been wanting to meet?¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Amelia said, still a little surprised by the fact that, among the few details The Historian failed to mention, the princess happened to be a driven workaholic. Despite her insistence all Grace needed to do was exist, and lend a hand on occasion, the princess since being hired had spent every moment not with Amelia helping round the manor with chores.


    This worked well, since it erased Amelia¡¯s concern Grace might be ostracized by the maids due to perceived nepotism. Even Heimdall had taken the time to commend Amelia for having found such a hard worker. But then again, if Grace was a workaholic, then Heimdall would be the fanatic; Her request that he gather information on Thompson Brown to help in negotiations had been made only two days ago. And her estimates for how long the task was expected to take her father¡¯s aid had been in the weeks.


    On the downside, Heimdall¡¯s proficiency meant less time to bond with the princess.


    ¡°Yes, I do think this is the right person¡± Amelia said, after skimming the document over, deciding to include the princess in her next town visit to make up for the lost hypothetical progress between them. Maybe she could even bring Grace to her meeting with Thompson? No doubt parading the woman who had enamored him in ¡®The Historian¡¯s Novel¡¯ would earn her a discount for services rendered.


    Hmm¡­ No, better not. Something about that felt kind of immoral.


    Especially when of all the suitors in The Historian¡¯s future, Thompson was the one who had taken Grace¡¯s eventual rejection the lightest. Having settled for his second love in the end. That second love being of course, money. If you looked at the novel from a storytelling perspective, Thompson, despite being labelled a ¡®suitor¡¯ wouldn¡¯t even really qualify as a secondary love interest in most romance novels. He was more just the guy who got the story a ¡®rolling with a few cute moments placed here and there. She couldn¡¯t dangle the princess in front of him to save a few coins when he had proven who Grace was for free the first time around.


    ¡°Splendid,¡± Amelia said, making sure to praise Grace, ¡°But surely you¡¯ve been working hard at it all day, why not sit down with me to relax?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Grace began, looking over her shoulder as if there were at least a dozen tasks she still needed to do, ¡°I suppose I¡¯ve got some time to spare,¡± she said, with a playful smile that let Amelia know the princess thought she simply wanted attention.


    A bearable grievance if it meant they could spend time together.


    ¡°All settled in then?¡± Amelia asked, once they had found a nice corner of the garden where a spot was set up to sit down, curious as she was to know Grace¡¯s current state now that a week had passed since the princess took residence in the room beside hers.        She could tell the princess still felt awkward in her new clothes. But since Grace only made a few half-hearted complaints about not being used to her state-of-the-season threads, Amelia patted herself on the back for a good deed done well.


    ¡°My new room is larger than my old apartment,¡± Grace answered, rubbing the back of her head as if both thankful and burdened, ¡°are you sure there aren¡¯t any smaller rooms I could use?¡±


    This placed Amelia, who wanted to do whatever the princess wanted, in a dilemma. There were a ton of smaller rooms in the Strightsworth manor that remained unoccupied. But then the princess wouldn¡¯t be sleeping next to her own. Having once read the fastest way to bond with another person was by proximity, Amelia shook her head no.


    ¡°There might be other rooms, however most of them are already accounted for guests¡­ Or¡­ or storage.¡±


    ¡°Guess I¡¯ll try and adapt then,¡± Grace said, kicking back on her lawn chair to better bask in the sun.


    Amelia found herself staring. Finding it hard to believe before her reposed a story-book princess. A picturesque image of a future regent taking in the beautiful view of the green house.


    It really did feel as if The Historian¡¯s novel had sprung into life.


    ¡°Did you make this place?¡± Grace asked, leaning on the side of her chair to get closer to a bright red flower that had caught her attention.


    Putting aside her desire to call over a painter for another time, Amelia swelled with pride. ¡°No, all of this was designed by my mother,¡± she said, stretching her arms to the heavens.


    It was why the greenhouse would forever remain special in her heart. In fact, besides the maids, the princess happened to be the first outsider Amelia had ever allowed in. She felt nervous. Worried Grace might find a problem with what her mother had built. Which didn¡¯t make any sense, until Amelia¡¯s stomach tightened into an unpleasant knot upon realizing she really did want to become Grace¡¯s friend.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    But if the princess didn¡¯t like her mother¡¯s garden. Then that wouldn¡¯t be possible. Except¡­ they were also still on paper an employee and employer. Which meant there lay a power dynamic in their relationship. The princess would probably lie, even if she did hate the garden.


    Amelia didn¡¯t want that. She couldn¡¯t let such an obstacle continue to threaten her future.


    Good thing she knew politics. Moving off from her chair, Amelia intentionally put herself at a lower position than Grace by sitting down on the grass. A cunning solution. Until Grace started to stand, and Amelia abandoned what little scheming her brain could come up with to desperately catch the princess by the edge of her dress, keeping the woman seated.


    ¡°I¡­ I hope you don¡¯t see my actions as being purely transactional,¡± Amelia said, ¡°I intend to keep you employed for a great deal of time. And harbor a hope that in the days we will spend together, a mutual friendship might develop. Despite our social positions. Even if you don¡¯t like my mother¡¯s garden¡­ I¡­ I promise I won¡¯t hate you.¡±


    Amelia found the words slipping out from her mouth like water. She might have said a bit more than intended.


    ¡°Amelia, I find your mother¡¯s garden to be wonderful,¡± Grace said, and Amelia felt her anxiety blossom into a flower that joined their surroundings.


    ¡°And you¡¯re not just saying that because I¡¯m your boss?¡± Amelia asked, still somehow finding the need to ask the question directly.


    Grace gave a one-sided shoulder shrug as she pulled out a hairbrush from the workbag she had tied round her waist, ¡°It would be impolite not to give friendship a try if you¡¯re going to be so sincere about it,¡± she said, patting the inside of her thigh upon moving to the edge of her chair, ¡°but this means you¡¯ve got to let me tidy your hair again. Because what we did this morning has gotten completely messed up.¡±


    Amelia, like a cat surprised to learn of how dirty it had become from playing in the garden for too long, gingerly slid between the princess¡¯s legs to allow the woman access to her hair. She couldn¡¯t refuse. Not after what she had just said. And also, because Grace looked super invested in this for some reason.


    Workaholics were weird.


    ¡°A-And what do you think of the manor?¡± Amelia asked, as Grace began brushing.


    Grace took her time in returning an answer, ¡°It¡¯s a lot less lively than I thought it would be. Almost feels like¡­¡±


    ¡°Like most people are just going through the motions?¡±  Amelia guessed; happy the princess had chosen to bring up the problem. ¡°Spot on, most here are only still around because they hope my father will wake up and begin a second golden age for the Barony. Feel free to invite any friends you might have for a visit, it¡¯s incredibly easy to get bored around here.¡±


    She felt Grace¡¯s hands stop moving for a split second.


    ¡°Most girls my age¡­ They don¡¯t really want much to do with me.¡±


    Amelia was pleased she already knew the answer to that mystery; being that the princess¡¯s looks were simply too strong. Which was silly. Get angry at your man for looking sideways while walking, not the beauty for existing.


    Geez.


    ¡°A rumour about your father I remembered¡­¡± Grace said out of the blue, ¡°Is there a reason your family is so wealthy despite Havoc being a Baron? Travellers have shown me photos of what the King¡¯s castle looks like. And I¡¯ve seen things in your house that could give even that place a run for its money.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s mostly from the hostage money dad made while serving in the army,¡± Amelia answered, only for Grace to purse her lips in a clear display of not knowing what to say.


    ¡°Well... You know, ransoms,¡± Amelia said, flustered. ¡°My dad made it a habit to march into the enemy camp, grab the richest looking noble and¡­¡±


    ¡°And¡­?¡±


    ¡°Uh, he would leave with them. Then demand money for the safe return of his victim.¡±


    ¡°Just like that?¡±


    ¡°Pretty much. Unless you¡¯re willing to kill your own guys, there¡¯s not much anyone can do to stop my dad from going where he wants. Unless you¡¯re going to bombard him, his regeneration would probably outpace any damage you could do. To take him out, you¡¯ve got to be capable of at least destroying a house in a single shot. He¡¯s a genuine monster.¡±


    ¡°It kind of sounds like you¡¯ve put a lot of thought into this subject.¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± Amelia said, when in fact she had put an immense amount of effort into predicting how her father could have managed to off himself in the future. Sure, he might be a drunkard, but with his body, liver poisoning couldn¡¯t have done it. ¡°Though, I am getting worried. I¡¯m worried he might make a mistake if things continue as they are.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t say,¡± Grace said, her words warbled by the hairpins in her mouth. Having finished combing, she swiftly moved on to tying things up.


    Amelia wondered if enough time had passed between them to properly broach the subject of helping her father. Grace should have by now gotten the chance to see for herself just how absent Havoc could be. And she needed a partner in attempting anything with her father. Her feet wouldn¡¯t otherwise work.


    So, when the princess calmly asked, ¡°Do you want to help him get better?¡±  as if commenting on the weather, Amelia¡¯s head turned around so fast she completely ruined all of Grace¡¯s progress on her hair.


    ¡°You would help me?!¡± Amelia asked, excited, and hopeful.


    Grace gave Amelia an amused smile. Gently turning Amelia¡¯s head to restart her work, she laughed in what could only be the language of angels.


    ¡°Sure, why not? It sounds like you¡¯re not happy with how things are, so if there¡¯s anything I can do, ask away. Though I am curious, your dad wasn¡¯t always this way, right? Did he change all at once? Or has this been a more gradual problem.¡±


    ¡°We started drifting apart after mom passed away¡­ That¡¯s when he started drinking a lot more than he used too.¡±


    Grace hummed in frustration, ¡°Anything else?¡± she then asked.


    ¡°Not that I can think of,¡± Amelia said, while in her heart of hearts, she apologized to Grace for having actually lied.


    Amelia simply wasn¡¯t ready to admit aloud the fact her father¡¯s resentment against her might have played into making things even worse. Since she was the cause for why Havoc had been unable to save the woman he loved. She could only be grateful her father had merely begun to ignore her after Ophelia¡¯s passing when Amelia knew she deserved far worse than that.


    ¡°Do you have any ideas on how to get my dad to care more for himself?¡± Amelia asked Grace. Hoping to move things along.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ve been thinking about this for longer than I have. Why not first tell me what you¡¯ve come up with? Then I can offer suggestions.¡±


    That sounded good to Amelia, who despite bouncing a few ideas around in her mind hadn¡¯t been able to come up with much.


    ¡°I¡­ I think the answer will be found in motivation. But I¡¯ve had little success in finding a method to achieve that. After all, how do you appeal to a man¡¯s inspiration when he has given up on the world? He needs not money, for he has enough for a lifetime. He wants not love, for that instinct has been supplanted with drink. And if you¡¯re thinking ¡®he¡¯s a meathead, find him someone to fight,¡¯ you¡¯re only going to run into a brick wall of a problem real fast.¡±


    ¡°I take it there¡¯s no-one?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right!¡± Amelia said, snapping her fingers to make them pitifully click. ¡°He¡¯s king of the mountain. How on earth do you wake up such a man from the depths of depression? I don¡¯t know, and I hate it!¡±


    The princess finished tying Amelia¡¯s hair. Though they remained seated as they were.


    ¡°If the Barony was at its most prosperous when the Baroness lived,¡± Grace said thoughtfully, ¡°maybe you could do something to make him recall how happy he once was? Nostalgia can be a powerful tool if used right.¡±


    Amelia seriously considered the suggestion. During the patrol with her father, when she had mentioned her mother, he hadn¡¯t reacted in anger at all. Could the princess be right? Could enough time have passed for them to try exploring Grace¡¯s idea? In her own opinion, enough time would never pass. But wanting to do everything she could to wake up her father, Amelia thought it might be worth a shot.


    ¡°Maybe I could prepare a few meals my mother used to enjoy?¡± Amelia said, thinking out loud. Already doing her best to reign in any expectations such an endeavor entailed.


    ¡°Good idea, but do you have a way to make sure he won¡¯t slip back into a rut if you manage to succeed?¡±


    ¡°Does there exist such a thing?¡±


    ¡°Not without me,¡± Grace said smugly, before Amelia felt an icy-cold sensation press up against her cheek, ¡°here, take a sip.¡±


    Accepting the glass of lemonade from the princess, Amelia took a drink while wondering how Grace could have kept it cool in her bag and without spillage. Finding her tongue blissfully coated in what could only be described as pure honey water.


    ¡°Now take a second drink,¡± whispered the princess. And this time, when Amelia did, she found herself spitting the lemonade out onto the grass.


    ¡°Do you really think it would work?¡± she asked with excitement.


    ¡°Once I¡¯m done with him, your father won¡¯t want to touch another drop of alcohol ever again!¡± Grace stated proudly.


    Amelia clambered to her feet. ¡°Then there¡¯s not a moment to waste! Quick, let¡¯s go to my room and plan it all out!¡±

 Chapter 6 — To Awaken a Dragon

    Operation ¡®Get Havoc to stop drinking before he kills himself off somehow¡¯ underwent multiple iterations in both conception, and planning. And while the maids were more than enthusiastic in their roles of moving furniture to-and-fro round the manor thanks to a sizable bonus dropped into each of their pockets, Amelia felt it was only a matter of time before Heimdall confronted her on what on earth she was doing.


    At least, that¡¯s how she took the strange looks he would send her way whenever their paths would cross, and Amelia would stammer out a half-cooked reason for why the maids behind her were carrying a full set of cutleries, along with a twenty foot long rolled up carpet that had been taken from storage.


    ¡°You¡¯re not planning a yard sale, are you?¡± had been the only question asked by Heimdall so far. And after telling him no, she most certainly was not, he had shrugged his shoulders and went on his way. A good sign, since the last thing Amelia wanted was for Heimdall to report her activity to her father (Who she hadn¡¯t seen since their outing together).


    Meanwhile, Grace took charge of the kitchen, in addition to everything else. Which somehow ended up including lessons on acting.


    Or, as the princess put it: How to wear the mask of a liar.


    Goodness, Amelia thought, keeping her eyes fixed upon Grace who was now showing her the ropes on how to maintain attention, workaholics certainly took everything to the next level¡­


    ¡°¡­And that¡¯s when I accidentally ¡®trip¡¯,¡± Grace explained from the floor of Amelia¡¯s boudoir, which they were using for privacy reasons, ¡°See how I fall? The dress covers my legs so my knees don¡¯t get hurt, however there¡¯s still enough skin showing to really make the target start sweating. Which helps push them into feeling responsible for a collision that was never their fault. Of course, you can¡¯t forget to embellish¡­¡±


    Amelia then bore witness to a princess who began softly crying. A heart-wrenching spectacle that nearly caused her to forget what it was they were doing.


    From here,¡± Grace continued, effortlessly cancelling the waterworks, ¡°you diverge depending on their personality. If they¡¯re prideful, go with something that feeds into their ego. ¡®It¡¯s my fault for not paying attention, please forgive me,¡¯ is a good one. Or, if they¡¯re the studious type, go for a hand-on-hand contact approach by returning whatever they¡¯ve dropped. Remember it¡¯s important to know what type of person they are, because while empathy can be effective, relying too heavily on it can set you for failure.¡±


    ¡°What you describe doing seems impossible,¡± Amelia said, her brow furrowed in concentration, ¡°how can I know their wants or desires without having first gotten to know them?¡±


    Grace didn¡¯t get angry that her student was hopeless. ¡°That¡¯s just a matter of getting good at identifying social cues. We¡¯re practicing using strangers because it only gets easier the better you know them. For now, remember this¡­ If you can understand even a fraction of a person, then inside of yourself there will be a shred that reflects. Uncover that sliver, focus until it grows large enough to be worn as a mask. The best liars are those who can trick themselves into temporarily becoming whoever their opponent wants them to be.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Amelia said, concluding she should stick to using onions if ever the need to cry raised its head again in the future. ¡°But how does any of this help me make conversation with my father over food?¡±


    ¡°It probably won¡¯t, I¡¯m really just trying to keep you distracted,¡± Grace said, getting up from the floor to dust off, ¡°Either way, I think it¡¯s useful stuff to know. But time¡¯s running short. You¡¯d best get yourself seated so we can start on your make-up.¡±


    Shocked, for she had never considered the possibility Grace would trick her in such a way, Amelia obediently fell into the princess¡¯s rhythm, moving to sit down in front of a vanity desk while Grace began delving through drawers. Secretly thankful to have such an ally, who could magically reduce the number of nervous butterflies which fluttered in her stomach with ease.


    To think she had taken the initiative to invite her father for dinner¡­ Amelia felt quite proud of herself, even if she had ended up asking Heimdall to deliver the request.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see¡­¡± Grace mused as she got to work, talking while sentencing Amelia¡¯s skin to death by moisturization, ¡°the dining hall is all set, the food is ready for serving, your outfit is picked¡­ The hairstyle might be a bit tricky, but I¡¯ve practiced with the maids enough to have the look we¡¯re going for down ¡­ Any last minute changes?¡±


    Amelia, feeling ever so relaxed, struggled against the urge to fall fast asleep. She yawned, having not gotten much shut-eye last night. ¡°You¡¯ve done more than enough,¡± she said, having recognized in the vanity mirror¡¯s reflection the face Grace tended to make when looking for additional work.


    Grace stuck her tongue out upon having her intentions unmasked. Though she only expressed her displeasure in patting Amelia¡¯s face with primer for longer than needed. When the gentle scolding had finished, Amelia eagerly pointed to the hair pin she wanted to wear.


    ¡°Remember, it¡¯s that one. It needs to be that one,¡± she said, only for Grace to patiently push down her arm.


    ¡°We¡¯re not even done with your foundation.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t people usually do their hair before applying make-up?¡±


    ¡°Not when heat-styling you don¡¯t,¡± Grace said, lifting her hand to, with a snap of her fingers, conjure up fire.


    Startled, Amelia stared at the princess¡¯s magic.


    How long had it been since she¡¯d seen a flame dance¡­


    ¡°Shoot, are you pyrophobic?¡± Grace asked, quickly crushing the flame.


    Amelia pinched her leg to snap herself out of the memories that came rushing back.


    ¡°I love fire,¡± Amelia said, ¡°My¡­. My mother, before she became a Strightsworth, was Ophelia Winchester. The Winchesters being a very powerful household with a bloodline that runs hotter than the flames they control. She would distract me with tricks when I was little¡­ I guess I just didn¡¯t realise how much I¡¯d missed seeing it.¡±


    The princess¡¯s demeanor turned a joyful crescent. ¡°God that is cute,¡± she said, reigniting a flame to begin styling, ¡°though I doubt I¡¯m a secret love child to the Winchesters, since my magic isn¡¯t technically fire.¡±


    Amelia felt a small bubble of whimsical hope pop. She would never have admitted it, but the idea they might be distantly related certainly had been an appealing thought for fostering friendship for however long it did last.


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    ¡°How is it different?¡± she asked, focusing on more important questions.


    ¡°Its not really a flame. I¡¯m making you see something, and because you believe in it, that¡¯s how it is. Except for anything bigger than my hand, I need time to prepare. Like for my drinks, those needed a full twenty-four hours to set their taste to be ¡®wonderful¡¯ and even then, I had to start a rumor to really cement the magic.¡±


    ¡°That seems complicated,¡± Amelia found herself saying with closed eyes, while internally, she felt a tad outclassed by the princess. Who could permanently alter the ¡®state¡¯ of an object! What happened if the princess looked at the sun for a year and decided that light shouldn¡¯t glow? Couldn¡¯t she turn the very air into poison? In how many seconds? Amelia wanted to scream out in fright! The Historian had never mentioned any of this! Until she remembered that so long as they were friends, there wasn¡¯t really anything to worry about.


    ¡°That''s fine,¡± Grace said, showing no sign she doubted Amelia. ¡°Its the type of magic that sounds incredible, until you find out you¡¯ve got to accurately envision the process. Changing the state of something super abstract for instance, would take decades by my estimates.¡±


    ¡°Neat,¡± Amelia said, hoping such a dangerous topic would die. ¡°Do you really think this will work?¡± she asked, already wanting to change her choice for a conversation switch-out, since in retrospect, it screamed of bad luck.


    Grace, expertly tying Amelia¡¯s hair, gave a sincere answer to an impossible question. ¡°Are you trying to psych yourself out an hour before showtime?¡±


    The princess leaned in to blow a warm puff of air onto the back of Amelia¡¯s neck. ¡°You can open your eyes now,¡± Grace said, and Amelia¡¯s fluttered wide, to see the results of her new friend¡¯s hard work; a lovely hairstyle secured with a flowery pin that elegantly tied things together.


    More than satisfied, Amelia went behind her room¡¯s standing wooden privacy divider to change into an old-fashioned dress she had found in storage, beneath a mountain of boxes. Holding it up to her neck, Amelia admired the freshly transformed dress. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you know how to refit clothing.¡±


    ¡°Not having a hundred dresses growing up was good motivation,¡± Grace said, ¡°you sure you don¡¯t need any help getting it on?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a step into dress,¡± Amelia said, blushing furiously, ¡°I¡¯m not a child who needs her mother¡¯s help anymore.¡±


    ¡°Anymore, huh?¡± Grace replied, in such a friendly, what-a-nice-day voice Amelia sincerely hoped their amical relationship might continue to grow even after their social positions would flip upside down.


    Letting loose a sigh with nothing to be done about the unknown, Amelia carefully pulled her dress on, to step from behind the dividers for a final assessment in the vanity¡¯s mirror. The sight sent her spiralling down a trail of memories. Often were the times she used to watch her mother doll herself up. And Amelia would always end up with the same conclusion after witnessing the scented baths, the application of make-up, and the multiple hand-maidens who served as her mother¡¯s hands madly rushing about.


    Scary! High society is scary! A young Amelia would think, while watching from a distance with a stuffed toy in her arms. For Ophelia Strightsworth, as she prepared, would wear on her face the same look Havoc¡¯s knights would make when setting off to do battle. As a child, it was hard to understand what might have been going on in her mother¡¯s head. But now, Amelia understood there existed different kinds of armor in life.


    And the one she had chosen today, filled her with hope.


    ¡°I knew it,¡± Grace said, moving in to begin circling, ¡°your hand is still hurting, isn¡¯t it. Those are the same gloves you¡¯ve been wearing all week.¡±


    Amelia hid her injured hand behind the other. She had thought the basic first-aid she had done would have cured the hand-saw wound by now, but clearly it would take more time for the injury to finish healing completely.


    ¡°After this you¡¯re letting me call for a doctor,¡± Grace said, while pinching at Amelia¡¯s dress to make minute adjustments.


    ¡°Okay¡­¡± Amelia said, having only wanted the princess to tell her she looked pretty for a self-confidence boost. Instead of a reminder that past mistakes couldn¡¯t be changed.


    When three even knocks marked a visitor at the door, Amelia set aside her childish wants for another time.


    ¡°Shall I answer?¡± Grace asked, already one step from doing just that.


    ¡°If you would,¡± Amelia said, having a good idea of who might have come.


    Her guess, that it was Heimdall, turned out correct. Although the man took not a step into her room. Nor did he look any further inside than where Grace had opened the door. Anyone unfamiliar with Heimdall, might think he were enthralled by Grace. But Amelia knew the man only held a strange obsession with emulating how servants ought to serve high ranking nobles.


    Not with her father of course. With Havoc, Heimdall had no patience. But with herself, and in the past, with Ophelia Strightsworth, the Baron¡¯s aid always did his best. Which for some reason included refusing to enter a woman¡¯s quarters, unless during emergencies.


    ¡°I¡¯ve come to inform you the Baron of Strightsworth might be... indisposed come this evening,¡± Heimdall said with regret, his careful choice in words enough to hint at Havoc¡¯s actual condition.


    ¡°That¡¯s quite alright,¡± Grace said stiffly, switching to what Amelia nicknamed ¡®her serious mode¡¯, ¡°My lady¡¯s request included only an invitation for dinner. And dinner can be pushed back.¡±


    Dabbing at his brow with a handkerchief, Heimdall¡¯s voice wavered, ¡°that might be a problem,¡± he said, which Amelia simply couldn¡¯t allow.


    ¡°Are you sure my father will be unavailable?¡± she asked stepping forwards, ¡°Although I cannot go into detail, please know that meeting him today is very important.¡±


    ¡°Today?¡± Heimdall repeated, his professionalism almost cracking upon seeing how Amelia looked.


    ¡°It¡¯s urgent.¡±


    The length of time Heimdall stood without speaking caused Amelia to worry they might have broken him somehow. Until, like a toy soldier, did Heimdall turn about-face.


    ¡°Then I will ensure your father attends,¡± Heimdall said, his departing long strides taken with such purpose you might think he were heading to war.


    With Heimdall gone, Grace dropped her ¡®serious mode¡¯. ¡°God, I know your dad is off limits, but Heimdall¡¯s a hottie¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re his type,¡± Amelia said, hoping the princess was joking. For to her the idea of Heimdall ending up with the princess, was an inconceivable notion. Even her mother had failed to pair the man with a partner.


    ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t mean anything bad,¡± Grace said, the ghost of a smile hiding itself behind how sincere she sounded. ¡°Heimdall spends most of his time looking after your father, I wouldn¡¯t have a chance to begin with. He feels like the type of guy who would be married to his work, do you know what I mean?¡±


    Turning her chin away from the princess, Amelia tried to keep a straight face while dealing with Grace, who knew little restraint when it came to the subject of love.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly. Now come along, I want to rehearse before dinner,¡± Amelia said, leading the way towards where the dining hall waited. Together they walked, until Amelia decided to confide in Grace when an arrant thought made itself known.


    ¡°I wonder if life would have been easier if I had been born a man like my father,¡± she whispered. ¡°Then I could challenge him to a duel and let our fists do the talking, instead of all this deception.¡±


    Grace¡¯s crisp laughter filled the hallway to its ceiling. ¡°I¡¯ll say,¡± she said, brushing against Amelia, ¡°then rather than become a handmaiden, I could have seduced you and become your wife instead.¡±


    That earned Grace a scolding pinch to her waist. Amelia moved away from the natural seductress while inwardly venting. Clearly, The Historian must have made a few mistakes in the characterization of Grace. The man might have presented the princess as being a woman approached by a bevy of suitors, but Amelia now knew for certain they were all being led on by an unrepentant flirt who would spare not a mite of self-control when it came to teasing her friends.


    At least it gave Amelia more chances to practice her acting.


    ¡°Why, Grace,¡± she said, delaying her steps to force the princess look back, ¡°are you saying that I¡¯m not good enough as I am?¡±


    Grace blinked, gobsmacked. Seeing her speechless, Amelia discovered the joy of giving others a taste of their own medicine. She couldn¡¯t help it. Having someone her own age to freely play with had her feet walking on clouds.


    Until Grace cat-walked to stand directly in front of her to throw out a ¡°and who says I¡¯m not?¡±


    Amelia almost believed it. Only for the illusion cast upon her to be shattered when the princess stuck out her tongue; sashaying to escort them both to the dining hall¡¯s entrance. Where Grace somehow managed to say exactly what Amelia needed to gather the courage to enter.


    ¡°Take it easy, I think you look gorgeous.¡±

 Chapter 7 — How Much Can One Man Afford to Lose

    <div>


    Havoc dreamt of drowning. An often-enough occurrence, nightmares that is, though this time he remained lucid enough to tell that something was different. Perhaps, he reasoned, the distinction lay in how he could actually feel his sleeping body struggle to breathe. This suggested some sort of strangulation in progress¡­Which made little sense if you considered how fine tuned his senses were in picking out bloodlust.


    Of which he could find none at all in the slightest.


    In bored curiosity Havoc began swimming upwards. Only for the motion to reveal his body happened to be completely covered in armor. Armor heavy enough that no matter how mighty his strokes, the distant distorted light of the surface never got any closer.


    More nonsense. Havoc chose to let himself sink. Adrift in the once forgotten memory of the last time he had bothered to wear such heavy shielding. It had been Heimdall¡¯s idea. Who reasoned; that even if Havoc¡¯s skin could deter a point-blank flintlock discharge, you could never be too safe for an extra layer of protection. This notion was proven silly later that same day. As while riding towards the fields of battle, a fox masquerading as a dying woman had spooked his horse with its screaming. Plunging Havoc and steed down a cliff: into the blinding rapids awaiting them both.


    They sunk like two rocks.


    Not wanting to get swept away, Havoc had strolled along the riverbed until reaching the far bank. Emerging wet and unhurt, but with a fish in his chest piece and a reason to only bother wearing armor on the rarest of occasions. Like for parades. Or if he ever felt the need to inspire his knights who seemed to quite like how their Baron looked when decked out in armor heavier than any of them could ever manage to lift.


    Only in Havoc¡¯s dream, wherein it appeared a bottom to the water might not exist, walking to shore didn¡¯t seem like an option. Growing bored with it all, and of the esoteric nature of nightmares in general, Havoc forced himself to awaken. His desire to figure out what was happening to his body in real life enough to pop whatever obscure message his subconscious had been trying to send him.


    ¡°What is this?¡± Havoc spluttered, ripping away the sopping wet towel affixed to his face. He found the culprit standing just out of reach. Holding a clear jug that remained half filled with water.


    ¡°Ah, the beast wakes,¡± Heimdall sneered, side-stepping the towel Havoc threw at him.


    ¡°Give me a reason not to take your head,¡± Havoc growled, after having coughed up what liquid had seeped through the towel and into his lungs. To say he was angry would be an understatement. Had any other man dared do the same, they would be a corpse on the ground. His leeway with his aid, however, was a bond forged during their childhood days and tempered over a lifetime.


    ¡®You¡¯re going to make it big,¡¯ spoke a faint voice through the ripples of time, ¡®Come on, take me with you. I¡¯ll handle the complicated stuff while you focus on bashing in skulls.¡¯


    Heimdall¡¯s youthful optimism had since mellowed, but the man was a scholar who would always fulfill his duties without a single unfounded complaint. Certainly, Havoc knew well his friend held reservations regarding his own lack of doing¡­ anything lately, but the idea Heimdall would resort to waterboarding felt like a sudden leap into madness.


    Which was odd. Since Heimdall didn¡¯t look mad. Nor did he appear repentant. Instead, the calm, collected man simply shrugged as if Havoc¡¯s threat couldn¡¯t be helped.


    ¡°If you do, then I hope you¡¯ve made peace with being alone for the rest of your life.¡±


    His nonchalant words hurt Havoc¡¯s sore spot more than any gunshot could. But Heimdall¡¯s follow up felt like an enchanted knife twisting itself deep into his gut.


    ¡°Amelia¡¯s going to give up on you. You¡¯re aware of that, right?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid,¡± Havoc said, upset he couldn¡¯t think of a smarter sounding reply. He already knew in terms of being a good father figure, Heimdall had supplanted his position a long, long time ago.


    Heimdall scoffed but said nothing else. Moving aside he gave Havoc space as the Baron began searching for a drink to alleviate his hang-over.


    Havoc eventually found the bottle he wanted to finish, except he found it bone dry. ¡°Get me a drink, will you?¡± Havoc ordered Heimdall, reasoning he must have finished it without knowing.


    ¡°It¡¯s five o¡¯clock in the evening. If you bothered to ever look at your schedule, then I wouldn¡¯t need explain I already have.¡±


    Havoc blankly looked at his aid. That wasn¡¯t Heimdall¡¯s usual answer.


    ¡°Try saying that again, but with less words,¡± he said, stumbling towards the ensuite bathroom where a cold jet of water doused from tap into sink. A quick washing only making the deep bags under his eyes all the clearer. He might have cared once. But now, Havoc could hardly recognize the face that stared back in the mirror. Rather, at what point did the stranger he beheld grow so old to begin with?


    Heimdall entered the ensuite, handing Havoc a dry towel. ¡°What I meant, is if you want a drink, then you¡¯re going to have to join your daughter for dinner.¡±


    ¡°But we ate together last week?¡± Havoc protested, wondering why Heimdall would arrange for another silent dining session so soon. That¡¯s how all their meals went. They would arrive, sit down, share a few words, then depart their own ways. It was as good as Havoc could hope for, knowing his daughter despised him.


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    ¡°That was four weeks ago. And you cancelled. Because of a headache.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s ¡ª¡±


    ¡°And the month before you somehow managed to bumble your way into falling unconscious on-route. Leaving the poor girl to eat all by herself.¡±


    Havoc grit his teeth. Heimdall spoke truth, even if he knew Amelia might not want much to do with him, as her father he should have at least tried harder to maintain their occasional contact. Still, he firmly believed he had succeeded in his duties as a parent. Was his renown not enough to deter any aggressor? Were the resources he held insufficient in giving the girl a good standard of living?


    Nay to both questions.


    Although, such reasoning should never have become an excuse to avoid his daughter.


    ¡°I get it, I get it,¡± Havoc said, jabbing his finger into a container of dentifrice to rub the powder over his teeth, ¡°give me a half-hour. I¡¯ll make sure to be there.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d better,¡± Heimdall sniffed with distain, slamming the room¡¯s door as he left.


    Havoc immediately began pulling wooden drawers wide to find something for his headache that would not stop pounding. Only to find no alcohol stashed. Instead, where he knew for a fact that several bottles should be, lay a pair of knives belonging to Heimdall.


    ¡°Busy body, find yourself a wife to take care of already,¡± Havoc grumbled, growing very annoyed when it became clear that forget the drawers, every single cabinet and wine rack in the room had been emptied. No matter. Heimdall had mentioned there would be drink served with dinner. His stomach growling in agreement, he began the long walk towards where the dining hall waited.


    Havoc found his jaunt to be awfully quiet. Certainly, he could hear the distant noises of work being done, but as he tracked where each servant walked in his mind, it became abundantly clear they were all avoiding his path. He stopped in his tracks. Looking out a window to consider the fact his wish to be forgotten might have finally come.


    He used to dream of being surrounded by laughter. And for a few fleeting years, Havoc had tasted that bliss. Now here he stood, a figurehead without purpose. Content to wait while those he once considered his people slowly but surely began drifting away. Soon, once his last reason for staying set out, he would be able to leave. And not a soul would notice him missing.


    Heimdall was right. It wouldn¡¯t be long before Amelia finished growing up and departed as well. She was his daughter after all, and at her age not a force in the world could have contained Havoc from staying in the same spot. A thought that brought both comfort and sorrow. Havoc would miss her, but he knew wherever she went, his daughter would most certainly be happier for it. Perhaps she would choose to study in the Kingdom¡¯s capital city? The robes of an intellectual, he believed they would suit her quite well. Or maybe Amelia would follow in her mother¡¯s footsteps, and become the socialite darling of high-society.


    ¡°You think that¡¯ll make her happy?¡± asked the bird which landed opposite Havoc on the outside windowsill. A small, mottled brown thing with a single, blind, milky white eye.


    Startled, Havoc rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Only to question his own sanity when the bird twittered a tune and flew off. ¡°I¡¯m losing my nerve,¡± he muttered, ashamed to have been so easily shaken. His daze following him all the way to the dining hall¡¯s entrance door.


    ¡°Dinner will be served shortly Lord Strightsworth,¡± greeted the woman who appeared to have been waiting there for him.


    Figuring the bird might be a result of not getting enough sleep, Havoc got his fears under control and considered the young woman named Grace who his daughter had found. Heimdall, on Havoc¡¯s request, had already confirmed who she was: An abandoned orphan raised in the small town of Lurington. In an institute that had not always been so kind to the young.


    No wonder she could match his gaze without fear. If the girl had at one point been a victim of the orphanage¡¯s director, then the choice to submit or harden would have molded her stern. Unfortunately, he couldn¡¯t quite remember how long ago it had been since the ousting of the director. Nor the exact reasons for why the change even needed to happen.


    Heimdall might know. But Havoc couldn¡¯t bring himself to ask. To do so would be to show weakness. As once, he would have been able to remember even the minutest of details.


    Now, if he tried, all Havoc could recall was the way he had snapped the man¡¯s neck.


    Most of his other memories had also faded with time. Leaving Havoc¡¯s mind, a landscape littered with enough corpses to build mountains, and enough blood to flood the rivers upon which bopped a single crystal-clear frozen droplet of a moment in time.


    Of a child whose tear-filled eyes looked upon him with hatred. Whose innocent belief in a protector did break when Havoc had failed to save Amelia¡¯s mother.


    ¡°When did you first meet my daughter,¡± Havoc asked, knowing there were a hundred other ways he could have gone about greeting the girl if his headache hadn¡¯t been in such a damn hurry.


    ¡°We met when we were children!¡± Grace answered happily.


    An obvious lie, Havoc thought, having noticed the young woman¡¯s heart rate fluctuate upon speaking. However, there was barely any point in meddling with who his daughter wanted to play with. Nor in finding out how they had actually met. Not when Amelia didn¡¯t trust him to such an extent that she had resorted to using onions to cry while asking for permission in obtaining a handmaiden.


    Or how she¡¯d snuck out during the night to damage his carriage.


    When Heimdall had informed him of Amelia¡¯s request for a handsaw, Havoc had instructed a maid to deliver a piece from his workshop. Able to sense the location of almost everything he deemed his, Havoc, thanks to this handsaw, learnt of Amelia¡¯s strange midnight wandering.


    And upon noticing the slight difference in how the carriage shook as it travelled the next day, Havoc had decided to give his daughter whatever she wanted. A quick strike with his hand enough to create a shockwave that helped further damage the sabotaged axle.


    Her look of despair when they had almost passed Lurington by.... The sheer relief Amelia had shown when they¡¯d come to a stop¡­ He must truly be a failure in her eyes. For his only daughter to not trust him for such a simple request as wanting a handmaiden.


    Verily, the only comfort Havoc had felt that day, had been in burning down a few outposts near the border he¡¯d happened to find while taking a walk to calm down. Which was weird in itself. Since their Western neighbors should have known better than to build so close to his Barony by now.


    ¡°Good,¡± Havoc said to Grace, before moving into the dining hall that began tempting his nose with its smells. No doubt, the kitchen staff were getting ready to start serving food. A pleasant notion, that dropped straight onto the floor behind him, along with his heart, when he laid eyes on the hall that managed to transport him back nearly a decade and a half¡¯s worth of time.


    The tables were spotless. A great amount of care looked to have been put into even the silverware placement. And most of the decorations had been switched out for ones Havoc hadn¡¯t seen in years. From the tablecloth linen to the carpet, every fabric-based item piece of furniture was now of a more old-fashioned style.


    And Havoc¡¯s anger found itself roaring over one change he could never let slide.


    ¡°Who did this!¡± he shouted, looking about the room for the culprit. ¡°Who thought it proper to bring that painting in here?!¡±

 Chapter 8 — Hatred Unfounded

    It was a painting of Ophelia Strightsworth, sitting regal with a scepter in hand and wearing a red cloak which draped onto the floor of her canvas. With the imposing emblem of the Duke of Winchester behind her; a lion roaring within a wreath made of flames, that made the bloodline she hailed from known to all those who saw.


    Most paintings commissioned by nobles were created with magic. To be more than perfect representations of those who thought themselves gods among men. Ophelia had always been above such nonsense. Though her reasoning when it came to how paintings should be made boiled down to superstitious naivety; believing a part of her soul might become trapped in a canvas should magic be used in the process.


    It was why Havoc had always liked this particular painting. Since it depicted his wife as she was. Imperfections and all. A courageous woman who would lower her head only in the presence of those she deemed equals.


    Reminiscing only made Havoc¡¯s anger burn brighter. After his wife¡¯s death, he had ordered all of Ophelia¡¯s belongings to be safely placed into storage. Unwilling to let anyone else look upon that which once belonged to his lover.  The carpet beneath him began to smolder from heat. With his greatest treasure forever out of reach, what remained of Ophelia fell by divine right as his, and his alone. To be guarded forever.


    By tooth or by claw.


    ¡°I asked, who dares!¡± Havoc yelled, raising his volume even further to demand an explanation.


    Grace bowed low beneath Havoc¡¯s glare. ¡°Please forgive my upbringing, should my words sound impolite Lord Strightsworth,¡± Grace said calmly, ¡°but the one who arranged the dining hall, is the woman sitting behind you.¡±


    Havoc felt himself starting to slip into a ruinous mood.


    ¡°Are you mocking me?¡± Havoc asked, having with his eyesight and hearing, already confirmed that other than Grace and those in the kitchen, no other people were present. He considered scaring the young woman into giving a direct, concise answer. That is, until he began hearing a new, peculiar noise add itself to the room. A faint, repetitive sound that sounded to Havoc¡¯s keen ears like the beginning of rain.


    In horror, he remembered there had always been someone who he could never sense at a distance or easily find. No matter how hard he tried.


    ¡®I caught you daddy!¡¯ Laughed a cheerful voice from his past, as Havoc drew in a shuddering breath before he looked once again to his wife¡¯s painting wherein her slight smile now appeared to him as a frown.


    Then further below it, to where Amelia sat, crying.


    ¡°I¡­ I thought maybe it would be as if we were eating together again¡­ as a family,¡± Amelia said quietly, her head lowered to stare bleakly down at her plate.


    No tricks. No onions. Havoc felt his raging blood run helplessly cold.


    They used to be like that. Hadn¡¯t they. All three of them at one table. A time for laughter, not tears. Havoc, taking in the sight of the daughter he hadn¡¯t managed to notice, felt himself begin to sink into an abyss upon realizing Grace had meant Amelia when she had said, ¡®the woman sitting behind you¡¯.


    Something was wrong. Amelia was the little girl he would take for walks with his wife down along the marine boardwalk. The child who would hesitantly follow him around the manor from a distance to observe how he worked. Not the grown woman whose arms and legs shook ever so slightly as she pushed her chair back.


    ¡°I¡¯m s-sorry,¡± Amelia said, stuttering over her words, ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m afraid I might upset you further s-should I s-stay. Might I be excused?¡±


    Havoc could tell. Amelia wanted to leave before he discovered another change in the rooms decoration¡¯s that might anger him further.


    Never. The anger he would use to prove her wrong would be what he felt for himself.


    Drawing deep from the well of power inside him, Havoc forced his thoughts to move faster. Buying a precious few more seconds to examine each dining hall detail. It took hardly a breath before he found a clue in the dress Amelia wore: An old-fashioned thing, not extravagant, more a design to highlight the wearer than anything else, but eye-catching all the same.


    Any other day of the year Havoc would have thought nothing of it. Except, instead of one person who wore the old dress¡­


    There were instead two.


    He couldn¡¯t bring himself to look at his wife¡¯s painting again. As it was his outburst that had scared their only child to the point she wanted to run away from him.


    ¡°I am upset. But not with you,¡± Havoc said, sitting down opposite Amelia before she could leave. ¡°Forgive me for yelling,¡± he added, struggling to soften his voice, ¡°I should not have done that.¡±


    Amelia hiccupped. To Havoc¡¯s relief, she sat back down; turning her face away to discreetly wipe away at tears with a table-top napkin.


    He hated the silence that fell so easily between them. A silence interrupted only when the household servants entered to begin serving their meal. For every dish placed, Havoc found himself led into an unwanted stroll down memory lane. His mind: bursting with more activity than it¡¯d seen in a decade as it matched every serving to a picnic Ophelia had once arranged for them to enjoy, together.


    Dammit. God damn himself. God damn himself for trampling on Amelia¡¯s simple desire to try and revisit what once was. Havoc¡¯s hands began shaking. He could feel his body beginning to sweat. His eyes flittered about the table, searching for an escape to this horrible situation.


    There he found it, at the table¡¯s center. A bottle of uncorked wine which his arm unconsciously grabbed out of habit.


    Far too much wine missed his glass while he poured. And when he finally did raise the drink to his lips, he could hardly bear swallow. It tasted foul. Awful. Putrid. Worse than the blood-soaked mud he had tasted during his first day in battle. Havoc could hardly believe he had wanted to drink it to begin with.


    ¡°Has the wine g-gone bad?¡± Amelia asked nervously, hurriedly pouring herself a cup which she hesitantly smelled.


    In slow-motion, Havoc witnessed her facial expression change from worry to outright panicked confusion when she took a tentative sip.


    ¡°Grace?¡± Amelia said loudly, calling her handmaiden over, ¡°I wasn¡¯t paying attention. D-Did I pour my drink from the same bottle as father?¡±


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    ¡°Same bottle,¡± said Grace, who looked round the table at the other, unopened drinks, ¡°Aged fifteen years. Why? Has it really gone bad? I could have sworn it was properly sealed.¡±


    Amelia grew quiet. Havoc could tell, to her the drink must have tasted just fine.


    ¡°Could¡­ Could you please get us another? A fresh one from the cellar? Amelia asked timidly.


    A pointless request, Havoc thought, when Grace hurried off. He would have long since smelled whether the drink had gone bad. He knew what this was. Should a knife stab him, his muscles in response hardened. Under the pressure of spell-work, his blood would heat the air to burn any threat clear. Even before the danger of poisons, his body knew to instantaneously synthesize a solution.       The only reason Havoc could get drunk to begin with, was because it helped him to escape from a world he no longer found joy in. Meaning the moment he considered the fact there lay a significant problem in his lifestyle, his subconscious had done the work for him and cut out the issue.


    As expected of himself. Unfortunately, with his hang-over gone, he could now see even more faults that needed correcting.


    ¡°Are you still wearing those gloves?¡± Havoc asked Amelia, not wanting another bout of silence to grow old between them.


    Amelia¡¯s injured hand twitched. ¡°W-Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Take them off,¡± he ordered, ¡°the bandages included.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s a good idea,¡± Amelia answered.


    ¡°I want you to show me your hands,¡± Havoc said, sticking to what he knew best.


    Heimdall would call it ¡®being blunt¡¯. But who cared. Amelia had extended an olive branch in setting this dinner. Havoc would be irresponsible if he did not make something of it.


    His eyes narrowed when the wound on Amelia¡¯s hand revealed itself from out under its silk and gauze wrappings. Havoc¡¯s guess that the marks of blood on his handsaw pointed to injury proven true. But seeing it in person¡­ He wanted to slap himself for having decided to not meddle too much while they were out on patrol.


    Another mistake added to the long list that detailed his life. He had seen men hide wounds out of pride only to pass away from infection. And Amelia¡¯s hand already showed signs she hadn¡¯t properly taken care of the cut. Did she not know any better? How did she clean the wound, if at all? Were the bandages she wore being changed every day?


    Nay, again the fault lay of his own lack of arranging for proper tutelage. Having believed that should Amelia wish to pursue academics or lessons; she would step up to ask. Yet, how could she ask when she feared him enough to try escaping his presence! She had hidden behind a door when asking to accompany him for a patrol that amounted to little more than a short walk!


    Clearly, her hatred for him must have at some point turned to fright. Her trust in him shot on the way, now lying dead in a ditch for who knew how long.


    ¡°I¡­ I hurt myself exercising,¡± Amelia said, moving to retrieve the gloves she¡¯d placed down.


    Havoc¡¯s arm shot out, grabbing her wrist across the table.


    His daughter looked to him with question marks in her eyes, ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s not that big a deal, is it?¡± she asked.


    ¡°No. It isn¡¯t,¡± Havoc said sadly, concentrating on what needed fixing.


    A warm pulse of energy shot out from himself and into Amelia. Purging impurities through accelerated growth until the festering fell away from her hand, now returned to its once pristine state. Well¡­ her nails had grown out somewhat, but even Havoc knew better than to comment on that.


    ¡°Is there a reason for not coming to me for help?¡± Havoc asked, wanting his daughter to know she could always ask him if needed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve gotten used to handling problems on my own,¡± Amelia answered, in such a low whisper Havoc could barely hear her reply.


    Something needed to change. A big a change as when Havoc had stolen his first loaf of bread. Greater even than when he had come into his own at the age of ten, marched into the local lord¡¯s manor, and beaten down every knight who told him he was too young for enlistment. They worshiped him after that. Havoc wanted to return to that moment. He wanted the only family member he still had to treat him not with hatred or fear, but with admiration for what he would do for her sake.


    ¡°I¡¯ve brought out a fresh bottle of wine!¡± Grace announced, having returned to the dining hall. Her cheerful attitude given pause upon finding Havoc still holding Amelia¡¯s arm.


    Havoc could see in Grace¡¯s eyes the tell-tale signs of an unresolvable anger beginning to shine.


    Did she think he might hurt her?


    Good. It meant Amelia had found someone worth trusting. However, the idea of being offered wine now that he had resolved to commit himself unto Change¡­ Havoc decided to assert who still held control of the house. A lightning-fast thought enough to loudly shatter the drink in Grace¡¯s hands; its contents spilling over the woman who shrieked in surprise.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to be busy soon,¡± Havoc said to Amelia who snapped back from looking at Grace in concern to himself.


    ¡°Really? What a fun coincidence, I¡¯ve got lots lined up as well,¡± she replied, as if happy they might have something in common.


    More lies. Havoc wanted to look away out of shame. But that was fine. He could hold his chin high after having bettered himself. A task that would start with addressing why he could now hear the hurried marching of armor-clad knights approaching the dining hall. Their worry marking each urgent step taken.


    Grabbing the unfinished wine bottle from the table, Havoc carried it with him to meet the knights at the door. Stopping only when a clatter of noise let him know Amelia had, in her hurry to chase after him, fallen onto the floor.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry! Daddy, I¡¯m sorry! I shouldn¡¯t have done this without your permission!¡± she yelled desperately.


    Havoc refused to look back. Knowing Grace had already rushed to Amelia¡¯s side. He let his discontent that Amelia still thought his initial gaff meant anger towards her out on the dining hall door. A single punch blowing it clear off its hinges.


    His awareness unfettered; Havoc allowed the fire swirling in his heart to begin beating louder. For on the other side of the broken door stood Heimdall, with fifty knights at the aid¡¯s call; each looking as if they had rushed to grab what armor and weapons they could.


    ¡°Havoc,¡± Heimdall said, at the top of his voice, with great determination, ¡°please, for fuck¡¯s sake tell me you did not hurt your daughter!¡±


    What brave men, Havoc thought, taking in the sight of those who had come to put down a monster upon hearing his earlier outburst which must have spread to all those within earshot of the manor. What determined women, he mused, seeing the fear in their eyes.


    He could only wonder what they must think of him now. With his crying daughter on the floor behind him in the arms of her friend. Havoc let the fire inside him burst free. Throwing the bottle in his hand to the floor, he ordered the burning of every drop of wine and each piece of shattered glass that sprayed the knights who stood firm against the heat which battered their bodies.


    Their resolve pleased Havoc greatly. For their actions proved his past self right for having chosen each one. What good, noble followers had he gathered. That even knowing their actions would be futile, they had tried even so to do the right thing.


    ¡°Kneel,¡± he commanded, in the guttural language of a dragon who had once descended from heaven. Causing the knees of each knight to strike the ground without question.


    ¡°Due diligence has been lacking,¡± Havoc said, stepping among them, allowing each knight to raise their head once he passed, ¡°I have decided we will be extending the Western border by a fifty-kilometer stretch. Join me in glory or abstain and be ridiculed by those who will return laden in riches.¡±


    Halting, he retraced his steps to stare down at his aid who struggled to hold up his weapons.


    ¡°T-That¡¯s¡­ not an answer¡­¡±


    They both knew the gun wouldn''t do much. Even one of a kind, the bullet made of a compressed piece of Havoc¡¯s own bone would barely breach skin. An accomplishment to be supported by the other weapon Heimdall held, Havoc supposed; a knife coated in a poison strong enough to hiss deep into the floor with every dripple its slathered blade coalesced.


    His odds of succeeding in slaying a dragon? Theoretical.


    Heimdall''s knowledge of math? Impeccable.


    The man''s worth to Havoc?


    Immeasurable.


    ¡°I have not,¡± Havoc said, firmly grabbing Heimdall by the shoulder, ¡°nor will I ever, harm my daughter.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m glad to hear it?¡± Heimdall said, his grip on his weapons becoming more uncertain with each passing second.


    ¡°You have my appreciation,¡± Havoc said, trusting his friend would understand what he meant.


    Heimdall sheathed his blade to prove that he had.


    So it was, that with his first debt repaid. And with an untold amount left to deal with, Havoc raised his hand in which a burning sword formed.


    ¡°Let it be known!¡± he said, his voice booming like thunder, directed at his knights who looked to him with rekindled hope, ¡°This will be not a war but a slaughter!¡±

 Chapter 9 — A Marquess’s Machinations

    In the dim chandelier light of a well kept, richly decorated office; the tension between two men: The Marquess of Rutherford; comfortably sitting behind his solid wood desk, and a messenger who had travelled a long distance to meet him, was beginning to grow strained.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get this straight,¡± the Marquess said slowly, while above them, their audience of taxidermized wall-mounted animal heads watched on in anticipation. ¡°Not only have you come to tell me your country is in need of more aid than our contract stipulates, but I should also expect other changes in a long-since established deal that has already entered the final stages of its execution?¡±


    The messenger offered a tacit smile, showing he believed the Marquess could only acquiesce.


    ¡°Unfortunately, with how things developed¡­ While progress in amassing an invading force has seen exponential success, related costs to keep our activities hidden are proving to be much greater than anticipated.¡±


    The Marquess of Rutherford closed his eyes. ¡°Of course they are.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve been sent to insist,¡± the messenger said helplessly, ¡°please, think of this modification as¡­ another investment.¡±


    Reaching for the seal on his desk, the Marquess of Rutherford gestured for the messenger to set his documents down. His hand hovering over the papers, the Marquess hesitated instead of stamping to pose the other man a question.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get the cat out of the bag, is this change because your leaders are illiterate incompetents? Or is it because you think of me as a defenceless fruit; ripe to be squeezed for its juices?¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± the messenger said, as the Marquess of Rutherford loudly stamped not paper, but the table. Multiple times.


    ¡°Your information is out of date, messenger. Had your country any actual merit, perhaps you might have been made aware there is no longer a reason for myself, or anyone really, to support your¡­ Western aspirations.¡±


    The messenger pulled away, as if the Marquess¡¯s desk had become a terrible beast.


    ¡°You speak treasonous words sir, for someone so closely tied to us,¡± he gasped, offended to the point he undid his collar, ¡°do I need to state it a clear fact a knot tightly tied is not so easily unravelled?¡±


    ¡°Not if you have a sword,¡± the Marquess of Rutherford murmured, brushing a finger against the necklace he wore which had engraved on it a great serpent with wings, while watching the messenger who soon found it wasn¡¯t his collar turning tight out of heated irritation, but his neck that had begun physically swelling.


    Understanding that at some point their negotiations had gone terribly wrong, the messenger looked at his hands, discovering they were slowly but surely turning a dark shade of purple.


    ¡°I really do wonder why it is I am talking with you at all,¡± the Marquess added, when the messenger who couldn¡¯t speak any longer, let alone breathe, made to flee. Only to fall; clutching at a throat that managed to swallow a few last wheezes for air.


    A third man, who had watched it all happen from the room¡¯s corner pulled a pocket watch out. ¡°Ten minutes on the dot,¡± he said, examining with disappointment the messenger whose drool leaked out of his mouth, ¡°I do hope you know what you¡¯re doing. Because from my perspective, it feels like the Rutherford¡¯s might soon face a conundrum.¡±


    ¡°They can¡¯t accuse me of treason if I was never on their side to begin with,¡± the Marquess of Rutherford said, ringing a bell on his desk.


    In entered four men, large in stature and with expressionless faces. Dressed in long flowing clothes that were a mismatch for those born in the Velvetican Kingdom, along with having features that marked them as being from elsewhere, the only apparent relation between them and the Marquess, were the symbols tattooed onto their necks which coiled about.


    Grabbing a limb each, they carried out the messenger¡¯s corpse without speaking a word.


    ¡°Now, how about instead of trying to advise me, Richter, you instead focus on your alchemy,¡± the Marquess said dryly, crumpling up the messenger¡¯s documents. ¡°Though you can take cheer in knowing my family, and by extension, you, will remain uninvolved from the falling debris that is this deal coming apart. The support given to their country cannot be traced back to my name. Of that, I can assure you.¡±


    ¡°Then can I ¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes, you can have the body. But spare me the devilish details of what you intend to do with it please.¡±


    The many amulets around Richter¡¯s neck jingled, offended, ¡°The devil has nothing to do with science,¡± he said, ¡°I want him for experiments. Not rituals.¡±


    ¡°Do you think I care there¡¯s a difference?¡±


    Richter¡¯s nose twitched. Not towards the Marquess, but the door to which he looked at with disgust. ¡°Perfume and sweat,¡± he said under his breath, ¡°your son has returned. May I leave?¡±


    The Marquess leaned back in his chair. ¡°No. No you may not,¡± he said, before the door opened, and in wafted the smell of a man who knew of a life filled with enticements and drink.


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    ¡°You sent for me?¡± Gregory Rutherford asked his father, a quick glance the only acknowledgement he gave Richter.


    ¡°I did,¡± said the Marquess of Rutherford, throwing a sealed envelope at his son.


    Cutting through the air, it would have been an impressive display if not for the fact Gregory fumbled and dropped it. Bending over to pick up the letter, Gregory¡¯s puzzled face pre-dated his question.


    ¡°What¡¯s this s¡¯posed to be?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s what you will deliver to the Baron of Strightsworth,¡± the Marquess said, clicking his tongue in disappointment, ¡°I have arranged for a carriage. I expect you to not miss its departure this evening.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯ve got arrangements that stretch out till next week,¡± Gregory said, only for his complaints to be dismissed by the Marquess who slammed a fist on his armchair.


    ¡°Forget your whores. Do you even know what¡¯s going on at this moment? What¡¯s at stake?¡±


    Gregory opened his mouth to respond. His father kept talking.


    ¡°The Baron of Strightsworth is active again. And he is currently leaving a bloody hellscape behind him while systematically tearing down every effort we¡¯ve made to support the West! All of my efforts, are being flushed down the drain because of one heathen!¡±


    Gregory seemed to understand that perhaps their situation might be rather bad.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t he need the king¡¯s permission for that? Uh¡­ What¡¯s it called¡­ Consent from the crown?¡±


    ¡°Our fraternizing king won¡¯t move to stop him,¡± Richter said with distain, ¡°he¡¯s always allowed Havoc to run free.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got buddies who say it¡¯s because of blackmail¡­ Why don¡¯t we just find out what sort of dirt he has over the king?¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah sure, ¡°Richter shot snidely, out of turn, ¡°let me run a survey on who wants to enter the lair of a dragon for a few sacks of gold.¡±


    ¡°Well do you have a better idea?¡±


    The Marquess of Rutherford¡¯s voice rose above their argument before it could truly start. ¡°Stop it. The Baron of Strightsworth isn¡¯t even calling it a war. He¡¯s presenting his actions as a ¡®border exercise¡¯ to create a buffer zone between our two¡­ borders¡­ God I hate how simple minded he is. What I would give to know why his indifferent attitude has suddenly changed¡­¡±


    ¡°I still don¡¯t see what any of this has to do with me,¡± Gregory said, crossing his arms in a childish display of defiance, ¡°these games of power are yours. I¡¯m content living my life in the moment.¡±


    ¡°Your life of excess was built on my games of power!¡± the Marquess furiously shouted, throwing a glass book-stopper at his son who ducked; avoiding what shattered behind him.  ¡°How do you not understand we need to eliminate all potential threats before the Caneo envoys finish crossing the sea and arrive?  With us losing the West, I can¡¯t even give their prince the justification his brother wants to invade! You can¡¯t gain public support for annexing an incompetent country if they¡¯re doing just fine!¡±


    ¡°Then aside from delivering a letter, what do I need to do?¡±


    ¡°That letter is but a cover for you to enter the Baron¡¯s manor. Havoc won¡¯t return from war for at least several months. During which, you need to secure that damned abomination of a princess¡­ I had my hopes, but she¡¯s starting to play around with her bloodline. It¡¯s only a matter of time before a mage sniffs her out and lets the world know the king¡¯s daughter is still alive.¡±


    Gregory stroked his chin thoughtfully. ¡°Right¡­ isn¡¯t she still in Lurington?¡± he asked, turning towards Richter, ¡°that¡¯s kind of far. Why not send the resident potion freak? It¡¯ll give your estate a chance to air out.¡±


    ¡°Because he¡¯s helping me with other things,¡± the Marquess said, exasperated.


    Richter spoke up. ¡°And I¡¯ll remind you my employment is on the condition that I get what I want.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll have her,¡± said the Marquess.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m getting a bit tired of waiting,¡± Richter said, placing a capped vial onto the Marquess¡¯s desk.


    ¡°What is this?¡± Gregory asked, taking the vial for himself.


    Richter sighed as if he wanted to die. ¡°It¡¯s for if the princess catches on that you¡¯re trying to drag her away. A few drops are all you¡¯ll need to incapacitate her. Giving you more than enough time to tie her up and toss her in the back of a carriage.¡±


    ¡°I doubt I¡¯ll need it,¡± Gregory said, struggling to undo the paper disclaimer tied around the vial¡¯s cap. ¡°Can¡¯t I use it for fun?¡± he asked after reading it, ¡°because the effects leading up to blackout look really, really appealing.¡±


    ¡°No, don¡¯t be stupid,¡± said the Marquess of Rutherford.


    ¡°But how am I supposed to find the princess while visiting the Baron¡¯s estate?¡± Gregory asked.


    Richter chuckled at Gregory¡¯s impending expense, ¡°Hey, I heard the Baron of Strightsworth¡¯s daughter took fancy to a bar maid from Lurington recently. Can you guess who it is, or why I¡¯m even bringing this up?¡±


    ¡°Because she¡¯s pretty?¡±


    ¡°For crying out loud, it¡¯s because she¡¯s the princess!¡± barked the Marquess of Rutherford, standing up to lean over his desk. ¡°Etch this into your skin. Your job is to visit the Baron of Strightsworth¡¯s territory while he is away doing war under the guise of meeting his daughter who you proposed engagement too. Remember that?¡± Gregory nodded, ¡°Good. Invite her here. Insist she bring the princess along if you can. And do nothing else if that works. Don¡¯t resort to using drugs, unless you¡¯ve already tried and failed everything else. The Baron is no better than a hound, he might sniff you out.¡±


    Gregory looked to be suffering from information overload.


    ¡°But I thought we were leaving the princess alone because there¡¯s no proof you did in the queen?¡±


    The Marquess pulled back, dragging his nails against the wooden desk in barely restrained anger, ¡°Richter, please say you have a potion that can change someone¡¯s face that I might rely on actual intelligence instead of my buffoon of a son.¡±


    ¡°If I had something like that, I would be swimming in money, not working for you,¡± Richter answered.


    ¡°Am I¡­ Am I wrong?¡± Gregory asked.


    Richter clasped his hands together, like a teacher readying themselves to explain a very simple concept to a child. ¡°Have you ever had a woman reject you?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Not often,¡± Gregory mumbled.


    ¡°But how did it make you feel after getting shot down? Frustrated, I bet. Since you¡¯d know she¡¯s still out there, walking around, living her life, a permanent reminder that you failed to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough.¡± The Marquess of Rutherford interrupted, in such a cold tone Richter zipped his lips, threw away the key, and stepped out of the light.


    Gregory scratched at his nose. Who knew whether out of embarrassment, or because he still didn¡¯t understand. ¡°Okay, fine¡­ Though I¡¯m still against the idea of marrying some backwater girl. Let alone one who ignored my engagement proposal.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he knows the marriage would be purely in name,¡± Richter said from the back.


    ¡°Yeah, I do,¡± Gregory said, ¡°I remember not mentioning that point when writing the engagement proposal.¡±


    The Marquess, his eyes widening in disbelief, slowly opened his mouth. ¡°You¡­ You wrote it yourself? No wonder she never answered!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s only been a month,¡± Gregory said defensively, ¡°if she¡¯s shy it might take a while!¡±


    ¡°I explicitly told you to get someone else to write that letter!¡± the Marquess yelled, grabbing more items on his desk to be chucking, ¡°Get out!¡± he screamed, at his son who began running away, ¡°Get out, and don¡¯t come back until you¡¯ve returned with one woman, or both!¡±

 Chapter 10 — The Princess’s Suitor

    <div>


    Amelia and Grace sat side by side in the comfort of a compact, horse-drawn wagon which trudged at a good clip down the winding hills leading away from the Strightsworth Manor, and onto the streets of the Barony¡¯s central city.


    Objectively, it was the Barony¡¯s only city. With everything else in Havoc¡¯s territory being towns, hamlets, or the occasional village. Amelia didn¡¯t mind the relative quaintness of the lands her family owned. She only needed one place to buy books. What she did mind, however, was Grace who simply would not stop gushing on about how they had roused Havoc into being proactive.


    Because it ashamed her.


    ¡°I still think that last part was brilliant,¡± Grace said, leaning against Amelia to speak over the city¡¯s noise, ¡°When you called him ¡®daddy¡¯ and fell out of your chair? God, I thought I could see a lost child crying out for their parent!¡±


    Amelia couldn¡¯t bring herself to share the princess¡¯s excitement.


    ¡°I¡¯m only glad it worked,¡± Amelia said, unable to admit that when Havoc had reached for that bottle of wine, despite Grace having set its flavor to taste worse than dirt, a horrible anxiety had overcome her. To the point she¡¯d become convinced the father of her memories might have well and truly died long ago.


    Good gravy, that dinner had been one blunder after the next. The scene might have been intentionally set, but almost all of her ¡®performance¡¯ involved zero acting.


    ¡°You can¡¯t believe how amazed I am it went so smoothly,¡± Grace continued, her words of praise seemingly unending, ¡°I mean, look around us. I haven¡¯t ever seen so many flags! Everyone¡¯s excited! Though it makes sense. Havoc might be a father to you, but for us common folk he¡¯s the Kingdom¡¯s greatest sensation. The last time there was this much talk about him was when ¡ª whoops, almost started tittle-tattling bout the Baron again. My bad.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind,¡± Amelia said, glad for any talk that wasn¡¯t about her.


    ¡°You sure?¡± Grace asked, not waiting to find out. ¡°Okay. So, like I was saying, the last time Havoc made the front page, was after a group of capital blue-bloods got together to send him up north in the hope harsher weather might lull his hot-blooded self into hibernation. Only, in the end it wasn¡¯t temperature, but a cool beauty from a nearby principality who would tame the Baron¡¯s raging ¡ª¡±


    ¡°I take it back, please stop teasing me,¡± whispered Amelia, mortified, ¡°I don¡¯t want to think about my parents and romance in any way, shape, or form.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s super romantic! What I¡¯m saying is your father was famous. And this war is his comeback! Tell me he doesn¡¯t fit the beastly type character that appears in those sappy romances I¡¯ve seen you reading. Come on, you might not be able to appreciate it, but for everyone else, hearing about their elopement was the ultimate gossip.¡±


    Unable to defend her new favorite genre which she¡¯d developed a taste for after reading The Historian¡¯s Novel, or the tendency of those types of stories to feature star crossed lovers of a similar note to her parent¡¯s elopement, Amelia kept her eyes on her feet and chose to keep silent.


    Grace¡¯s hand began prodding hers.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been a bit distant all ride long¡­ Are you not happy?¡± Grace asked, her excitement on the downturn.


    Amelia bit the corner of her bottom lip to distract herself from slipping further towards where the bad thoughts hid in waiting. ¡°I am happy,¡± she said.


    Grace to squeezed her hand in encouragement. ¡°It¡¯s alright, I won¡¯t judge if you aren¡¯t. We¡¯re friends, right?¡±


    Not managing to find the right words to say, Amelia held onto Grace until the wagon pulled to a stop at the centre of main-street. The location was marked by a water-fountain, that served as a nice spot for those affected by the warm summer air to cool themselves in its mist. Stepping down from the wagon, Amelia chose to share the reason behind her despondence, since they were friends.


    ¡°I had a three-part plan,¡± Amelia admitted, knowing she would seem selfish, ¡°What we did was the first; motivate my father. But I wanted to try and grow closer with him after, by maybe helping him with paperwork or receiving guests in his stead¡­ I don¡¯t know, right now with him gone it feels silly to imagine.¡±


    Saying it out loud, her desires really did feel foolish. And that was without mentioning how the third part of her plan involved Amelia managing to find a way to properly apologize to her father for having broken their family apart. A sentiment she had never quite managed to put into words. His reaction to their meal left her with some hope that might happen one day. Though her words began trembling when she confessed another of her worries to Grace.


    ¡°I¡¯m scared he might exchange one obsession with another. Since leaving for war, he hasn¡¯t once returned my letters. Even Heimdall doesn¡¯t know exactly where he¡¯s gone off to. What if he never comes back? If he dies, then it¡¯s on me!¡±


    Regardless of how sturdy Havoc might be, he had died in the future. An accident could occur in the present. Amelia felt a panic attack mounting at the idea of being responsible for her father¡¯s choice to start a war. The world was flat. The world was flat and every concern she could come up with had begun rolling down the hills of her mind and into an ominous valley named ¡®what-if¡¯.


    Grace placed her wicker shopping basket; a large thing about two heads tall, on the ground and gave Amelia a tight hug.


    ¡°Not everything we do goes as planned,¡± Grace said, pulling away just far enough to look at Amelia directly. ¡°Your father¡¯s decision isn¡¯t your fault. Even if you influenced it. Why not try focusing on other matters, I¡¯m certain he¡¯s strong enough to keep himself safe.¡±


    If only she could, Amelia thought, finding a similar comfort in the princess¡¯s hold, as she did with her weighted sleeping blankets back home.


    ¡°Now, are you sure you don¡¯t want us to stay together while shopping?¡± Grace asked.


    ¡°We¡¯ll save time this way,¡± Amelia said, nodding her head adamantly. ¡°I¡¯ll go book shopping while you figure out what foodstuff you want delivered to the Lurington orphanage. Then we¡¯ll head for the boardwalk to have snacks. That¡¯s what we had planned, right?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡± Grace said, her eyes wandering to affix where the city¡¯s boutiques began, ¡°Can¡¯t help but notice your bookstore is looking a tad destitute¡­¡±


    Intrigued, Amelia turned towards the bookstore where she had found The Historian¡¯s novel. Or where it ought to be at least. For what Amelia now saw resembled more a place that had gone out of business. Its windows boarded, the ¡®Open for Business¡¯ sign gone, Amelia approached the bookstore to peer through the spaces between, discovering an interior which looked completely cleared out.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Preposterous. The owner might not have been making a fortune, but with Amelia as a customer they should have at least remained comfortably floating.


    More questions to ask Thompson Brown during their appointment. The merchant who had once discovered the princess¡¯s identity ¡ª if he were as good as The Historian made him out to be at his job ¡ª ought to know any details about why the bookstore¡¯s owner had left.


    ¡°Guess I¡¯ll try window-shopping on Elmwood Street instead,¡± Amelia said, coming up with a shoddy excuse. (As she hadn¡¯t told Grace of her secondary reason for paying the city a visit) ¡°It¡¯s a shame they¡¯re closed, but I¡¯ve been meaning to try out a new hobby. Maybe browsing could do me some good? Don¡¯t worry, get your own shopping done, we can meet back here in an hour.¡±


    ¡°Well, okay¡­ if you say so,¡± Grace said, appearing uncomfortable about the idea of them splitting up, ¡°are you sure an hour is enough?¡±


    ¡°It should be,¡± Amelia said, calculating how much time it would take to reach the brokerage owned by Thompson Brown from where they were. She could probably make the trip there and back in about thirty minutes. As long as she pushed herself to walk quickly.


    ***


    Precisely eighteen minutes later Amelia was catching her breath beneath the imposing gables of a store which knew money. From the imported potted plants on the interior side of its windows, to the well-crafted upholstery decorating the lobby she entered.


    A contrast of professionalism when compared to the reception desk where she found a woman lying fast asleep.


    Understanding drowsiness could come knocking at even the most inopportune times, Amelia took a self-guided tour around the open-space styled room, hoping the noise of her padding feet would be enough to politely wake the receptionist up. She even found a hallway that looked great to make echoes, what with its stone-inlaid walls. But after only getting half-way to a large iron-door at the end, Amelia startled when the once asleep receptionist began yelling after her in a panic.


    ¡°Wait! Wait-wait-wait! That¡¯s the way to the basement, you can¡¯t go in there!¡± the receptionist said loudly, leaning half-way over her desk, an arm flailing madly to get Amelia¡¯s attention.


    Offering a polite wave in return and a friendly smile, Amelia backtracked. ¡°Is Thompson Brown in?¡± she asked the receptionist, ¡°We¡¯ve been in contact, and I sent a letter to confirm an appointment yesterday evening.¡±


    ¡°We receive a lot of letters Miss,¡± the receptionist said, hurrying round the front of her desk. ¡°Unfortunately, Thompson Brown won¡¯t be in for at least several days so I¡¯m going to have to ask you to leave.¡±


    Placing both hands on Amelia¡¯s back, the receptionist began to insistently push while rapid fire speaking. ¡°Why not come back next week? I¡¯m sure everything will have gotten sorted out for you by then.¡±


    Amelia dug in her heels. Refusing to go any further than the exit¡¯s doorframe without receiving an explanation for what all this was.


    ¡°Now hold on¡­ Erika,¡± Amelia said, reading the receptionist¡¯s nametag, ¡°the store-sign shows that you¡¯re open. Is your boss dealing with an important customer who''s come in? Because I can assure you whatever deal he¡¯s in the middle of brokering now, Thompson stands to make a lot more money in hearing me out.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not it at all Miss,¡± Erika said, sounding fearfully urgent, ¡°trust me, I really thought I had locked the door. What I¡¯m trying to say is that ¡ª¡±


    ¡°Is there a problem down here?¡± a brutish man interrupted, as he descended the second floor¡¯s staircase towards them. His scowl disapproving enough that Erika cowered back to her chair. Which she sat on while keeping her head facing down.


    Thinking the man might be a higher ranked employee of Thompson¡¯s, Amelia put her lessons in acting to use, and began playing the role of a rich lady who knew she had worth.


    A.K.A, the princess from The Historian¡¯s novel.


    ¡°Finally, someone who looks like they might know what¡¯s going on,¡± Amelia said, directly addressing the man whose frown deepened, ¡°tell me, is your boss really absent? I don¡¯t care if he¡¯s busy, I need to speak with him, no matter the cost.¡±


    ¡°Boss is in,¡± the man said, turning to walk up the stairs, ¡°I guess he can hear what you have to say at least.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Amelia said, keeping her response deliberately short to give herself a mysterious air.


    Except, she found taking that first step forwards rather difficult. Having realised for such a nice store, there sure were a lot of red flags. A frightened Erika, a nearly empty lobby, and the fact the latest employee dressed in every-day clothes, instead of a uniform like the receptionist did¡­ There were enough issues Amelia considered abandoning her reason for coming, to try again later.


    Or¡­ the strange atmosphere could simply be the result of a business disagreement that had everyone on edge.


    ¡°Are you coming?¡± the man asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t rush me,¡± Amelia snapped, deciding to follow him up, past Erika who refused further eye-contact, towards the second floor of the brokerage which when opened, expanded into a storage room that looked more ransacked than the bookstore that had closed. And without a heavy door in the way, Amelia could now hear the music and revelry coming from further inside the building.


    ¡°In¡­ In there? He¡¯s in there?¡± Amelia asked the man who herded her onwards, towards another door which partitioned the storage-room from whatever it was that awaited.


    ¡°Hurry up,¡± the man said, and Amelia turned the door¡¯s handle; unleashing from the darkness within a wave of laughter and cheering, mixed with the shrill screaming of women.


    The fact she couldn¡¯t tell whether the screams were from excitement or something else¡­ Amelia froze, unwilling to go any further. Her consent a non-factor for the man who shoved her ahead. Amelia could never have prepared herself for the smoke rising to cover the ceiling, the music that played, or the dim colorful lights, melding together with half-undressed women in the arms of inebriated, rough looking men whose hands went wherever they pleased.


    Clinging to a belief that all she needed to do was find Thompson, Amelia took a worried glance behind her at the man who now blocked the way out, before she started to walk; trying to keep herself unnoticed while flinching each time a party goer brushed up against her.


    ¡°Drink dear?¡± asked a dancer who blocked Amelia¡¯s path; holding a pitcher in one hand and a cup in the other.


    ¡°No¡­ I¡¯m here to find someone,¡± Amelia said, entranced by the chains bridging a valley between two pink mountainous peaks, and the notion that clothes could even be made that transparent.


    ¡°The dancer smiled sadly in understanding. ¡°If you¡¯re here to find your man¡­ Better to give up on him,¡± she said, performing a trick by adroitly pouring into the cup with her pitcher held high.


    Before Amelia could explain that wasn¡¯t what she was here for at all, the dancer got snatched by a man who buried his face in her cleavage. A single ¡®told you so¡¯ look sent by the dancer in parting before the two vanished into the dim lighting.


    Having never felt so completely lost, Amelia wondered if even the princess would know what to do if she were in her position. Discerning Thompson Broker, a man she had never met in such an overwhelming environment felt impossible.


    ¡°There you are,¡± said the man who had guided Amelia into this place, reappearing beside her with a grin that seemed to enjoy how flustered she was, ¡°the boss knows you¡¯re here, come on, follow me.¡±


    ¡°Really? Where is he?¡± Amelia asked, managing to keep her voice steady.


    His eyes narrowed. ¡°This way,¡± he said, grabbing Amelia¡¯s upper arm to begin pulling her through the throng of partygoers, until they arrived where multiple couches and chairs had been set up for lounging.


    ¡°She¡¯s the one, boss, the one that wanted to see you,¡± the man said loudly, earning the attention of the ¡®boss¡¯ who sat between two beautiful women; his arms wrapped over their shoulders.


    ¡°Her?¡± the boss asked.


    Amelia¡¯s stomach sunk like a rock. The man before her bore no resemblance to how The Historian had described Thompson Brown.


    ¡°I can assure you that what I have to say is well worth your time,¡± Amelia said, letting her mouth work on its own while her mind scrambled for answers.


    ¡°A pretty thing like you wants to talk business?¡± asked he whose roguish looks, suave voice, and half-unbuttoned shirt matched the description of another from The Historian¡¯s novel.


    She knew who this was. And as the mob boss¡¯s cologne surrounded her like a snake; intent on devouring the young woman who had entered its lair, Amelia felt her legs go weak and give out beneath her.


    ¡°There it is,¡± said Vanridge Dowsinger, impossibly present since he should have been in the capital where he would one day meet Grace.


    Vanridge stood. His hand lowering to caress Amelia¡¯s cheek. ¡°When I¡¯d heard you were here for ¡®the boss¡¯, I wondered who it might be. But it looks like you¡¯re just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Is that it, sweetness?¡±


    Amelia could only wish she had taken Heimdall¡¯s advice to have Thompson Brown visit the Strightsworth manor, instead of her foolish decision to act polite and meet him herself.

 Chapter 11 — Diverging Paths

    Vanridge Dowsinger. Amelia¡¯s second least favorite suitor from The Historian¡¯s novel. While Thompson Brown might have been the one to discover the princess, Vanridge had been the first man past the gate in using Grace¡¯s past against her for profit. All because the bar owner who owned the pub Grace used to work at, would in the future, after having lost hold of his cash-cow, find himself with a significant amount of debt owed to a very notorious gentleman bandit.


    Proficient in motivating his debtors to repay what they owed, it didn¡¯t take long for Vanridge to connect the dots between the found princess, and a certain missing bar-maiden responsible for the golden goose of a drink he¡¯d been after from the very beginning.


    With the royal family deciding to only announce that the Kingdom¡¯s lost daughter had been found, without going into much detail, Vanridge went forth, and in a scene involving an imperial rose-garden and a princess in naught but her night-wear did he blackmail Grace with her upbringing. Earning for himself many a lucrative business opportunity, in addition to several one-on-one outings which Amelia was now very ashamed to remember.


    ¡®I¡¯ve lost a small fortune investing in that peculiar drink,¡¯ Vanridge had told Grace, as he took her in an alley while his men stopped anyone from getting too close, ¡®Would it not be apt, that the cause should help me get over my losses?¡¯


    He¡¯d really been too much for Amelia to fully support as a suitor. No matter how handsome or disarming his words might have read, his initial approach of Grace had always soured the steamier scenes which came after.


    Their relationship really had tread the fine line of dubious consent all the way. Though in person, she could see why the ladies might swoon, even if they knew what kind of man Vanridge was.


    His ears were pierced with multiple obsidian studs, his dark hair was well kept and stylishly slicked to one side. While his eyes, like a curious hawk that had spotted its prey, kept a close watch on Amelia, making it difficult for her to look at his face without wondering what he could be thinking behind that confident smile.


    Had he even fallen in love with the princess? Amelia, despite having a near eidetic memory, struggled to recall in the moment. She knew Vanridge approached the princess because he viewed her as a resource to exploit. Even during their ¡®dates¡¯, every move he made seemed to hide multiple layers of motivation. And he had only mellowed out after Grace stood up for him during a time when the mob boss found himself falsely accused of being behind the murders perpetrated by a different suitor of the princess¡¯s: Martel Managing.


    Which meant, if Grace were right, Amelia needed to appeal to his desire for power.


    But why was he here? Vanridge and Thompson hardly interacted in The Historian¡¯s novel. Their only similarities being they were both businessmen.


    ¡°Cat got your tongue?¡± Vanridge asked, whistling in amusement when Amelia pushed his hand away from her face.


    The music broke off. Those present beginning to hover close-by upon realising something interesting had begun.


    ¡°Where is Thompson Brown,¡± Amelia asked Vanridge, who twisted his face dramatically, as if her question had slapped him.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid miss, that Thompson Brown has left for¡­ greener pastures,¡± he said, to which the room responded with a dark murmur of chuckling laughter.


    Amelia couldn¡¯t understand. Neither their reaction, nor why the mob boss destined to control the Kingdom¡¯s underbelly would be in Thompson¡¯s brokerage. Considering Vanridge¡¯s nature, Amelia began to think there might be a darker reason behind his appearance. Had the mob boss decided a war would be the perfect moment to seize what he could? To solidify his power, then hunker down before deciding his next move?


    Her body shivered in fright. Not trusting in her legs to run fast enough, nor believing she could, Amelia reached into her dress for the only thing that could save her. Vanridge snapped his fingers. From the crowd leapt the same man who had brought her to the mob boss, ready to twist Amelia¡¯s arm and forcefully press it against her back.


    ¡°You¡¯re m-making a mistake,¡± Amelia whimpered, as her fingers were pried loose. An attempt to hold on to the item she always kept with her, resulted in a slap to her face.


    Amelia¡¯s grip slipped away as her head met the hard ground.


    ¡°The only mistake I¡¯m seeing,¡± Vanridge said, his voice enthusiastically pleasant, although his joviality never did reach his eyes, ¡°is currently being made by a girl stupid enough to try pulling a weapon on me.¡±


    He put out his hand for his henchman to deliver the stolen object.


    ¡°Uh¡­ Boss¡­ It¡¯s not a weapon,¡± said the man, pressing his knee against Amelia¡¯s back to stop her from moving, while he presented a golden ring that hung from its silver chain necklace.


    Whistling, at first impressed, Vanridge¡¯s grin died when he raised the ring to a light and saw the signet etched into its metal. Just as any person of power would hesitate when confronted with the burning lion indicative of the Duke of Winchester¡¯s might.


    ¡°Where did you get this,¡± Vanridge asked, a gentle softness now lacing his words, that from the confused looks of those watching, was not commonly used.


    ¡°It¡¯s my mother¡¯s. G-give it back,¡± Amelia said, unable to stop herself from moaning in pain when the man holding her still, twisted her arm further.


    ¡°That¡¯s not up for you to decide ¡ª¡± said the man, his gloating cut short when Vanridge lashed out; sending a kick that sailed over Amelia¡¯s head; rendering his own lackey unconscious, with a neck bent the wrong way.


    ¡°Everyone out!¡± Vanridge yelled, a sweeping arm used to begin a rush of movement that collected the downed man, to then leave the room empty.


    ¡°Amelia Strightsworth, I have wronged you,¡± Vanridge said, lowering himself to offer his forearm, ¡°This is¡­. Not the type of space or circumstance I had envisioned us meeting under.¡±


    Amelia accepted his support, allowing the mob boss to carefully help her up and guide her to his own seat which he offered without reservation. His smoothness frightened Amelia. From his sudden change in attitude after having recognized her, to how he spoke, like they were destined to meet¡­ It left her with no doubt that a take-over of Thompson Brown¡¯s brokerage had occurred.


    Most likely of the hostile variety.


    A dread she might not be able to rely on The Historian¡¯s novel the longer the ¡®story¡¯ went on, washed over her like a cold ocean wave.


    No, never mind, that wasn¡¯t her imagination, but the cold compress Vanridge had somehow produced to gently press against Amelia¡¯s injured head. Carrying with it the faint smell of medicinal herbs.


    Vanridge let her hold the compress when she moved her hand up to take it. Before he returned to her other Ophelia¡¯s ring. Amelia looked at him in a daze. Unable to help herself in thinking Vanridge did look regretful. She wondered whether she might be concussed when her first coherent thought considered letting bygones be bygones.


    Truly, beautiful people ought to be treated with caution.


    ¡°I can overlook your mistake because of the poor lighting,¡± Amelia said, finding pretending much easier now that a half hundred eyes were no longer staring down at her. ¡°However, I was under the impression I would be meeting a¡­ Thompson Brown.¡±


    Vanridge put down a stool in front of Amelia¡¯s couch. Sitting down on the small thing, as if to give off a harmless impression, the mob boss sighed deeply in shame.


    ¡°Regrettably, even I do not know where Thompson has gone off to,¡± Vanridge said, bowing with both hands on his knees, ¡°though I suppose I ought to have already introduced myself. I am Vanridge Dowsinger, the one chosen by our illustrious conglomerate¡¯s board of merchant executives to take over dealings in his absence.¡±


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you know I was coming?¡± Amelia asked, needing to remind herself no, Vanridge spoke lies. Thompson had been clearly supplanted.


    Vanridge rubbed the side of his cheek, seemingly embarrassed by what he wanted to say next. ¡°Yes, we did receive the letter announcing your visit. Only¡­ I had been under the impression your arrival would be in a week¡¯s time, and not the very day we got the letter.¡±


    Amelia blushed. Remembering that in the letter she had sent yesterday, late into the last day of a weekend, there had only been a mention of her intent to visit come the first day of the week.


    Which meant, if Vanridge had only received her letter this morning¡­


    She awkwardly coughed. Having never thought her eagerness to visit might have been seen as a promise to arrive in seven days time. Vanridge made no comment. Instead, he reached behind his back to impossibly retrieve two expensive fine-dining wine-glasses, along with a bottle of drink.


    The magician¡¯s act clicked Amelia out of her stupor, for she remembered a passage from The Historian¡¯s novel, when Vanridge at one point had entertained the princess by performing sleight of hand tricks.


    ¡°Do you drink?¡± Vanridge asked. ¡°I¡¯ve no doubt the request you have is of the outmost importance. I would ask to have a moment of your time to discuss it in depth. Forget prices, for you I would resolve anything short of finding an elixir, for free.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s neutral face cracked at the mention of elixir. A near mythical, obscure item once created by an ancient civilisation of which now only ruins were left. She knew all too well what Vanridge¡¯s words meant. He really was promising to deliver on anything.


    Anything, excluding impossible demands.


    Offended by the man¡¯s unmasked arrogance, Amelia found herself growing dizzy. He clearly thought his acting, along with his face, could get her to stay. But if she thought on it, did it really matter who fulfilled her request? If fate were real, then eventually their paths would cross once again when she brought Grace to the capital city. Which made it important to remain on Vanridge¡¯s good side.


    Amelia could almost hear a small voice tell her no, she probably shouldn¡¯t be tempted by the sexy black bellied underground mob boss. A girl like herself? He would play her for the fool in an instant.


    ¡°Please, give me the chance to apologise,¡± Vanridge said, already pouring a glass which he offered. ¡°I¡¯m ashamed of my employee¡¯s behavior. We might be on edge, what with the war, but there¡¯s no excuse for him trying to impress me by treating you roughly. Rest assured; he will be punished.¡±


    Amelia struggled to reply. Astonished by the ease with which Vanridge pushed all responsibility onto his ¡®employee¡¯. Remembering how quickly he had decided to kick the man unconscious; she decided it might be best to at least hear out the mob boss and avoid risking offence.


    ¡°Well¡­ We can at least get to know each other,¡± Amelia said, accepting the glass which she sipped lightly from. Its taste reminded her of Grace. Unsurprising, since the drink ended up being one of the princess¡¯s creations.


    How exactly had the princess handled the mob boss¡¯s affection?


    Right¡­ by acting like a woman who knew her own status. Becoming a queen for a villain who soon found their positions reversed. What with Grace teaching Vanridge over time that he could get whatever his heart wanted so long as he pretended to recognize her as above him.


    And while Amelia refused to entertain the idea of how she might look wearing leather¡­ There were enough other moments in The Historian¡¯s Novel to draw inspiration from.


    ¡°There will be no war,¡± Amelia said, doing her best to stare Vanridge down through the translucent edge of her glass, glad any rosiness on her cheeks could be explained away thanks to the wine, ¡°My father will take fifty kilometers, and the Western barbarians will be obliged to explain to their people how they had no choice but to acquiesce.¡±


    The snake took her bait. Vanridge gave Amelia a white, beaming smile. And this time, she could almost swear there glimmered an obsessive light from behind his dead eyes.


    ¡°Of course!¡± Vanridge said loudly, raising his glass to her words. ¡°The dragon will no doubt, ignite the fires of industry and better the Barony with his soon acquired expansion. It doesn¡¯t matter which amazing person got him invested in conquest, there is no doubt in my mind that soon, these lands will be richer than the capital city!¡±


    Amelia¡¯s toes curled. She knew she wouldn¡¯t be immune to flattery but hearing it from such a powerful man sure felt pretty good. She giggled, accidentally spilling a few drops of wine on her blouse. There a stain spread, which Amelia fustily frowned at, since the dress was one of her favorites.


    ¡°May I?¡± Vanridge asked, a handkerchief in his hand.


    She looked at it. Confused as to whether he was asking to clean her himself.


    When her brain finally did get over its bubbly hiccup, Amelia snatched the handkerchief away to begin dabbing at her blouse. Trying wholeheartedly to pretend she hadn¡¯t seen the carnivorous look that glinted through Vanridge¡¯s fa?ade when their hands met.


    Bad girl, she thought, reprimanding herself for having decided to stay. Knowing the wisest decision, would be leaving the mob boss to the princess, who could stick her hand into a snake¡¯s den without getting bitten.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Amelia said, focusing on her drink to avoid further eye contact.


    ¡°My pleasure,¡± Vanridge answered, his words tickling Amelia¡¯s ears to the point she bit her lower lip to try and distract herself, ¡°another glass?¡± he asked, showing off his own empty drink. ¡°And again, I really do want you to know I am sorry for earlier. I¡¯m not a bad person Amelia¡­ even the girls you saw with me, it¡¯s all just an act to present myself as someone my men can respect.¡±


    Oh no, Amelia thought, when again she found it reasonable to forgive him. Forget playing the temptress, Vanridge would eat her alive. If she didn¡¯t get out soon, she would be no more than a fool!


    ¡°Tempting¡­¡± Amelia said, made extremely self conscious when her drunk words sounded more like a moan than a sentence,¡± However, I¡¯ve a busy business day today so I ought to get going. What with my father wanting me to take a more active roll in managing¡­ things?¡±


    In the end, she decided to clumsily bring an end to their meeting and run. Before the hot man could unbutton another level of his shirt and entrap her forever.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you will be an excellent advisor.¡± Vanridge said, moving closer, "Could it be your request is meant to help you prepare for the role?¡±


    Unsure of whether she should answer Vanridge truthfully, Amelia decided to not bring Grace into their conversation until the man had proved himself with a less risky request first. ¡°You¡¯re quick on the uptake, I like that,¡± she said, not sure whether her words were coming out more slurry than saucy, ¡°but you are right that I have a need. A need that needs to be met. I want information on a man. A certain, Gregory Rutherford.¡±


    Vanridge whistled, impressed by the tall order, ¡°I recognize that name. Might I ask what sort of offense the son of a Marquess has committed against you?¡±


    ¡°He looks to my ring-finger with uncouth attention and is becoming a distraction,¡± Amelia said, pursing her lips to look offended at the very idea.


    ¡°How unprincipled,¡± Vanridge cooed, offering once more an arm to help Amelia, who was now very tipsy, stand up, ¡°Please, expect an in-depth review. Such a matter sounds to be of¡­ the utmost importance.¡±


    ¡°Also, why the bookstore on main street shut down,¡± Amelia added, only in her drunken state she accidentally stumbled over Vanridge¡¯s foot. Except her face came to rest not on a floor, but upon the firm chest of a man who easily supported her with an arm that wrapped itself round the small of her waist.


    ¡°Careful princess,¡± Vanridge whispered, his silver tongue tickling Amelia¡¯s senses with the idea to stay a while longer, ¡°wouldn¡¯t want you to never forgive me, would we?


    ¡°My friend is waiting for me outside, goodbye!¡± Amelia said abruptly, pushing herself off from his chest with a brain on the fritz.


    ¡°Take care,¡± Vanridge said, letting go, ¡°would you like to be seen out?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine on my own,¡± Amelia said, thankful that with the room empty of people, she could easily find the exit.


    Though when Amelia did make her way out, she couldn¡¯t help but feel like a mouse, let loose by a cat that wanted to play with it more in the future. But what choice did Amelia have? The mouse chose to keep its mouth shut while it fled, only a tad regretful she hadn¡¯t managed to meet Thompson Brown.


    How was she supposed to get the princess found now? Did she really have to make use of Vanridge? Also, why did the downstairs lobby appear completely deserted?


    ¡°Erika? Are you there?¡± Amelia called, surprised she hadn¡¯t passed a single person since having left Vanridge. Had the mob boss ordered his minions to give her wide berth? When? She could only guess how, a secret hand-signal perhaps?


    The only thing Amelia knew for a fact, was since finding out Vanridge¡¯s current actions differed from those in The Historian¡¯s novel, she couldn¡¯t help but feel worried that soon the story train would completely lurch off its tracks.


    Which gave Amelia the justification to at least see how fast the train could go before crashing, by checking on a thing she still thought suspicious. Taking off her shoes, Amelia quietly snuck down the lobby¡¯s hallway in her socks, opened the large iron door Erika had stopped her from approaching, and descended a set of stairs leading into a basement.


    Whether the receptionist worked for Vanridge or not, the intensity in how Erika had reacted meant the area was off limits for a reason.


    Past barrels filled with who knows what liquor, Amelia found more dark iron doors waiting. With key racks between them; marking their status as cells. Putting herself up on her tiptoes, she peeked into the tiny square window of the door from which a faint groaning noise could be heard, to find a man tied in chains.


    Wounded, but his expression unbroken, the beaten black and blue missing merchant stared back at Amelia in surprise.


    No doubt about it. This time, The Historian¡¯s character description was a perfect match.


    ¡°Found you,¡± Amelia whispered with drunken glee.


    ¡°Who? W-what?¡± Thompson Brown gasped. Coughing up blood.


    ¡°My name¡¯s Amelia,¡± said Amelia, removing the keys from their rack. ¡°You might know my father, Havoc Strightsworth? Well, I¡¯m here to ask whether you would be interested in helping me prove I¡¯ve found the king¡¯s long-lost daughter.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± Thompson said, opening his mouth like a fish. A fish that began nodding its head upon deciding it wanted to be thrown back in the water.


    Amelia couldn¡¯t help but smile. Her rosy cheeks filling with such accomplishment that things might turn out swell and dandy after all.


    Thompson simply stared at the young woman who unlocked his cell in a mystified daze.

 Chapter 12 — Unexpected Editorial Choices

    ¡°How did you get the guards to leave?¡± Thompson whispered, rubbing his discolored wrists now freed from their shackles.


    ¡°I seduced their boss!¡± Amelia said proudly, and Thompson looked at her while they walked, as if she were crazy.


    ¡°Sure, whatever you say.¡±


    Amelia wanted to sulk. It was technically, maybe, in a sense, the truth.


    Climbing the stairs leading to the ground floor, Amelia peeked round the steel door, and into the hallway.


    ¡°Coast is clear,¡± she said, finding it strange Thompson seemed hesitant to escape, ¡°is something the matter?¡±


    Thompson looked back over his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ve a ledger. This place, I could swallow its loss, but I must have that ledger. Without it, forget aiding you find magical fairies, it would take nearly a year to get my affairs in order.¡±


    Resisting the urge to copy Grace and stick her tongue out at the handsome man who thought every word she spoke was a lie, Amelia sarcastically whispered, ¡°Isn¡¯t that a bad idea, keeping all your important stuff in one place?¡±


    Thompson¡¯s mouth fell open into an offended ¡®o¡¯.


    ¡°That¡¯s why the ledger is being kept in a safe. In a basement. Inside a secret compartment built into the underside of a keg of beer that¡¯s been hidden amongst over a hundred duplicates! I¡¯m not stupid, if there¡¯s one copy of a ledger, it means it¡¯s too risky to have more!¡±


    ¡°O-oh¡­ I¡¯m sorry,¡± Amelia said, embarrassed over having jumped to conclusions. ¡°Want me to go on ahead by myself? So I don¡¯t see which barrel it¡¯s in?¡±


    Sighing like a man who didn¡¯t know what to do, Thompson stepped away from the stairs, ¡°I can¡¯t even get mad if that¡¯s your follow-up. Sure, go ahead on your own. But if I¡¯m not out in five minutes, cut away any hairbrained thoughts telling you to jump back into this oven of a place, and run home without looking back.¡±


    ¡°Woah, that sounded super gallant,¡± Amelia said, wondering if this starstruck sensation she was experiencing, was what the capital ladies felt when getting to meet a famous musician.


    Sue her. She had read enough fantasy novels to have developed a soft spot for a self-sacrificing hero or two. But then Thompson had to ruin the moment by muttering something before running off that sounded like ¡°Seduction my foot, Vanridge must have taken too many mushrooms.¡±


    Unable to tell if she had misheard, Amelia hurried to exit the building, worried Vanridge¡¯s men might soon return and catch her in the act. Once out, she spotted a bench on the opposite side of the road and decided it would be a good place to begin mentally subtracting three hundred seconds. When that number reached zero, Amelia hiccupped a wine bubble, decided addition was superior to subtracting, and restarted counting until having returned to three hundred.


    By then, she had begun to worry. A worry all but confirmed when a noise like a gunshot exploded from the second floor of Thompson¡¯s brokerage.


    Cries of alarm began spreading, preluding the crash of a window breaking from which a headless body flew out to land on the street. Its skin as charred black as the billowing smoke beginning to pour from a building set ablaze. Amelia stared with mystified trepidation, at the corpse of Vanridge Dowsinger, who she could only recognize from the fancy shoes on his feet. She didn¡¯t know what to do. Nothing seemed like the right choice. So there Amelia sat without twitching a muscle, unable to look away from the man who should have been living, until Thompson came bolting out of the brokerage like the devil himself were after his heels.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Amelia asked, begging to know what could have possibly happened.


    ¡°You¡¯re still here?!¡± Thompson exclaimed, putting down the briefcase he now held to place his hands on either side of Amelia¡¯s face, turning her away from Vanridge¡¯s body.


    ¡°No idea what happened, there was a bang, then a whole lot of yelling. Can¡¯t believe the bastard would let himself be done in so easily, but that¡¯s life for you.¡±


    Amelia couldn¡¯t fathom how Thompson could act like he was late for a meeting. ¡°He¡¯s dead!¡± she said, trying to find any signs of reassurance it wasn¡¯t just her who couldn¡¯t accept such a prominent character from the Historian¡¯s novel might suddenly exit stage left.


    ¡°They¡¯ve killed the boss!¡± came a howl of anger from the brokerage that sent out a rolling wave of heat when it began falling apart.


    ¡°Find them! Flay them!¡± yelled another who kicked open the door for several men; some burned, all wrathful to come streaming out.


    ¡°Thompson¡¯s gone missing as well!¡± shouted a third distinct rabble rouser, which only added more fuel to the flames.


    Jolted out of her daze by the tolling of the city¡¯s now ringing fire bell, Amelia realized Thompson had begun escorting her away from the scene.


    ¡°Amelia, I understand tragedy can be hard to acknowledge, but I¡¯m going to need you to be brave and get back home as quick as you can. They¡¯re gunning for me by what I¡¯m hearing, so how about we pick up this conversation once we¡¯re both out of harm¡¯s way?¡±


    Amelia didn¡¯t want to leave Thompson alone, but she knew their situation wasn¡¯t good. ¡°I¡¯m much too slow to run, let¡¯s split up¡± she said, shoving her mother¡¯s ring into his hand, ¡°I¡¯ll head to warn my friend who should still be out shopping, while I need you to inform my estate about what has happened. Our wagon should still be parked near the city square, can you do this for me?¡±


    Thomson gripped the ring in determination. ¡°Blend in. Don¡¯t risk going down alleys. If you were with Vanridge before his death, they might think you¡¯re involved.¡±


    Then Thompson ran off, with a hobble to his steps that made Amelia guilt-ridden for not having noticed how deep his injuries went. Especially when Vanridge¡¯s death had reminded her each character in The Historian¡¯s novel was real. A single wrong turn, and they might end up dead as a doorknob. Meaning she absolutely couldn¡¯t let Thompson get caught. At the very least she needed to help give him a running chance. Regardless of how tough he acted; pluck wouldn¡¯t change the fact Thompson had sat in a cramped cell for who knew how long.


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    ¡°He went this way!¡± Amelia yelled, using both hands to try and reverberate her words as loud as she could, ¡°Thompson Brown, he¡¯s heading down Yale Street!¡±


    She could see Vanridge¡¯s men turn. Hear them yelling out to each other so they all might chase as one unit. Leaving Amelia to question what exactly she should do if they decided to question her in passing. Wasn¡¯t drawing attention actually a bad idea? If the city found out she had dealings with crooks, who knew what kind of trouble this mess could potentially cause her father. Her thoughts were in shambles. Thompson¡¯s suggestion to blend in the only thing keeping her from completely losing her calm.


    Only there was nowhere that offered concealment. Where once there¡¯d been a mass of bystanders, now most had fled; few wanting to remain anywhere close to a building engulfed in flames. There were still those who cared little for the danger, only they were a minority. Certainly not enough to blend in with at least.


    Not knowing whether Vanridge¡¯s men could recognize her from a distance, Amelia tried to increase her running pace as she saw an opportunity, fast approaching. Gasping for breath, she threw caution to the wind and raced to cross just one more street, barely managing to clear it when a fire engine came rip-roaring past; pulled by a pair of horses whose hooves sparked as they gleefully headed towards where the animals knew they should be.


    ¡°Make way! Make way!¡± yelled the driver, leading a convoy of first responders behind him; thick enough to separate Amelia¡¯s line of sight from Vanridge¡¯s men. Giving her a few precious seconds to search again for a good spot to lay low.


    Amelia found potential in a nearby storefront. The idea being that, so long as she got off the streets, nobody would know where she¡¯d gone. A smashing solution, if Grace didn¡¯t suddenly open that store¡¯s door from the other side, which led to the two of them crashing into each other.


    ¡°Amelia? What¡¯s going on?¡± Grace asked, the only one of them still standing.


    ¡°Princess, I did something stupid!¡±


    ¡°Princess?¡± Grace said, helping Amelia up, ¡°What the heck are you saying ¡ª are you drunk ¡ª No, forget it, are you being chased?¡±


    ¡°I believe so. We need to hide,¡± Amelia said, not caring how desperate her plea sounded, as she began pulling Grace deeper into the store whose only other occupant happened to be an elderly lady who had fallen asleep in her rocker behind the cash register.


    ¡°How badly do we need to hide?¡± Grace asked, when the doorbell rung behind them, noisily announcing the entrance of a trio whose air about them spelt nothing good.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Amelia said, conscience-stricken to be foisting her hope on the princess who hadn¡¯t a clue as to why she needed to avoid the men that began searching the store with a fine-tooth comb, slowly but surely creeping towards them.


    Grace asked no further questions. Instead, she took over, firmly grabbing Amelia by the waist to move the smaller woman to a better location. Her left blocked by a shelf. Her right facing a wall. Suddenly, all Amelia could see was the princess¡¯s body.


    ¡°Wear this,¡± Grace said, shifting the sunhat she wore onto Amelia¡¯s head.


    Watching Grace shake her hair loose, along with what heaved at eye level, Amelia peaked around the princess¡¯s shoulder, and found one of the three men looking in their direction.


    ¡°Now kiss me,¡± Grace added, leaning in to completely block Amelia¡¯s vision from the man who pointed them out.


    ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t think we need to go that far,¡± stammered Amelia, finding the woman¡¯s warm breath on her neck enough to involuntarily shiver.


    ¡°Relax, we¡¯re only pretending, I won¡¯t use my tongue¡± shushed Grace, and Amelia could swear the princess¡¯s lips brushed against her left ear, ¡°now, pardon my disrespect, but be a good girl and listen to me until they¡¯ve moved on. You trust me, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Maybe drastic measures were in fact needed. Amelia could hear footsteps, at least two of the men were now walking towards them.


    ¡°Do it,¡± she hissed, and at once, Amelia found herself kissing Grace.


    Whose lips tasted like the sweetest of milk chocolate.


    ¡°Turn off your magic, it¡¯s making my head spin even worse,¡± Amelia gasped quietly, coming up for air to ask the princess for mercy.


    ¡°It¡¯s a passive effect,¡± Grace said, moving back in to let her lips tell Amelia to keep quiet.


    A good decision, Amelia thought, what with the first of Vanridge¡¯s men now close enough a silhouette had cast itself over the pair. Thinking they would surely be discovered; Amelia closed her eyes. Seeking refuge in how loudly her heart raced, and how warm Grace¡¯s body felt pressed against hers.


    ¡°What¡¯s taking so long?¡± came a yell from the shop¡¯s front.


    ¡°Shut up! I¡¯ve got bad eyes, they¡¯re wrong on occasion!¡± answered a man, who by Amelia¡¯s guess, stood not even a meter away.


    As if the two women had become a part of the background, his footsteps began fading. The departure of three men punctuated by the shop¡¯s entrance bell that rang once again when they¡¯d left.


    ¡°I think they¡¯re gone,¡± Grace said, as if satisfied of a job well done on her part.


    ¡°That was my first kiss,¡± Amelia said meekly, touching her lips with the tip of her fingers.  Torn between the joy of elusion, and the embarrassment that came with knowing she would never again have the chance to taste her new favorite flavor.


    The princess¡¯s powers felt like cheating. No wonder the boys went crazy for more; they had gotten addicted on free handouts! Which was hard to imagine, seeing that the princess¡¯s face began turning white, like she had committed a crime.


    ¡°I am so, so sorry,¡± Grace said sincerely, ¡°I completely forgot compared to me you¡¯ve been raised in a glass bottle.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s brow furrowed. She didn¡¯t quite like how the princess had described her life.


    ¡°No matter, it would have had to happen eventually,¡± Amelia said, searching for something else to say that might distract her from the princess¡¯s puppy dog pout. ¡°Are you all done shopping? she asked, pointing at the basket Grace held by the crook of her arm.


    Grace¡¯s hand reactively placed itself on top of the basket¡¯s lid, as if wanting to hide it.


    ¡°It¡¯s rather disgraceful,¡± Grace said, ¡°I even bragged about spending my first paycheck to buy the orphans a wagon¡¯s worth of sweets¡­ But there was just such a good deal I ended up changing my mind!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re making absolutely no sense.¡±


    Grace¡¯s hand wavered. Finally, she decided to show what she¡¯d bought.


    It was meat. A sizable quantity of dried, smoked, and prepared pieces of varying sizes that pungently filled the shop with the scent of a small mountain¡¯s worth of spices and blood. Certainly, there were a few other purchases in the pile, but at a one to nine ratio the meat won out in abundance.


    Had the princess been scammed? The smell was bad enough Amelia worried the vendor had tried to cover up the meat¡¯s spoilage. It looked like they were both having a rough day.


    ¡°Well¡­ Everyone makes mistakes,¡± Amelia said, moving near a street-side window to check whether it was safe to go out, ¡°Why don¡¯t we instead send them a barrel of bonbons and some food from my own personal storage?¡±


    Grace tugged Amelia¡¯s sleeve. ¡°You¡¯re not angry, are you?¡± she asked hesitantly, ¡°Kissing is my go-to move for helping girls escape bad dates at the bar¡­ I swear, if you¡¯re mad, I promise next time I¡¯ll try fighting instead!¡±


    Dumbstruck, Amelia began laughing. She had thought Grace would be the last person to panic, but in the end, even a princess was human.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, I don¡¯t mind,¡± Amelia said, consoling her friend, ¡°like I said, it would have eventually happened. Rather, I¡¯m glad you were my first since I¡¯ve a feeling my potential fianc¨¦e might not want to wait until marriage.¡±


    Not that marrying Gregory Rutherford was something set in stone.


    ¡°Now come on,¡± she added, opening the shop¡¯s door, wanting to hurry back to the town square where Thompson should be. Depending on how quick he¡¯d got there, Heimdall might have already dispatched an escort of knights to bring her back home.


    It took Amelia a moment to discover Grace hadn¡¯t followed her outside. The princess, instead, choosing to remain in the doorway where she stared with wide eyes.


    ¡°Your fianc¨¦e?!¡± Grace shrieked, racing to catch up and grab Amelia¡¯s arm.


    Amelia could only resign herself. She knew that gossipy look, it was the same her maids had whenever they clustered to chatter.

 Chapter 13 — An Unwelcome Arrival

    <div>


    ¡°¡­ And with the findings to your last question being no, I was unable to uncover anything suspicious concerning the decision made by the bookstore owner named Bradley Vendor to move and take care of his aging mother, I conclude my report.¡±


    Thompson Brown placed a sizeable paper transcript of his findings onto Amelia¡¯s desk. His summary might have been concise, but the details written down for her perusal proved how seriously he took even the lightest request.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t scare him, did you?¡± Amelia asked, looking up from the part where Thompson told of how his connection who knew a guy, had hired a band of mercenaries to check up on Bradley.


    ¡°Next page,¡± Thompson said, slipping a finger under the paper he flipped, to where it detailed how the mercenaries had made sure to dress in plain clothes while investigating.


    ¡°Good, then I¡¯m happy,¡± Amelia said, skimming what remained, until she hit the last page which for some reason, showed only a list of very powerful names.


    Thompson tapped next to them, where it showed a method by which to contact each person.


    ¡°Please, make use of them without holding back,¡± Thompson said, managing to sound both arrogant, and grateful at the same time, ¡°By putting a roof over my head while my affairs sort themselves out¡­ They¡¯re already in your debt. Honestly, I couldn¡¯t have asked for a better place to hole-up until I can get back to the capital. The security the Strightsworth manor offers in name alone¡­¡±


    Amelia¡¯s feet did a happy dance under the desk. She had grown to enjoy these reoccurring meetings with Thompson. Especially since he didn¡¯t mind her having dinner at the same time.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad my father¡¯s house can provide a sense of protection,¡± Amelia said with a smile, ¡°Now are you sure you don¡¯t want more maple syrup?¡±


    Thompson considered his plate, which held only a single pancake with barely a dollop of sugary goodness to its name. Then, he looked at Amelia¡¯s monstrosity of a bowl upon which an island of a crepe soggily floated.


    ¡°I don¡¯t really have an appetite right now,¡± Thompson said.


    More for me then, Amelia thought, as she ate with her left hand and crossed out a few key names on Thompson¡¯s list with her right.


    ¡°Pardon, did I include any names who your family is at odds with?¡± Thompson asked, curious as to why she would do this.


    Amelia pushed the list back towards Thompson. ¡°Oh, no. They¡¯re just the bad ones. I suggest you cut them loose now before they get caught for collusion and a bunch of crimes I would rather not think much about. But I am thankful for the others.¡±


    She did this, because several of the names on Thompson¡¯s list would soon get killed by Martel Managing. After what had happened to Vanridge, Amelia felt obligated to do what she could in ensuring the safety of those on her side of the fence.


    ¡°But I am thankful for the others.¡± Amelia said.


    With her recent streak of bad luck, it wouldn¡¯t surprise Amelia to learn Martel this time around planned to kill not only those responsible for his family¡¯s destruction, but everyone even remotely associated with them as well. Including merchants.


    The idea of exposing Martel before he could start dropping people like flies was there of course, but Amelia remained uncomfortable with sharing too much of the future she knew. And she empathised with Martel who had lost everything. Did she have the right to intervene when while reading The Historian¡¯s Novel she had been cheering him on?


    Thompson, whose brow remained furrowed even after considering the scribbled-out names before him, took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ make sure to be careful,¡± he said, before sliding out from his chair. ¡°Is there anything else you might want from me?¡±


    Clearly, the merchant held at least a few suspicions that would bring him to properly look into Amelia¡¯s accusations.


    ¡°Only one more thing,¡± Amelia said, making sure to drink what remained of the delicious syrup in her bowl before cleaning up with a napkin, ¡°Are you certain the¡­ ¡®secret request¡¯ I made, is being done under only your name? I¡¯ll admit to being worried the court mage might think it a joke if he learns I¡¯m responsible for asking he visit.¡±


    Chuckling as if he couldn¡¯t disagree more, Thompson gathered his stuff, and bowed his head low. ¡°Fear not,¡± he said, winking in a way that caused Amelia¡¯s tummy to flutter, ¡°the court wizard is a man who I¡¯ve dealt with in the past. A bonafide bloodline specialist, who while eccentric, will not deny you. Which is good for us, because I couldn¡¯t find any other mages not self-isolated in a magical tower.¡±


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    ¡°Which should take about a month¡­¡± Amelia said, recalling the details as she admired the perfect workhorse before her.


    ¡°It might seem like a long time; however, I can assure you that for the best results, we wouldn¡¯t want him showing up any sooner.¡±


    Thompson needn¡¯t explain why. Amelia knew full well there remained a mountain of minute tasks needing doing for the princess¡¯s unveiling to have the greatest effect. Which was fine, since it meant more time to ensure Grace developed a favorable impression of her ¡®master¡¯ before their destinies split.


    Offering a lighthearted goodbye, Thompson departed, leaving Amelia alone in her mother¡¯s greenhouse garden where the atmosphere couldn¡¯t be better. It had been a smart choice to let Grace into her mother¡¯s garden; the princess¡¯s positive reaction being the courage Amelia needed to try inviting others inside. Of course, there lay hidden in her psyche a smidgen of worry, that would second guess Thompson¡¯s motivations whenever he showed interest in a flower or tree. Since, while she might claim Grace happened to be the king¡¯s daughter, until the proof was in the pudding, from the merchant¡¯s perspective, Amelia might very well look like an easy mark of a noble with delusions of grandeur.


    When she had asked Grace for her opinion on Thompson, hoping to receive inspiration on what the man might be thinking, the princess instead started ranting about how easy it was to see the reason Thompson visited Amelia every morning, could only be that he liked her. Amelia couldn¡¯t manage a straight face when Grace made bare her feelings with utmost seriousness. Not four days ago when Thompson moved in, nor when the princess appeared soon after the merchant had left in the present.


    ¡°I¡¯m being serious,¡± Grace said, once Amelia recovered from laughing, ¡°I can tell how he looks at you. I¡¯ve seen it a hundred times before. The man¡¯s got it bad.¡±


    ¡°And how do you know he isn¡¯t enamored with you?¡± Amelia asked in return, having caught Thompson peeking at Grace whenever the man thought himself unobserved.


    Grace crossed her arms. ¡°Some things you just know.¡±


    Amelia found it cute; seeing Grace act like a cat; hissing away about the tom who would surely, any day now, reveal their true colors. Only Grace¡¯s raving this time found itself cut short when the princess remembered her true purpose for visiting and leaned over to whisper.


    ¡°He¡¯s causing a commotion?¡± Amelia asked, finding the good mood she¡¯d been building all day suddenly flushed right down a drain.


    Grace pulled away to nod her head with pursed lips. ¡°Gregory Rutherford is a rude, entitled, slob of a man,¡± she said, appearing quite angry about their impromptu guest.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t touch you, did he?¡± Amelia questioned, worried the Marquess¡¯s son who had shown up out nowhere, might have offended the princess.


    Shrugging as if she didn¡¯t care, Grace suspired while checking her nails. ¡°I¡¯m used to it,¡± she said, ¡°besides, Heimdall stepped in. And I¡¯ve got to say, that man would make a pretty good bouncer. Also come on, I know how to play it. He didn¡¯t even get the chance to ask for my name.¡±


    Perplexed, since that could mean a whole lot, Amelia followed Grace to the source of the problem. Learning with every word spoken between them, that unfortunately, the Gregory Rutherford who¡¯d arrived hardly differed from The Historian¡¯s novel.


    What a troublesome man, Amelia thought, when Grace recounted how Heimdall had distracted their guest away from herself, by pointing out that should Gregory wish to meet Havoc, he could always cross the border whenever.


    Heimdall¡¯s way of telling Gregory to go stick his neck in the path of a bullet.


    Amelia could feel a headache beginning to grow as she dreaded an imminent encounter with her so called fianc¨¦. ¡°Can you recount the report on him Thompson gave me?¡± she asked Grace, hoping to distract herself while they walked.


    Grace harrumphed. Indicating Thompson¡¯s neutral report was about to turn biased.


    ¡°He¡¯s a rich playboy with modestly good looks. Prone to using his father¡¯s money to form connections through parties, his womanizing has caused no small number of terrible rumors. Obviously, complaints against him get resolved before they can become anything larger than hearsay¡­ But Amelia, I really don¡¯t think you should meet the man, he¡¯s a dangerous twit. For heaven¡¯s sake, he showed up unannounced while your dad isn¡¯t here.¡±


    ¡°I think that last one is my fault,¡± Amelia said.


    Grace scoffed in disbelief. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°A month ago, I drafted a reply to his engagement proposal, in which I tried to make it clear such an important decision would need to be carefully considered by our parents¡­ But I never got around to actually sending it over.¡±


    ¡°Which makes it your fault?¡±


    ¡°Gregory might be here to follow up on why I never wrote back. So, yes.¡±


    ¡°Still don¡¯t see how that stops him from providing due notice.¡±


    Feeling like they might soon begin going in circles, Amelia fell into deep thought, re-considering whether the sudden visit of the Marquess¡¯s son lay with her tepid non-answer to Gregory¡¯s proposal, or the man now causing a hubbub.


    Amelia got a sneaking suspicion there might be a different, hidden reason for Gregory¡¯s arrival.


    If her intuition were right, then most likely, the Marquess, upon learning of Havoc¡¯s interference with his plans for a barbarian invasion, decided to send his son to find out how the Baron had done it, under the pretense of furthering an engagement.


    ¡°Either way, it¡¯s not relevant,¡± Amelia told Grace, hesitating to open the drawing room door from behind which could be heard a loud voice. ¡°Keep yourself away from him, will you? I don¡¯t think he¡¯ll be brave enough to try anything with me present, but I would have you out of his reach all the same.¡±


    ¡°Want me to bring in a drink and accidentally spill it on him?¡±


    Amelia held off on entering the drawing room till she¡¯d recovered her composure. Unable to stop herself from grinning all silly at her luck for having met the princess whose outlook on life was ever so charming.


    ¡°That shouldn¡¯t be necessary,¡± Amelia said, grabbing the doorknob, ¡°there¡¯s no need to antagonise him, can¡¯t you hear the man¡¯s already yelling?¡±

 Chapter 14 — Blood in the Water

    <div>


    The yelling became louder when Amelia and Grace entered the drawing room, where they found a red-faced man angrily stabbing an accusing finger at Heimdall, who looked incredibly bored, and unimpressed by the quality of Gregory¡¯s beard.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe it!¡± Gregory fumed, ¡°are you telling me Havoc made the decision to start a war without reason, gave his troops less than a week to prepare, and then set off into the night without fanfare or notifying the king? What of arranging a supply line? Have you no heart for the knights who will suffer in his name? The Kingdom won¡¯t stand for it once the people learn of his actions, I¡¯ll tell you that much.¡±


    Heimdall sniggered, ¡°You¡¯re presuming the Right Honorable Lord Strightsworth will lose,¡± he said, adjusting his stance to show he had noticed Amelia¡¯s arrival, ¡°Do you really think there exists a Kingdom on this earth that would turn down free land? And again, I simply must correct your terminology. The Right Honorable Lord Strightsworth has begun not a war, but a border exercise to reclaim what once belonged to the Velvetican Kingdom.¡±


    ¡°They split from us over two hundred years ago!¡±


    ¡°My, Gregory, I¡¯m surprised you knew. Although any urchin round these parts could tell you it wasn¡¯t so much a two-sided split as it was an outright insurrection.¡±


    Sensing the darkening shade of Gregory¡¯s face foreshadowed the man blowing his top, Amelia cleared her throat, announcing her presence. ¡°What¡¯s all this?¡± she asked loudly, recycling the mask she had worn when meeting with Vanridge Dowsinger. An air of importance would be key in dealing with Gregory. Though that wasn¡¯t to say Amelia didn¡¯t notice, or like, how the man¡¯s face eerily twisted towards her as if he had spotted a long-lost acquaintance.


    Or how his shifty eyes shifted downwards, like he was undressing her body.


    She didn¡¯t appreciate that one bit. Amelia might have been wearing lighter clothes for the summer season, but they were still wholly proper for the sake of receiving guests. Then it hit. The fact Grace stood behind her. And just like that any of Amelia¡¯s desire to establish a long-lasting connection by converting the Marquess¡¯s son into an ally, fell into a hundred million fragmented pieces.


    A good thing Heimdall stepped in front of Gregory, since it gave Amelia enough time to ensure her face remained unprejudiced on the outside.


    ¡°Amelia, good to see you,¡± Heimdall said, ¡°This is Gregory Rutherford. Rutherford, Amelia Strightsworth.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll remember your face, Heimdall,¡± Gregory said as he moved in, ¡°Every offence¡­ Including just now. I am aware of who my own fianc¨¦e is, there is no need for introductions.¡±


    Amelia avoided Heimdall¡¯s sweeping gaze. She hadn¡¯t told him or her father of the engagement proposal. Having thought at the time of her initial response, that nothing would ever come of it. Deciding to use her privilege as a lady without title, Amelia seized the initiative to extend her hand first, trumping Gregory¡¯s higher standing of being a first son by acting so pettily he would only be seen as a rude guest should he point out the faux pas.


    ¡°Yes, I did receive your proposal. Unfortunately, my father has been busy, tied up with pressing work ¡ª you know how it is ¡ª so I¡¯ve yet to find the time to sit down and hear his opinion.¡±


    Her explanation meant to give Gregory enough face for him to back off. But he must have had other thoughts, since instead of a handshake, he took her fingers rather brusquely to lower a lingering kiss.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have all the time in the world to discuss our wedding arrangements later,¡± Gregory said, holding her hand for an uncomfortably long time, ¡°you are after all, among my reasons for visiting. Although having now seen you in person Amelia¡­ I must say, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll mind my stay in the least.¡±


    ¡°How pleasant to hear,¡± Amelia said, lying through her teeth. ¡°Shall we sit? I can have refreshments sent for, while you clue me in on why it is that you¡¯ve come.¡±


    She didn¡¯t want him around any longer than needed. Gregory¡¯s words felt rehearsed. His lips had felt slimy.


    Yet against her wishes, Gregory helped himself to a chair like he¡¯d been waiting for just that. ¡°No need for refreshments besides something to drink,¡± he said, dragging a pinkie along the chair¡¯s arm as if searching for dust, ¡°I doubt you would have what I¡¯m accustomed with, so I¡¯ll hold back until I¡¯ve returned to my lodgings. Now about this servant over here ¡ª¡±


    ¡°Whelp better go let the kitchen know to get working,¡± Heimdall said, one last act of sedition committed via interruption before he escaped from the gnashing of Gregory¡¯s teeth.


    Amelia looked out the corner of her eyes to ask Grace wordlessly whether she ought to apologise on behalf of Heimdall. The princess, much less discreetly, pointed at a window-sill flowerpot with a watering-can for a neighbor.


    ¡°Heimdall works directly under my father,¡± Amelia said, able to smile much more easily now, ¡°They¡¯ve known each other since they were children. I would suggest if you¡¯ve business with the Baron of Strightsworth, that you turn a blind eye to how¡­ direct he can be.¡±


    She could almost hear the cogs turning in Gregory¡¯s head. Eventually, he stopped staring at the doorframe through which Heimdall had left.


    ¡°I notice you have very few attendants, how¡­ humble,¡± Gregory said, surprising Amelia with his ability to ineptly change topics, ¡°We¡¯ll need to fix that,¡± he added.


    Amelia¡¯s smile tightened.


    ¡°Quality over quantity,¡± she said, prioritizing defending the servants who worked for her father. Especially when most of them were retired knights who¡¯d earned their comfortable family living.


    Also, Gregory¡¯s comment concerning available food didn¡¯t make any sense! In a Barony so detached from the rest of the Kingdom as theirs, no city hotel would be able to provide a meal the Strightsworth chefs couldn¡¯t.


    And he was using her chair! Did he expect her to lounge on the couch, like some pin-up girl? Outrageous.


    ¡°Here you are my Lady,¡± Grace said, appearing next to Amelia with a right proper replacement. In fact, she hadn¡¯t ever seen this chair before in the manor. It looked¡­ It looked¡­


    Oh wow, were those actual gemstones?


    ¡°Go with it,¡± Grace whispered, causing Amelia to realise the chair must have been altered by the princess¡¯s magic. She also noticed Gregory¡¯s ogling that followed Grace who returned to her standing position behind her.


    ¡°At least your servants are well trained,¡± Gregory said, before snapping back to Amelia with a well-mannered smile. ¡°One of yours I presume?¡±


    ¡°Yes. She¡¯s mine,¡± Amelia said, a look all she needed for one of the maids to bring over a bottle of alcohol and begin pouring. ¡°You mentioned having business with my father?¡±


    Her question made Gregory¡¯s eyes glaze over in apathy. ¡°Those matters are confidential, don¡¯t worry about them,¡± he said, throwing back his head to drain his glass in one go. Which suited Amelia just fine, since she remained confident with enough booze Gregory would start talking.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Though she couldn¡¯t help but start worrying the man might not even give her time to interrogate, with how he finished two more full cups in rapid succession. By then Amelia began thinking perhaps her cold and collected approach might not work proactively with a non-interactive opponent. An annoying conclusion since The Historian never went into much detail on the character of Gregory Rutherford.


    He was always just kind of there, hovering¡­ And being annoying. Like a bug.


    Well, in that case, she could always just keep following the princess¡¯s advice to ¡®give them what they want.¡¯ Making a promise with herself that she would never allow drink to become a crutch, Amelia pushed her still empty glass towards Gregory¡¯s side of the table.


    ¡°Understandable, secrets should remain in capable hands,¡± Amelia said, making sure their own brushed together. ¡°Could you pour me a half-cup?¡± she asked shyly, figuring it best to be as clear in her supposed wants as the crystal they drank from.


    Gregory¡¯s expression lit up. And when Amelia batted her eyelids, he threw a knowing grin towards the red liquid that filled a cup full.


    Drinking became Amelia¡¯s excuse to close her eyes and figure out her next move. Except the wine this time round was of a sterner stuff than what Vanridge had served, and upon taking in too much, the bubbly drink tickled her nose with a splash that made her start sneezing.


    Positively dismayed for having already messed up, Amelia might have held that glass with both hands forever, if Gregory hadn¡¯t begun chortling loudly.


    ¡°It takes a while to get used to wine this strong,¡± he said, topping her drink, and Amelia swore the focus he gave her resembled how he had studied the princess to a frightening level. ¡°Try drinking slower, swirl it around in your mouth to really¡­ savor the flavor.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Amelia asked, experimentally following his instructions to find besides the wine staying in her mouth longer, there wasn¡¯t much of a difference in taste. Still, if Gregory wanted to see her drink, it was an easy enough request to fulfill.


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s right, keep going,¡± Gregory said, shifting in his seat to lean in a bit closer. ¡°With wine¡­ You¡¯ve got to listen to the experts.¡±


    Amelia felt there was something strange with his words. She put that down to the alcohol that was already beginning to make her light-headed. ¡°Then, you¡¯re the expert?¡± she asked, giggling at the idea of a person paid to taste wine. ¡°And you came all the way from the capital to meet me?¡±


    Turning apologetic, Gregory presented both palms. ¡°Would that I could have arrived at the same time as my proposal,¡± he said, ¡°but yes it certainly was a long trip. It boggles the mind anyone would willingly live this far away from proper civilisation.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not a whole lot that happens out here,¡± Amelia admitted, keeping it a secret she preferred it that way. ¡°By chance do you have any interesting news to share of the capital? I¡¯ve read the papers¡­ Only it¡¯s dreadfully inadequate to hear of the happenings from but a few journalistic perspectives.¡±


    ¡°I know a few entertainments,¡± Gregory said, ¡°have you heard of the Viscount who was found out for corruption? It¡¯s the hottest gossip right now.¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± Amelia said, urging the Marquess¡¯s son to begin weaving a spin while they drank, of a noble family whose assets had been ruthlessly torn apart and divided. Entranced by his story, Amelia compared each detail he lay down to how the Historian had described it. Knowing full well the event would come to mark the beginning of Martel Managing¡¯s murderous rampage.


    Who she still had no idea how to handle. Seeing her options were either exposing the man or confronting him with a deal before his knife started stabbing. Maybe she could sell Gregory out in exchange for an alliance? The Rutherford¡¯s were after all, one of the forces behind Martel¡¯s tragedy.


    ¡°It really is a dreadfully complicated matter,¡± Gregory said, as if only he and a select few others could possibly comprehend the affair. ¡°I might even dare say the only news more popular right now is¡­ Well¡­ What¡¯s going on here! Would you believe my father¡¯s hair is turning grey over not knowing the details? He stands to make a fortune in selling weaponry but is too much of a coward to commit unless certain of which side will emerge triumphant.¡±


    Amelia couldn¡¯t believe it. Had Gregory already spilled his reason for demanding to speak with her father? It was almost scary how quickly Grace¡¯s acting lessons were getting results.


    Finding it strangely simple to mimic how drunks slurred their words when they talk, Amelia took her chance. ¡°Did you know¡­I was there when he made his decision to expand the border.¡±


    ¡°No word of a lie? How did it happen?¡± Gregory asked, clearly interested in knowing more.


    Put on the spot, Amelia clammed up. Having remembered too late she couldn¡¯t very well admit she¡¯d accidentally started a war. Her intention in bringing up the subject, had only been to twist their conversation back towards what the Marquess wanted. In the hope of helping her father.


    How should she answer? Already, Gregory¡¯s expression seemed to be turning downright livid. As if he were fully expecting Amelia to immediately divulge everything all at once. Or maybe she¡¯d imagined it. Since by the time her vision stopped swimming, she couldn¡¯t see anything wrong with the way Gregory was looking at her.


    ¡°Know what?¡± Gregory said, before Amelia could reply, ¡°I¡¯m not being all that fair, am I¡­ Not when we were both trusted with important information. I¡¯ve changed my mind, you¡¯ve impressed me, there is in fact something you can help me with, since obviously there¡¯s more to that head on your shoulders than just being pretty.¡±


    ¡°It is?¡± Amelia asked, before realising she had focused on the wrong thing, ¡°I mean¡­ There is?¡±


    Draining the wine bottle of its last drops, Gregory set it down on the table before getting to his feet. Amelia could only stare at the empty bottle and wonder when one had become three.


    ¡°I¡¯ve made the decision to trust you,¡± Gregory said, ¡°But I won¡¯t speak of what my father wishes me to convey with the Baron of Strightsworth here. Is there a spot we could talk while alone? A more secluded space than this room? I can¡¯t risk anyone listening in or interrupting us.¡±


    Two locations sprung up in Amelia¡¯s mind. But since one of those spots happened to be her mother¡¯s garden, it wasn¡¯t much of a choice.


    ¡°My father¡¯s office on the second floor should work,¡± Amelia said. Though when she stood, the blood rushed to her head, and she found it hard to reorient herself even after a while.


    Grace moved beside her, ¡°Are you alright my lady?¡± she asked, helping Amelia steady herself, ¡°You¡¯re tipsy, I mean really tipsy, perhaps we could entertain your guest while you take a reprieve?¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t do that,¡± Amelia said, separating herself from Grace, ¡°not when Gregory wishes to discuss important business with me. But could I trouble you to make sure nobody will disturb us for a while?¡±


    ¡°Wonderful, how¡­ decisive,¡± Gregory said, offering his arm for Amelia to take, ¡°though it pains me to admit I¡¯ll need you to show me the way.¡±


    Amelia nodded, refusing to look back at the princess who clearly disagreed with her choice. Which wasn¡¯t fair since everything she did was for Grace to begin with.


    ¡°Come along then,¡± Amelia said, beginning to lead the way to her father¡¯s office while Gregory helped support her stumbling steps.


    Along the way, their silent walk gave Amelia time enough to reflect, and register that a certain fact, appeared strange in hindsight. Gregory in the Historian¡¯s Novel must have fallen infatuated with Grace at first sight for him to have confessed even quicker than any of the suitors ever did, so why had he never asked for her name?


    Ignore a protagonist? Impossible. Which meant he must already know who Grace was. Could there be a third reason for his paying a visit? Did Gregory come to kidnap Grace the moment the Marquess heard her father would be outside of his territory for the first time in decades?


    ¡°Have you ever met my handmaiden?¡± she asked, putting out a lure for the fox.


    ¡°In a sense,¡± Gregory answered, pausing in front of Havoc¡¯s office, ¡°is this it?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Sure is,¡± Amelia said, finding it oddly difficult to maintain a straight thought.


    Did the effects of alcohol ever continue to increase even after you stopped drinking? She didn¡¯t know.


    ¡°C-could you elaborate on how you know my employee?¡± Amelia asked Gregory, her limbs now heavy enough that to continue forwards into the room, she needed to almost be carried.


    Gregory did not answer. Instead, she found him staring down at her with a drunken fervor that smoldered behind his dark eyes.


    ¡°Playing hard to get¡­ Making your servants mock me¡­ Not replying when asked¡­¡± Gregory said, his frustrations unmasked with every word spoken, ¡°Amelia, your behavior has been less than ideal. And while the need to discipline you pains me, I would suggest you don¡¯t talk unless spoken to for however long this night lasts.¡±


    Amelia tried moving away from the man who¡¯d begun speaking so dangerously. A difficult task, since once freed from his hold, she fell, like a ton of bricks, her body less responsive than a stick of wood on the ground.


    ¡°Too much to drink?¡± Gregory asked.


    Finding the inexplicable paralysis crawling its way to her throat, Amelia tried screaming for help. A pitifully weak cry barely reached the door Gregory shut before his hand snuffed out the rest, clamping over her mouth.


    Amelia understood she¡¯d underestimated a very important detail concerning Gregory Rutherford. This was the man who had, in The Historian¡¯s Novel, confessed to Grace, gotten rejected, and then challenged the princess to a duel which, without the gladiator Stanton¡¯s intervention, might have turned lethal.


    How could she have ever given Gregory the benefit of doubt? When she already knew the Marquess of Rutherford was a madman. A man who had poisoned their queen out of spite, a man willing to betray even his own country for vengeance. Children took after their parents. So why would it be a surprise that Gregory would reveal himself as a madman as well?


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame me for something you won¡¯t even remember,¡± Gregory said, before he took Amelia¡¯s dress by its collar, and tore her first layer of clothing down all the way to her stomach.

 Chapter 15 - Sharks in the Blood

    In the Historian''s novel, even before the invasion of West and of Sea there were moments where Amelia had needed to put down the book for a minute long break. Such as when Grace, at the hands of her alchemist suitor Richter, ended up suffering due to the man''s choice of drugging and abducting a princess for experimentation. A decision to hoard her blood for himself, in a twisted attempt to synthesize an elixir capable of granting immortality. And with an eternity after to look forwards too, Richter frankly believed the princess would eventually see things as he did.


    In the end he would fail, foiled by Stanton, leading to Richter''s imprisonment in the royal dungeon for all of a week. The exact time it had taken for the princess to recover, learn of his state, and forgive him because his intentions were noble.


    At her time of reading, Amelia found it peculiar The Historian would bother including an in-depth description of the drug used by Richter on Grace. From its ingredients to how it was made, everything concerning the malevolent substance had been written in punctilious detail. Flavorless, potent, and hard to detect, the drug''s initial effects could be easily mistaken for drunken behavior. From there, hallucinations would set in, while at the same time debilitating the victim''s ability to move or talk. Eventually leading to a deep, forgetful slumber.


    Amelia had disagreed with the princess''s choice. She''d wanted to yell at her storybook heroine for having let Richter off so lightly once his machinations had failed. For if the shoe were on the other foot, wouldn''t Grace have been the one to unjustly suffer?


    Finding herself under the effects of that very same drug, which Gregory took out from his pocket: inspecting how much remained in its vial, Amelia found herself with a horrible thought. What if the reason Grace forgave Richter, was because she couldn''t remember how he had been ever so willing to violate her body in the pursuits of his science?


    Amelia didn''t want to forget. She didn''t want to forgive the man now gloating as if drugging her amounted to some sort of triumph.


    "Looks like you''ve caught on," Gregory said, removing his hand from Amelia''s mouth to throw the door''s lock. "Any complaints?" he asked, enjoying how she was unable to answer.


    He dragged Amelia towards the office''s only bed: A piece of furniture Amelia vaguely remembered having ordered for her father after having learnt the man would otherwise drink until he''d fallen asleep on the floor. She tried to resist. To struggle against Gregory''s groping hold, but it felt as if her brain didn''t work. The simplest attempt to lift an arm causing instead a mere twitch.


    He threw her. Onto the bed in a heap. Where she managed to manipulate the lump of lead for a tongue to ask the only question that mattered.


    "Why?"


    Gregory removed his shoes, then his shirt. Before stepping onto the bed where he gently curled his hand round Amelia''s neck and began squeezing. Cut off from breathing, dark spots soon appeared in Amelia''s vision. She could still manage a few gasps for air, however with Gregory''s tightening grip, it wouldn''t take long before she ran out of hope. Close enough to passing out she could feel it, Gregory at the last moment let go. Never once showing a change in expression other than the neutral smile he showed. Even when the man began removing what was left of Amelia''s top.


    Not wanting to be choked again, Amelia did nothing, except pray a servant might think to check on them, and flinch when Gregory''s hand reached once more towards her.


    "I think you''re starting to understand your place," Gregory said, revelling in every terrified reaction he tore from Amelia''s disarrayed state. "Remember. When I ask a question, I expect you to answer." His touch drifted from her neck, tracing a line leading down cross her stomach. "As expected of the dragon''s daughter," he said quietly, when a finger slid low enough that Amelia involuntarily shuddered, "Your body... How you smell..."


    "My father ¡ª" Amelia gasped, before a hand slapped her clean cross the face.


    "Is not here," Gregory said, "nor are your maids, nor your pathetic guards, or any of your servants. There is only me, and my wants." He smeared the red which leaked from Amelia''s mouth. "But I am not a man without mercy. Tell me what I want, and I''ll end this play here with a potion of healing. You will remain untouched, chaste... How does that sound?"


    Unable to spit out her chipped tooth, Amelia swallowed what tasted of iron. While the ceiling informed her the alchemist''s drug, had entered the second half of its lifecycle. She could feel her eyelids growing heavy, although not too heavy to prevent line of sight with the strange patterns now forming.


    "L-Liar," she read, finding in those swirling illusions a truth.


    The man had already let it slip the Marquess knew Grace''s location. And from the prominent shape straining against the length of Gregory''s pants, she could imagine what his intentions were. Remain chaste? Hardly. Not if Gregory meant to impregnate her, allow the alchemist''s drug to erase any recollection of how it had happened, and claim the act was performed with consent on a future date, to drag Amelia, along with her handmaiden the princess, to the Marquess.


    Evil. The word evil existed for people capable of reasoning themselves into committing such acts.


    "Now. Speak. Why did the Baron enact war with our neighbors?" Gregory asked Amelia, while he continued removing her clothes.


    Amelia barely heard the question. The warm office air on her skin felt far too distracting to answer. At least, not until more words began peeling away from every surface in sight; each colorful syllable waving towards her with its desire to be read.


    "We were... out on patrol," Amelia said, mumbling to herself what felt right while twisting her body away from the man, "There... There was an ambush... D-Daddy went out to check... He came back... angry..."


    Gregory sneered; he slapped Amelia on the back with his hand held wide open. A heavy enough blow to turn her onto her side. "Then my father''s carefully crafted plans came undone by a barbarian''s error? How... fitting."


    A gargled scream died in Amelia''s throat. She willed her body to move in desperation; sending a spasm down a leg which kicked out behind her. Gregory staggered, receiving her heel on his chin. But his right hand managed to land an iron hold on her ankle. He pulled her towards him. Amelia tried to protect herself from being struck until her face ran with blood.


    "S-Stop..." she begged; wishing for a chance to repeat the day from its very beginning. She ought to have let Heimdall handle their guest start to finish. She should have never thought herself clever enough to use wine. And she should have never decided to follow Gregory alone by herself. "You... You p-promised you w-wouldn''t."


    "I did, didn''t I," Gregory said, slipping two thumbs round the last piece of clothing she had: her underwear. Which he removed before placing himself between her feet. Bending each of her knees away from the other, Gregory stopped. Not out of mercy, or some newfound belief in compassion, but because there had come a knock at the door.


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    "Right..." Gregory said quietly to himself, "They''ve the gall to disturb their master. Of course."


    Time tasted like molasses is what Amelia understood. The effects of Richter''s drug were now in full sway, and she could see Gregory for what he truly was as fur began sprouting across all of his body. Transforming him into an abomination of a two-legged wolf; a disgusting creature that shouldn''t exist among humans yet fit right in notwithstanding.


    Gregory scowled. Drawing a knife from the clothes he pulled on in a hurry. Which to Amelia, looked like a set of terrible claws, wielded by a creature hungry for blood, a creature who inched towards the three repetitive raps growing louder the longer nobody answered.


    Did Gregory truly think with Havoc gone he had free reign in the manor?


    It could only mean one thing. And the last lucid thought Amelia had was that the Marquess must have set her up. Either his son would convince her of his engagement proposal, or, if rebuked, cause a disturbance of such epic proportions the Strightsworth family would need to bring themselves and their retinue, to the capital to seek justice.


    Which meant the princess would end up in the Marquess''s hands no matter what.


    The same princess who appeared when Gregory opened the door by a crack.


    "Who is it?" Gregory asked, his knife kept out of sight.


    "Handmaiden. Drink and victuals for my lady, sent by Heimdall. Of course, Heimdall says even if you want food now, it''s too late because the kitchens are closed."


    "Did I not already make myself clear?" Gregory said, and Amelia watched on terror-struck as the wolf''s claws unfolded, "I have no need for what you could offer."


    "Never said they were for you. They''re for my lady," Grace said. "Could you move please? I don''t wish to disturb your meeting, but I can''t leave until I''ve delivered this grub and you''re not giving the cart enough room."


    Quick like a whip, Gregory took the food cart from Grace. "There, I''ll give them to her," he said, "Now leave. Least I discipline you on behalf of your master."


    Forget getting rescued, Amelia wanted the fairy that twinkled in all the colors of the rainbow to run before the wolf man could eat her! So, when Grace said, "Very well," and departed, she found herself thankful, since Amelia had begun to wonder if this hiccup in saving the Kingdom was divine retribution for the sin of still living.


    "I''m sorry mommy. I didn''t mean to be born, I promise," Amelia mouthed, her tears streaming down either side of her face, as she began crawling towards the bed''s corner.


    "Now... Where were we?" Gregory said, turning the door''s lock before he advanced towards Amelia who dragged herself away from him like a child.


    A child who cried for her mother, unable to tell through her tears that the woman who beckoned was nothing more than three pillows piled into a corner.


    Her weeping only seemed to encourage Gregory, whose manhood revealed itself from between the beast''s legs when he slunk onto the bed on all fours. Positioning himself behind Amelia, with a hand pressing down to prevent her from moving as he prepared for an entrance. Amelia felt his warm rod drag itself cross her mound. The foreign, unwanted object lifting away only when its owner deemed the time for enjoyment had come.


    Gregory missed as he stabbed. When a rumbling occurred; heavy enough to shake the manor, strong enough for the reverberations to throw an adult man off balance.


    "Thunder?" Gregory muttered, pushing himself up to look out the nearest window, "No... That doesn''t make sense," he said, upon seeing the grey clouds which were nowhere near full. "An earthquake then? Of all the rotten timing..."


    Momentarily freed from the weight pressing down on her back, Amelia resumed writhing, mumbling while pulling herself closer to where her mother awaited, with that same, comforting smile.


    "S-scared, "I-I''m scared mommy," Amelia said, once she''d managed to rest her face on the thigh of Ophelia Strightsworth.


    "What is it that''s frightened you darling?" Ophelia asked.


    "T-Thunder," Amelia gasped, hearing the beast''s steps leave the window to draw close behind her.


    "Dearest, it can''t possibly be thunder," Ophelia said, while tenderly stroking the top of Amelia''s head. "Do you want to guess why?"


    "No!" Amelia bawled, clutching at pillows as she buried her face in the bed. In a nonsensical attempt to hide away from her rapist. Flailing, Amelia''s arm struck away Gregory''s reaching hand, creating a moment between them which she used to hide herself further in the folds of Ophelia''s dress.


    "It can''t be thunder," The hazy illusion of Ophelia consoled, only to begin disappearing when Amelia''s head struck the wall upon being shoved by Gregory who began relentlessly striking her body again and again.


    "M-Mommy, don''t go!" Amelia cried, barely able to hear the final words of her mother, whose whisper still arrived even after she''d vanished.


    "It can''t be thunder," the phantom''s voice told her, "It can''t be thunder... Because there was no lightning before it."


    Ophelia''s voice faded to silence.


    And from the roof came a demon which tore its way in.


    Its flesh burned a charred red; bright enough to pierce past the cloud of debris which fell with it. It''s shape humanoid yet alien in size, as it was immense enough that its head scraped the ceiling. One moment, Gregory revelled in the power he held over Amelia. The next, he''d been lifted by a creature of nightmares; forced to gaze into a pair of empty eye sockets from which sprung forth no light.


    A clawed hand: more bone than flesh, tightened.


    "Is this him?" Growled the demon, just before the door to the office was broken through at the lock, revealing Grace with a hammer who boldly marched towards the terrifying sight without hesitation. Her hair a mess, her clothes torn and dirty, but with a spiteful glare that shouted she could care less for how she currently looked.


    "It''s him!" Grace shouted, pointing the hammer resolutely at Gregory, "There lives the bastard responsible for drugging your daughter!"


    Amelia watched without understanding as the squealing wolf like man began thrashing; his eyes rolling back to nearly pop from their sockets. The demon noticed her staring. It threw Gregory against the wall where the man crumpled with a sickening snap, before moving towards her.


    She froze. Like a newborn animal whose only chance for survival remained in lying flat under a thin blanket, while hoping the demon would find her too small to be eaten. Heat from the creature rolled off it in waves that snuck past Amelia''s layer of protection. Leading the way for a bloody hand to pass through and brush against her neck.


    Where carefully, deliberately, two fingers pressed against a vein, as if feeling for a pulse.


    "Count to ten in your head baby girl," spoke a voice that sounded like gravel. A voice Amelia knew could only belong to her father.


    How had he known? Amelia didn''t care. She shut her eyes tight to count those comforting, healing numbers until she felt him withdraw. Holding an absolute faith that the dragon before her; transformed from a demon, would help keep her safe.


    "Is she going to be alright?" Grace asked, clambering onto the bed.


    "Y-You''re not supposed t-to wear shoes on the mattress," Amelia mumbled, wondering if the world might be a dream when she felt her butt leave the ground as the fairy sized princess effortlessly picked her up.


    "She will be fine with rest," Havoc said, his back to both women. His attention now undivided on the Marquess''s son who struggled to prop himself up. Able to tell her father meant to do something horrible, Amelia resisted the desire to cling tighter to the comforting warmth which carried her, and like a cat who refused bath time, she stretched her arms out to grab at the door''s frame in passing.


    "We need to go! What are you doing?!" Grace pleaded, which made Amelia feel guilty, since the last time she didn''t listen to the princess, everything had gone bad.


    "No! Don''t hurt him... Or...or..." Amelia rambled, staring pitiably at Grace who seemed to understand, but didn''t want to do.


    "Oie! Havoc stop!" Grace shouted, drawing the Baron''s attention before the man could gut Gregory like a pig. His fingernails already up to their cuticles in fat which split like it were butter under a hot knife.


    "You can''t kill him!" Grace ordered, before backing away from the doorframe to squeeze Amelia''s arms and legs closer and exit side-ways out the room.


    "Why not? When I can''t even think of leaving our home without putting my daughter in danger!"


    "Because Amelia doesn''t want you to!" Grace said, which settled the matter.


    The princess resumed leaving, slowly enough for Amelia to look back and watch on as Havoc dragged Gregory behind him like a rag doll, towards a window he threw wide.


    "This is the second floor!" Grace yelled, reminding the Baron after she''d noticed Amelia staring over her shoulder.


    Havoc hoisted Gregory over his head. "He won''t die," he said, pulling back, while the Marquess''s son tried incoherently pleading.


    The Baron gave no quarter. Gregory''s words went ignored. And the horrible, soon to be broken screams of a man sent flying through the air, reached Amelia''s ears as her consciousness waned. With her last, out of touch thought being, that she had gone and caused her father more trouble by simply existing.

 Chapter 16 - An Unfortunate Meeting

    Grace wanted to murder someone.


    And that someone was named Gregory Rutherford. An idiot of a man who had almost managed to ruin Amelia¡¯s life. A self-absorbed, arrogant noble who might now only have learnt what consequences were thanks to his new pair of eggshell shattered legs.


    It incensed her, to know Gregory would survive his return trip home. After hearing of how the man had had a healing potion on his person; a tool she could only see as a means for hiding premeditated abuse, Grace couldn¡¯t see him as any better than a rabid dog.  Did the Marquess of Rutherford know how much of a shit-stain his son was? Or could it be he already knew, and had sent his son to visit regardless? How exactly would the Marquess react to finding out what had become of his son?


    ¡®Twas concerns too large for Grace. Since Havoc¡¯s return, all that mattered were her duties as Amelia¡¯s handmaiden.


    Familiar with alcohol, drugs, and their dangers, the first thing Grace did while directing the Strightsworth maids, had been to wake Amelia using smelling salts, then induce vomiting through the tried-and-true method of getting the person with the smallest hands to stick a pair of fingers down their lady¡¯s throat.


    Grace could appreciate the fact Havoc hired women who¡¯d seen battle. With none of them squeamish, the cleaning, dressing, and settling in bed of their lady went like clockwork. Which presently left Grace not at Amelia¡¯s bedside where she would have preferred stay, but on her way to answer the summons of a man who could care less he had effectively, crippled a high-ranking noble¡¯s son.


    Also, Thompson. Thompson Brown walked with her as well for some reason.


    ¡°I heard something happened,¡± Thompson said, trying for the third time since having crossed paths with Grace to start a conversation, ¡°For the Baron of Strightsworth to call for both of us¡­ Do you think it¡¯s anything bad? The reports I got before going to bed claimed he¡¯s still at the frontline.¡±


    ¡°None of your business,¡± Grace said, trying to chase him away so she could continue being furious with herself for not having insisted a doctor be fetched the moment Amelia showed signs of an alcohol overdose following only two cups of wine. She had let status affect her judgment and subsequent actions. The correct choice ought to have been caving in Gregory¡¯s jaw with a brick the moment the man made it clear he wanted to be with Amelia alone. Then, she would rip off Gregory¡¯s prick, force him to watch her peel it apart like the skin of a fruit, and shove every piece down his throat, one part at a time, slowly.


    Before she¡¯d light the whole meaty pile of human garbage on fire.


    ¡°No need to be rude,¡± Thompson said, though by going silent he demonstrated his ability to know when not to ask more.


    ¡°I¡¯m balancing on a wire right now, it isn¡¯t you,¡± Grace said, as they exited the manor; continuing to follow an immense trail of dried blood leading from carpet, onto grass, and ending at the base of a basin within which a butcher of men sat, under the moonlight.


    Behind Havoc, with a strip of fabric wrapped protectively round his lower face, stood Heimdall; busy carving away melted chunks of armor that under intense pressure, had welded onto the baron.


    ¡°See, this is why I don¡¯t like armor,¡± Havoc said, to which his aid grunted and continued to work.


    ¡°Next time, take a millisecond to remove your armor first.¡±


    ¡°There won¡¯t be a next time.¡±


    ¡°You know what I mean.¡±


    Avoiding the pooling puddles, Grace approached the unashamedly nude man whose body outmatched that of an ogre¡¯s. Finding it bizarre such a creature could ever father Amelia of all people.


    ¡°We¡¯re here, what do you want, Havoc?¡± Grace asked, causing both Heimdall and Thompson to look at her in shock.


    ¡°That¡¯s lord Strightsworth to you, show respect,¡± Heimdall said sharply, with Thompson nodding his head in agreement while nervously keeping tabs on the baron.


    Havoc didn¡¯t show any signs of taking offense. Instead, he reached for what must have once been a portion of pauldron and ripped the large chunk of metal off before standing. Unlike Heimdall¡¯s more prudent approach, the Baron¡¯s method tore with it a good pound of shoulder.


    ¡°I care not.¡± Havoc said, taking a white towel that should have probably been a different color from a standing maid. ¡°Titles are meant to be signs of respect. It would be remiss of me to fault Grace, when the woman has no title for myself to address her by in return.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s involved?¡± Heimdall asked, his tone softer.


    ¡°Yes.¡± Havoc said, taking from a different maid¡¯s platter a cigar which he cut with his teeth. A smoldering inhale enough to make it clear a lighter would not be needed.


    ¡°Any questions?¡± he asked, exhaling above him before ascertaining the three.


    Grace raised her hand, ¡°Are we sure the Marquess of Rutherford¡¯s son will survive his trip home?¡±


    Thompson¡¯s face blanched. Whatever his guesses on what was going on, they must have been wrong.


    ¡°Survive?¡± Havoc answered, ¡°If you can call it that. He doesn¡¯t have an unbroken bone in his body. He¡¯ll be shitting the bed all the way back to his father¡¯s healers.¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Thompson said, hesitantly, ¡°Mind telling me what the guy did? Because for the love of God it feels kind of¡­ important.¡±


    Havoc raised two fingers, ¡°Gregory Rutherford intended to lay hands on my daughter,¡± he said, lowering the first, ¡°and for your own good, never mention God out loud in my presence or near my daughter,¡± he added, lowering the second, ¡°Because I won¡¯t be able to help should he take notice.¡±


    For the religious, the Baron¡¯s words were downright sacrilegious. When spoken by Havoc, they held a certain gravitas, which made it clear how serious he actually was. Grace didn¡¯t care. Even if Havoc¡¯s concerns were well founded, God hadn¡¯t showed up when Amelia had needed him most.


    She took a step back upon noticing the clip-clopping of hooves. Giving room to the horse which trotted near their group with a knight leading its reigns. Heimdall threw the towel he used to clean his hands on the basin¡¯s edge before taking the horse from the knight.


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    ¡°Got business somewhere?¡± Thompson asked.


    Climbing onto his horse, Heimdall considered the horizon showing signs of morning sunlight.  ¡°We sent Gregory off only a few hours ago. I should have plenty of time to pass his escort and set up a landslide.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± grunted Havoc, and to Heimdall¡¯s chagrin, the horse he¡¯d just mounted bowed on one knee: throwing him off.


    ¡°And why not!¡± Heimdall yelled at Havoc, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. ¡°If you think I¡¯m not going to do anything, you¡¯re crazy!¡±


    ¡°Because Amelia doesn¡¯t want us to.¡± Grace said, clicking her tongue in annoyance.


    Long had she debated whether the right move had been to follow Amelia¡¯s decision to keep Gregory among the living.


    It would have been so easy. Havoc hadn¡¯t noticed what Amelia wanted. Amelia herself would have forgotten in an hour¡­ all Grace needed to do was not listen to the woman tripping absolute balls!


    But she couldn¡¯t.


    Because that went against the promise Grace had made with herself: That no matter how silly, or nonsensical her lady might be at times, she would fulfill every one of Amelia¡¯s wants, as the woman¡¯s handmaiden, and friend.


    Heimdall¡¯s face distorted into a shape resembling how Grace felt. ¡°We¡¯re¡­ Surely we¡¯re ignoring her?¡±


    Thompson cleared his throat, unwilling to be let out of the conversation any longer, ¡°Are you saying¡­ Amelia was taken advantage of by the exact nobleman she made me run a background check on?¡±


    ¡°Almost. Not was,¡± Havoc said, as if to himself, ¡°And yes, I am.¡± Narrowing his eyes at Thompson, Havoc gave Heimdall¡¯s horse a slap on its rear, sending it scurrying off. ¡°Then you, are the merchant my daughter picked up? I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve properly met.¡±


    ¡°Thompson Broker, Sir Strightsworth sir!¡± Thompson said loudly, bowing before the Baron while retrieving his business card, ¡°Amelia may very well have saved my life. My gratitude is willingly yours as repayment.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard as much,¡± Havoc said, glancing towards his aid who Grace knew sent daily reports. ¡°Apparently, my daughter¡­ snuck out to meet you?¡±


    Audibly gulping, Thompson put away his card. Appearing to have realized how unlikely his meeting with Amelia sounded. ¡°Didn¡¯t know about that part,¡± he admitted, ¡°all I know is she found me.¡±


    Grace, enjoying his predicament, for the man was the reason her lady had been placed in a dangerous situation to begin with, added fuel to the fire.


    ¡°Wait¡­ How did Amelia know you were trapped in a basement?¡± she asked, making her question appear like an innocent thought accidentally spoken out-loud.


    Now panicking, Thomson shied away from Havoc as if worried he wouldn¡¯t be allowed time enough to defend himself.


    ¡°I have witnesses who can corroborate the fact I¡¯ve been missing for multiple days,¡± he said quickly, managing to trip over his own feet and land ass on grass, ¡°My lord, I swear on my life I¡¯ve not a single malevolent bone in my body! Nor any thoughts of your daughter in my soul!¡±


    His apparent sincerity, irked Grace who knew only how to live using lies.


    ¡°Malevolent? No, I know your type,¡± Heimdall said, closing in on Thompson whose sheepish smile faltered, ¡°That¡¯s not how you would frame it¡­¡±


    ¡°H-hey now, I might be a bit opportunistic, but that isn¡¯t a bad thing.¡±


    ¡°Then why choose Amelia? I found that list of connections you left her. A single letter asking for refuge to any of those figures would ensure immediate help. Why stick near a young woman? Because she saved your life? Not willing to grow a pair and stop relying on her?¡±


    Thompson adjusted his tie. Loosening what must suddenly have felt like a garrote wire under the Baron¡¯s examination. Heimdall might be talking, but everyone knew whose verdict mattered.


    ¡°Amelia offered a deal I couldn¡¯t refuse!¡± Thompson said, his voice cracking ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t tell you what ¡ª ask Amelia for permission, not me ¡ª but I promise if you knew, then this talk about how I hedge my bets opportunistically would only prove my innocence further!¡±


    Grace¡¯s distaste for Thompson grew even greater upon learning Amelia shared a secret with him she knew nothing about.


    ¡°Oh?¡± she said, covering her mouth with a hand, ¡°then is that also the reason you¡¯ve been staring at her like a dog would a bone?¡±


    In complete disarray, Thompson looked to Grace with trembling lips which wondered what on earth he could have possibly done to offend her.


    ¡°Lord Strightsworth, I implore you, hear me out,¡± Thompson said, forgoing arguing in lieu of beseeching directly, ¡°My first impression of your daughter was not a reaction to beauty, but of me questioning the actions which led to a whimsical red-headed fay offering me freedom for the chance of a lifetime. She knew who I was immediately, despite us never having once met and my rule against being painted. The way she talks¡­ The way she acts¡­ It¡¯s like Amelia knows of future events we can¡¯t even see coming! Judge me for being a merchant, but you can¡¯t show me a walking pile of money then tell me to ignore it!¡±


    Havoc broke his silence, ¡°Then the secret Amelia shared with you, it¡¯s worth keeping from her own father?¡± he asked, sadly.


    ¡°A contract once struck¡­ I don¡¯t care who you are, unless your name is on the initial agreement, to me, you¡¯re an outsider.¡±


    The fact Grace agreed with Thompson¡¯s assessment of her lady failed to change what she thought of the man.  In fact, his confession only cemented her belief the merchant shouldn¡¯t be anywhere near Amelia if it turned out the woman could really foretell. A single abduction might not demonstrate a proclivity for it, however if Thompson ever found himself in distress and at the mercy of those wondering how he could have stumbled onto a ¡®walking pile of money¡¯¡­


    Should she be working to get rid of the man? Better to wait. At least until the details of his agreement with Amelia came to light.


    ¡°Help Thompson Brown where you can,¡± Havoc ordered Heimdall, ¡°As long as his words hold true, then I am content in remaining proud my daughter is taking the initiative to make something of herself¡­ You are dismissed until further notice,¡± he continued, not batting an eye when Grace remained after the two men and maids had left.


    ¡°I¡¯m still waiting to hear it,¡± Grace said, folding her arms to show she wouldn¡¯t budge till Havoc gave her what she wanted.


    Havoc stared impassively at Grace. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡­ understand. What is it you want? My personal thanks? You have it. Money? It¡¯s yours, no matter the sum.¡±


    Grace looked to the sky in exasperation. ¡°I¡¯m waiting to be told how and when you intend to console your daughter.¡±


    Now Havoc blinked. His nearly drawn cigar trembling slightly before its life was sucked out. Giving Grace the satisfaction of having finally figured out how the man worked. Simply put, Havoc was dense. When not on the battlefield, his simple mind would always get in the way when problem solving anything social. Forever confounding his own perception of life, onto lesser beings he could never possibly understand.


    She¡¯d seen enough signs to guess Havoc cherished Amelia. Only he expressed it in every way other than being physically present. A king¡¯s ransom for an allowance, an acre of garden professionally maintained for more than a decade after the passing of its owner, Amelia essentially held free reign to do whatever she wanted in the Strightsworth manor; A building which only allowed maids on the inside, and had all men except Heimdall posted on guard duty outside¡­


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me,¡± Grace said, looking down on the man despite being a quarter his size, ¡°you thought so long as you make sure it doesn¡¯t happen again, everything will be fine?¡±


    Frowning, Havoc took his time in responding, ¡°Are you saying that isn¡¯t the case? Because I¡¯m not changing my mind. While I might have allowed you to make sure any memories of what happened are¡­ buried, I insist any true removal will be done only after obtaining Amelia¡¯s explicit permission.¡±


    Rather than dragons, Grace began to wonder if Havoc was instead a descendent of a brick wall.


    ¡°No, what I¡¯m saying,¡± she said, clapping her hands twice in his face, ¡°is that right now, Amelia¡¯s crying out for help in her sleep. Trauma affects everyone differently. Don¡¯t force how you view the world on your daughter.¡±


    The Baron stiffened. Throwing down the butt of his cigar, he stomped on it. ¡°What must I do?¡± Havoc asked, while his true emotions caused the grass around him to catch fire. ¡°What must be done to ensure no scars remain on my daughter¡¯s subconscious.¡±


    God what a bundle of misunderstandings, Grace thought, as she stepped away from the flickering circle of flames.


    ¡°There¡¯s no easy fix,¡± Grace said, after making sure the hem of her dress hadn¡¯t been caught by a spark, ¡°But I can help make sure you¡¯ve at least a chance to let her know how much you love her.¡±


    ¡°How will that help?¡±


    Simple minded indeed.


    ¡°Trust me, it will.¡±

 Chapter 17 — A Most Capital Summon

    There lay a heavy mist in the woodlands Amelia walked.


    With no recollection of having arrived, and only a lantern¡¯s light keeping her clear of the trees whose gnarled branches resembled crooked hands laying in wait for those unsuspecting, something about the environment felt both familiar, and wrong.


    One foot placing itself in front of the other, she found herself unable to stop.


    ¡°Hello? Is anyone there?¡± Amelia called out, before a sky tearing howl zipped her lips shut. She remembered now. That she needed to keep quiet. Least those who pursued her would surely catch up. Though Amelia failed to recall who had marked her for capture. A puzzle as strange as the reason why her arms felt so heavy.


    What was it she carried? The object in her arms, safely wrapped, slightly warm, it all felt so¡­ strangely nostalgic.


    ¡°My greatest treasure,¡± Amelia whispered, only this time she hadn¡¯t meant to speak, ¡°I¡¯ll make sure to protect you,¡± she said, before her legs picked up their pace.


    The burning in her chest from the strain of such physical exertion made Amelia think she might soon pass out. But as the howls on the wind began to grow louder, her foot caught itself on the root of a tree, and one problem replaced itself with another when she found herself falling. Desperately, Amelia twisted to absorb the impact; protecting the object she carried at the expense of her body.


    ¡°Amelia? Amelia!¡± a voice yelled, and Amelia awoke in a cold sweat, surrounded by pillows and blankets.


    ¡°Where am I?¡± she croaked.


    Her throat felt awful. Her eyesight, blurry. And above all, there throbbed a splitting headache which intensified the more she tried to remember what had happened after meeting with Gregory Rutherford. Only, with Grace dabbing at her head with a damp towel, the single piece sleeping gown she couldn¡¯t remember putting on, and the cup of water the princess practically forced her to drink, Amelia began to suspect things might not be so simple.


    Parked near a road and surrounded by tents in the process of being disassembled, with armored knights keeping a close watch no matter where she looked, Amelia pulled back from the carriage¡¯s window with more questions than answers.


    ¡°I can¡¯t help but feel I¡¯ve caused an inconvenience¡­¡± Amelia said, only to receive a surprise when Grace puffed her cheeks out like a chipmunk.


    It was the first time she had seen Grace show her anything resembling genuine anger.


    ¡°That bad?¡± Amelia asked, already imagining what kind of gaff she must have committed while drunk. No more alcohol, she promised herself, ¡°I¡­ I need to find Heimdall and tell him I want to apologize for my behavior¡ª¡±


    ¡°None of this is your fault,¡± Grace said, standing over Amelia in such a close proximity she couldn¡¯t help but remember when the princess had kissed her.


    ¡°It¡­ It isn¡¯t?¡±


    Grace took hold of her shoulders, as if to declare she wouldn¡¯t let go until Amelia agreed with her.


    Which Amelia refused to do. Not even if the princess kissed her again.


    Probably.


    She at least needed to figure out the details for why they were taking a road trip.


    ¡°We¡¯re on our way to the capital,¡± Grace explained calmly.


    Amelia¡¯s eyelids twitched in existential horror.


    ¡°Then I did cause a diplomatic incident while drunk!¡± she said loudly, unprepared for the princess who pulled Amelia in, suffocating any further outbursts in her bosom.


    ¡°Gregory tried to assault you,¡± Grace whispered, generating in Amelia a flashing memory of a man advancing towards her. ¡°I got help before he could. And everything after was the Baron¡¯s decision.¡±


    Amelia tried to hold onto those pictures flickering in and out of her mind. But besides a few details, there really was nothing to keep.


    ¡°W-What happened? I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m not sure I can trust my head right now, because I swear my father who should have been across the border ¡ª¡±


    ¡°Broke into his own office to throw Gregory Rutherford out of a window?¡±


    Falling limp, Amelia curled up in a ball; wanting to hide away from reality.


    ¡°Y-You said you were the one who got help?¡± she asked Grace, peeking out from under the blanket she¡¯d thrown over herself, ¡°How?¡±


    Grace patted Amelia¡¯s head over the blanket. ¡°After the two of you left for your father¡¯s office, I couldn¡¯t keep myself from thinking something felt off. I tried checking on how things were going, only Gregory blocked me from even seeing your face. Obviously, something was up. I didn¡¯t need to see the half-mast he¡¯d tried hiding behind his belt to know that.¡±


    "Half... Half a flagpole?" Amelia asked, confused.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. My point is, I didn¡¯t survive working in a bar without knowing when to call over the bouncer, so I ran over to your father¡¯s room, kicked open the door, and started smashing everything that looked even remotely expensive.¡±


    ¡°You did what?!¡± Amelia screamed, throwing her blanket away. Grabbing the princess¡¯s hands, Amelia prepared to beg Grace admit she hadn¡¯t done what she claimed, when a shadow fell over the carriage door window.


    Like a dark storm cloud large enough to blot out the sun, a deep, gravelly voice rumbled its way into the carriage.


    ¡°Is she awake?¡± Havoc asked.


    ¡°Awake and well,¡± Grace replied, which was enough for the Baron who left.


    Disentangling herself from the princess who she¡¯d grabbed out of shocked reflex, Amelia sat on her hands to scold them.


    ¡°Not going to ask why your dad isn¡¯t mad with me?¡± Grace asked mischievously, ¡°I¡¯ll have you know the Baron hasn¡¯t reprimanded me once for what I did!¡±


    ¡°He hasn¡¯t?¡± Amelia asked, finding it hard to believe. Havoc had nearly spontaneously combusted upon seeing her late mother¡¯s painting in the wrong place. Why would he be fine with the princess destroying his room which surely held objects of similar value?


    ¡°Seeing I¡¯ve received a pay increase, I would even say he approves of my method to get his attention,¡± Grace said proudly, inching closer to Amelia before her tone dropped all playfulness, ¡°Which means I¡¯m right. Gregory alone is responsible for whatever happens next. Can¡¯t you trust me on this?¡±


    Amelia felt the princess was trying hard to get her opinion across.


    ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ consider it,¡± she said, still frightened of having somehow, disappointed her father, ¡°Could you tell me what happened next? And what sort of mess we might now be heading towards?¡±


    This was not the right thing to say. Not when Grace deadpan sulk stared into Amelia¡¯s soul for the space of ten counts. Finally letting loose a drawn-out sigh that if spelt out, would read something like: ¡°¡®Fiiiinnneee.¡¯ But we¡¯re coming back to this later.¡±


    The princess then embarked on a long-winded speech detailing what had occurred after Amelia¡¯s close encounter with Gregory Rutherford. It all revolved around Havoc, who¡¯d left the Strightsworth manor once he¡¯d confirmed his daughter¡¯s condition appeared stable.


    News of his victory in war over the West spread not soon later, after the Baron personally razed every barrack, encampment, and outpost within fifty kilometers of the border. Turning his own army into little more than a clean-up crew whose job became stabbing a sharp stick into any enemy combatant in denial that a dragon had begun torching their world.


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    Such an accomplishment was impossible for the capital to ignore. The news of Havoc¡¯s conquest reaching even the king¡¯s ear who sent a magic missive requesting the Baron visit him in his castle, that he might hear every detail in person. Something Amelia would find joy in, if not for the fact beneath the promised accolades came a scheduled hearing she would need to attend; overseen by the Duke of Winchester, at the request of the Marquess of Rutherford.


    Who demanded proper compensation for the state of his son.


    Amelia began dreading their encounter the moment Grace told her about it. Since the Duke of Winchester happened to be her biological grandfather.


    Who no doubt still blamed her for his daughter¡¯s death.


    The duke hadn¡¯t even shown up to Ophelia¡¯s funeral after learning her murderer would be there. Amelia remembered hearing the voices dressed in black whisper as much.


    Shaking legs carried Amelia back to the window, where she took in once again the sight of at least five hundred armed men and their horses. With a hundred more youths in training helping manage each and every convoy wagon; filled with enough supplies a passer-by might believe they were an army on the march. The mere fact the knights were dressed as if they were marching from one war to the next¡­ Coupled with the Marquess¡¯s accusations which involved her grandfather¡­


    No other way about it, they looked like they were en-route to make war war with their own kingdom.


    Amelia couldn¡¯t help it. She began hyperventilating. What started as deep breaths to calm herself down soon turning into a physiological need for her heart to draw in as much oxygen as it could.


    ¡°Do you need to water the flowers?¡± Grace asked Amelia suddenly in a hushed voice.


    ¡°No!¡± Amelia shouted, pulling herself back from the brink, ¡°I¡¯m just trying to think of a positive in all this!¡±


    ¡°And? Have you?¡± asked Grace, her lips a meager hair¡¯s width away from Amelia¡¯s nose.


    They were close enough Amelia did in fact realize a positive in all this. Visiting the capital might end up being both a curse, and a blessing, since it meant she could bond with Grace in a wholly different locale.


    Seeing the sights and sounds of the big city, with the princess of all people? Why, couldn¡¯t she get Thompson¡¯s wizard contact to prove Grace¡¯s princess status sooner than planned if the hearing went wrong? It might mean giving up a reward, but surely, being the one responsible for finding the king¡¯s daughter would be at least worth a pardon? Although the capital did represent a third, much more handsome menace. That being, the princess¡¯s suitors who lived there. Even with Vanridge out of the running, there remained at least three, maybe four different men who the princess might fall in love with.


    Was this the responsibility of a mother? It tasted bitter. Amelia could hardly believe anyone deserved the princess when The Historian had made it clear those suitors would each contribute to the Velvetican Kingdom¡¯s internal turmoil. The gladiator, the alchemist, a murderer, and a foreign prince¡­Whoever Grace ended up with, Amelia hoped the princess would be happy.


    ¡°Grace, what sort of man do you like?¡± Amelia asked, deciding she ought to help vet such an important decision.


    The princess¡¯s head pulled back as if someone had tugged hard on her hair. And when she rebounded, Amelia saw on Grace¡¯s face a wide rictus grin.


    ¡°Weird, you don¡¯t feel warm,¡± Grace said, blocking Amelia¡¯s vision when she started checking for a fever.


    Amelia pushed the teasing hand away from her forehead. ¡°It¡¯s just a question,¡± she said, ¡°I¡¯ve heard the capital is a place filled with romance¡­ And I¡­ I wanted to repay you by keeping an eye out for any nobles you might fancy.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be counting on you then,¡± Grace said, her smile softening in amusement, ¡°since I¡¯ve never actually been with a man.¡±


    ¡°Me too,¡± Amelia said without thinking, shocked to her core.


    No wonder The Historian¡¯s depiction of the princess seemed so different at times. With beautiful men at her beck and call in the capital, Grace must have gone power crazy and sampled each one only after ascending!


    Which begged the question, where was The Historian? Far as Amelia knew, chronomancy remained a very theoretical study. Limited by the fact there didn¡¯t exist enough natural or man-made energy in their solar system to send a blade of grass back an hour. Thus sayeth the scholars at least. Only the last pages of ¡®A Fantastical History of the Velvetican Kingdom,¡¯ hinted The Historian might have managed to pay a price allowing the transcendence of time.


    Amelia would have sat there and dwelled on the logistics of finding an unnamed, unknown person in a city which held over a half-million inhabitants, if an out-of-control horse; ridden by a panicking page, didn¡¯t then clip the edge of their carriage. The impact brought back an incomplete memory in Amelia of the man who had beat her.


    ¡°There there, don¡¯t cry,¡± Grace said, ready to hold and comfort Amelia who began softly sobbing without knowing completely why. ¡°It won¡¯t happen again.¡±


    ¡°T-That¡¯s not something you can promise,¡± Amelia sniffled, offering a half-hearted chuckle.


    Grace placed in Amelia¡¯s lap a palm sized, marshmallow white object. ¡°That¡¯s why your dad told me to give you this.¡±


    It appeared to be an animal¡¯s tooth.


    ¡°It¡¯s a dragon tooth,¡± Grace corrected as if reading her thoughts, ¡°Havoc says it¡¯s the only thing he has left from his childhood. I have no idea if that¡¯s supposed to mean like¡­ it¡¯s from his mother¡­ or if it¡¯s his baby-tooth? Because that¡¯s a big baby.¡±


    Amelia dropped the tooth like it were scalding. Grace caught it with a ¡°hoopla,¡± then gave an incredulous look.


    ¡°I literally just said Havoc gave it to me. I didn¡¯t steal it,¡± said Grace. ¡°He says you¡¯ll be able to break it, which should get his attention no matter how far away you might be.¡±


    ¡°My father would never give me something so important!¡± Amelia said loudly, backing away from the tooth. ¡°He doesn¡¯t like me enough to trust me with a relic like this! Surely there¡¯s been a mistake.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t sound like the man I saw bursting in through the ceiling,¡± Grace said, her mouth twisting into a sad, amused smile.


    Amelia couldn¡¯t grasp why Grace would mention that point twice. Nor could she envision the act. In her opinion, from what she had heard, Havoc must have returned home to put Gregory in his place. Saving his daughter would have been only a bonus.


    ¡°But when I was little ¡ª¡±


    ¡°Amelia, from what you¡¯ve told me¡­ What happened to your mother is a tragedy, but the world a child sees becomes what they believe. Have you ever considered having an amazing memory might not be a good thing if there¡¯s been a misunderstanding? What if Havoc has already forgiven you?¡±


    Impossible. Amelia knew for a fact the princess was wrong. Except, when they¡¯d eaten dinner together, her father had chosen to heal her hand of his own volition. Which was completely out of character.


    ¡°Do you¡­ Do you really think so?¡± Amelia asked Grace, nervously bunching up the front of her dress as she struggled with the idea her father might not despise her as much as he did in the past.


    The mere notion nudged Amelia into sneaking a glance out the carriage¡¯s window, hoping to catch sight of Havoc.


    She found her father feeding a chestnut horse. His own personal steed that happily whinnied for another helping of meat which it got. Its teeth only slightly less sharp than those of its owner. Its size dwarfing every other horse around to the point they might as well have been foals.


    ¡°I want a horsy!¡± Amelia remembered asking her father when young.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll get you a strong one,¡± Havoc had promised, though he ended up keeping the horse he brought home for himself, when Amelia ran screaming for her mother at the first sight of its charcoal-colored mane.


    Crowding the window, Grace made an exclamation of finally having found a solution. ¡°Didn¡¯t you mention wanting to learn how to ride? Why not ask your dad now? No better time than the present!¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t think we should bother him or the knights,¡± Amelia said, too cowardly to commit, ¡°What if he gets angry?¡±


    ¡°Only one way to find out,¡± Grace said, throwing open the window to begin waving at the Baron without a shred of royal dignity showing. ¡°Lord Strightsworth!¡± she yelled, and Amelia ducked to hide from her father before his head could turn fully, ¡°Amelia¡¯s got something she wants to ask you!¡±


    Crouching down, Grace joined Amelia on the floor. ¡°Now or never,¡± she said.


    Amelia wanted to call the princess a bully. ¡°C-Can I hold your hand while I ask him?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Grace said, sitting down on the bench beside Amelia who prepared herself for what felt like an insurmountable trial. Her heartbeat spiking louder than the sound of footfall which stopped outside the carriage.


    ¡°Do you need anything?¡± Havoc asked.


    Amelia swallowed nervously. Receiving an encouraging squeeze from Grace, she managed to find enough strength to put her heart out in the open.


    ¡°I¡­ I want to ride a horse!¡± she said, far louder, and much less eloquently than planned.


    The Baron¡¯s hand, which rested on the windowsill, clenched, bending the metal. And Amelia¡¯s heart, having already resigned itself for rejection, plummeted. Only to rebound like an elastic when Havoc glanced at Grace, pursed his lips in deep thought, and opened the carriage door.


    Had she imagined the look shared between the princess and her father? It felt as if the two had conversed at some point. When? During the time the princess had destroyed her father¡¯s room? After? What could they have talked about?


    It didn¡¯t matter. Not when the person she admired most offered his arm to help her down from the coach, escorting Amelia towards the chestnut horse which neighed in excitement.


    ¡°B-But this is your horse,¡± she said in a daze, when Havoc swung himself onto his stallion, directly behind the saddle.


    ¡°He is,¡± Havoc said, handing the reigns to his daughter once he¡¯d lifted her and sat her down up in front. ¡°His name is Bone-crusher.¡±


    "I thought you never let anyone ride him?"


    "Correct."


    "But I''m sitting on him?"


    "Because you are more important than anyone else.¡±


    "But¡­ But I read horses should only ever carry one person!" Amelia said, spewing a last-ditch attempt for her cowardice to convince the rest of her mind she shouldn''t condone the seeking of her father''s attention.


    "He can hold me," Havoc answered, which trounced her complaint into dust.


    Amelia couldn''t help but get emotional. Other than becoming good friends with Grace, and saving the kingdom, her only other desire in life was to spend more time with her father.


    ¡°H-how do I tell him to g-go?¡± she asked, managing somehow not to immediately burst out in those happy tears she thought would forever remain out of reach.


    ¡°Speak whatever you want,¡± Havoc said, ¡°my legs will teach him the meaning of your words if he does not know them already. Focus instead on matching his movements. I will not allow you to fall.¡±


    ¡°G-giddy-up?¡± Amelia whispered, squeaking in shock when the immense animal started moving and her back bumped against Havoc. Who remained steadfast as a hundred-year-old tree.


    Amelia felt secure. As if she were in her mother¡¯s garden, and not on the back of a demonic horse which began picking up speed, while in her pyjamas. A silly smile growing ever wider with each moment spent in the wind, Amelia looked over her shoulder to the carriage, where the princess waved back.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she mouthed.


    Grace stuck out her tongue.

 Chapter 18 — Out and About

    The Capital¡¯s streets bustled with movement. A family, swinging their son between them exited a theatre with smiles galore. Hailing a coach, amongst an unending number of taxicabs awaiting their future customer¡¯s call, they left as one unit.


    Amelia closed the blinds to her townhouse¡¯s window, absentmindedly twisting the gold ring on her finger as she tried and make sense of the odd sentimentality which seemed to gnaw at the back of her mind upon spotting a child in the wild.


    She had thought herself long detached from such wants. Only, since awakening en-route to the Velvetican Kingdom¡¯s capital city, it was like a part of herself couldn¡¯t help but imagine what life might be like to hold in her arms a tiny bundle of joy.


    A side effect from reading too many romance novels involving baby-making, perhaps?


    Putting the thought down for later consideration, Amelia recalled the events leading up to their arrival in the capital city. She¡¯d been a bit worried, when her father was greeted by an army of guards stationed atop the city¡¯s portcullis. More so when a messenger among them made it a point to loudly announce the Baron of Strightsworth would need surrender his weapons before he could enter.


    The Baron of Strightsworth, to the noise of his complaining and hollering knights, had made it clear how kindly he took to being ordered, by leaping to land atop the walls, where nobody could stop him from stealing the messenger¡¯s helmet.


    ¡°Go ahead, take them,¡± Havoc said, crumpling the piece of armor like it were tinfoil to be dropped at the feet of the low-ranking noble.


    None appeared willing to try out their luck in determining whether the Baron was being sincere, or sarcastic. Thus, a compromise was found. Havoc¡¯s knights would be granted permission to make camp outside the city walls, with their weapons untouched, while Amelia, Grace, and her father, were graciously gifted a townhouse to stay in. Amelia knew technically, they were being put under house arrest, but reality didn¡¯t really match what must have been recorded on paper. Since Havoc made it clear that while he would keep to himself, it came with the caveat his daughter be allowed to walk wherever she wanted.


    The sound of clicking heels descending a set of stairs caught Amelia¡¯s notice. Getting off from the windowsill, she met Grace who had slept well past morning, in the lobby.


    ¡°You should have woken me up,¡± Grace said with a great yawn.


    ¡°I tried,¡± Amelia responded, as if it were obvious. Growing rather proud when the princess sighed in bleak acceptance, since she¡¯d done no such thing.


    Amelia¡¯s reason for lying, was a result of having woken up thirsty at about midnight, only to find Grace in a corner of their room, next to the door, facing the window, with a gun on her lap and a book in her hand. The small burning candle of a night-light showed how long the princess had kept watch. She hadn¡¯t dared comment. Not when Grace fetched her a cup of water, nor when Grace tucked her back in to bed. If the princess believed the Marquess might try something underhanded while Havoc was away visiting the King¡¯s castle, then who was Amelia to tell her she was overreacting.


    When underreacting was the reason they were in the capital to begin with.


    ¡°We¡¯re going out,¡± Grace said to the pair of guards near the front door. They looked up from the game of cards they had set up on a small folding table.


    "Please be back before dark for our sake," one of them begged, "if anything were to happen to you..."


    ¡°Our lives would be forfeit,¡± finished the other, whose gaze nervously creeped past the kitchen to a side-room where Havoc now slept after having returned in the wee hours of the morning, snoring loud enough you could hear him.


    Empathizing with their worry, Amelia promised the guards in passing that nothing bad would come their way, even if she did disappear.


    ¡°What¡¯s on the agenda?¡± Grace asked Amelia, once they¡¯d set foot on the streets, ¡°Got any plans?¡±


    Amelia shook her head no. All she wanted to do was spend time with her friend. Not that she hadn¡¯t a destination in mind. It just wasn¡¯t the priority.


    ¡°Then a touristy walk? Followed by shopping?¡± Grace asked, readjusting her basket.


    The fact the princess was carrying a full set of daily necessities inside that basket, and twin parasols under her other arm, did not pass over Amelia¡¯s head.


    ¡°I can help carry stuff,¡± Amelia offered. Only Grace turned at the hips; moving the basket she¡¯d aimed for out of reach. Wondering whether she¡¯d spoken too softly for the princess to hear, Amelia tried again, only for the same thing to happen.


    ¡°Focus on enjoying yourself,¡± Grace said, handing Amelia a single parasol, like a mother gifting a child a sock in the hopes they¡¯d distract themselves with it. ¡°We both know you¡¯ll get tired carrying anything heavier than the clothes on your back.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯d enjoy carrying the basket,¡± Amelia mumbled under her breath. Unhappy the princess would think she couldn¡¯t last a short while with it. Even if Grace were right. It didn¡¯t feel all that good to know the person she wanted to impress had such a low opinion of her. It was frustrating. If she were strong like her father, then Amelia could imagine carrying not only the basket, but the princess as well!


    Hold on, why did that image pop into her head?


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°Here, don¡¯t pout,¡± Grace said, handing from her basket to Amelia, a purse, ¡°See? Now we¡¯re both carrying the same number of items. My parasol and basket, to your parasol and wallet!¡±


    Amelia frowned. Considered the logic, then found herself smiling since it made sense.


    So that¡¯s how they walked. Amelia, with a skip to her feet, and two very light objects in arm, alongside Grace who didn¡¯t show any signs of strain no matter how many knick-knacks they bought from the vendors lining the winding, colorful, well-maintained capital city streets.


    Talking as they explored, the simple act of spending time with a friend felt like a breath of fresh air for Amelia, who found herself so engrossed in their wandering, that she lost track of all else. Until the distant tolling of a cathedral bell announced it was noon. Finding her legs to have tired, Amelia made the executive decision to take pause in an adorable corner caf¨¦.


    ¡°They¡¯ve got a kitty,¡± she whispered excitedly once inside, pointing to a fat cat that took one look at her before promptly high-tailing away.


    ¡°We can ask to pet it after eating,¡± Grace said, as she found a private corner to seat themselves down.


    Ordering their food, they each selected a drink while they waited. For Grace, tea. For Amelia, tea, with a helping of sugar. Amelia had barely taken her first sip, when the princess began eagerly drumming her hands on the counter; her gaze having found in the caf¨¦; a newspaper rack.


    ¡°Ooh, give me a second,¡± Grace said, sliding away to buy herself an edition, ¡°Sorry, something caught my eye,¡± she said once returned.


    ¡°Anything special?¡±


    ¡°See here?¡± Grace showed off the headline, which featured under it a poorly captured black and white image of a handsome man with a sword standing over another. ¡°I¡¯ve heard a lot about this gladiator during my time at the bar,¡± she said, flipping pages, ¡°pretty standard underdog story, but I¡¯ll admit I might have gotten a bit invested in the sport¡­ And it looks like Stanton¡¯s been doing real swell as of late. Doesn¡¯t help that he¡¯s cute.¡±


    ¡°Can I see?¡± Amelia asked, her interest caught upon hearing the man¡¯s name.


    Grace placed the newspaper on the table between them. Most assuredly, the man Amelia saw pictured was the gladiator from the Historian¡¯s novel. However, unlike in ¡®A History of the Velvetican Kingdom¡¯, where Stanton had been described as a struggling fighter with neither backer nor public support, the gladiator she now read about seemed like a local hero who just wouldn¡¯t stop winning.


    Amelia couldn¡¯t make heads or tails of why such a detail had changed. Could Vanridge¡¯s death be the cause? The world now lacked he who would have eventually become a vampiric existence; intent on draining those foolish enough to allow him inside through gambling and vice. Perhaps, a rich backer once meant to flounder, had instead discovered Stanton¡¯s good talent? She hoped so. Among the suitors, Stanton remained Amelia¡¯s favorite. His earnest, if not a bit immature approach in seducing the princess had been sweeter than double dipped cinnamon rolls.


    Except, did this mean Grace and Stanton would never have an opportunity to meet? A no-name gladiator received different treatment compared to a prized fighter. Even if they went to the colosseum where he¡¯d been meant to rescue Grace from an animal on the loose¡­ the likelihood of it happening twice in the same way felt like grains of sand that slipped through Amelia¡¯s fingers.


    And how could Stanton defend Grace¡¯s honor in a duel if the two never met to begin with? Would that not happen as well, considering Gregory was probably even now recuperating in a hospital bed?


    ¡°I¡­ I know it¡¯s you, but uh¡­ Are you really going to eat all of that?¡± Grace asked, breaking Amelia out from her thoughts to discover their food had arrived.


    ¡°Sugar helps me think better,¡± Amelia said, munching down upon her mountain of pudding. ¡°Wha-aboot you?¡± she asked, before remembering she shouldn¡¯t talk with her mouth open.


    ¡°It¡¯s not proper,¡± Ophelia¡¯s voice echoed, as clear as the day Amelia¡¯s mother had said it the first time, ¡®You wouldn¡¯t want to see all that gross, chewed up food in someone else¡¯s mouth now, would you? Good. And remember, there¡¯s a piece of chocolate with your name on it if you can finish your veggies.¡¯


    The memory hurt. Amelia ordered another bowl of pudding while Grace kept talking about Stanton¡¯s impressive winning streak. Soon, Amelia finished that also, and her stomach groaned in complaint. But she called for another and kept shoveling more food into her mouth. Faster and faster, until her spoon did slip from her trembling hands.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry for being like this in public,¡± Amelia said, as the princess and caf¨¦ came back into focus. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what¡¯s come over me,¡± she added, hurrying to use a handkerchief with which she wiped her face clean.


    First her tears, then her mouth.


    Grace, her back to the rest of the caf¨¦, closed the parasol which she¡¯d opened behind her for some reason.


    ¡°We¡¯re in a corner, whatever you¡¯re talking about¡­ nobody noticed,¡± Grace said with a smile. A smile, which suddenly felt too good for Amelia, who knew it shouldn¡¯t be her who sat across such a considerate person.


    ¡°Do you r-really think he looks cute?¡± Amelia asked Grace, pointing at the newspaper''s image of Stanton. ¡°I¡­ I could arrange a meeting. If you¡¯re interested.¡±


    Grace shrugged dispassionately, ¡°He¡¯s got too much of a baby face for me,¡± she said, raising her hand high for a waiter.


    Twenty seconds later, Amelia found herself with a pudgy kitten on her lap. Whose cheeks positively needed a good squeezing, despite how much it felt like the princess was trying to distract her with it.


    ¡°Can I leave for three minutes?¡± Grace asked, ¡°I saw a street vendor with cool stuff pass by the window, after I catch up to him, I¡¯ll come right back.¡±


    This arrangement suited Amelia just fine. It wouldn¡¯t do to be a busy-body; sticking her nose into each thought Grace might have. Plus, with the princess sallying forth to hail down a vendor, it left her with more time to think on which suitor she should really be trying to pair with the princess. The alchemist Richter, she couldn''t get over. His clinical approach to getting his experiments done, even if he had become more moral about it thanks to the princess, underlined a mentality that was much too scary to deal with. Same with Vanridge, who had at one point outright professed a desire to keep the princess locked up in his room.


    Also, he was dead. And Amelia still had no idea how it had happened. Sort of like how she couldn¡¯t understand why Thompson Brown had failed to get off on the right foot with Grace this time around for some reason¡­


    But the remaining two suitors, Amelia liked. Even if Grace wasn¡¯t enthusiastic about it, giving Stanton a chance with the princess was the least she could do for the gladiator, who had died protecting Grace unto the end. Martel was trickier, for while pretty decent, usually, he begged the question: Is a killer who has yet to kill, a killer at heart if they were destined to kill in the future?


    Amelia¡¯s head started hurting. Somehow, she had managed to confuse herself. Which led to her asking Grace for her opinion once the princess returned.


    ¡°If you do something bad in the future, travel back in time, and then don¡¯t do the bad thing, are you still a bad person?¡±


    Grace stared at Amelia in such a way she immediately felt ashamed for having asked such a dumb question. But like the benevolent, patient woman she was, the princess answered with a smile.


    ¡°Are we talking¡­ In the eyes of the law?" Grace said, ¡°Because I''d say if such a thing were possible, a fresh start should mean a fresh start.¡±


    It was enough for Amelia to put Martel down as a ¡®maybe¡¯.

 Chapter 19 — Discovering What Matters

    Amelia thought her excursion with Grace was a perfect day if ever there was. Devoid of scheming or plans, even after lunch, they had allowed themselves to roam freely in search of the many entertainments the capital city did have in troves. From a street-side puppet show; which told a story of marionette monsters and men, to a beautiful green park hosting a troubadour¡¯s act. Wherever they wandered, exciting sights seemed to be waiting.


    Together, Amelia and Grace enjoyed themselves until the sun had turned amber. Amelia, never happier, Grace¡¯s basket, somehow never managing to fill up.


    ¡°How¡¯s your basket so empty?¡± Amelia had asked, during one of several stops for iced cream in a cone.


    ¡°It¡¯s got a secret compartment,¡± Grace replied, raising a flap to show where she had stashed what they¡¯d bought.


    Amelia clasped her hands in delighted surprise, ¡°I see,¡± she said, choosing not to call the princess out on her ruse. For Grace had left her to chase after four vendors by that point, giving her good reason to put two and two together and realise something wasn¡¯t right.


    It hadn¡¯t taken Amelia long to pick out the knights in the crowd. No doubt placed there by her father, the men stood out like sore thumbs with the amount of shopping bags they carried; porters that they were for whenever Grace¡¯s basket got a little too full. It had Amelia swinging both arms as she walked. Overjoyed as she was to know two of the most important people in her life were caring for her in their own unique ways.


    An absolutely perfect day if ever there was¡­ Almost. Since there remained one matter to deal with, and Amelia knew she couldn¡¯t put it off any longer.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got that look again,¡± Grace said as a fireworks display finished exploding with a pitter-patter of brightly sparkling lights high above them, ¡°Want to share what¡¯s on your mind? Or am I to assume we¡¯re not going to visit the imposing building behind us.¡±


    The building she referred to, was a pretentious thing surrounded by high brick walls. Lacking in windows, and painted a dark brown, the Velvetican kingdom¡¯s merchant conglomerate office could be considered a stern mismatch for the city¡¯s otherwise colorful set-up.


    ¡°It¡¯s got a nice ambiance, although I¡¯m not sure what you mean,¡± Amelia lied.


    ¡°Definitely,¡± Grace said with a waggle of her eyebrows, ¡°Nice enough to sneak peeks at all day I reckon. Say, have we circled it three times or four?¡±


    ¡°Three,¡± Amelia answered, her memory one step ahead of the rest of her brain, which she mentally slapped. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, was it that easy to tell? I hope you didn¡¯t get the impression I¡¯ve become bored or anything like that.¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± Grace said, arching her back to stretch in a languorous movement, distracting Amelia who couldn¡¯t help but notice the princess¡¯s midriff,¡± Well, come on, what¡¯s special about it? Or do I need to go up and ask?¡±


    Placing a finger to her lips in thought, Amelia parceled what she knew thanks to The Historian¡¯s Novel. ¡°It¡¯s owned by an alliance of merchants,¡± she said, ¡°Guess I got a bit curious to see what the grounds looked like after having met Thompson. But it doesn¡¯t seem like we¡¯ll be able to visit.¡±


    Not with two guards who wore fanciful armor keeping watch outside a pair of spiked grey-silver gates. With swords at their side.


    It was a mark of power; bearing arms out in public. A privilege granted by the various lords and ladies who supported the merchants. A sign any investment placed inside the tall, window-less building would be kept safe and sound. Well¡­ Until Martel Managing destroyed the conglomerate¡¯s reputation by committing a slaughter. Which, if Amelia¡¯s fragmented memory of her conversation with Gregory Rutherford could be relied on would happen any day now.


    An event Amelia now found herself resolved to do something about.


    Regrettably, it did not look likely she would be able to get a lay of the land as had been her intention. Nor would she be able to talk with any of the local merchants to figure out the exact date Martel would strike using details from the Historian¡¯s novel.


    ¡°Want to get closer?¡± Grace asked, having snuck behind Amelia to whisper the question.


    A strange stirring excitement coursed past Amelia¡¯s ears and throughout her body.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure they would let us,¡± she said, hoping the princess hadn¡¯t noticed her shiver, ¡°We haven¡¯t got an appointment and¡­ and¡­ What are you doing?¡±


    Grace, who had licked a finger which she raised above her head, gave Amelia a smile filled with mischief. ¡°Checking the wind¡¯s direction,¡± she answered, before the princess opened her parasol, gave it a twirl, and tossed it high into the air. Like magic, the parasol soared. Veering towards the merchant conglomerate¡¯s walls where it fell after crossing.


    ¡°Child¡¯s play,¡± Grace said, her arms proudly akimbo, ¡°Now we¡¯ve got an excuse,¡± she said, offering a hand to Amelia who finally realised what the princess had done.


    Grace wanted to lie their way in.


    It couldn¡¯t possibly work, Amelia thought as she let herself be pulled all the way to the guards.


    ¡°Hello?¡± Grace called out to them, in a tone Amelia could only call sultry, ¡°might I have a word with you please?¡±


    ¡°This is private property,¡± the taller guard said with barely a glance, ¡°From here to the street. I apologize miss but unless you¡¯ve got an appointment, we¡¯re required to ask you to leave.¡±


    ¡°But my lady¡¯s parasol has flown over your wall, can¡¯t we retrieve it?¡± Grace asked, with an exaggerated pout, ¡°It wouldn¡¯t take long. Surely, for a person of rank an exception could be made?¡±


    The mention of nobility caused the man¡¯s brow to scrunch in concentration as he scrutinized them and tried to figure out precisely what sort of noble Amelia was.


    Amelia held her breath. For she had no claim to a title. The glory of her family lay solely with her father. And while the princess might have taken to calling her a ¡®lady¡¯ in public, in truth, she ought to only be known as a ¡®miss¡¯.


    Which meant due to having never corrected Grace in the past, they were now technically committing a crime. Making ready for the worst, Amelia¡¯s mind panicked as the second guard, who had been staring at about a hand¡¯s length below where Grace¡¯s mouth was located, addressed his co-worker.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t matter much, would it?¡± said he.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like it,¡± replied the taller guard.


    ¡°Just be quick about it,¡± said the shorter guard with a wink towards Grace, which both relieved, and irritated Amelia greatly. Enduring in silence grew much harder when the princess gave the leering man something of a show as they passed, by bending her upper-body towards him in a thanks of a bow.


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    The moment they were past the gates and the guards were out of sight, Amelia grabbed Grace by the hand without knowing why. All she knew was that it felt like something important had almost been stolen.


    ¡°From now on you¡¯re forbidden from seducing people on my behalf,¡± Amelia said, trying to sound serious about it.


    ¡°You noticed?¡± Grace laughed.


    Amelia looked down and away. Frustrated the princess thought she was being silly over nothing. Although, to get them inside the conglomerate¡¯s grounds without permission, where only a few gardeners toiled, sparing nary a glance away from their work¡­ The princess¡¯s methods were horribly effective, so Amelia chose to forgive Grace at least this one time.


    Especially since it allowed her to find the exact location where Martel would infiltrate by.


    Just as The Historian¡¯s Novel foretold. Halfway around the building¡¯s first corner, by a portion of wall where vines grew thick and tall up its length.


    The perfect location for a thief to climb down. A satisfying discovery. Now all that remained was contacting Thompson to ask him for help in figuring out when best to run interference on Martel.


    ¡°Amelia,¡± Grace said, following Amelia¡¯s gaze with her eyes, ¡°If you wanted to stare at creeping objects, we could have stayed at the entrance.¡±


    Amelia snorted. It wasn¡¯t a good joke, but to her it was funny.


    ¡°I saw the vines poking over the top,¡± Amelia said, as an idea took root, ¡°Didn¡¯t you know? Merchants are known to offer rewards if security flaws in their buildings are brought to their attention.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Grace perked up. Amelia could practically see golden coins twinkling in her beautiful blue eyes.


    Sticking out her tongue, Amelia said, ¡°Nope,¡± then made a run for it.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Grace shouted, giving chase once she realised it had become her turn to be tricked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget the parasol!¡± Amelia cackled, pointing to where it had landed, making it so by the time the princess caught up, they¡¯d arrived back where they¡¯d started; at the conglomerate¡¯s entrance gates.


    Where a convoy of merchants were now going through the process of checking identifications to get in.


    ¡°Who are these women? And why are they not wearing guest passes?¡± asked the man who sat upon the lead horse, after he¡¯d taken a cursory glance at Amelia and Grace.


    His words caused a few knights to step forward.


    ¡°Jessen, you¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re back pretty early,¡± said the taller guard who hadn¡¯t been keen on letting Amelia and Grace inside.


    The shorter guard grabbed Grace¡¯s wrist, pulling her forward for the merchant to see, ¡°This girl said her lady¡¯s parasol blew over the walls,¡± he said, ¡°we told them they couldn¡¯t come in, but it would appear they snuck by using the last group who came through¡­ Shall I send them off?¡±


    ¡°Send them off, after trespassing? I should think not,¡± Jessen said, waving a hand towards his escort, ¡°Apprehend them. They¡¯ll be held until we¡¯ve ensured everything is in order.¡±


    Jessen¡¯s presumed authority to hold anyone for questioning didn¡¯t surprise Amelia. With nobility as backers, it wouldn¡¯t surprise her to learn they had fully authorized holding cells in the conglomerate¡¯s basement. But seeing Grace wince in pain as the guard¡¯s grip tightened was making her see red.


    For a brief instant, a crimson hue washed over Amelia¡¯s vision, and a low pitch, foreign growl of a guttural warning made its way out from her throat. As if sensing a change in the air, the birds around them took flight all at once, heading for the city¡¯s sky-line as if to escape. While the merchant¡¯s struggled to calm down their horses who began frantically jerking against their reigns.


    And Amelia watched it all happen, as if the world were inching forwards at a tortoise-like pace.


    Despite not being able to move within the strange phenomenon which had descended, Amelia, feeling more confident and daring than ever before in her life, took full advantage, allowing her uninhibited mind to surge and begin sorting through each and every detail in The Historian¡¯s novel for any information useful in helping the princess.


    A certain passage caught her notice. A paragraph that had taken the time to describe the many merchants and the varying positions they¡¯d each held before Martel Managing had begun trimming their line of work.


    ¡°Jessen Enfaith, I would speak with you!¡± Amelia yelled as she uncovered his last name to draw his attention. Loud enough to cause the knights who were very much on edge to look back at Jessen for further direction.


    ¡°Do I know you?¡± Jessen asked, his expression now much more cautious.


    Her heart violently thrumming from a sudden onset of exertion, Amelia gasped for air as whatever it was that held sway over her vanished all at once.


    ¡°No, we are strangers,¡± she said, managing not to stagger while speaking, and astonished to think she might have used magic for the first time in her life, ¡°But if you do not give me a chance to talk, I will ensure you regret it.¡±


    ¡°We didn¡¯t sneak in!¡± Grace said, before she stomped a heel down hard upon the foot of the guard who held her, causing him to let go and squeal in pain, ¡°The wind might have taken my parasol, but it was they who let us in to retrieve it.¡±


    Jessen, taking in the sight of a punctured steel boot, got down from his horse. ¡°Then, you accuse our guards of lying? Who are you? Mages in training?¡±


    The injured guard clutching his foot on the ground groaned, ¡°She¡­ She said the other¡¯s a lady. I swear, they tried threatening us to let them inside!¡±


    The guard¡¯s admittance to Grace¡¯s earlier claim caused Jessen to close both his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance at how complicated that might make things for him.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m busy.¡± Jessen said, addressing Amelia, ¡°If you give me your family¡¯s name ¡ª I¡¯m assuming you¡¯ve come to the capital to debut because I¡¯ve never seen you before ¡ª I¡¯ll have this sorted out later, how does that sound?¡±


    But Amelia didn¡¯t want to leave. She wanted justice for Grace. And it wouldn¡¯t be by pointing out that even if they¡¯d snuck in that just meant the guards were bad at their job. Nor would she use the Strightsworth knights who were no doubt lurking and ready to step in should things take a turn for the worst. For that would be abusing the care her father had shown in assigning them to guard her.


    No, her solution would protect Grace at the expense of herself. As a responsible lady of the house ought.


    ¡°That would be ideal,¡± Amelia said, as she ¡®accidentally¡¯ dropped her mother¡¯s ring.


    The gold band rolled to a stop at Jessen¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m such a kluts,¡± Amelia said, ¡°Can you pick that up for me Jessen?¡±


    The convoy¡¯s escort of knights looked at her as if she were mad. As did the porters, and some of the merchants. But Jessen reacted differently. He practically fell to his knees in his haste to retrieve the ring bearing the Winchester¡¯s family crest. Proving the worth of his salt by being aware the Duke of Winchester had only one grand-daughter. And that a certain Baron had come to the capital to meet with the King.


    ¡°Amelia Strightsworth¡­¡± Jessen said upon returning the ring, which resulted in a great number of people sucking in air through their teeth. ¡°How can I apologize for the treatment of your servant.¡±


    Not wanting to grandstand on merits that weren¡¯t hers for too long, Amelia decided the time to make use of this random encounter had come. Even while knowing she would pay for it once her stunt reached her grandfather¡¯s ears.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± she asked Grace, making sure to check on how the princess was doing.


    ¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± Grace answered quietly, with both shoulders slumped.


    Her reaction disheartened Amelia. Grace might have schemed, but the fault lay with her master. Nevertheless, the play must go on, so with a bright smile she said, ¡°Then I guess things are fine,¡± before speaking to Jessen. ¡°But while you¡¯re here, I¡¯ve heard tell the port might soon be receiving new fabrics from across the Ocean, would you have any idea of when they might arrive?¡±


    Stunned, although quick to recover, Jessen replied with an ¡°Of course! Of course,¡± and called over a porter who brought him a ledger. ¡°You must be referring to the shipment which came in with the Caneo envoy yesterday. Shall we head inside to discuss purchasing some?¡±


    Amelia hummed, then hawed, as if invested in buying yet reserved at the thought, ¡°It¡¯s been a long day,¡± she said at length which caused Jessen to begin nervously wringing his hands.


    But he proved his ability to adapt under duress with what he said next.


    ¡°It is quite late, isn¡¯t it¡­ Miss Strightsworth, would you allow me to call for a carriage? I¡¯ll have a proper apology delivered for what has happened, as soon as I can. And I swear on my life, you¡¯ll have the pick of the cargo as soon we¡¯ve finished unloading the ships.


    ¡°Thank you, but we¡¯re not far from our lodging,¡± Amelia said politely, before she asked Grace, ¡°Does that sound alright?¡± which startled the princess, who had not expected the question.


    ¡°Then¡­ Goodnight!¡± Amelia said to the crowd, before she led Grace away with a heart full of hope. Since now, thanks to Jessen¡¯s answer, she knew when Martel would strike.


    Though she couldn¡¯t resist looking back over her shoulder to throw one last jab at the rude guard who had grabbed Grace, ¡°But do try and find a way for your hires to be more polite. My father¡­ he thinks those who aren¡¯t, deserve to be eaten.¡±

 Chapter 20 — A Good Night for Murder

    <div>


    Having heard of Thompson Brown¡¯s arrival in the capital city, the items Amelia requested from him in the letter she¡¯d written the night after her outing with Grace arrived after only a few days, just in time for her interception of Martel Managing. Nothing special, just an unremarkable second-hand dress which would serve as a disguise, and a cylindrical metal object of a contingency plan, in case the curtains of night now lowering over the city grew too dark for her wits.


    Although, Grace asking why Thompson would send a young woman clothing had come as a nerve-wracking surprise. She would need to eventually apologize, for having thrown the merchant under a proverbial carriage by joking without thinking that maybe he did like her, just a wee bit.


    Grace hadn¡¯t been pleased to hear that. The woman really did seem to have a chip on her shoulder when it came down to Thompson.


    Amelia nervously played with her hair as she double checked the town-house bedroom one last time in case she might have forgotten anything, then took a gander at where Grace slept soundly in bed. It had felt downright awful to use her sleeping pills on the princess. But it couldn¡¯t be helped. The idea of meeting a prospective killer alongside Grace carried with it a risk far too great.


    Maybe that would have been an option if she could manifest at will the strange magic she had experienced when dealing with Jessen. But since then, Amelia hadn¡¯t managed to do so even once. Nor was she sure how useful a confidence boost that let her think faster and talk louder would be against a fully grown man trained in how to dismember a person.


    Not even her father was able to offer an explanation. ¡°Perhaps your bloodline has been dormant? ¡°Havoc had suggested, ¡°Try finding the trigger, that should get the ball rolling.¡±


    While food for thought it didn¡¯t help much. Amelia dropped the idea of using such an unreliable power. Checking the window, she found that the sky, which threatened to break out in rain, had finally grown dark enough for a young woman to hide herself in its shadows.


    This was it. The night Martel would strike. Beginning the bloodiest one-man murder spree the Velvetican Kingdom had ever seen in its long, illustrious history¡­ Unless you counted Havoc. But war involved a slew of factors which made it an unfair comparison. No matter how noble The Historian might have made Martel¡¯s quest for revenge. In the end, murder was murder, and the man should be treated with caution.


    Even so, Amelia was determined she could convince Martel to not go ahead with his intentions. The capital was already destined for enough mayhem as things stood, thanks to the Marquess of Rutherford, who might even now be laying the groundwork for a sinister scheme involving the hearing Amelia would be attending in only two days. She could already envision reading the morning papers to find them painting her father as a heartless monster who would brutalize even his guests.


    For the third time in an hour, Amelia inspected the velveteen pouch she kept close to her heart which contained the backup to her backup plan; finding the dragon tooth her father had gifted her stored safely inside.


    ¡°Going alone is for the best,¡± Amelia whispered, in an attempt to convince the little voice in her head that her actions were most certainly not a betrayal of their friendship. Not when Grace might tell on her to her father. Just as Amelia believed to know what was best, so too could the princess.


    Taking notice of a pillow Grace must have shoved onto the floor in her sleep, Amelia decided to do one last good deed for luck before leaving and went to return it.


    She nearly screamed in shock when an arm shot out to grab onto her own.


    ¡°Will you still be my friend, after learning how dirty I am?¡± came a trembling question which filled the candle-lit room.


    Grace¡¯s grip then went slack, letting Amelia know the princess had talked in her sleep.


    A nightmare perhaps? Amelia¡¯s heart hurt at the thought. She knew all too well of Grace¡¯s time in the orphanage, where The Historian had made it clear the princess in her youth was little more than a rascal willing to lie, steal, and cheat to get what she wanted.


    ¡°You goof, there¡¯s no need to worry,¡± Amelia said, as she finished fluffing Grace¡¯s pillow and put it under the princess¡¯s head, ¡°I¡¯ll be your friend¡­ So, keep sleeping for me.¡±


    She hoped her words might enter the nightmare. And if not, she would only need repeat them upon returning.


    Time to depart. Amelia snuffed out the candle. Her method of sneaking? A window. Already open to allow for a quieter exit onto the townhouse¡¯s porch roof, from where a tree with low growing branches let her ladder climb slowly down onto the grass. Not straying from the streets where lampposts dotted the way forwards with their light, Amelia travelled through the city which never quite slept.


    The same path she had walked with Grace appeared much scarier at so late an hour. Neither did the few people walking about seem quite as friendly. She could only hope the worn dress, paired alongside a brown hooded cowl would be enough to fool them into thinking her a servant out on an errand.


    At least, her disguise seemed to work in helping not draw unwanted attention, for Amelia soon arrived a block away from her destination; Where a heavy police barrier now extended from one side of the street to the other.


    ¡°A gas leak¡¯s been reported,¡± explained the policeman on duty to two drunks who leaned on each other for support, ¡°We¡¯re sectioning off this district until a mage can be bothered to fix it tomorrow. Feel free to go in if you¡¯re hoping for your family to live a better life after you¡¯re gone.¡±


    In truth, the gas leak marked Martel¡¯s deception. Who, with a few bribes here and there had managed to lessen the amount of traffic around his crime site. It was a sign her calculations on when Martel would strike, were right. Amelia prayed she wasn¡¯t too late.


    Judging the drunks would hold the officer¡¯s attention with their bickering complaints until they passed out, Amelia kept low, and tip-toed her way under the barricade without getting noticed. Continuing onwards, the merchant¡¯s conglomerate building loomed in the distance. A sight which made Amelia realize she had thought of everything except what to say upon meeting Martel.


    She couldn¡¯t act haughty like with Vanridge, for Martel had been humiliated by those who were especially vain in the past. Neither could she utilise seduction as Grace had done in The Historian¡¯s novel, since Amelia knew such skill lay outside what she could manage. In the end, her best approach appeared to be in acting mysterious enough to throw Martel off guard. Surely, waiting for him near the portion of wall he intended to climb would be enough to make the man pause long enough for a hearty, ally inducing, ¡®hello¡¯.


    But when Amelia turned the last bend, only to find herself face to face with a nightshift guard lying prone on the ground in a puddle of blood, with his co-worker in the process of being garrotted by a hooded, heavily clothed, masked figured through the merchant conglomerate¡¯s fenced gate, she found herself frozen, and unable to talk.


    ¡°C-Call¡­ For h-help,¡± Gasped the guard, as his fingers tore against his neck to try and find purchase beneath the wire that cut. A poor choice, since this gave Martel leeway to pull even tighter while Amelia wondered.


    What had she done wrong? Shouldn¡¯t Martel have snuck past the guards? What was The Historian doing, getting all their details from second hand-accounts of what had occurred?


    Fiddlesticks. They probably had.


    Which left Amelia with little else to do but improvise and yell, ¡°Martel, killing people is bad!¡±


    Her shout proved effective, in stopping the strangling¡­ It also succeeded in a way Amelia did not expect. Since Martel shoved the guard who fell unconscious away, and began climbing the fence.


    Towards her.


    Revealing in the process a large number of knives lining the inside of his cloak.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m not anyone suspicious!¡± Amelia said, as her feet on their own accord began to reverse. A step ahead in judging where their owner should be.


    Seeing how quickly Martel reached the top of the gate, Amelia concurred with the lower half of her body, hiked her dress with both hands, and began running. Away from the noise of an agile assassin leaping to expertly land an almost four-meter drop.


    Cutting her losses, and glad enough to have stopped Martel from killing maybe one, possibly more, people, Amelia fled while profusely apologising aloud to the ever-growing noise of footsteps behind her.


    ¡°I thought you were a guy I knew, but I was wrong! I¡¯m sorry!¡± she yelled, knowing her words sounded as flimsy as her constitution which started to complain at having to both talk and exercise at the same time.


    Surprisingly, Martel¡¯s footfall began to recede in response. And when Amelia dared check behind her, she found the man had outright disappeared. A sight as worrying as the prospect of a rain-drop which did land on Amelia¡¯s cheek, and cause her to look to the sky as she ran.


    In time for a flash of lightning to illuminate the figure who was now following her at a distance using the roofs of the street city lined buildings. His mask, never once turning away from anything but herself.


    Thunder rumbled. Amelia began to panic. The only time Martel had stalked someone like this in The Historian¡¯s novel¡­ it had ended with him leaping to plunge a knife through the skull of his quarry.


    Escape, seemed unlikely. Amelia, remembering her walk with the princess began swiftly filtering for any good potential hiding spots.


    There was one.


    Pulling free the metallic cylinder Thompson had got her, along with the lighter tied to it, Amelia fumbled to undo its string and set fire to the wick. Dropping the can behind, she veered hard right to round the street¡¯s bend. As a grey smoke began billowing out from the device, creating a very dense fog. Amelia turned down an adjacent alley, in an attempt to further confuse Martel, who would need to guess in which direction she¡¯d gone due to the smokescreen.


    She thought it ironic that a trick Martel had explained to Grace in The Historian¡¯s Novel, might help her elude him.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Thanking Thompson in her heart for not having even once asked why she would ever need a jam-packed mixture of sugar and potassium nitrate, Amelia rushed to slide open the lid of an old wooden barrel, which luckily remained standing in the same place she had earlier seen it. Filled half-full with apples, her hiding spot was more cramped than expected. Requiring she contort into the shape of a ¡®U¡¯. But having her feet higher than her head would be a worthy price paid if it meant staying safe.


    At this point, Amelia figured she had tried her best to stop Martel from becoming a lunatic. If he still insisted, well shucks, she wasn¡¯t Grace. Her heart could only hold so much empathy in it. She wasn¡¯t afraid to use her father¡¯s tooth¡­ Right?


    Suddenly, through the oval shaped hole in the barrel¡¯s lid, Amelia spotted a blur pass over the alleyway roofs. Followed by a heavy metallic noise touching down far too close for comfort nearby.


    When the hissing began, Amelia got a sinking feeling her plight might soon take a turn for the worse. A sensation which intensified further as a lavender colored smoke, different from the one she had made, began leaking into the barrel.


    Believing it to be some kind of poison, Amelia tried not to breathe in the sinister violet which blinded her vision. Finding she couldn¡¯t even reach the dragon tooth if she wanted, Amelia held out for only a minute before the smoke entered her mouth and invaded her lungs.


    Amelia¡¯s world went topsy-turvy as she struggled to escape from her hiding spot. The rocking of the barrel ended with it tipping, to drop her at the feet of a man who she knew held the potential to be a sadistic, merciless killer.


    ¡°Found the mouse that thinks itself clever,¡± growled Martel, who stabbed a knife into the ground; just in front of Amelia¡¯s face. ¡°Nobody should have known of tonight. But you¡¯re cute¡­ And somewhat prepared¡­ I¡¯ll let you tell me what you know before cutting this short.¡±


    Martel¡¯s voice, Amelia thought, sounded awfully young. Boyish even. But she wasn¡¯t about to waste what words he was willing to give her to point such a fact out.


    ¡°It¡¯s not what it looks like sir Martel Managing!¡± Amelia said hurriedly, only to shut up when Martel¡¯s gloved finger pressed itself against the centre of her forehead.


    ¡°I¡¯ve chosen to abandon my family name,¡± Martel whispered, crouching down low, ¡°Except¡­ I don¡¯t remember having met you before. But you¡¯re acting like you know me¡­ Why don¡¯t we start by explaining how that can be, hmm?¡±


    ¡°No, we¡¯ve never, ever met!¡± Amelia said, the words flowing free from her mouth as if they were water let loose from a tap, ¡°I only know about you from a book!¡±


    Amelia hadn¡¯t meant to say that last part. But the smoke circling the ground around them like a floating carpet was too distracting to think straight. It enveloped her thoughts as if trying to loosen her tongue.


    She needed to escape¡­ She needed to¡­ needed to¡­


    Strange. Hadn¡¯t there been something else she could use in case the night ever went south? And wasn¡¯t there a detail about Martel she ought to have remembered by now?


    Amelia couldn¡¯t recall. The only clear thing now seemed to be the mask Martel wore. A strange, leathery device; outfitted with two opaque glass ports where his eyes ought to be.


    ¡°A book?¡± Martel probed, tracing the tip of his gloved finger down Amelia¡¯s face as if drawing the carving lines up, ¡°Or do you mean a newspaper? No, that hardly matters¡­ What I want to know, is how you knew I would be here.¡±


    Again, Amelia spoke without needing to think, ¡°I knew because of the merchants! But¡­ But you really shouldn¡¯t hurt them! It¡¯s a terrible idea!¡±


    ¡°¡­And why not?¡± Martel asked rhetorically, ¡°The conglomerate is a den for liars. Those inside are spiders willing to bleed anyone dry. Do you know what they did to me child? Can you say that you know me and still claim there are none among them who deserve death?! What do you actually know about me that isn¡¯t delusion!¡±


    Martel¡¯s finger pulled back, only for his hand to snap open; curling to wrap around Amelia¡¯s throat with force enough to make it clear he had finished playing around.


    Like clockwork, Amelia¡¯s mouth opened to rasp her very first thought.


    ¡°They¡­ They t-took your m-mommy from you,¡± she wheezed, letting slip Martel¡¯s greatest hurt. Which he had only admitted to Grace before he had died in her arms.


    Martel dropped Amelia, who yelped in pain as her elbows, then her head hit the ground.


    ¡°This smells of magic,¡± Martel said, glancing to his left and right as suspicion crept into his voice, ¡°You know both my name and my¡­ situation. So, unless you¡¯re the nicest, dumbest person in the world¡­¡± he reached for another knife, as if expecting someone to jump out, ¡°Are you bait? Is this a trap? Because I swear to God, I will take you down with me.¡±


    ¡°My name isn¡¯t bait,¡± Amelia said, the shock to her forehead a trigger in remembering Martel¡¯s ability of seeing through lies in The Historian¡¯s novel. Except, and she was getting quite tired of it at this point, The Historian had gotten it wrong. Since his powers were most likely derived not from magic, or a secret bloodline, but the colorful smoke.


    Judging her best chance for survival lay in making herself appear as unthreatening as possible, Amelia took a gamble, and deeply breathed in as much of the dissipating lavender substance as she could.


    ¡°Hold on, what are you doing?¡± Martel asked, as if unable to quite believe what Amelia had done. But it was too late. Amelia¡¯s mouth, now filled with truth, opened and began babbling as fast as she could.


    ¡°My father is the Baron of Strightsworth!¡± she shouted, ¡°My¡­ My mother is also dead! I miss her! I¡¯m lonely! I swear on my family¡¯s name this¡­ this isn¡¯t a trap! Nobody even knows I¡¯m here. My only want is to help you in exchange for a favor, and your promise that you won¡¯t go murder crazy!¡±


    Martel¡¯s head tilted like an owl. ¡°Wow, okay, you¡¯re the daughter of the King¡¯s sword. And you¡¯re insane. And definitely delusional. There¡¯s no way your monster of an¡­ esteemed father, could ever turn a blind eye to a person like me.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not done talking!¡± Amelia said, loud enough that Martel nervously clapped his hand over her mouth.


    ¡°Holy crap, speak quieter. I¡¯ve decided not to hurt you, so please lower your voice. I was prepared for death tonight, not whatever your father might do to me if he hears our words on the wind.¡±


    Amelia couldn¡¯t stop. Because she knew the moment she did she would probably start crying from relief and not be able to get another word out.


    ¡°My dad can understand justification,¡± she said, pointing in the direction of the merchant conglomerate¡¯s building, ¡°They¡¯re the bad guys for hurting you and your family, right? Maybe some of them do deserve death. I don¡¯t know. But here¡¯s what we¡¯re going to do! You have a history as a tutor, don¡¯t you? I think I remember reading something like that. So¡­ I¡¯ll persuade my father to keep you on as mine. That way, you can live a normal life, while we figure out a way to satisfy your urge to hurt people without cutting them up!¡±


    ¡°What ¡ª¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯ll get paid lots of money too! I know better than anyone my dad isn¡¯t a ¡®good guy¡¯. He¡¯s as big as an ogre and can be as mean as one too! I¡¯ve seen him eat meat raw! Even if we did tell him about your plans to kill every merchant in the kingdom, I can promise he would at least hear you out.¡±


    Amelia only stopped talking once she ran out of air. Shaking her head to clear what hair had fallen over her face, she looked hopefully to Martel who got up, rested his back against the alley¡¯s wall, and slumped down as if he too were exhausted.


    There they stared at each other. The pitter-patter of rain breaking the only witness around.


    ¡°You¡­ sure like to ramble,¡± Martel said.


    ¡°It¡¯s because I don¡¯t want to die! And I¡¯m worried you might change your mind!¡± Amelia said, unable to stop herself from bawling any longer.


    Breathing a long, deep sigh, as if reflecting on a series of mistakes, which had led him to this moment, Martel made a flicking motion with his hand; pulling back towards him the knife which he¡¯d stabbed into the ground, using an attached wire so thin Amelia only saw a hint of its presence.


    By now almost all the smoke had finished dispersing. His blades once more sheathed, Martel removed his mask, and Amelia¡¯s hiccupping discovered something so surprising they outright vanished in shock.


    ¡°You¡¯re a woman!¡± Amelia gasped, at the mature brunette who gave her a face a mother might make when unable to understand why their child couldn¡¯t stop yapping.


    ¡°You know everything except for the fact my dad raised me as a boy?¡±


    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t make sense! How are you supposed to fall in love with the princess while you¡¯re dressed up and pretending?!¡±


    Martel threw her mask away; sending it rattling to reside in the overturned apple barrel. ¡°Well, I guess that answers my question about what happens when someone overdoses on truth serum,¡± she said, watching Amelia struggle and fail to stand, ¡°You know our Kingdom doesn¡¯t even have a princess, right?¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re a woman!¡± Amelia repeated, still unable to wrap her head around the idea.


    ¡°I¡¯m a near middle-aged woman who likes mature older men, not princesses,¡± said Martel, moving closer to pick Amelia up once it became clear she couldn¡¯t manage to do so on her own. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get you home before you catch a cold in this rain.¡±


    In the arms of Martel, Amelia only then began to truly realise how far she had pushed her stamina. Though the faint scent of a lilac perfume emanating from the older woman certainly didn¡¯t help keep her eyelids from drooping.


    She pinched her cheeks to stay awake, having not yet heard Martel¡¯s reply to her offer.


    ¡°Were you being serious? About hiring me as a tutor?¡± Martel asked as she walked, ¡°Because you¡¯ve completely spoiled my plans. And the merchants will be on such high alert from now on I doubt I¡¯ll have the chance to try again any time soon.¡±


    ¡°I mean¡­ you didn¡¯t kill that guard, did you?¡± Amelia asked, biting her tongue one second too late.


    ¡°He was on my list,¡± Martel answered, ¡°It¡¯s why I only strangled the other unconscious.¡±


    Her answer made Amelia feel a tiny bit better. Knowing for every name Martel thought worthy of hunting, there had been a very good reason.


    At least, that¡¯s what The Historian had said¡­


    ¡°How bad was he?¡±


    ¡°Serial rapist.¡±


    ¡°Then my offer still stands!¡±


    Glad the issue ended up being so black or white, Amelia¡¯s thoughts took a zig-zag. She began wondering whether Martel¡¯s hidden gender meant the princess might hold inclinations towards women. Since, in The Historian¡¯s novel, Grace and Martel had gotten undressed to perform the hanky-panky, no less than three times.


    Which didn¡¯t add up. Or at least, Amelia didn¡¯t think it made sense. Because if Grace did like women, she would have most assuredly noticed. They were friends after all.


    ¡°I bet The Historian isn¡¯t even accredited,¡± Amelia huffed, earning her an odd look from Martel who leaned down to press their foreheads together.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t feel like you¡¯ve got a fever¡­¡± Martel muttered, adjusting her cloak to shield Amelia from the rain, ¡°Better get you home quick, which side of town are you staying? The ritz? Can¡¯t imagine someone with your legs managing to walk any further than that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sick,¡± Amelia mumbled, while pointing the way, entranced by how gentle the older woman could be when not hunting her down, ¡°Do you know you smell pretty?¡±


    Martel laughed, her smile to Amelia looked especially stunning. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard that in a while¡­ Say, I saw you were reaching for something when hiding inside that barrel, whatever it is you should probably keep it in an easier spot to get at if it¡¯s some kind of weapon.¡±


    Amelia thought Martel made sense. ¡°Want to see it?¡± she whispered.


    Pulling out the velveteen pouch, Amelia¡¯s light headed mood, now no longer stressed by an overwhelming sense of danger, found tremendous amusement when Martel¡¯s eyes opened in the exact same way her own mother¡¯s eyes had widened upon once being gifted a frog.


    ¡°It¡¯s a dragon tooth,¡± Amelia said proudly, holding it up. ¡°I really didn¡¯t want to have to use it, so I¡¯m glad you agreed to help me.¡±


    Martel clicked her tongue. And then sparingly slapped Amelia¡¯s butt.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    ¡°Hay is for horses. Don¡¯t give me that look. You were planning on having your way or you would detonate a bomb! I¡¯ve heard what dragon relics can do ¡ª and oh god it¡¯s even worse isn¡¯t it, did that belong to your father?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Amelia said quietly, not wanting to be spanked again.


    Martel only sighed, ¡°Forget it, the past is the past,¡± she said, adjusting her grip, ¡°Now¡­ No more milk. Only meat. What is it you could possibly want me to do that would justify sneaking outside by yourself. Because while I might be rich for a fallen noble, I¡¯m not really in a state to help in any meaningful way.¡±


    Amelia yawned; the streets were growing livelier the further they went. The first stranger they passed being a lamplighter in a rain-coat going about his night job. The police barricades were gone too, but it would still take until morning for the businesses and shops of the district to care for anything other than sleep.


    Seeing they had arrived at the road crossing which led to the townhouse she stayed in, Amelia patted Martel¡¯s arm, asking to be let down. ¡°That¡¯s okay, I¡¯ve already got a person who¡¯s good with connections,¡± she said, enjoying how odd the rain felt.


    ¡°Mhmm¡­ Yeah¡­ So, what is it I can offer that your daddy couldn¡¯t do for you?¡±


    Amelia spun in the rain, coming to a stop with a finger pointed resolutely at Martel.


    ¡°I need you to torture information out of someone for me,¡± Amelia said.


    ¡°Oh my,¡± said Martel, beaming as if she had realised Amelia might be a true kindred spirit.

 Chapter 21 — A Summary Hearing

    For every step Havoc took through the grand hall of the courthouse, Amelia needed three to keep pace. Together they traveled, not towards an open-trial assembly for judgment, but a private room, to seek judgment.


    The secluded nature of their hearing encouraged Amelia, for she had no doubt if the Marquess of Rutherford were a hundred percent certain of their trial¡¯s outcome, then he would have instead chosen to make a spectacle of the affair.


    ¡°Please, you mustn¡¯t kill him,¡± Amelia whispered to her father, knowing it had to be said despite how afraid she was he might misconstrue her words as an order. ¡°Whatever the Marquess of Rutherford says¡­ I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll try to provoke us. Which might turn the king¡¯s favor against us, which might¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do not worry,¡± Havoc said, which worried Amelia greatly.


    She could only wish upon every star in the heavens her father wouldn¡¯t behead the Marquess out of anger. The whole point of befriending Grace was for their family to flourish. Not to create another tragic ending for The Historian to write about should her family find itself at odds with the King. It was why she was so glad her father hadn¡¯t killed Gregory Rutherford. Since it meant the princess wouldn¡¯t be forced to decide on their friendship or her royal father, who would surely remain impartial in levying punishment on a killer of nobles.


    The notion of impartiality brought about another fear Amelia held.


    ¡°But what of the Duke of Winchester? What if this trial is nothing more than theatrics and smoke!¡±


    Havoc furrowed his brow as if he hadn¡¯t thought about it. ¡°The Duke of Winchester, while quick to anger and prone to fixating is an honorable man. No matter my relationship with him, he will not allow for personal loathing to interfere with his verdict.¡±


    This to Amelia, all but confirmed her grandfather might very well conspire with the Marquess. She began feeling sick. The mere idea of Grace staring at her as if she were an enemy¡­ Amelia didn¡¯t want that at all.


    Distracted by her thoughts, she accidentally bumped into her father when he suddenly stopped. Peering around him, she found a group of knights blocking their route, wearing armor she couldn¡¯t match with any noble house that she knew of.


    ¡°We¡¯re to perform a search of your person before the hearing,¡± said the man at their front.


    Amelia wondered whether he¡¯d been picked to talk due to having the most scars on his face. Which seemed strange, when at the back of the knights, leaning against the wall as if bored, was the second largest man she had ever seen in her life. Nearly as tall as her own father, his face appeared fierce even with his eyes closed and at rest. And on his crossed arms intertwined an eye-catching inked image, of what Amelia discerned to be a serpent of some kind. A foreigner, whose features were commonly found amongst a certain far-away Kingdom spoken about in The Historian¡¯s novel.


    Could it be, the Leviathan? Amelia worriedly wondered, as she remembered the description of a Caneo warrior who would one day, ravage the Velvetican Kingdom with the powers of a god.


    Shrinking behind Havoc, while assuring herself the future would be different this time, for the guardian Dragon had not yet vanished or died, Amelia tried to tell if her father might have noticed the Leviathan¡¯s hidden strength.


    If he did, he didn¡¯t show it.  Instead, the Baron in boredom held both his arms straight out to get the security check over and done with. Taking his time, the head knight smirked as he worked patted Havoc down. Finding nothing, the man grunted a ¡°He¡¯s clean¡±, only to then do something which took Amelia completely off guard. For the head knight tried to move past Havoc, with his hand outstretched for another. Placing Amelia in-between the threat of his touch, and an onslaught of memories that caused her to flinch back in a want to escape from his hands.


    The knight never did manage to get close enough to touch her. Havoc, with an irate, jarring growl moved to grab him by the shoulder.


    ¡°Do you know who I am?¡± Havoc asked, in a tone that made it clear his words were a warning.


    The knight tried to forcefully pull away. When that failed, he chose to glower. ¡°Just doing my job,¡± he said, ¡°I don¡¯t care who you are, I¡¯ve been told no exceptions.¡±


    Havoc¡¯s grip tightened. ¡°Then you are beneath my notice,¡± he said, and the knight fell screaming; with a now shattered shoulder, and a very limp arm. Before anyone could react, Havoc kicked the downed knight, sending the man skipping to finish sliding against the Leviathan¡¯s feet.


    ¡°You, are the Velvetican Dragon?¡± asked the Leviathan, who looked down at the groaning knight with a faint grin on his lips.


    Smoke curled out the corner of Havoc¡¯s mouth. One of the foreign knights whispered a word Amelia managed to translate as being a sort of supplication to God.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, I am he,¡± said Havoc, taking a single step forward, ¡°Now take your man, leave, and warn your prince to choose better allies. Least I decide compensation for offending my blood will be paid with your own.¡±


    Amelia feared a fight between her father and the Leviathan might break out then and there. The tension between the two men was palpable enough for the air to begin smelling of ozone. And for the great stained-glass window featuring a balanced set of scales above them to all at once fragment with a spider-web¡¯s worth of cracked lines.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving,¡± the Leviathan said at length. Which broke the stressful spell cast over the room, and caused the knights to scramble away. Practically dragging their injured man by his legs as they left to follow their tattooed leader who turned and walked slowly away.


    Left alone with her father, Amelia struggled to decide on which of the bazillion questions she had should be asked first.


    ¡°No doubt they were hired by the Marquess,¡± Havoc said drily, before she could choose, ¡°What an unpleasant man¡­ How are you faring?¡±


    Patting above her heart as it finished calming down, Amelia made sure her anxiety was back under control before answering. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m good¡­ Are we going to lodge a complaint?¡±


    Havoc gently placed a hand against Amelia¡¯s back, letting her know to resume walking once more, ¡°It would be no more than our word against his,¡± he said, ¡°It is no coincidence we were not greeted at the gates. The Marquess means to humiliate us. Even his decision to involve the Caneo prince¡¯s men was intentional¡­ Should I have killed them, their status as foreign guests would only disadvantage our side when negotiating with their warmongering ruler. Who our king worries has secretly tasked that man I just talked to, with causing trouble while his brother the prince plays the role of a dutiful representative. Do you understand?¡±


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    His reply, was the longest sentence Amelia had ever heard Havoc bother to speak.


    ¡°I¡­ I think so,¡± Amelia said, proud to have a father who was once again paying attention to the goings-on of the world. It was enough to heighten her resolve to thwart the Marquess.


    And she knew just how to get started.


    ¡°Father, I have something to tell you,¡± Amelia said, trying to hide her excitement.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Havoc asked, as they turned a corner; where at the end of the hall a multitude of attendants stood on either side of a large, double-doored entrance.


    ¡°After this¡­ There¡¯s someone who I want you to meet.¡±


    ¡°Another friend you¡¯ve brought home?¡± Havoc asked, though his tone indicated he didn¡¯t mind.


    ¡°Actually¡­ She¡¯s closer to your age than mine,¡± Amelia said, to which Havoc¡¯s eyebrows raised inquisitively, ¡°Providence allowed us to meet. She¡¯s the daughter of a fallen household who has been working around as an etiquette teacher.¡±


    Havoc frowned. ¡°Then, you see her as a source to learn¡­ etiquette from?¡±


    ¡°Quite. I did a bit of searching, and she¡¯s received glowing reviews from those who¡¯ve hired her in the past.¡±


    ¡°Do what you will,¡± Havoc said, before adding under his breath, ¡°though it ought to have been your mother who taught you such things.¡±


    The fragile hope Amelia had been building, that she might make for herself a place in her father¡¯s life, shattered to pieces. And a depressive weighing reminder returned to its habitual place on her shoulders, which hunched under the weight of her sin.


    Of course, it remained. Had she really tricked herself into thinking it hadn¡¯t? No matter how tepid their relationship grew, there would always remain between them an iron wall of a fact.


    That she was the murderer who had caused her mom¡¯s death.


    No doubt the Marquess would soon hear from his attendants of the grief Amelia couldn¡¯t quite manage to hide as she and her father arrived in front of the hearing room¡¯s doors.


    Fantastic. Now she¡¯d ruined what her father had gone out of his way to prevent. Like a perpetual failure, who couldn¡¯t stop messing up.


    ¡°Is everything alright?¡± Grace asked, stepping out from the crowd to join Amelia in a pre-arranged fashion.


    ¡°Not an issue I can fix I¡¯m afraid,¡± Amelia responded, dabbing at the corner of her eyes with the handkerchief Grace gave her, as they entered the hearing room where several people were already waiting. Two among them stood out more than the rest. The Marquess of Rutherford, facing a window. And the Duke of Winchester, who sat at his desk between four heavily armored knights.


    A sword by their side, a spear in their hand. The bright red colors of the duke¡¯s livery commanded respect. And told of the knighthood¡¯s reputation for having an absolute mastery over fire-based magic.


    Having not seen her grandfather in over a decade, Amelia found in their time apart he had turned from a dapper looking middle-aged man, to a kind-eyed yet stern-faced elder. With an unkempt bushy beard denoting a lack of care in his own physical grooming. A rarity when it came to nobles who usually valued appearance a great deal. Point in case, the Marquess, whose clean-shaven face glared at Havoc from above his expensive, tailored suit.


    In the presence of the Velvetican Kingdom¡¯s oldest powerhouse, Amelia grew intimidated. The first to fight. The last to fall. The Duke of Winchester was a man who held the respect and command of a knighthood that had struggled to their utmost against the tragedy of the Historian¡¯s novel.


    A figure Amelia¡¯s mother would in the past tell her stories of before bedtime.


    And she couldn¡¯t even call him ¡®grand-father¡¯ in public.


    How fitting. That the closest she would ever get to her mother¡¯s father in this life, would be with him acting as a judge. It hurt. To know the very person who had taught Ophelia Strightsworth how to command fire, might wish to turn the dancing magic Amelia loved into a weapon against her.


    A horrible wave of darkness began to fall over Amelia¡¯s vision. As she once more considered the Duke of Winchester¡¯s position. What would she do if someone harmed her child? If by some miracle, she could even create one.


    At the very least they would deserve death, without mercy.


    Such were the words, which came to her mind. Such were the thoughts that made Amelia want to return home and lock herself away from the world in her dear mother¡¯s garden. Shaken, Amelia sat down in her designated spot: a chair placed in front of the duke¡¯s desk.


    The Marquess of Rutherford, after a conspicuous display of checking his watch, said, ¡°finally, I was getting tired of waiting,¡± before he moved away from the window to stand near a scribe who jotted his words down.


    Amelia allowed the sliver of onion she had brought with her to fall into her left glove. Hoping the item might once more prove itself useful.


    ¡°It would seem we are ready,¡± spoke the Duke of Winchester, raising his head from his paperwork to assess the room. ¡°Why is someone uninvolved present?¡± he asked, after his gaze fell on Grace.


    Not wanting Grace to be dismissed, Amelia opened her mouth to explain the princess was a witness.


    Havoc spoke quicker. ¡°She is Amelia¡¯s handmaiden. Here to comfort my daughter.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a bit presumptuous for you to lead with such words,¡± said the Marquess of Rutherford.


    Havoc¡¯s neck cracked as he turned it towards the Marquess. ¡°Then think of her secondary purpose, as being responsible for blocking my daughter¡¯s line of sight when I rip your legs from your torso.¡±


    Hearing her father¡¯s words, Amelia felt herself swoon.


    Grace moved in to help keep her steady. The Duke of Winchester¡¯s knights drew their weapons, demonstrating their frightening mastery over fire when each spear in hand ignited at once. Along with the steel armor they wore that began glowing a yellowish red as they amped themselves up for the fight of a lifetime.


    The Marquess of Rutherford, realising Havoc was closer to him then the knights were to Havoc, narrowed his eyes and took several steps back.


    ¡°Calm your tongue, Baron of Strightsworth,¡± spoke the Duke of Winchester, as he drew a scorching path of flame with his pen that travelled the length of his desk and beyond, burning into the floor a charred line, splitting the room. ¡°Keep to your corners. This hearing is to determine who is at fault for the injuries of Gregory Rutherford. That¡¯s it. Any acts of violence¡­ Will be met with the edge of my sword.¡±


    The duke looked between the Marquess and Havoc for a lingering second to drive home his threat. ¡°Am I understood?¡± he asked calmly.


    ¡°Clearly,¡± the Marquess of Rutherford said.


    ¡°Crystal,¡± said Amelia, not liking how the Marquess had answered before her.


    ¡°¡­¡± Havoc grunted.


    Their replies appeared good enough for the Duke, who stood to begin pacing between them with his cane noisily tapping with each step.


    ¡°Good. I will allow the handmaiden to stay. Now, regarding the reason why we are here¡­¡±


    The duke readjusted his spectacles upon reaching the scribe. The scribe handed over a sheet for the duke who began reading slowly.


    ¡°Submitted by the most honorable Marquess of Rutherford, during the third week of the fourth month, Gregory Rutherford visited the Baronial grounds of the¡­ right honorable Baron of Strightsworth, where he, on business for his father, suffered from several debilitating injuries which would have rendered him crippled for life had the Marquess not sent a mage skilled in the art of healing to meet him half-way on the return voyage home.¡±


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t have died,¡± Havoc murmured, and Amelia¡¯s heart, which had only just started to calm itself, began beating madly at the notion her father might think himself too above worldly matters for their family to survive the trial.


    The duke who had paused in his speech, ignored Havoc¡¯s comment and continued.


    ¡°This is of course, one side of the story. The other being, the details presented to me by the right honorable Baron of Strightsworth. Which claim he acted to defend the honour of his daughter, Amelia¡¯s Strightsworth, from the young lord Rutherford who saw the absence of a father as a chance to drug, molest, and¡­ and have his way with a young, defenceless woman.¡±


    ¡°Darn right he did,¡± Grace whispered faintly, which made Amelia want to find a hole in the ground to crawl into.


    Why oh why did the people she care for have to be so resolutely hot blooded? Amelia almost wished she could be as angry about the ordeal as Grace and her father. But her memories of Gregory¡¯s actions remained for the most part, blurry.


    ¡°Hold on, your Grace,¡± the Marquess interjected, ¡°Before you begin asking your questions¡­ I was under impression this hearing disallowed weapons, or objects that could be mistaken as such.¡±


    Amelia in fear, checked both her father and Grace, hoping to heaven they hadn¡¯t accidentally, or intentionally, brought hidden armaments with them.


    The Marquess jabbed his finger, at Amelia, who looked at it puzzled.


    A puzzlement which broke out in angst upon hearing his next words.


    ¡°She¡¯s been hiding something in her gloves since the very beginning. For my own piece of mind, I would know what it is.¡±

 Chapter 22 — A Judgement is Made

    Amelia could feel a single bead of sweat form on her brow, travel alongside her nose, and splatter against the floor a million miles away.  The Marquess of Rutherford¡¯s accusations, seemed to drain the world of its colour. She hadn¡¯t ever thought he might call her out for holding such a small item.


    Was there that much of a difference in how a hand looked when it held something, and when it did not?


    ¡°I doubt whatever the girl has is of any importance,¡± the Duke of Winchester said.


    ¡°All the same, rules exist for a reason,¡± said the Marquess with an enigmatic smile, ¡°Think of my request as asking her to prove she¡¯s come in good faith. I¡¯ve heard tales of artifacts capable of recording sound. Who knows what she might hold?


    The duke gestured for a knight to go check. ¡°Your hand, Miss Strightsworth,¡± the knight said, and Amelia felt her grip tighten on the piece of onion as she lifted her quavering fist.


    It had been a mistake to bring it. The stakes were much different from when she had tricked her father by crying. Then, the only consequence of getting caught would have been disappointing one man. Now, because of her actions, she would surely be judged as a deceitful person. Which the Marquess could capitalize upon by expressing any other claim she might make ought to be viewed with great doubt.


    Closing her eyes shut, unwilling to watch. Amelia turned her fist, and opened her hand. Allowing the knight to see her betrayal of their trust.


    ¡°A bonbon?¡± said the knight, and Amelia took a peek to see the woman pinch and hold up a green sugar drop candy which she sniffed, ¡°Bizarre¡­ Smells like alcohol. No hold on¡­ Shoot, I should totally know this¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s vanilla extract,¡± Grace said, and the knight snapped her fingers in an ¡®I knew it¡¯ fashion. ¡°We were cooking earlier, Amelia tripped and her hand went into the bowl. She¡¯s been worried about how noticeable the smell is ever since.¡±


    The princess poked Amelia¡¯s side, ¡°Were you trying to hide the scent? That¡¯s silly, you should have asked me for perfume.¡±


    The Duke of Winchester slapped his thigh, and gave a big bellied chuckle. ¡°Well, Marquess,¡± he said, addressing the other as the knight placed the candy onto his hand, ¡°unless you¡¯ve got any particular allergies, I think we can get on with this hearing.¡±


    Amelia wondered if her imagination had taken control, when her grandfather sent her a smile she couldn¡¯t make heads or tales of. ¡°Embarrassing as it is,¡± the duke added, popping the candy into his mouth ¡°There is no crime in¡­ having a fondness for mints.¡±


    Stunned, Amelia wondered where her piece of onion had gone. She was left flabbergasted, until out of the corner of her eyes, she happened to see Grace nudging away with her foot, a very small pebble. Right before Havoc placed a hand on her head, to stop her from getting a better look at the transfigured object.


    Amelia took in the fact her father and Grace were working together to make sure her gaff went unnoticed. It shocked her grateful. To the point if a chance presented itself where tears might be useful, she probably wouldn¡¯t even need the help of an onion.


    But why was Grace carrying around candy? Even Amelia didn¡¯t carry sweets in her pockets. Did the princess have a sweet tooth worse than her own?


    ¡°Now then!¡± said the Duke of Winchester with great force as he resumed reading from the case details, ¡°According to this, the only person who saw what occurred in any capacity between Amelia Strightsworth and Gregory Rutherford was ¡ª ah, makes sense now ¡ª Amelia¡¯s handmaiden¡­ Which, leaves us at a bit of an impasse, what with her being a commoner whose account can¡¯t be trusted.¡±


    His words frustrated Amelia, for she hadn¡¯t taken into account such a factor.


    Had she, she would have pressed for Thompson¡¯s mage to arrive earlier, instead of in two weeks more time. Ideally, it wouldn¡¯t be Grace the handmaiden who couldn¡¯t speak due to status, but Grace, the princess, whose words would have held far more weight.


    ¡°Bah, enough reading,¡± the Duke of Winchester said, throwing his papers away, ¡°Lord Strightsworth,¡± he said, addressing Havoc, ¡°do you swear every word you¡¯ve said is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?¡±


    ¡°Or so help me I¡¯ll kill the next man who tries touching my daughter,¡± answered Havoc.


    ¡°Eh, good enough. And you, Marquess?¡±


    ¡°Not a lie have I, or will I tell.¡±


    ¡°Amazing, two truth tellers¡± said the duke, his words positively dripping with how little he thought of the concept, ¡°Then I would have the most honorable Marquess of Rutherford explain his side of the story first.¡±


    A request which didn¡¯t seem fair at all to Amelia. Since the Marquess hadn¡¯t been present. And with his son absent, it didn¡¯t seem likely a cross-examination of facts without anyone to cross examine would result in anything beneficial.


    Had she really imagined the duke¡¯s smile? It saddened Amelia, knowing she was the reason for why her grandfather would stray from being impartial.


    ¡°My lord Duke,¡± began the Marquess, ¡°The two involved in this case are but children. And might I remind those present that both Amelia, and my son Gregory engaged in drinking wine together before the Baron¡¯s ¡®intervention¡¯ occurred. Might I propose, it is far more likely my son was under a false impression of mutual consent? The drug he took from my alchemist¡¯s warehouse was an item commissioned for the enhancement of pleasure, not rape. Is it that farfetched he had a mind to ease the first time of a young woman who he had correspondence with to be wed? A woman who followed him to a room containing a bed? Alone? A youthful dalliance is all this matter should have been. Ought it to have happened? No, of course not. But it did. Just as I¡¯ve described it.¡±


    The Duke of Winchester nodded, ¡°Then you¡¯re saying the Lord Strightsworth misunderstood the situation, presumed his daughter to be in danger, and took unjustified action.¡±


    The Marquess of Rutherford raised both of his hands in bleak acceptance, ¡°If only I could not understand his position. Had I a daughter, my own actions would most certainly have mirrored his own upon seeing such a scene. Of this, I have no doubt. However, compensation must follow regardless since a hypothetical is in the end, only hypothetical. And my son has suffered an irrevocable trauma at the hands of the Lord Strightsworth.¡±


    ¡°Certainly, if that is the truth then I would be in agreement,¡± said the duke, ¡°have you any suggestion for what compensation might look like?¡±


    Amelia¡¯s leg began nervously bouncing. She placed a hand on it to stop. But she couldn¡¯t stop the worry developing from what seemed to be a back-and-forth conversation hurrying forwards towards a predetermined destination.


    Nor did she like how the Marquess made to move closer to where she was sitting.


    ¡°I¡¯m partial to let this whole ordeal slide,¡± said the Marquess in a voice slathered with honey, ¡°After all, it was my late wife who suggested the idea of marrying our children to bolster the Velvetican Kingdom. Even my son Gregory ¡ª who is unfortunately, not here ¡ª is willing to let bygones be bygones since he ¡ª and I¡¯m rather embarrassed to say this ¡ª still loves the girl, despite what has happened.¡±


    A chill ran down Amelia¡¯s spine. For she saw how his eyes flickered over Grace while he talked. If the Marquess didn¡¯t care for this trial, did his priority, even now, remain on securing the princess?


    Why? Nobody could prove the Marquess of Rutherford had killed the kingdom¡¯s late Queen, even if the kingdom¡¯s long-lost princess did make an appearance. Did he think of Grace as an unfortunate blemish that had to be dealt with simply so he could keep thinking himself clean?


    What a wretched man, that he would stoop to presenting himself as benevolent for such a selfish, personal vendetta. From how Amelia saw it, if the Marquess got what he wanted, then not only would she find herself married to her near-rapist, but Grace would most likely be killed, and the culprit would sail away for a foreign Kingdom while laughing.


    ¡°Of course¡­¡± continued the Marquess with a chuckle, ¡°If the Lord Strightsworth wishes not for a union of peace and reconciliation between our two families, then a summary fine should be good enough.¡±


    ¡°Seems fair,¡± the duke said, nodding his head in agreement. ¡°Have you any reply Lord Strightsworth? With circumstances being what they are¡­ It would be hard for an investigation to result in something conclusive. All we really have as proof is the fact Gregory Rutherford is even now, injured.¡±


    Amelia wished to refute. Her family had more than enough money, however she could already see the headlines if her father agreed.


    ¡®Secrets of the Kingdom¡¯s bloodthirsty dragon revealed; his unending hoard, able to buy the silence of even a noble?¡¯


    The idea of the Strightsworth name being dragged through the mud, appalled both Amelia, and her pride. She looked to her father, hoping he would be able to find a third choice.


    ¡°How about this,¡± Havoc said as he rolled his shoulders and stretched, ¡°I slaughter everyone in this room¡­ And pretend none of you ever existed?¡±


    The duke¡¯s knights slammed the butt of their spears against the ground in what was either a warning for Havoc, or a desperate call for their master to decide what should be done.


    ¡°That¡­ That¡¯s an outright threat!¡± the Marquess cried, turning as well to the duke, ¡°I come here with good will, and this is what I must endure?¡±


    The Duke of Winchester sighed, lifted his cane as if appreciating the fine details carved into its metal, then without warning, swung the blunt object down upon Havoc¡¯s head like he was disciplining an out-of-control dog.


    ¡°Quit it, this isn¡¯t a barrack,¡± he said, pulling back to rest the cane over his shoulder. ¡°Explain why you disagree if you must, but do not embarrass yourself further with paltry threats of violence. Also, I¡¯m charging you with a fine of a dozen good horses.¡±


    Amelia wanted to thank the duke for remaining magnanimous instead of throwing the book of law down. Though she suspected his act of mercy might have something to do with Havoc technically being the man¡¯s son in law.


    Havoc laughed, as if realizing his error, ¡°My apologies,¡± he said to the Marquess, ¡°I¡¯m a stranger to how a proper noble must talk, and sometimes¡­ Sometimes my tongue gets confused.¡±


    ¡°Of course, you always were a bit of a dimwit,¡± the duke said sarcastically, returning to his chair which he leaned back in, giving the impression of an arrogant old man who had dealt with far worse behavior in his days, ¡°Come on, let¡¯s hear your side of it.¡±


    Crossing his arms behind his back, Havoc paced to the entrance doors, stopped, then turned slowly around. ¡°Shall I begin with how his son showed up unannounced?¡± he asked, creeping slowly towards the Marquess as he talked, ¡°Or should I have my aid, who manages my estate in my absence, recount how Gregory Strightsworth pulled status to allow himself in? Practically forcing my daughter, who is well known for enjoying a solitary lifestyle to play the role of a host? Only to invite her away from any servants on the premise they would need secrecy to discuss matters of state?¡±


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    By the time he reached the Marquess, Havoc¡¯s voice had become little more than a growl. ¡°At least explain why I found my daughter¡¯s body bruised bloody.¡±


    ¡°My son said Amelia fell after she¡¯d taken a nasty fall on the stairs!¡± the Marquess protested, as the duke¡¯s knights forced their way between the two men to block Havoc from stepping any further. ¡°He had a healing potion on him, blame yourself for misunderstanding before he could use it!¡±


    Havoc, leaning over the four knights who pushed back on his chest with all of their strength, tensed. The veins on his necks straining as he breathed and gnashed his teeth like an animal barely capable of holding himself back.


    ¡°Handmaiden, confess!¡± Havoc suddenly shouted, stepping in Grace¡¯s direction to the great relief of the knights, ¡°When you made to visit my daughter, to ensure her needs were being met as a dutiful servant, what did you encounter?¡±


    ¡°I saw my lady in the room¡¯s corner, unresponsive to both sight and sound!¡±


    The Marquess interjected, ¡°What is this really?¡± he asked, holding his arms wide as if hoping someone might agree with him forthwith, ¡°You say she is here to comfort your daughter, but her place is not to act as a witness!¡±


    Amelia wanted to yell in Grace¡¯s defence. But she couldn¡¯t. Not when Grace sent a sly wink to let her know everything was alright. She felt out of the loop. More and more, it seemed Grace and Havoc had made arrangements. But they were both so good at acting she couldn¡¯t even find the tail end to their play.


    ¡°He¡¯s not wrong,¡± the duke said to Havoc. ¡°Feels like we¡¯ve been over this already.¡±


    ¡°Pshaw, keep her words off the record for all I care,¡± Havoc said, and the scribe let loose a low sigh before beginning to scribble, ¡°All I want,¡± he said, back at the duke, ¡°Is to hold over your head the fact the only person truly able to defend Ophelia¡¯s daughter in this hearing is being gagged¡­ by your will.¡±


    Amelia gasped. Havoc had brought her mother¡¯s name into the conflict and thrown it directly in the duke¡¯s face. Who, judging from the creases on his brow, and his moustache which twitched in irksome annoyance, severely resented him for it.


    ¡°Father, I think that¡¯s enough ¡ª¡± Amelia started to say, but Havoc was already patting the princess on the shoulder to encourage her. ¡°Go on, tell the room Grace. After calling for my help, when we entered my office to save her, what state was Amelia in?¡±


    ¡°Hallucinating. Crying. Her clothes were ripped like a beast had torn through them¡­¡± Grace said, pretending to think before she directly addressed the duke. ¡°Oh, and she was calling out for her mother to save her.¡±


    The Duke of Winchester¡¯s head, downcast and tired, turned like a gear-cog to affix on the Marquess of Rutherford.


    ¡°She is a commoner!¡± The Marquess said loudly, ¡°Her words have no bearing!¡±


    ¡°And is that your only complaint with her speaking?¡± shouted back Havoc.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Screamed the Marquess, his voice trying so hard to match Havoc¡¯s in volume it cracked.


    ¡°Then we don¡¯t have an agreement,¡± the duke sighed, his posture looking to catch up with his age. ¡°And¡­ The only evidence I can use in this case, resides with the Marquess, in the condition of his son¡­¡±


    Worried the Duke of Winchester was about to award a judgment against them, Amelia thought deeply on what she could do. Before catching the fact, that her father was staring directly at the Marquess, with the widest smile she had ever seen on his face.


    ¡°No takebacks,¡± said Havoc, as he ran a tongue over his teeth in a way even Amelia found scary.


    ¡°What?¡± said the Marquess.


    ¡°I said, no takebacks.¡± Havoc repeated, in a whisper just loud enough to express his glee. Clapping his hands together loudly to make it known he had more to say, Havoc addressed the duke. ¡°You heard him, didn¡¯t you? The Marquess made clear his position he agrees with you on the fact my daughter¡¯s handmaiden cannot speak, because of her rank.¡±


    ¡°He did.¡± The duke said, ¡°What about it?¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s outdated news!¡± Havoc barked, his dagger like teeth now on full display, like the maw of a dragon who knew a feast would soon come, ¡°For once our king accepts the demand I sent him this morning, this handmaiden right here, will soon have her own title!¡±


    ¡°You claim to already know the decision of a king before it is made?¡± the Marquess spat; a dutiful subject defending his liege. Although now doubt lined his words.


    ¡°Shut up! Both of you!¡± Bellowed the Duke of Winchester, with enough magic empowering his voice Amelia felt a gush of hot air rush past. ¡°Continue,¡± he growled at Havoc, ¡°I know not why you would bring the king into this squabble, but I would have you tell me this instant.¡±


    Amelia wanted to know as well. Because it almost sounded as if her father knew who Grace really was. Which ought to have been impossible.


    Only instead of explaining, Havoc extended his hand towards Amelia.


    She took it, allowing her father to guide her to her feet. After which, to Amelia¡¯s shock, he promptly sat down on the chair she¡¯d been using. Like a brute, with his legs splayed wide and a hunch to his back.


    ¡°Undignified to the end,¡± the Marquess said with derision. ¡°Care you even a wit for how a noble should act?¡±


    ¡°Not anymore,¡± Havoc replied, his lips pursed, his rosy cheeks smug. ¡°Now¡­ Surely, some of you ought to have heard how our king wanted to reward me for my most recent expeditions, hmm? Anyone?¡±


    The duke tepidly nodded, ¡°Yes, you caused a bit of a panic in court when your achievements were read out. Successfully taking such a vast amount of land with so few casualties¡­ I will admit, is impressive.¡±


    ¡°Then you must have already heard of the amount of resistance I encountered. Temporary forts, mining operations, weapon production facilities, you name it, we found it¡­¡± Havoc, in a pained voice showed the duke two trembling arms, ¡°Oh the tragedies I saw,¡± he bemoaned, ¡°They were enough to make a man want to wash his hands of it all and¡­ retire.¡±


    Amelia snuck a glance at Grace, hoping to find confirmation her friend might know where her father was going with all this. She found her own puzzlement reflected in the princess¡¯s expression.


    Wherever her father was going, only he knew.


    At least, The Duke of Winchester seemed able to guess what Havoc meant. For, he slapped a hand over his face and gave a great groan. ¡°Of course, of course, you would deal with this like that. Wouldn¡¯t you, you simple minded buffoon.¡±


    ¡°Quite,¡± Havoc said, ¡°Also, I lied,¡± he added, retrieving from his coat a piece of parchment, ¡°for I¡¯ve already received the king¡¯s answer to my letter of resignation. Anyone interested in taking a gander?¡±


    Grace lifted a hand. Amelia snatched at her arm, pulling it down and away. Allowing one of the duke¡¯s knights to instead have the honor of reading the king¡¯s statement.


    ¡°Hear ye, hear ye,¡± the knight read, ¡°From this moment henceforth, the right honorable Baron of Strightsworth, on the condition he remains in the Velvetican Kingdom under an advisory capacity shall¡­ shall relinquish his title, in exchange for the privilege of granting his merits of war to his daughter. Who will be referred to henceforth as the right honorable Viscountess Strightsworth, and be granted the dues such a position deserves, along with the right to appoint one lady-in-waiting a life peerage at the rank of Baroness for assistance in fulfilling her new duties.¡±


    Grace squealed in delight, and gave Amelia a great big hug even as the newly appointed Viscountess felt her mind flutter away like a leaf on the wind.


    For Havoc, her father, had blackmailed the king with leaving his position, right after having proven their Western neighbors very much wanted to give invasion a go! Amelia grappled with joy, knowing it also meant her father was making a promise to stay in their kingdom!


    ¡°A joke?¡± asked Havoc, as the knight handed over the royal missive for verification, ¡°Hey Duke, any chance I forged the king¡¯s mark?¡±


    ¡°You have not.¡± The duke stated, after taking a full minute to check the mark over.


    ¡°In that case,¡± Havoc proclaimed, ¡°I would wager the details of this trial have changed! As now we are dealing with not the words of a young misses¡¯ handmaiden, but proper evidence submitted by the representative of a full-blooded noble. A Viscountess at that! Who I think has more than a right to demand justice be overseen by a court of a far higher order than your own status allows governance for!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t mean¡­¡± said Grace in a small voice, which made Amelia feel rather stupid. For she had yet to catch up.


    Not wanting to remain in the dark forever, Amelia began scrounging the archives of her mind, flipping through every book she had read and remembered until finally, a possibility which shone golden sprung to the tip of her tongue. For she had recalled the gladiator Stanton¡¯s role in the Historian¡¯s novel. And how he had once defended the princess¡¯s honour in a very particular manner.


    Had her father gone mad? Or could this development be considered barbaric genius?


    Deciding it was now or never to put herself centre-stage on the platform her father had made just for her, Amelia placed a hand over her heart, breathed in deeply, and removed a white glove. A glove which she flung, directly at the Marquess. Letting all her hatred for the man flood into her words.


    ¡°Until now I have remained silent, in the hope common decency might prevail. Seeing the system appears ready to fail me, as I imagine it has for all of Gregory¡¯s victims, I intend to defend my honor through trial by combat! Let us allow God to decide who is at fault in this matter!¡±


    ¡°And what of your proposed terms?¡± Grace asked, reminding Amelia she still needed to say those.


    ¡°A duel. Good and simple. Either by hand-to-hand combat or a melee with weapons. No magic to keep it fair. My second is to be my father. Who I relinquish responsibly as the primary too.¡±


    ¡°Surely this isn¡¯t allowed,¡± the Marquess said, his eyes wide.


    ¡°Are there any explicit rules stating I can¡¯t?¡± Amelia asked the Duke of Winchester.


    ¡°It¡¯s more of an¡­ unspoken rule that the secondary of a duel¡¯s instigator can¡¯t switch in before the initial bout,¡± said the duke, who stroked his beard in deep contemplation, ¡°But hey, there¡¯s a first time for everything. What say you, Lord Rutherford?¡±


    The cold, focused gaze of the Marquess unnerved Amelia slightly when it found her from across the room.


    ¡°I say, best of three.¡±


    ¡°B-best of three?¡± Amelia parroted, ashamed her surprise had caused her to stutter. Not because it was rude, but because the Marquess honed in on her gaff like a shark drawn to blood.


    ¡°Poor little girl,¡± said the Marquess of Rutherford, smiling condescendingly at her, ¡°Did you not know? You might have thrown the glove, but as the challenged I reserve the right to dictate the terms. And I want no restrictions for one of the fights. I¡¯ll give you a chance to back out. Do you still accept?¡±


    Amelia hesitated. Even if her father won, where could she find two more renowned fighters in time to match those the Marquess could muster?¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t this pretty good?¡± Grace asked from behind Amelia in a close whisper, ¡°Sounds to me like we only need to find one more person. Aren¡¯t the odds in your favor?¡±


    Amelia reckoned the princess was right. Just like always. Since, knowing her father would win, no matter who he faced, to win a best of three she needed only one more person who could pull off a win.


    And Amelia had a good idea of who to recruit.


    ¡°I accept¡­ your terms, lord Rutherford,¡± Amelia said.


    The Marquess of Rutherford scowled.


    The Duke of Winchester nodded sagely and tapped the edge of his cane on his desk like a gavel.


    ¡°Then I hereby suspend the distributing of fault and reparations for this case until the winner of the duel emerges triumphant. Messengers will be sent to your abodes once arrangements ¡ª which I will take charge of ¡ª are finished. You are all dismissed.¡±


    **


    Just like that, Amelia found herself back outside the hearing room, where she found time to reflect on what on earth had just happened.


    ¡°Does this mean I need to change how I address you?¡± Grace asked, while hanging onto her arm.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous,¡± Amelia said, ¡°Keep calling me by my name in private, and only bother with ¡®lady¡¯ when dealing with nobles should they¡­¡±


    Amelia hushed without finishing her sentence. The Marquess of Rutherford had stepped out from the hearing room, and his sights were upon her.  Refusing to grant him the satisfaction of seeing her cower, Amelia held her chin firm.


    ¡°You will live to regret this,¡± The Marquess of Rutherford said under his breath, before parting; his attendants filing behind him to leave as a group in a bizarre, subordinate silence.


    Perhaps the reason for his rapid departure lay in how the Duke of Winchester, as well as Amelia¡¯s father soon made an appearance.


    ¡°Child,¡± said the Duke of Winchester to Amelia, ¡°Had you let this fall by the wayside, then it could have been settled safely. The Marquess¡­ he is not the sort of man who lets grudges go. I hope you know his offer was a compromise, and you have spat upon it.¡±


    ¡°T-there was no guarantee he wouldn¡¯t have held a grudge r-regardless,¡± Amelia stammered, now able to see in the daylight flooded hall, just how similar the Duke of Winchester¡¯s eyes resembled those of her mother.


    The duke sighed, as if trying to convince her any further was a waste of his time.


    Amelia hated it. She hated knowing her grandfather would willfully admonish her for wanting to defend the Strightsworth name instead of accepting a compromise. The very name Ophelia Winchester had taken upon herself after having married her father.


    ¡°T-this was a m-m-atter of pride!¡± Amelia said, making sure the duke could hear her as he left, even if her voice broke, ¡°A pride my mother t-taught me to have!¡± she added, ¡°I know you hate me, but is there a need to drag the Strightsworth name t-through the mud? This pride of mine is w-willing to accept any punishment you might have for having hurt your daughter, but please, l-let this duel proceed fairly!¡±


    His aids already beginning to murmur, the duke halted, striking the floor loud enough with his walking stick to quiet the rabble.


    ¡°You¡­ I thought something was off,¡± he said, turning on his heels with his teeth clenched, and a burning fury to his tone.


    Amelia nervously swallowed. Prepared to accept the terrifying heat which began seeping off from the elderly man as divine penitence. Knowing even if she might soon be reduced to cinders¡­ At least¡­ At least Thompson Brown would be able to finish her work and have the princess discovered.


    ¡°I¡¯m s-sorry,¡± she said, beginning to cry, as the wave of hot air bore down upon her like an all-encompassing cloud.


    ¡°Not you,¡± said the Duke of Winchester as he passed her, and continued towards Havoc. His cane now hitting the ground hard enough to create sparks which erupted around him as an inferno of malice.


    ¡°Explain yourself!¡± the Duke of Winchester ordered Havoc, as his knights drew their weapons, ¡°Why is my grand-child behaving as if Ophelia¡¯s death is her fault!¡±

 Chapter 23 — The sins of the Father, The Guilt of a Daughter

    Convinced the Duke of Winchester sought to settle the debt between them, once and for all, Amelia felt a nightmare must have escaped into the real world, when the tip of her grand-father¡¯s cane pointed at her father. The assistive tool by his will now a weapon, as all but the handle burst into a malevolent blue that burned white hot at its core.


    ¡°W-What are you doing?¡± Amelia asked the duke, as the crackling auras of flame emanating from him and his knights began setting the hall alight, ¡°It¡¯s me! I¡¯m the reason my mother died. Please don¡¯t blame anyone else!¡±


    She tried to get closer, despite the heat. Grace, disagreeing with this choice, caught Amelia by the waist, lifted her up, and began sprinting away from the fight that was about to break out.


    ¡°Let me go!¡± Amelia begged, as more of the Duke of Winchester¡¯s knights marched into the hall. Fully prepared for a confrontation, they began pushing away any bystanders too foolish to realise the stifling dome of temperature surrounding the baron and duke was quickly expanding.


    Creating a dead-zone, wherein only the strong might survive.


    ¡°Are you going to run back towards them?¡± Grace asked, slowing her pace. ¡°Because you¡¯re not fire-proof! Hell, I¡¯m pretty sure you¡¯re not even fire-resistant!¡±


    ¡°I need to stop them!¡± Amelia said, raising her voice to shout over the blazing inferno, ¡°Please, would you be able to help me get close? I¡¯m sure I can resolve this if I can explain myself and calm down my grand-father.¡±


    Grace cursed. Like a sailor. But her feet screeched to a halt, and she set Amelia down. ¡°Just¡­ Just give me a minute,¡± she said, moving behind Amelia to place both hands on her back, where a shiver of frost began spreading out. ¡°I¡¯m going to try cooling you down¡­ Just¡­ Just think about ice-cream. Won¡¯t you?¡±


    Immensely grateful the princess had not denied her request, Amelia let Grace work her magic while she focused on the silhouettes in the haze. She was barely able to make out where each figure was. Though the duke¡¯s words were strident enough to easily hear.


    ¡°Bastard,¡± the Duke of Winchester said towards Havoc, ¡°What sort of twisted lies have you told, to place your own sin on a child!¡±


    He swung his blade, sending a crescent, burning-white wave of fire towards Havoc who raised both arms in a guard to withstand it.


    ¡°Two spears, handle him!¡± the duke ordered before his attack had even subsided, causing a duo to break out from his line of knights and charge in as one. Keeping low as they stabbed at the Baron from opposite sides.


    Amelia screamed for her father to notice. Worried he might not see the twin spears wreathed in flames, trained to pierce below his rib-cage. The same weapons which were limply dropped upon Havoc¡¯s arms snapping out to seize both knights by their throats. Bypassing their molten defenses, the armor they wore seemed utterly ineffective in dissuading the Baron.


    ¡°Away with you,¡± Havoc said, without looking at either. He threw them behind him as if they were a pair of toy soldiers.


    The Duke of Winchester¡¯s body flared brightly in anger. The radiance of his weapon sweeping down to cover an arm, continuing still until his entire body was encompassed in an armor of hellfire.  Now a creature who could have been born from the deepest depths of the sun, each step the duke took towards Havoc, left a blazing blue footprint behind him.


    ¡°Answer me!¡± he roared, and Amelia grew dumbstruck upon seeing, for an instant through the flames, her father, who turned towards her with an expression of loss. His mouth only partially open as if unable to figure out what needed saying.


    Not that he had time enough to speak even a sentence. The Duke of Winchester¡¯s form flickered like a candle in the wind, vanishing to cross the remaining distance between himself and Havoc in a blinding flash of light. Where he delivered the wounds his men had failed to inflict in a flurry of movement. Carving intersecting lacerations into Havoc¡¯s chest deep enough to splatter the hall with his blood.


    ¡°I had thought you a protector,¡± said the duke, surmising the smoke which hissed as Havoc¡¯s regeneration worked to instinctively heal, ¡°Had I known you would have twisted Ophelia¡¯s passing in such a way¡­ I would never have let you take my grandchild from her mother¡¯s house.¡±


    Once more did the duke vanish. He appeared in front of his knights. ¡°Ten swords, delay him!¡± he barked. And ten knights answered the call to throw themselves at the baron who began to dispatch them like ragdolls, one after the next.


    ¡°Still playing dumb?¡± the duke asked, as he finished casting a spell. Transfiguring his elemental cane even further, the shimmering sword¡¯s length grew twice as long as Havoc was tall.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to think!¡± Havoc answered, and he ran a hand down his own face, clawing at it like he was dementedly trying to solve the answers to life.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll help clear your head!¡±


    The knights between the duke and Havoc crouched down in tandem, avoiding the immense cane-sword which like plasma, seared through the hall¡¯s walls as he held it behind him. Like a batter on base, the Duke of Winchester swung, exploding with his greatest display of magical mastery yet, sending a horizontal tidal wave of burning catastrophism towards the baron.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Amelia saw her father¡¯s upper body catch fire. She watched his skin begin to peel off and turn into soot. And she witnessed the judgment hall, start to collapse.


    ¡°Fuck, fuck, fuck, these pieces of shit!¡± shouted Grace, taking one hand off from Amelia¡¯s back to solidify a shield¡¯s worth of air between them and the gale which blew past.  ¡°The hell are they thinking? We¡¯re still bloody here!¡±


    Cowed by her friend¡¯s anger, Amelia whispered. ¡°M-Maybe they think you took me outside?¡±


    ¡°I wish that I had!¡± Grace replied, creating a second shield of air over their heads, forming an umbrella against the glass of a window that rained down as it crumbled.


    ¡°He¡¯s still moving!¡± shouted one of the knights who had gotten his legs broken by Havoc, ¡°Lord Winchester!¡± he cried as he crawled away from the Baron howling in pain, ¡°You¡¯ve but charred him half cooked!¡±


    ¡°Five, get them out!¡± the duke said, allowing for his knights to dash in and begin helping their injured or unconscious comrades get towards relative safety.


    When Amelia heard her grandfather then yell, ¡°Now get in position, we¡¯re doing the thing!¡± the alignment the knights took up gave her a bad premonition. She knew the damage inflicted on her father so far wouldn¡¯t leave anything lasting, but the longer the conflict continued, the more likely it appeared something permanent would eventually happen.


    ¡°A-Almost done?¡± Amelia asked Grace, now able to see her breath hang in the air while her teeth chattered about due to the cold the princess seemed to be pumping her with.


    She hoped it would be enough for the sea of fire devouring the hall. Amelia couldn¡¯t even see those inside it anymore, nor guess what might happen if she didn¡¯t manage to stop them from fighting.


    ¡°Finished!¡± Grace said, and Amelia pushed off the ground to begin running. Relying on the princess¡¯s magic to hold, as she broke past the wall of super-heated air with great effort. Just as the duke¡¯s voice found her once more.


    ¡°If Havoc wants to be as mute as a dragon, we will put him down like one! Ready the formation, on my command!¡±


    ¡°W-Wait!¡± Amelia shouted, unprepared for the hot air that singed the inside of her lungs, even while shielded. ¡°D-Don¡¯t kill my daddy!¡± she gasped, stumbling forwards towards her father¡¯s outline.


    ¡°Fire!¡± shouted the duke of Winchester, so utterly focused on Havoc, that he and the knights who helped channel his latest spell, failed to notice the young woman, whose thoughtless desire to stop the bad-blood in her family from boiling over, had led her to go where she should never have gone.


    Little remained of the roof at that point, having melted like wax or disintegrated. But Amelia¡¯s worry, focused on navigating the rubble at her feet, found itself looking up, upon feeling an influx of warmth in the air, fast approaching from on high.


    There did she witness a miniature sun. Which like a comet broke apart to reveal the knight¡¯s spears hurtling towards earth. A series of thrown stars, now propelled downwards on the orders of a duke and his magic. Their speed bending even the air as they unleashed a terrible sky rending sound.


    Wherever they landed, Amelia knew she would be caught up in the blast.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡± She said, to the duke, to her father, to the princess, to herself, and¡­


    To the shadow which protectively placed itself above her?


    ¡°Close your eyes, and do not move¡± Havoc said, as he stomped down hard with a foot, splitting the earth. Sending Amelia, falling down into a basement whose new entrance found itself shielded by the Baron¡¯s own body as the duke¡¯s spell of bombardment began beating down all around.


    In the dark, Amelia held her hands over her ears. Warding away the noise of the falling spears as she endured the splintering fragments of the wooden objects which shattered around her as the earth tremored and shook.


    ¡°D-Daddy?¡± Amelia called, when the heavy perforating noises finally finished abating. ¡°Are¡­ are you okay?¡±


    No answer. She felt something warm drip onto her head. Followed soon by more droplets, which caused her to quickly close her mouth upon recognizing the taste.


    ¡°No!¡± Amelia shouted, before she began climbing up the rubble inside the store-room.  ¡°You¡¯re fine! You always are!¡± she said, endeavoring but failing to push her father away from the hole he silently blocked.


    All of a sudden, Havoc shifted as if he were rolling onto his side. But the reassurance Amelia felt from this quickly vanished when a knight reached down and lifted her up. Revealing it was they who had been the one to move Havoc. Whose back now resembled a pin cushion of needles. Some barely hanging, others completely inserted.


    Amelia crawled to her father, intent on helping pull the spears out to help with his regeneration. Believing if she could remove even just one, it might help him a little.


    The princess¡¯s hasty protection of cold shattered against the red-hot metal she touched, knocking her back.


    ¡°Not a chance!¡± Grace shouted, ready to pull her lady away when Amelia tried to grab a spear, with her bare hands. Unable to struggle past Grace, Amelia searched for her grand-father. She found him standing nearby.


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t hurt my dad,¡± Amelia said to the duke, who, having let fall his armor of fire, appeared very conflicted at the idea he had almost killed his grand-daughter.


    ¡°Are you happy?!¡± the duke said loudly, approaching to slap the Havoc¡¯s face with his cane, ¡°Are you happy to have brainwashed her? You pathetic excuse for a man! Quit laying there, and get up already!¡±


    Placing herself between her father and his, Amelia held out both of her arms. Her grand-father, bewildered, threw away his cane in frustration. ¡°Someone, for the love of god get me a mage versed in indoctrination!¡± he ordered, as Amelia heard a familiar groan.


    ¡°Amelia¡­¡±


    ¡°Y-yes!¡± Amelia answered, holding the bloodied palm Havoc raised in search for his daughter, against her face. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m here! And I¡¯m only a bit bruised! How about you? Why didn¡¯t you fight back! It¡¯s Grand-father who¡¯s been¡ª¡±


    ¡°Do¡­ Do you blame yourself for the passing of your mother?¡±


    The question struck Amelia as absurd. ¡°Of course, I do!¡± she said, growing nervous when the men in her family opened their eyes wide in bewilderment.


    ¡°Is¡­ Is that the reason why you¡¯ve avoided me for so long?¡± Havoc asked, his healing far enough along now he could manage to sit, ¡°Because you were frightened, that I blamed you for Ophelia¡¯s death? Were you worried I would¡­ take out my anger on you?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I n-never thought you would h-hurt me,¡± Amelia answered, uncertain why something felt so terribly off.


    Havoc drew in a body-shaking, trembling breath.


    ¡°Then there has been a horrible mistake which needs correcting.¡±

 Chapter 24 — Misunderstandings Unmasked

    ¡°They were talking about my mom,¡± Amelia said to Grace, as the two of them waited for the Duke of Winchester and Havoc to arrive at the circular pavilion from where they could still see in the distance, the destroyed judgment hall.


    Grace, both arms behind her on the pavilion¡¯s railing, offered Amelia a woe begotten smile that cared and asked, ¡°Is that what you got out of them fighting?¡±


    There was something about the princess right now that struck Amelia as peculiar. It was almost as if Grace knew something she didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Ooh, don¡¯t make that face,¡± Grace said, and Amelia erased the upset pout she caught herself sporting. ¡°Trust me, I¡¯m as invested as you are in getting to the bottom of whatever it is the duke and your father are sure to reveal.¡±


    ¡°R-Really?¡± Amelia asked, hoping Grace meant it. Since she didn¡¯t want to feel alone in needing to know why her grand-father would try to kill his son-in-law out of nowhere. Or what the cryptic words her father had told her could possibly mean.


    The whole affair was downright abnormal. And when she thought of how close it seemed they had gotten to fulfilling a passage of the Historian¡¯s novel, Amelia¡¯s body would break out in goosebumps. She had never seen her father so injured until now. He might have brushed off his wounds before heading away to begin healing the duke¡¯s knights, but from his pain filled expression Amelia could tell he must have severely strained himself in facing the duke.


    ¡°B-Because¡­ It sounded like grand-father blamed my dad for mom¡¯s death,¡± Amelia confessed to Grace, allowing the small voice in her heart to voice a blasphemous, impossible notion.


    Grace¡¯s head sharply turned, although her face remained calm. ¡°Right? Isn¡¯t that weird? What¡¯s up with that?¡±


    ¡°It is weird!¡± Amelia said, glad to confirm she wasn¡¯t lost alone in the fog, ¡°I think¡­ I think my dad might have lied to grand-father about how my mom died¡­ But I haven¡¯t figured out how. What do you think I should do?


    ¡°Besides keeping an open mind that¡¯s ready to listen?¡±


    ¡°B-But what if they sent us here to get me out of the way?¡± Amelia asked, as the part of herself which liked to worry began dominating her thoughts, ¡°What if they¡¯ve started f-fighting again? ¡ª I should go check!¡±


    Grace groaned, and put herself between Amelia and the pavilion¡¯s entrance.


    ¡°You¡¯re starting to panic,¡± Grace said, opening her arms wide, ¡°Come on, I¡¯ll help you calm down. They said they would come here together, so let¡¯s trust them, okay?¡±


    Amelia wordlessly nodded. Accepting the offer to bury herself in the princess¡¯s embrace. A part of her still wanted to figure everything out, but honestly, she felt tired. And Grace made for an excellent pillow to close her eyes upon and rest for a time.


    ¡°I hope things don¡¯t escalate any further,¡± she whispered, allowing Grace to guide them both towards the pavilion¡¯s circular bench. ¡°I wish¡­ I wish my mom was still here.¡±


    Grace stroked Amelia¡¯s head. A comforting act, which caused her to slump even further into the realm of fatigue. To the point that by the time a pair of footsteps approached the pavilion, she was an inch away from falling asleep.


    A man cleared his throat. Grace shifted enough for Amelia to jerk herself straight up in alert, finding that both her father and grand-father had arrived. Embarrassed at being caught in such an intimate position with Grace, Amelia on the double stood up to greet them with a curtsy.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m glad that you¡¯ve come,¡± she said, as the two men took up opposite positions on either side of the pavilion.


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t we?¡± Havoc asked, ¡°Didn¡¯t I say we would be here after explaining ourselves to the king?¡±


    ¡°Please, sit down,¡± the Duke of Winchester said, and Amelia did.


    She couldn¡¯t help noticing the tension between the two men. But it was different from earlier, as if now both the duke, and her father, were less angry with each other, and more upset with themselves. Trying to anticipate what they might say was anxiety inducing. Amelia resisted the urge to crawl back into Grace¡¯s arms for comfort.


    ¡°It has come to my attention,¡± the duke said, addressing Amelia, ¡°that you are under the impression I might conspire with the Marquess against your family. Could you share with me why?¡±


    ¡°Even if you were, it would be my fault,¡± Amelia said, under her breath. No longer able to look at anything but her clasped hands.


    ¡°Nonetheless,¡± Havoc said, his arms crossed, ¡°We want to hear your honest thoughts.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s jaw locked itself shut. It all felt so meaningless, needing to put into words an answer that was obvious as could be.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ Do I really need too?¡± Amelia asked timorously, before spotting of all things, Grace, who had left the pavilion, snuck behind the two men, and was now gesticulating with her hands as if encouraging her to speak.


    Composing herself somewhat, not wanting either the duke or her father to find offense in the princess¡¯s antics, Amelia floundered an answer.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it because my mom¡­ Your¡­ daughter, used an elixir on me when I was born? Because of how weak I was? Making it so when she fell sick herself, there wasn¡¯t anything able to save her¡­¡±


    That was all she could manage. But the honest reply to the duke felt both liberating, and dreadful.


    An elixir after all, was an item so precious no amount of money could buy one. And it was the duke who had once gifted his princess such a relic from a bygone era, in the hope it might protect her from harm once she left the Winchester household. Amelia made ready to lay her heart in the open. To apologize with every ounce of sincerity she possessed, only to falter when the room¡¯s temperature raised itself by several degrees, giving her horrible flashbacks. As the two deathly still men began to silently stew. Their very emotions giving rise to a magic which at times, seemed to be a force they could barely control.


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    Suddenly, an unnaturally refreshing breeze brushed past them all. Both Havoc and the duke looked over their shoulders to spot Grace, who was climbing back into the pavilion.


    ¡°Can either of you¡­ not?¡± Grace said, ¡°Amelia¡¯s struggling with her words as it is, she doesn¡¯t need any more misunderstandings.¡±


    ¡°Not that there have been any!¡± Amelia said loudly, worried for the princess who had clearly overstepped.


    Except instead of anything resembling offence, her father and grand-father, two of the most powerful people in the Velvetican Kingdom, both uttered an in sync; ¡°pardon,¡± towards Grace while appearing ashamed.


    Grace huffed and strode past them, returning to Amelia¡¯s side. And as the Summer air began to cool, Amelia felt her awe for the fairy-tail princess increase to the point of heroic devotion.


    The Duke of Winchester tapped his cane once. ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± he said, ¡°You think because my daughter chose to use my gift on someone other than herself, I would be angry?¡±


    ¡°B-Because mom always told me how much you loved her,¡± Amelia said.


    ¡°I do. I still do.¡± Said the duke, who appeared to be struggling to see things from her perspective, ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t hate you for a choice Ophelia made. How could you think that?¡±


    ¡°I mean, you tried having me poisoned the night after finding us together on the veranda,¡± Havoc muttered, which earned him a murderous glare from the duke.


    ¡°Sorry, not helping am I,¡± Havoc said, as he looked to the pavilion¡¯s ceiling.


    Her world threatening to turn upside down, Amelia dredge from the hidden pits of her belly, a deeply buried moment from her past which when shared, would surely make everything clear.


    ¡°W-When the Duke of Winchester¡ª¡±


    ¡°Call me grandfather,¡± demanded the duke, his grip tightly clenching his cane.


    ¡°W-when¡­ G-g-grandfather never came to visit us for m-mom¡¯s funeral¡­ Wasn¡¯t that because you blamed me for what happened?¡±


    The duke nearly lost his balance. ¡°Hold on,¡± he said, his face a visage of disbelief, ¡°I was among those who lowered Ophelia into the ground. We buried her in our family¡¯s lot, not in some backwater Barony!¡±


    His cheeks scrunched in self-loathing. ¡°Dammit,¡± he hissed, ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to say that, it just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Came out that way?¡± Havoc finished, with distain. ¡°Forget it old man, focus on the fact she¡¯s still blaming herself for what happened to my wife.¡±


    The duke grabbed Havoc by the front of his shirt, ¡°Bastard! You¡¯re the one who apparently never told her it¡¯s your fault my daughter grew ill to begin with!¡±


    Amelia found reality seemed to not be meeting her expectations. But try as she might, she could not find any signs the two men were lying. Which, caused her to panic. Resulting in a frantic search of every childhood memory surrounding her mother¡¯s funeral for answers.


    No¡­ Not funeral, Amelia realised in horror, after re-evaluating the hopeless, gut-wrenching last moments she had spent with her mother, who had remained beautiful even in death; laying as if only asleep, in her casket.


    An open casket she had never witnessed get placed in the earth.


    Tears began falling upon the discovery of a horrible misunderstanding. ¡°D-daddy, did you h-host the funeral¡­ or the w-wake,¡± she asked Havoc, whose expression shot wide as he too understood.


    As did the duke, who dabbed at his moist eyes with his sleeve. ¡°Alright,¡± he said with determination, ¡°that¡¯s one down. But it still doesn¡¯t explain why you would think your mother¡¯s death is your fault for being born weak. That doesn¡¯t make sense. Ophelia wanted a child no matter what. No matter the danger. It doesn¡¯t add up.¡±


    ¡°Some things don¡¯t make logical sense,¡± Grace said, and Amelia spotted she too was starting to cry.


    ¡°Baby girl,¡± Havoc said sadly, moving to kneel on the ground beside Amelia; taking her hands in his own, ¡°I have never once blamed you. For anything. Your mother growing weaker than normal, following your conception¡­¡±


    ¡°Was the fault of your father,¡± the duke said. And Havoc did not disagree.


    ¡°How?¡± Amelia asked, now a blank slate who wanted only to know.


    ¡°He isn¡¯t human,¡± the duke said, slapping Havoc¡¯s calf with his cane, ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter if he¡¯s part god or part dragon, fact is, my daughter, your mother¡­. Her body couldn¡¯t handle the pregnancy. The stress weakened her to the point that when she caught ill, it happened so quickly a mage trained in the healing arts couldn¡¯t reach her in time.¡±


    ¡°Then it is my fault!¡± Amelia said, attempting to pull her hands away from her father; wanting nothing more than to flee. Only she couldn¡¯t. Since the strength needed to move even Havoc¡¯s pinky couldn¡¯t be found in the entirety of her body.


    ¡°Was it your fault Ophelia¡¯s pregnancy lasted eighteen months?¡± the Duke of Winchester asked, approaching her also. ¡°Would you blame a baby for throwing up after eating?¡±


    ¡°B-But why did you never come to v-visit m-me after,¡± Amelia said, sobbing, when she failed to find any reason why anyone would blame a baby. Or why a loving mother would ever burden a daughter with the details of how she struggled to bring a child into the world.


    ¡°I¡­ I sent letters, several in fact.¡± The duke¡¯s head turned slowly towards Havoc, ¡°Did¡­ Did your father never share them? Did he not tell you that while I couldn¡¯t bring myself to visit your house, you were always welcome at mine?¡±


    ¡°Your first dozen letters were drunken ramblings of how you would flay the skin from my bones for existing,¡± Havoc said, his voice filled with guilt, ¡°after a while, I instructed my aid to start burning them without reading. Figuring if the Kingdom ever actually needed me for anything of importance¡­ the king would write me himself.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right¡­ I only started inviting Amelia once I thought she had grown old enough to travel long distances in a carriage without feeling sick¡­¡± admitted the duke.


    Making to stand, Amelia¡¯s hand slipped out from Havoc¡¯s. Only this time, she had no desire to leave.


    ¡°W-what do I d-do?¡± she asked, ¡°W-w-what c-can I say? I d-don¡¯t know what to think.¡±


    Somehow, even as the world madly spun, a part of Amelia¡¯s tangled psyche remained cognisant enough to notice the princess slide up beside her.


    ¡°Do you want help understanding?¡± Grace asked.


    ¡°P-p-please,¡± Amelia said. Unprepared for the question Grace would ask Havoc.


    ¡°The Baroness¡¯s pregnancy¡­ Did you know it would endanger Ophelia?¡±


    ¡°The mages who studied our bodies did inform us of the potential risks, yes.¡±


    ¡°Then, was the birth of your daughter a decision the two of you made, together?¡±


    ¡°I would have sooner gelded myself than force her.¡±


    ¡°See?¡± Grace cooed, her voice permeating throughout Amelia¡¯s mind to somehow begin washing away grief, as if even her words could be instilled with magic, ¡°It was never your fault. Why should it be? When your mother chose to have you, and save you? Search your memories,¡± said the princess, and Amelia did, causing every cherished moment she held with her mother to scroll past her eyes, ¡°She loved you, right?¡±


    ¡°She did,¡± Amelia gasped, as if coming up for a breath of air denied unto herself since so long ago.


    ¡°Then do you blame her? Or your dad, for their decisions?¡± Grace asked.


    ¡°N-Never!¡± Amelia said, twisting away from the princess with the intention to reassure her father that she would never even consider the thought. She found her father, with his inner most feelings on display, to the point it was clear he¡¯d thought at some level that Amelia blamed him for Ophelia¡¯s death.


    ¡°And your grandpa,¡± Grace continued, to which the duke grumbled something about having only given Amelia permission to call him as such, ¡°Don¡¯t you want to make up the time you lost together because of a mistake which should be left in the past?¡±


    ¡°Mhmm,¡± Amelia whimpered, although she¡¯d meant to say, ¡®yes¡¯.


    ¡°So, out of everything in the world, what do you want most of all, right at this moment?¡±


    Amelia considered what she wanted. She took in her grandfather, who struggled to maintain a straight face instead of a frown. And her father, who she had never before seen with a spec of moisture in his eyes.


    ¡°I¡­ I want my family to get along,¡± she said, barely able to see through which streamed, desiring only some sort of proof her life, although a lie until now, might soon become better. ¡°I w-want a hug.¡±


    Grace stepped aside, with a proud look on her face, allowing the two older men to temporarily set aside their differences, and give Amelia what she asked for.


    ¡°D-Does this mean I can see her?¡± Amelia blubbered, upon breaking away from their touch. ¡°C-can I visit my mom?¡±


    The duke nodded meekly.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure she would love that.¡±

 Chapter 25 — Nobilis Nobles

    In the fancies of her early child-hood, Amelia would watch from a distance as her mother entertained guests. Picturing one day, that instead of being consigned to the kiddy corner where the only nobles to be found were made out of felt, she too would have a place at the grand table around which was discussed not only the goings-on of the Velvetican Kingdom, but the wide world as well.


    ¡°And I said, oh and I told him dear, that if he could smarten up like his older brothers, then maybe, just maybe, his business ventures might start finding success.¡±


    To mingle with true upper-class ladies like her mother, over tea, was Amelia¡¯s dream. For it represented a chance to share knowledge, and discover new methods to help better the lives of the people she might one day need govern.


    ¡°Do tell, how exactly did his face look when you said that? He didn¡¯t cry, did he?¡±


    They would debate politics, business dealings, and¡­ and other such things. Important things. Things that mattered.


    ¡°Skin like a pickled plum my dear, I near thought he might faint from anger, but he only waggled his finger and threatened to not meet that cute Hathaway girl I found for him.¡±


    ¡°How dreadfully disappointing.¡±


    ¡°I say, don¡¯t you agree, Lady Strightsworth?¡±


    Amelia, whose daydreaming went ¡®pop¡¯, returned to the now. Where she sat in a caf¨¦, surrounded by a group of women much older than herself. Who upon seeing a certain young woman standing by the door all alone, had chosen to help the poor dear, by involving her in their gossip.


    Dealing with noble ladies of the capital wasn¡¯t quite how Amelia had imagined it to be. Instead of topics concerning the well-being of their estates, the conversations which whirled seemed geared more towards which clothes were in season, who thought who might be cheating, and stories about horrible in-laws.


    In short, drama. So, so much drama.


    ¡°M-maybe your son wants to prove himself to his father by working alone?¡± Amelia ventured, which earned her a smattering murmur of well meaning, patronization.


    ¡°You¡¯ll understand when you¡¯re older.¡± Said the lady to Amelia¡¯s left.


    ¡°It¡¯s youthful rebellion I tell you, all those terrible hormones,¡± said the next.


    ¡°Bet you know a thing or two about that,¡± said the third to Amelia, completing the circle, ¡°You¡¯ve been in the capital for a while now¡­ Come on, tell us, which young lords have you played with?¡±


    ¡°P-played with?¡± Amelia repeated, and the jewelry of the older women jingled in delight as they laughed.


    She should have known better. To invite her father for a meeting with Martel while others were around. The servant girl who had been cleaning their town-house must have sold the information the moment work ended.


    No wonder the cat caf¨¦ appeared far busier than when she had visited with Grace. The Strightsworth¡¯s court-hearing with the Rutherford¡¯s must have every chatty lady trying to figure out as much as they could. What more, if her table¡¯s company could be trusted as a reliable source for information. Then apparently, half of the noblewomen loitering about were, oddly enough, either divorced or widowed.


    What a funny thing for them to mention, Amelia had thought, until her clean-shaven father entered the caf¨¦ in a custom military suit that showed himself off, and then it was all handheld fans a waving on deck.


    ¡°His face is a bit rough¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know; I think that¡¯s a high-light. Doesn¡¯t he look rather roguish?¡±


    ¡°And check out those forearms ¡ª Oh, he¡¯s rolling his sleeves!¡±


    ¡°Could you imagine what it would be like? For him to hold you in them?¡±


    Amelia couldn¡¯t. She bid them farewell, before making a hasty retreat to her father. Not wanting to stay around the gossips before they could get into details.


    ¡°Over here!¡± she called, rushing over to grab his arm and lead him to where Grace had reserved them a table, ¡°the tutor I mentioned shouldn¡¯t be long at all. Are you feeling alright? Is there any food you want me to order?


    ¡°Meat,¡± said Havoc. Which made Amelia smile.


    How excited she felt, to be upfront with her father. To worry no longer that every interaction between them held in it a hidden reproach. With the scales of guilt removed from her eyes, every memory between them seemed to have taken on a different, more cheerful tone of light. And Amelia found herself abuzz with a new-found desire to know him all the better.


    Before, she would have assumed her father to be currently angry. But now, with his hands balled up into fists, his back straight, his brows stern, and his deadly gaze scanning the gallery of noblewomen who swooned where they sat, she could tell the odds were he simply felt awkward. As an oversized mannish man in an extremely frilly caf¨¦.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure how appropriate it is for me to be here,¡± Havoc said, as they sat down together. Though he still sipped from his tea-cup once Amelia poured him a glass from the cherry-red teapot their waiter brought over. ¡°I¡­ care for you immensely, but I can¡¯t help but feel I¡¯m drawing too much attention.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you could try leaving the medals at home next time?¡± Amelia said in jest, secretly giddy her father would say he loved her out loud.


    Havoc looked down at his chest, to where his many triumphs of war were displayed, ¡°I¡¯m meeting your tutor,¡± he said, ¡°I can¡¯t run the risk of her underestimating you for being the daughter of a former baron.¡±


    Amelia giggled at the idea her father meant to intimidate Martel.


    ¡°I¡¯m not belittling your concern,¡± she said quickly, making sure no more misunderstandings should ever cross in between them, ¡°I simply believe once you meet Martel, you¡¯ll find such caution is unneeded ¡ª and I think that¡¯s them now.¡±


    Having spotted Martel enter the caf¨¦ alongside Grace, Amelia waved from her seat until she had been spotted.


    Her father stood to greet the pair of women.


    ¡°Martel Howligan,¡± Havoc said, using the last name Martel had switched to using since having lost her status as a noble, ¡°it is a pleasure to finally meet you.¡±


    ¡°Goodness, I don¡¯t remember you describing your father as handsome,¡± Martel said to Amelia, extending her hand for the Baron to place a kiss upon it with near perfect form.


    Hold on, Amelia thought, where had her brute of a father run off to? And who was this strangely well-mannered and soft-spoken man who had stolen his face? It felt weird, watching him carefully pull out a seat for Martel, whose low v-cut dress which seemed designed to seduce, somehow remained classy.


    Amelia stared as her father, and Martel, began talking to each other as if they were good friends.


    ¡°I remember asking my father for his newspaper to read about you when I was younger,¡± Martel told Havoc, shyly hiding the lower half of her face behind a menu, ¡°It¡¯s somewhat embarrassing, but I used to collect those snippets in a binder... When your daughter came to request my tutelage, I thought a chance had come to both finally meet you, as well as repay you for all the amazing stories you gave me growing up.¡±


    ¡°I can only hope to not disappoint,¡± Havoc said, calling over a waiter with a loud snap of his fingers, ¡°Write down whatever the ladies want,¡± he said to the man, who nodded several times in what Amelia judged to be panic, ¡°And if you don¡¯t have it in stock, tell your chefs I¡¯ll reward them well should they still make it happen.¡±


    Havoc returned his focus to Martel, who had the gall to blush while looking away, as if she couldn¡¯t muster the courage to maintain eye-contact any longer. Amelia¡¯s mouth fell open as their waiter rushed off. And the only thing she could think of, were the words spoken to her in the rain, on the night she met Martel:


    ¡®I¡¯m a near middle-aged woman who likes mature, older men, not princesses.¡¯


    Had she made another mistake? That hadn¡¯t been sarcasm? Did Martel fancy her father? The Historian¡¯s novel hadn¡¯t ever included an event like the one she was seeing! Worried for Grace, who ought to have liked Martel at first sight, Amelia found the princess pausing mid sip from her freshly delivered hot chocolate.


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    ¡°Something wrong?¡± Grace asked, wearing a mustache made from whipped cream. Utterly nonplussed by whatever Martel was doing.


    Satisfied, and relieved, Amelia took a napkin from her side of the table. ¡°Just¡­ Hold still,¡± she said, using it to clean her friend¡¯s face, only to find, after a good deed done well, that it seemed to have become her turn to be stared at.


    Havoc appeared bemused. While Martel smirked as if she knew something Amelia didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Could you introduce your friend to me, Amelia?¡± Martel asked, ¡°We met outside your townhouse, but we were in such a hurry to arrive I hadn¡¯t the time to ask for a name.¡±


    Waiting for the waiter to finish handing out a platter of appetizers, Amelia nodded, slightly self-conscious that she¡¯d forgotten to do so.


    ¡°This is Grace, my good friend, and lady-in-waiting,¡± Amelia said, ¡°Grace, this is Martel Howligan, who I hope will soon tutor me. We met while I was out walking a few days ago.¡±


    Grace, despite the polite smile she gave, seemed to have remembered something unpleasant. ¡°Yes, I¡­ I think I slept in that morning.¡±


    This rang a few alarm bells for Amelia. Who hadn¡¯t considered whether drugging the princess into a sleepy stupor, might have caused her friend to blame herself for not waking up when she ought.


    ¡°It happens,¡± Amelia said quickly, placing a decorative biscuit from her own order onto Grace¡¯s plate. ¡°Here, these one¡¯s are my favorite,¡± she explained, believing the power of sweets enough to curtail any problem.


    ¡°S¡¯good,¡± said Grace, after the first bite, leaving Amelia with one hurdle leaped and a few more to go.


    Such as Martel¡¯s follow up question, ¡°And are you childhood friends?¡± which made Amelia worry Grace would feel disparaged should her origins be forced into the open. Not that she thought Martel would judge a commoner for their status, but there were a great number of ears around them likely trying to listen in on their talk.


    ¡°Pretty much,¡± Grace said, giving an answer Amelia wished to applaud for proving how simple and effective a lie by omission could be.


    ¡°Well, I think you both look lovely together,¡± Martel said, ¡°Don¡¯t you think so as well Havoc? Look, they¡¯re even wearing the same style of clothing.¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡± said the Baron, who hadn¡¯t been looking at much, other than Martel, ¡°I mean, yes. It is nice to see them both matching.¡±


    A comment which turned Amelia¡¯s cheeks a bright red. She could only imagine, to those who didn¡¯t know she and Grace had simply gone shopping together, it might appear that they were wearing what amounted to¡­ clothing for couples.


    The mere idea frazzled Amelia¡¯s brain. Sending her into quiet contemplation concerning why she apparently cared so much about what ought to be by logic, a mundane co-occurrence.


    Havoc and Martel, continued talking while they ate. Discussing in depth what Amelia¡¯s tutelage schedule would look like in the future. Preferring to listen over speaking, Amelia enjoyed herself as an observer. Content enough to not be eating at a table alone, which made every bite of food taste all the better.


    ¡°Would that work for a start?¡± Martel asked, after drawing Havoc¡¯s attention to her posture, which she used as an example for both how effective lessons on etiquette, and a balanced diet could be.


    Havoc, over the fourteen stacked plates of filet mignon he had eaten, closely examined Martel¡¯s killer figure, caught himself, roughly nodded, then said, ¡°I suppose whatever you do must work well enough. Have you discussed with Amelia what periods of the year she¡¯ll need to stay here for her lessons?


    ¡°Stay here?¡± said Martel, as if surprised, ¡°I had hoped if things went well enough between myself and Amelia in the coming days, I could continue her lessons at your place.¡±


    Havoc tapped on the table in thought, ¡°How does that sound?¡± he asked Amelia.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got plenty of space,¡± Amelia answered, wondering why he would ask her. Or why her father clapped his hands together as if having obtained permission to do something he¡¯d been a tad hesitant in trying out.


    ¡°Then it¡¯s decided,¡± Havoc said to Martel, ¡°Shall we retreat to my coach? There¡¯s another subject I wish to speak with you about in private. And I would be remised to not offer a ride home while I¡¯m at it.¡±


    ¡°Sounds charming,¡± Martel said, ¡°is that alright with you girls? If we were to head out a bit early?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine staying here a while longer,¡± Amelia said, not wanting to rush with a belly full of desserts. Even standing felt like a chore at the moment, but she still waved her father and Martel goodbye as they left.


    ¡°Martel seems nice,¡± Grace said, once the caf¨¦ door closed.


    ¡°I¡¯m rather hopeful for the future,¡± Amelia said in agreement. Since when the time came to make use of Martel¡¯s talents to help bring about the Marquess of Rutherford¡¯s downfall through his son, she now had an excuse to meet with the woman. Also, having found a proper etiquette teacher felt pretty good. Like a milestone of life she hadn¡¯t actually been planning for.


    ¡°And she¡¯s super pretty.¡± Grace added.


    ¡°Really? I think she¡¯s alright,¡± Amelia said, trying to hide her immediate worry while downplaying Martel¡¯s looks.


    After all, even if Martel now differed from the person she¡¯d become in The Historian¡¯s novel, what if the older woman had only fallen in love with Grace once the princess had rescued her from a certain hanged death? While it was Grace who¡¯d felt fancy from the moment they¡¯d met?


    Was fate a thing? Could the universe be conspiring to make sure the stars aligned where they¡¯d been? Amelia didn¡¯t know what to do! She didn¡¯t want Grace to fall in love with anyone before at least making sure they were good enough for the princess!


    ¡°And¡­ I think my dad might like Martel,¡± Amelia said, coming up with a plausible excuse to perhaps, dissuade Grace from pursuing the woman.


    Grace laughed. A good sign. Since it meant the princess didn¡¯t mind the idea.


    ¡°Yes, it would be rather hard not to notice the spark between them,¡± Grace said, as she began stacking their empty dishes and cutlery at the table¡¯s centre, ¡°You don¡¯t mind, do you? If something comes of it?¡±


    ¡°I mean¡­ I want him to be happy,¡± Amelia said in a whisper, having not actually seriously considered the possibility, ¡°Long as he doesn¡¯t forget about mom¡­ I don¡¯t think I would mind it?¡±


    But as they moved onto playing with the caf¨¦¡¯s cats, she must have looked uncertain, since once they were done, Grace brought up the subject again while helping Amelia put on her shawl.


    ¡°Personally, I¡¯m a bit iffy on the idea of marrying twice. We¡¯re meant to go somewhere after we die, right? I can¡¯t begin to imagine how awkward the after-life would be for those who¡¯ve re-married.¡±


    ¡°I guess?¡± Amelia said, thinking it a strange point to make. She knew the Velvetican Kingdom played host to a few different faiths, but on the whole, it was still by the king¡¯s orders a secular state.


    Did this mean Grace was religious? Amelia thought back on The Historian¡¯s novel, trying to find any examples pointing to a denomination, but found nothing.


    ¡°That¡¯s why, I¡¯m only going to stick with one person,¡± Grace said, hooking an arm through Amelia¡¯s as they left the caf¨¦, ¡°Play around in the shallow end of the pool before really diving in for the long haul, you know?¡±


    Amelia mumbled a non-comital response while hailing a taxi. Giving the coachman their townhouses¡¯ address, she found herself sulking once seated. For unlike when reading The Historian¡¯s novel, where she had enjoyed the dalliances of the princess, now picturing Grace tasting each of her suitors only left her stomach with knots.


    ¡°Come on, it¡¯s not the sort of question you¡¯re meant to think deeply about,¡± Grace said, nudging her shoulder against Amelia, whose eyes drifted to where she wished a blouse hung a few centimetres lower, ¡°If you want a real question to get all introspective about, why not¡­ What would an ideal life well lived look like to you?


    ¡°If I could pick?¡± Amelia asked, guilt-ridden to find a part of her found the princess extremely attractive.


    ¡°It¡¯s a hypothetical, silly¡± Grace said, amused, in a tone which suggested she really did want to hear Amelia¡¯s answer.


    ¡°I suppose¡­ A happily-ever-after is what I would hope my life would amount to,¡± Amelia said, ¡°Finding someone who could¡­ be with me through it all, sounds pretty nice.¡±


    ¡°Is that all you want? A person to care for you? Nothing else?¡±


    ¡°Maybe¡­ more books to read?¡± Amelia said, hesitantly, having never really considered the future unless you counted her involvement in changing the Historian¡¯s novel, ¡°Or more time to relax in my mother¡¯s garden?¡±


    The answers she¡¯d come up with were simple. Shallow even, by her own standards. Though it did get Amelia thinking about what it was she really wanted in life. A riddle she hadn¡¯t given much extra thought about solving since Grace had asked her something similar while at the pavilion with her father and grand-father.


    ¡°Above all else I¡­ I don¡¯t want to be lonely anymore,¡± she said, speaking aloud her inner-most thoughts which came knocking, ¡°Our family¡¯s maids have always been good to me, but it¡¯s not the same as when I had mom¡­ It¡¯s why I¡¯m so glad you came into my life. These past few weeks have been more exciting than the last few years I¡¯ve lived, combined together.¡±


    ¡°Aww,¡± Grace said, wrapping her arms around Amelia in an intimate hug, ¡°I¡¯m glad you found me as well.¡±


    Amelia returned the hug. Finding a strange bliss in being enveloped by the princess¡¯s perfume. She wondered whether Grace modified the scent using magic. Which brought back the memory of when the two of them had shared a kiss. Which caused Amelia to nervously swallow. No longer able to deny that within her lay an urge to taste once more the lips which were even now beautifully smiling.


    Maybe if their carriage hit a large enough rock, it might nudge them a bit closer?


    Her wish, would not come to pass. For with a sudden jerk the coachman pulled back on the reigns of his horse, bringing the carriage to such a stop Amelia fell not against Grace¡¯s lips, but right onto the floor.


    Silly girl. Foolish girl. Amelia thought, chastising herself. She was glad reality had rocked enough sense in her to remember the princess was destined to fall in love with one of her suitors.


    Anything else simply wouldn¡¯t make sense. A fact which gave rise to a need for escape. Causing her to remember Stanton. Who she still needed to bring up with her father.


    Stanton, would not only be the perfect man to hire as a duelist for their mano-a-mano against the Marquess of Rutherford, but the perfect partner for Grace. Surely, pairing Grace with Stanton would help Amelia stop having thoughts which she absolutely, positively, could not allow herself to have.


    ¡°I need to talk with my dad!¡± Amelia squeaked, and she leapt from the coach before Grace could even offer a hand to help her get up, ¡°Can you meet me upstairs after paying the fair? I¡¯ll explain everything once I¡¯ve confirmed his response.¡±


    ¡°Sure?¡± Grace said, confused but still showing that same beguiling smile Amelia fled from.


    Amelia berated herself for having almost ruined their friendship, all the way up the driveway and into the townhouse. Where for some reason, the guards normally posted at the entrance were missing.


    Amelia¡¯s heart, still beating like a drum, didn¡¯t care for their absence. Not when she could tell her father was home by the presence of his military jacket haphazardly lain on the ground, atop two sets of different sized shoes.


    ¡°Dad, are you home?¡± Amelia called, moving down the hallway towards the kitchen where she could hear the noises of movement. ¡°There¡¯s a really important question I have¡­ and I wanted to¡­ Wanted to¡­¡±


    She couldn¡¯t get the rest of her words out. For there in the kitchen did Amelia stumble upon not only her father but Martel as well, who Havoc held by the waist. Which would have been fine. If Martel didn¡¯t happen to be completely undressed. With her hands caught frozen in the proverbial cookie jar that happened to be the buttons of Havoc¡¯s shirt; half of which were already undone.


    The exercise from sprinting, embarrassment over her attraction to Grace, and an eye-opening shock, combined into one.


    Amelia fainted.


    Falling with only a single thought left, which wondered whether it was her fault she might soon have a stepmother.

 Chapter 26 — Time Spent with a Friend

    Even before Amelia¡¯s eyelashes fluttered open to greet the morning light shining in through the townhouse¡¯s curtains, she knew without a doubt she would spend her day being miffed.


    In silence she ate a bitter breakfast. Oatmeal, with only a single scoop of brown sugar allowed. After, she wrote and handed Grace; seemingly stuck in a state of worried amusement, a letter for her father who had business at the king¡¯s castle.


    It contained a request to hire Stanton the gladiator as one of the fighters they needed for their family¡¯s duel with the Marquess of Rutherford. Despite having learnt Stanton had found himself a sponsor, Amelia barely considered the mysterious backer an issue. Whatever grievances the noble might have at the idea of losing their prize fighter could be resolved with large quantities of cold, unfeeling cash.


    A solution reflecting her mood, which wore a false smile until Amelia had seen Grace off at the door. After having caught her father and Martel in a compromising position, Amelia was forced to come to terms with the fact something about how she perceived her relationship with Grace, had changed. As in the garden of her heart, where once a sapling of match-making had been dutifully watered, could now only be found an empty dead plot, containing a deeply unsettling, inexplicable fear the princess might leave her for a prince charming.


    Love held in it the potential to change people. Even her own father was apparently powerless against its sway.


    Against such an unstoppable force, what if Grace forgot all about her? The thought drove Amelia towards the dark recesses of her mind. Where she found a haunting part of herself that remained glad, glad she still hadn¡¯t revealed Grace¡¯s identity as a princess.


    She ran from that part of her mind. Refusing to entertain such a notion. Even as a ghost of yesterday¡¯s laughter welcomed Amelia back into her bedroom. Imagination mixed with recollection, forcing upon her the memory of having regained consciousness in Grace¡¯s arms. Who had spirited Amelia from the townhouse¡¯s kitchen after she¡¯d fainted.


    As much as Amelia had loved waking up in the arms of a hard-working-country-girl-waitress, it left her with a horrible feeling that forget being seen as a friend, Grace might view her as a child needing to be taken care of.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m not a child, right?¡± Amelia asked the free-standing mirror which stood next to her bed. ¡°M-My coming-of-age ceremony might have gone without fanfare, but it still happened¡­¡±


    Her reflection, began to undress. Searching for proof that Amelia might stand a chance when placed next to the many beautiful suitors in The Historian¡¯s novel.


    The results, were disappointing. She saw only a body that failed to live up to the legacy of her mother¡¯s hourglass figure. A body containing none of the confidence a lady like Martel seemed to exude with each suggestive step.


    Could she confidently call herself a woman? If Grace entered the room at that moment, would the princess scold her like a child who¡¯d stripped itself for no reason? Or would the blonde beauty manage to see something in Amelia which she herself couldn¡¯t, take her by the arm, and guide her to the¡­ to the¡­


    Amelia didn¡¯t finish that last thought involving a bed. Instead, she chose to chase away any pervading indecency, by scrounging the townhouse (after getting dressed) for a book she took with her into her room¡¯s closet. Keeping its door cracked ajar just enough for a sliver of light to fall on her reading.


    It was no greenhouse. But the enclosed environment helped Amelia relax. As did the plate of cookies Grace had left her on the bed, which she snuck out to retrieve between the turning of chapters.


    Such was how an entire day passed in monotony. Until candles replaced sun, and Grace returned with a positive reply from Havoc expressing his regret of not being there when Amelia woke, and a promise of an explanation to follow when next they met.


    An unnecessary gesture. By then Amelia had come to terms with the idea there might soon be a room in the Strightsworth manor dedicated to Martel. What still remained outside of Amelia¡¯s understanding, was why Grace proceeded to then question her on whether she¡¯d gotten any exercise all day.


    ¡°No?¡± Amelia answered, and before she knew it, they were outside taking a walk that ended with them sitting under the turning shadows of a lighthouse, at the edge of a waterfront boardwalk. Watching the moon rise over the protective cliffs of the Ocean Bay.


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    ¡°Havoc actually did have a reason for not being around today,¡± Grace said after length, reaching over to place a comforting hand upon Amelia¡¯s thigh, ¡°He¡¯s not avoiding you. He¡¯s been stuck in a meeting with the king¡¯s chief of police. Apparently, word got out about your family¡¯s feud with the Rutherford¡¯s. The public doesn¡¯t know the details, but they¡¯re expecting a crowd.¡±


    Amelia, who idly splashed her bare feet on the water¡¯s surface below them, dared to lean over and rest her head against the princess¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m not upset with him,¡± she said, knowing her words could only sound like denial.


    Grace lightly tittered. The jostling of her body¡¯s vibrations caused Amelia to wonder how the two of them might look from an outsider¡¯s perspective.


    A lady and her hand-maiden? Good friends? Family? Perhaps more?


    ¡°Fine, maybe I am a bit selfish,¡± Amelia admitted, at odds with her beating heart which, appeared quite okay with the queer idea that a stranger might think them a couple. ¡°Maybe I had hoped to spend more time with my father now that things are going better between us¡­ And now, I¡¯ll have to share him with Martel.¡±


    Grace shifted closer, Amelia could swear the princess¡¯s lips were a hairs breath from her ear, ¡°Or¡­ You know¡­ it might just be a fling.¡±


    Amelia pulled away to look at Grace in embarrassed shock. ¡°My dad would never! I don¡¯t care what stories you¡¯ve heard about him, but I¡¯ve heard it from Heimdall, and my mother is the only woman he¡¯s been with!¡±


    Grace began laughing, to the point she needed to wipe away at a few perfect tears.


    ¡°You actually checked?¡±


    Amelia¡¯s lips pursed together, ¡°I was young. Couldn¡¯t even walk yet¡­ I overheard my grand-father trying to convince mom that dad was a no-good play-boy scoundrel who would eventually leave her, so I asked Heimdal to prove him wrong.¡±


    ¡°That is adorable,¡± Grace said, and she gave such a loving smile that for a moment, Amelia worried her racing heart might abruptly stop. And when the princess reached to unbutton the uppermost clasp of her blouse to better breathe in the warm nightly air, it skipped a few beats.


    ¡°Is there a stain on my dress?¡± Grace asked, startling Amelia who realised her discreet spying had been caught and misconstrued.


    ¡°N-No,¡± Amelia said, dipping both of her feet up to their ankles in the water to calm down. ¡°I¡­ I just got distracted.¡±


    The princess thoughtfully hummed. ¡°Then what¡¯s got you so frazzled?¡± she asked, ¡°I¡¯m here if you want to confide.¡±


    Her gentle question made it impossible for Amelia to deny it. At some point, she had started to like Grace a bit more than ¡®a little¡¯.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing important,¡± Amelia said, with a smile that felt barely cobbled together.


    ¡°You sure?¡± Grace asked, and she raised a hand as if about to further unbutton her collar.


    Luckily for Amelia¡¯s faint heart, Grace did not end up opening more of her dress. Instead, she pulled from her bra a pair of two tickets. ¡°Here,¡± she said, with an impish grin, ¡°I was going to tease you some more but I¡¯m already satisfied so I¡¯ll save it for later.¡±


    ¡°W-What are these?¡± Amelia asked, squashing the part of her which felt disappointed at having to wait.


    ¡°Colosseum tickets,¡± Grace said, ¡°Havoc strong-armed a noble for them after he read your request.¡±


    ¡°But the dates are all wrong,¡± Amelia said, finding the tickets were set for the day before their duel with the Marquess.


    Grace blew a raspberry. Clearly unimpressed by something. ¡°Your dad says he trusts you, but he still wants to see Stanton fight before bringing him on. Which, is kind of understandable. Why exactly did you decide on Stanton of all people? Is it because I called him cute?¡±


    With the only connection between herself and Stanton being The Historian¡¯s novel, Amelia couldn¡¯t come up with an answer. Agreeing that Stanton was ¡®cute¡¯, felt like the wrong move.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve got your reasons,¡± Grace continued, after Amelia¡¯s dumb tongue couldn¡¯t manage to come up with a lie on the fly, ¡°Hey¡­ Do you see that big building up there on the cliffs?¡±


    Amelia searched for what had caught the princess¡¯s attention, hoping to escape any more questions about Stanton.


    ¡°That one?¡± she asked, pointing to show she had spotted the quaint manor whose uppermost floors could be seen over the cliff¡¯s edge. ¡°It¡¯s pretty,¡± she said, imagining what the view might look like from the high-rise deck stretching over a drop.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard it belongs to the Marquess of Rutherford,¡± Grace said, rendering the building, in Amelia¡¯s eyes, suddenly much less appealing.


    ¡°O-Oh¡­ Well, I guess he must own a lot of property,¡± Amelia said, her mood soured.


    ¡°Right? But isn¡¯t it weird, how things might give off a good first impression, while on the inside, they could be hiding a horrible secret? It¡¯s why I¡¯m always wary when meeting someone for the first time, even if they are cute¡­ Amelia, I think you need to be more careful when meeting new people.¡±


    At first, what Grace was getting at flew completely over Amelia¡¯s head. But after considering how she hadn¡¯t told Grace about hiring Stanton, and the fact the princess, who still looked to the cliff¡¯s manor, appeared to be blushing ¡­


    Could the princess be jealous? Of who?


    Or was Grace trying to get her to be more cautious in approaching Stanton? Because Grace wanted him for herself? Or could it be because she was worried Amelia might herself fall for the man?


    ¡°S-So how about it?¡± Grace said, stammering in such a relatable way Amelia wanted to give her a kiss then and there, ¡°You might have to wait until we get home to spend time with your father, but in the meanwhile¡­ Why don¡¯t we treat Stanton¡¯s duel as a date and spend some time out and about¡­ together?¡±


    Amelia hid how high her cheeks were rising. Making it so neither of them were looking directly at the other.


    ¡°I think that would be swell,¡± she said, as a fish with a single, murky blind eye swam between their feet, pirouetting about in the waters like it were making a mockery of how they were acting.

 Chapter 27 — The Hound

    Amelia squirmed in her seat. Despite the well-padded benches of the colosseum¡¯s lower viewing levels, she couldn¡¯t help but feel bothered and fidget, what with how the two women on either side of her were talking in hushed tones like they were old chums.


    ¡°You worked as a waitress? I considered something along that line, but I just knew I¡¯d end up hurting the first person to grab me.¡±


    ¡°I know, right? That¡¯s why I used to split my tips with the owner¡¯s third son who tended the bar. If anyone ever got handsy, one word and he¡¯d kick them out without asking why.¡±


    ¡°Fabulous. And I suppose the money you gave him eventually ended back in your pocket?¡±


    ¡°Where else would it go?¡±


    They began laughing over her head. Amelia couldn¡¯t hold it in any longer.


    ¡°I¡¯m warning you now,¡± she said, while making sure her father had yet to return from wherever he¡¯d gone after arriving with his own ¡®date¡¯, ¡°I might be fine with you cozying up with my dad, but pregnancies resulting from dalliances with dragons are know to last an extremely long time.¡±


    Martel, on Amelia¡¯s right, and Grace, on her left, exchanged a look before squeezing in closer to begin mollycoddling Amelia in soft, soothing tones.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Grace said, fanning Amelia with her pamphlet to alleviate the warm summer heat. ¡°I half expected this might happen. I¡¯m sure Havoc didn¡¯t mean anything bad by arriving separately with Martel¡­ Odds are, whoever gave him the tickets gave him a handful. He probably figured he might as well use them.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Martel added, ¡°Men tend to hyperfocus. I¡¯m sure Havoc will want to do nothing but spend time with you once your family¡¯s affair with the Rutherford¡¯s is resolved.¡±


    ¡°Says the woman who bedded my father the first day they met,¡± Amelia mumbled, slightly perturbed by how easily Martel had guessed she held a desire to spend time with her father.


    Martel tried to hide her smile with her pamphlet, ¡°Dear, what happened with your father¡­ What you saw, it¡¯s not what you¡¯re thinking. And I would be willing to let you hit me to prove it.¡±


    Offended Martel would try to hoodwink her even now, Amelia took her up on the offer with a poke sent towards the older woman¡¯s stomach.


    Martel flexed.


    This hurt Amelia¡¯s finger.


    Maybe Martel suited her father more than expected, Amelia thought as she nursed her humiliated digit. Before the comfort of Grace¡¯s hand took hers and placed it into the folds of the princess¡¯s dress, which, felt exactly like a cold compress.


    ¡°I¡¯m not na?ve. I saw how undressed you were,¡± Amelia said with a shiver.


    ¡°That¡¯s okay. I know how it looks,¡± Martel replied, in the voice a mother might use to explain something obvious to a child, ¡°But the only reason I followed your father home is because I hurt my foot when stepping onto the coach after leaving the caf¨¦. Everything else was outside my control.¡±


    Slightly less sure of herself, Amelia listened to the small voice in her head offering a reminder that relying on memory alone was how misunderstandings usually started, ¡°I¡­ All I know is you left with him and I found you... doing stuff¡­¡± she said, before reluctantly giving Martel a chance to explain.


    ¡°Well, your father noticed my injury ¡ª though I can¡¯t really even call it that, it was more of a scrape than an ¡®injury¡¯, his words not mine ¡ª and despite my insistence I could walk it off, he told our chauffeur to bring us to your townhouse. Where he carried me into the kitchen like a princess.¡±


    The corner of Amelia¡¯s eyes twitched. She could only hope Martel would get to the point.


    ¡°Then he left, ordered the guards to give us some privacy, came back with his coat off, and¡ª goodness I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this out loud ¡ª he told me to strip.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± Amelia shouted, leaping from her seat in shock. Mortified to learn of her father¡¯s brazen crassness. Which seemed just unbelievable enough to make sense.


    She knew better than anyone how straight forward Havoc could be. If you built a wall blocking his favorite path, he would walk into it face first and come out the other side as if it didn¡¯t exist! The first time the man had met her mother, according to Ophelia¡¯s own words, he had burst into her carriage, complimented her in front of her ladies in waiting while covered in blood, and gone on to have a fist fight with the Duke of Winchester who had a mind to teach a rowdy youngster a lesson.


    Havoc might not be a playboy like her grandfather claimed, but he most certainly could still be a scoundrel!


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry, for leaping to conclusions,¡± Amelia said quietly, not knowing what else to do.


    Grace tugged on Amelia¡¯s dress, urging she sit. Before the nobles idling nearby could pick up on how there might be drama afoot and begin tilting their ears.


    ¡°You¡¯re just too cute,¡± Martel said, bringing in Amelia to murmur, as if sharing a secret, ¡°The look he gave me when popping the question was all business, I promise.¡±


    Martel showed off her foot, ¡°See? Completely fixed.¡±


    ¡°B-but he made you get naked,¡± Amelia said, upset, knowing her father could have easily healed Martel without needing to remove her clothes.


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    Grace leaned in to seed discord, ¡°Martel might not have started it, but that doesn¡¯t mean she didn¡¯t encourage it.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s eyes opened wide. Martel let go before the cat she was holding could realise it had been tricked and start scratching. There was a faint ¡®caught-in-the-act¡¯ blush on the older woman who found a sudden interest in reading her schedule.


    ¡°You can¡¯t put me alone in the same room with a specimen like the Baron of Strightsworth and expect me not to give him a go when I¡¯m told to undress.¡± Martel said, matter of fact.


    ¡°Then I was right all along!¡± Amelia shouted, dumbfounded by how easily Grace and Martel could run circles around her. They were practically bullying her with their teasing and all she could consider was how her policy of accepting things as fact first, rather than after asking questions¡­ Might not be the greatest thing ever?


    ¡°Look, for what it¡¯s worth I¡¯m sorry for scaring you,¡± Martel said, lowering her schedule to reveal a calm but penitent face. ¡°If it happens again, I¡¯ll make sure to properly lock the door first.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t scared, I was scarred,¡± Amelia grumbled. Choosing to ignore the second part of what Martel had said in fear of providing more return ammunition.


    It was then the roar of the crowd suddenly swelled all around them. As a gate in the arena began to grind open, allowing three silhouettes; two men and a woman, to step out into the open. A trio of gladiators who waved for a crowd that began cheering their names.


    Wearing armor to protect but their vitals, and with only a tower shield, a trident, and Stanton¡¯s sword between them, their status as slaves for the colosseum was marked by the heavy collars they wore. A brutish device in Amelia¡¯s opinion. Hardwired to blow should the wearer ever step beyond their play-pen. In the Historian¡¯s novel, Stanton had shed thankful tears when Grace removed his.


    Surprisingly, the Stanton of today appeared to revel in the cruel mechanism. Going so far as to drag his sword against his collar, sending a wave of sparks that followed his blade in an arc to drive the crowd wild. As if showing the world, he could care less it was there.


    ¡°Wait¡­¡± Amelia heard Grace ponder, against the volume around them, ¡°Why isn¡¯t Stanton wearing the fancy armor his sponsor gave him?¡±


    Amelia bit her tongue. Grace was right, and their pamphlets had promised Stanton a one-on-one fight.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a change in the programming?¡± Amelia answered, finding a reason to touch Grace¡¯s arm as she pointed out the glaring error in the princess¡¯s schedule. ¡°What do you think Martel?¡± she added, upon spotting how the older women appeared to have fallen into serious thought.


    Martel¡¯s face relaxed, as if not wanting to cause worry. ¡°I¡¯m just thinking about a few things I¡¯ve noticed. See how the largest number of guards are over there?¡± she said, pointing to a colosseum gate which stood out from the others due to how much larger it was. ¡°If I had to guess¡­ We might be starting things off with a venatio, instead of a brawl. How comfortable are you with seeing blood exactly?¡±


    The distant enraged howl of a beast punctuated Martel¡¯s words, leaving Amelia quite impressed, but also, worried. Since Grace had mentioned her father wanted to see Stanton fight before bringing him on.


    ¡°I should be fine,¡± Amelia said, as the gladiators, who once lived for the crowd, now readied themselves to face the largest of the colosseum¡¯s dark iron gates, which began violently shaking as something very heavy, and very angry bashed itself against it.


    A trumpet blared. The gate slowly dragged itself open, and the gladiators gripped the handles of their weapons as an immense paw stepped out from the void, announcing the arrival of a sleekly formed monster that seemed to drag the very darkness of the colosseum¡¯s underbelly behind it, like a shroud made from the darkest of ink.


    The creeping cloud of night surrounding the creature drifted to fill the arena as it plodded in a circle around its opponents. Wolf like in structure, its resemblance to any sort of canine stopped there. Its fur reminded Amelia of woven iron, while its eyes remained hidden; beneath a natural shielding of plated bone that grew most prominently round its face like a helmet, though there were portions of spine and leg that were clad just as well.


    Carefully, the monster studied its surroundings. Which collectively erupted in pitch as the crowd realised the colosseum had brought in an unexpected treat for their enjoyment.


    Amelia, watching the creature warily pull its pitch-black shroud around itself as if it detested the noise, wondered how on earth anyone would dare get close enough to unlock the beast. Since much like the gladiators, it too had a collar round its neck, chained in addition by a length of steel links that would go taught should the monster move too far from the gate.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen, or heard of such a creature,¡± Martel said, her voice filled with interest, ¡°Have you, Amelia?¡±


    ¡°Not from any book I¡¯ve ever read,¡± Amelia answered, finding that no, she didn¡¯t have a clue either.


    ¡°A hound. It¡¯s just a hound,¡± came a deep voice, which slowly made its way down the steps towards where Amelia, Grace, and Martel were seated.


    Wanting to greet her father, Amelia¡¯s jaw went slack upon seeing how positively silly he looked holding an enormous quantity of foodstuff. Stacked high enough to block his face from view, Martel graciously began to help Havoc unload his gift of fried chicken, skewered kabobs, and sandwiches before urging he sit next to her on the stairs.


    Receiving a paper bag of her own, filled to the brim with popcorn that had been drizzled in liquid caramel, Amelia finished forgiving her father for having been so easily seduced by Martel.


    ¡°What¡¯s that you were saying about a hound?¡± Grace asked, as she munched on a corn-dog.


    Amelia nodded when Havoc looked over. She too wanted to know what sort of creature this was.


    ¡°This hound,¡± Havoc said, while devouring a rotisserie chicken like it were an apple, ¡°Is a wretched thing hailing from the lands of our Westerly neighbors. After a chance encounter, I had it shipped to the capital for entertainment¡­ But I will spare no tears for its life. Not when it took me almost an hour to wrestle it to exhaustion without accidentally killing the thing.¡±


    ¡°And you sure it doesn¡¯t have an¡­ actual name?¡± Grace asked.


    Leaning back, Havoc relaxed himself upon the rock-hard cement stairs. ¡°Not sure it has one. Wouldn¡¯t surprise me if it doesn¡¯t. I think the thing is obsessed with never being seen. See how its fur bristles? It hates the fact it¡¯s been forced out in the open.¡± Havoc laughed, settling on a sadistic smile. ¡°Would you believe it mistook our encampment as a foreign delicacy?¡± he asked Martel, who hung onto his every word, ¡°The thing snuck into one of the tents. Nearly killed a good page before I managed to wrest its jaw loose¡­¡±


    Amelia swore her father¡¯s ears twitched an instant before the sound of trumpets picked up once more. ¡°It¡¯s starting,¡± Havoc said, licking his lips clean before he winked at his daughter, ¡°Let¡¯s see if your pick is any better than mine.¡±


    ¡°My pick against yours?¡± asked Amelia, wanting clarification.


    ¡°Our third.¡± Havoc answered. ¡°Mine¡­ Has already proven themselves¡­ But I¡¯m curious to see how yours will compare.¡±


    Having never considered her selection of Stanton a contest, Amelia felt a surge of excitement course through her to both learn her father had already found their third fighter, and at the idea of a competition by proxy.


    A pointless competition Amelia found herself wanting to win.


    ¡°Come on Stanton!¡± Amelia yelled, cupping her hands to better encourage the suitor from The Historian¡¯s Novel, who faced the ear-splitting roar the hound unleashed before the gate behind it fell shut with a crash. Severing the chains which had kept it from moving.

 Chapter 28 — The Last Suitor

    The Hound hurtled towards the three gladiators, unleashing the compressed darkness around it to create an encompassing cloud which billowed to shroud.


    Their weapons at the ready, the gladiators stood firm against the encroaching void. Although from how their heads turned to search, it was clear they knew not from where withing the crashing waves of dusk the monster would strike.


    Amelia could venture a guess. From how fast her father¡¯s eyes were now moving to follow the creature no-one else could hope track, and with his chin subtly shifting between the hunter and hunted, the Hound appeared to have chosen to focus its attention on a particular person.


    ¡°It¡¯s after you Stanton!¡± Amelia shouted, hoping her words would reach him before the Hound could, as it lunged from its hiding place with teeth bared for the man¡¯s neck.


    Perhaps thanks to instinct, or maybe because he had heard Amelia¡¯s warning, Stanton managed to duck beneath the snarling creature, which flew over him to land scrambling several meters away on the arena¡¯s coarse sand.


    . Turning about on all fours, the Hound sprung again, this time for Stanton¡¯s exposed back. Only to be greeted by the shield bearing gladiator in a thunderous clash of metal on anvil. Pushed back several steps, the gladiator avoided being toppled, despite how far his back bent beneath the Hound¡¯s crushing weight.


    ¡°I need help!¡± the gladiator yelled, as the Hound in its anger clawed hard against his shield. ¡°Hurry!¡± he added, shifting his stance to barely avoid the beast¡¯s maw that tried sneaking past his protection to gorge on his insides.


    Developing a crude strategy from a dangerous position, the man¡¯s gladiatorial ally quickly approached from the Hound¡¯s blind spot with her trident at the ready. One body to block, another to pierce, the two of them managed to make the beast howl as the three-pronged spear¡¯s tip glanced off the Hound¡¯s chest.


    Amelia¡¯s supportive cheer died, replaced with a gasp, when the Hound howled a shockwave, and began quickly interweaving its dark magic into the severed chain dragging behind it. Like a serpent springing to life, the linked metal moved to entangle, preventing the trident from being sunk any deeper, coiling further still to bind the gladiator¡¯s forward most arm against her own weapon.


    Unable to pull herself free, and with the chains drawing her towards the Hound¡¯s mouth, the woman shouted in turn for the shield-bearer to act.


    ¡°Don¡¯t hesitate love, cut me!¡± she ordered, and the man shoved hard with his shield to push the hound back for enough time to pull loose the large dagger strapped to his hip.


    Without hesitation, he cut his companion free at the forearm. A bloody stump the price paid to avoid the same end as the splintering trident which broke in half as the Hound¡¯s jaw snapped itself shut.


    The brief exchange, whipped the crowd into a frenzy. Amelia could hear some of them already beginning to chant Stanton¡¯s name, as if urging him to join in the fight. But even with one ally binding her pruned limb with a strip of cloth she tore free, and another warily keeping a bloodied dagger trained on the Hound while adjusting his shield, Stanton remained proud as a statue.


    Amelia scrambled to figure out why. Since Stanton most certainly was not the type of man to leave his fellow gladiators to fight for themselves. A notion she didn¡¯t want to consider came when her father clapped a hand on his thigh in impressed entertainment.


    ¡°Good, good!¡± Havoc shouted boisterously, ¡°A man should be able to stand by while his knights fight in his name! Nay, die in his name!¡±


    Had her father made an arrangement with Stanton?


    ¡°Come on, there we go!¡± Havoc said with a clenched fist, when the shield bearer dared intercept the beast twice. Only for his weapon to be broken by the Hound¡¯s writhing chains, leaving him open enough for a set of claws that raked past shield along flesh, stripping the gladiator of enough skin and muscle that in shock he collapsed, removed from the fight.


    Martel caught Havoc¡¯s hand with a napkin. ¡°This Hound you found,¡± she said to him while cleaning, her voice hushed, ¡°It almost seems¡­ intelligent?¡±


    ¡°Intelligent?¡± Havoc dumbly repeated, as the gladiator who had lost her arm, pulled out her own dagger and went after the Hound with an angry cry of her own.


    Already wounded, her footsteps unsteady, the chain the Hound kept in sporadic movement around it lashed out to clock the gladiator on the head before she could get in arms reach. Removing another to leave only one.


    ¡°I suppose in a sense, it is intelligent,¡± Havoc replied to Martel, carefully stroking his beard with a now de-buttered hand, ¡°Smart enough to twist doorknobs at least,¡± he explained, gesturing towards the Hound with his thumb, ¡°But in my opinion, there¡¯s a pretty glaring personality issue working against the thing, so it shouldn¡¯t matter.¡±


    Martel, along with Amelia re-assessed the Hound to try and make sense of Havoc¡¯s comment. They watched the creature walk back and forth between its felled prey and Stanton, before it stopped over the hand-less gladiator, lowered its head, and took a tentative sniff.


    Amelia noticed Stanton¡¯s crossed arms clench. She could only wonder why he was still choosing to restrain himself. The Hound too, must have sensed the man¡¯s reticence, for it let loose a heinous, repetitive noise and directed its chained tendrils of shadow to whip the downed woman alongside her back. Inflicting enough pain for her to regain consciousness and scream Stanton¡¯s name.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s laughing¡­¡± Amelia whispered, as the Hound with an uncanny intelligence gestured with its head towards Stanton¡¯s sword, then the ground, before finally, it whipped its chain once again, inches from the gladiator¡¯s screaming face. She couldn¡¯t tear her eyes away from sight of what was by all accounts, a monster negotiating a life for Stanton to lay down his weapon.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Havoc said unsurprised, ¡°They¡¯re cowards who always get cocky and can¡¯t actually learn. See how it threatens the boy? The stupid thing tried doing the same thing to me with my page.¡±


    Disappointed to learn the Hound¡¯s ¡®glaring personality issue¡¯ wasn¡¯t anything Stanton could use to his advantage, Amelia found herself caring more for the fact the colosseum guards still hadn¡¯t shown any signs of spiriting away the felled fighters.


    ¡°I knew this would happen,¡± Grace said, as she pulled Amelia¡¯s head away from its musings and urged it be placed instead against her body, ¡°You don¡¯t have to watch all the blood and gore if you don¡¯t want to you know.¡±


    The princess¡¯s words, surprisingly, did not ring true. Blood had never made Amelia queasy; heavens knew she had seen enough of it growing up. Usually, it was the reasoning behind the violence that managed to scare her. Taking advantage of the misunderstanding, Amelia buried herself against Grace, keeping a single eye cracked wide enough to watch Stanton stun the crowd by dropping his weapon, through the golden locks that tickled her face,


    The hound, cackling, abandoned the gladiators it had laid low to move in for the kill. Stanton raised both of his arms, side-stepping the creature¡¯s lunge to bury a fist against the side of its head. His footwork well trained, his gait fluid yet steady, Amelia watched in awe as the suitor from the Historian¡¯s novel began chipping away at the Hound. Beginning a dance of death with the creature that seemed to only move faster the angrier it got from being denied a quick meal, again and again.


    Amelia mustered the strength of her lungs to cheer Stanton on, though she couldn¡¯t quite match the noise of the crowd as Stanton kept pace with the Hound and successfully bludgeoned the beast¡¯s jaw with his knee, sending it reeling.


    ¡°Come on¡­¡± Grace said, adding her own words to the surrounding banter, ¡°I bet half of my earnings on you pretty boy, don¡¯t let me down now!¡±


    Apparently, their kingdom¡¯s princess had absolutely no problem enjoying the blood-sport. Unlike Amelia, who began feeling nauseous when Stanton¡¯s twisting and dodging of the spiraling chain the Hound fired at him to impale, began showing signs of falloff.


    For every close shave the man managed, and with every kick or punch given, Stanton began slowing down as minute injuries mounted. Until his energy dwindled to the point he failed to avoid an attack the Hound drilled through the sand, and was struck on his chest.


    Amelia shrieked as Stanton fell on his back. Then, she whimpered with worry when Stanton twisted to roll and barely avoided the Hound¡¯s spear of a chain which impaled where he¡¯d been. But upon seeing the Hound¡¯s form shiver and blur, Amelia could only mutely stare as the beast sunk into its own shadow, leaving behind its collar on the sand to travel along the swelling shade cast by its chain and re-emerge before Stanton.


    ¡°Huh, didn¡¯t know it could do that,¡± Havoc commented, as the Hound bit down on Stanton¡¯s shoulder, sending a fountain of blood spurting high.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t the guards stopping the fight?¡± Amelia asked Grace, no longer willing to let her doubts remain doubts. ¡°S-Stanton and his friends might actually die!¡± she added, tugging on Grace¡¯s sleeve for reassurance when the princess didn¡¯t reply.


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    ¡°I mean¡­¡± Havoc said, ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be a proper test if there weren¡¯t any stakes.¡±


    Astonished by what her father was implying, Amelia tried to stand up.


    ¡°Why are you always trying to run somewhere?¡± Grace asked, as she locked her arms around Amelia¡¯s waist, keeping her seated, ¡°I don¡¯t care how much you like him Amelia, if he¡¯s going to represent you against the Marquess, your dad¡¯s right¡­ he¡¯s got to be strong.¡±


    Shocked to learn Grace apparently also knew Stanton¡¯s fight had been changed to a death match, Amelia didn¡¯t know what to say. Nor how to feel, since she firmly believed a different method by which to test Stanton ought to exist.


    ¡°B-But I don¡¯t want them to die¡­¡± Amelia said, only for the princess to tilt her head in confusion, when the crowd who had been holding their breath roared with approval, drowning out her complaint.


    With tears in her eyes, Amelia returned her focus to where Stanton remained standing. Elated to find the man had accepted the Hound¡¯s embrace in a strangling hug, showcasing at the same time how the monster had bitten down not purely on flesh but also the slave collar around Stanton¡¯s neck. Unable to fully open its mouth, Stanton¡¯s choice to engage the creature in a close-contact contest of strength, left the Hound with little room to try biting elsewhere.


    ¡°Decent choice,¡± Havoc said, as man and beast wrestled for control, ¡°But the kid doesn¡¯t have the endurance for that sort of tactic.¡±


    Hearing her father confirm Stanton¡¯s position remained dire, the only thing keeping Amelia from fainting ended up being a cool flask Martel raised to her lips.


    ¡°Come on dear, drink some water,¡± Martel said, while looking sternly at Havoc, ¡°Really? Your daughter asks for the gladiator she admires to help your family in a duel, has made it clear she doesn¡¯t want him badly hurt, and you¡¯re still going to judge the boy by your standards? Even now?¡±


    Havoc looked away from Martel to the arena¡¯s sand, ¡°I already sort-of tested him earlier,¡± he admitted, sounding aggrieved, ¡°The boy is decent enough, this is meant to help him show off.¡±


    Amelia couldn¡¯t help it. She wanted to have faith in Stanton, but the stress was getting to her.


    ¡°S-Stanton might not be as strong as you daddy, but he¡¯s better than most! Please, can¡¯t you stop the fight?¡±


    Havoc uncomfortably shifted in his seat. ¡°Do you think I messed up?¡± he asked Martel, who tenderly reached to stroke the man¡¯s face.


    ¡°If your daughter thinks he¡¯s the one¡­ Maybe it wouldn¡¯t hurt to trust her? Didn¡¯t you say you¡¯ve already got a decent third fighter lined up?¡±


    Havoc shut his mouth. He pushed himself up and began searching the transfixed crowd of nearby nobles whose attention remained on Stanton; currently returning the Hound¡¯s treatment of his body by biting down on the monster¡¯s own neck in barbaric fashion, drawing blood for blood as the Hound snarled and clawed where it could.


    Placing an assertive hand atop the shoulder of a noble wearing an ornamental sword on his person, Havoc spoke to the man in a curt, commanding fashion.


    ¡°Give me your sword.¡±


    ¡°Pardon?¡± asked the noble, whose discontent frown turned upside down upon realising who had made the request. Clumsily, he fumbled to pull free the sword from its sheath. Presenting it with both hands to Havoc who accepted the gift.


    ¡°Of poor quality, but well maintained¡­¡± Havoc spoke. ¡°I¡¯ll find you a better one.¡±


    ¡°D-Don¡¯t even mention it,¡± said the noble, wonderstruck by Havoc who raised his pointer finger, and began tracing a pattern into the sword¡¯s metal using his nail.


    ¡°Burn.¡± Havoc said, in a language Amelia could not make heads or tail of, causing the sword to burst into flame in such a way its material might be mistaken for wood. ¡°Now,¡± he added, facing his daughter, ¡°The decision is yours.¡±


    Placed on the spot. Amelia panicked and decided to believe in Stanton who lacked but one thing to help even his fight with the Hound.


    ¡°Throw it!¡± she shouted.


    ¡°Catch, boy!¡± Havoc yelled, his voice echoing outwards like the boom of a cannon. Loud enough to catch the attention of those who grappled with each other on the iron rich sand.


    ¡°Wait! Throw it lightly!¡± Amelia added, but she was too late in correcting her phrasing. The sword Havoc had thrown had already taken on the appearance of a flaming buzz-saw as it flew.


    In a daze, Stanton turned towards the approaching light. The Hound, sensing a far greater danger than the man it was trying to kill, whimpered, tore free its mouth, and fled with its tail tucked beneath its legs. Amelia could already see it. The boy with dreams of becoming a hero, bisected by her father who never thought too hard before acting.


    But the impossible happened. When Stanton, with an outstretched arm caught the blade by its handle and raised its tip skyward as if he had been chosen by heaven. With the way the crowd cheered, you would have thought so at least. But Amelia knew their enthusiasm stemmed primarily from the fact her father had bothered to show interest in someone. Fail and be eaten. Succeed, and Stanton¡¯s future now looked as bright as the sword he briefly admired, before its reflective length was turned on the Hound.


    Gnashing its teeth while growing its shadows, the Hound made sure to let Stanton know its life would not be so easily taken as it regained control of its chain and pulled, until the metal burst apart into several lengths of wrapped shadow it shot towards Stanton. Like slithering vipers who found their fangs purified by the fiery sword the man wielded to sever both metal and night. Piece by piece, ring by ring until the hound fell to one knee as it grew too tired to maintain control of so many pieces.


    Stunned by how smoothly his weapon could cut, Stanton let free his voice in an emboldened cry before taking the fight to the Hound, who compressed its turbulent clouds in reply, growing for itself an armor to shield its already impressive body. Stomping its front paws, the Hound howled and answered his charge with its own. Beelining for Stanton in a final attempt to curtail the man¡¯s life.


    Raising his sword with both hands as they met at the middle of the colosseum¡¯s arena, Stanton swung as they clashed and cleaved to earth the Hound¡¯s severed head, putting an end to its cries.


    ¡°Knew it would be fine,¡± Havoc mumbled, and Amelia sank into her seat in relief, timidly clapping along with the rest of the crowd, as the colosseum¡¯s guards began swarming the field to begin treating the injured.


    She sat dazed, watching flowers be thrown out onto the field. While the idle conversation of her father and Martel entered into her ear as they began chatting away.


    ¡°Well, that was a mess. I¡¯m assuming you let slip in front of the gladiators something to the effect of taking them on as knights if they managed to impress you?¡±


    ¡°You noticed?¡±


    ¡°Of course I noticed.¡± Martel replied, with sass, ¡°Why else would the boy not participate from the start? In trying to secure a future for his friends, he nearly got them all killed. In my opinion, if your plan was to let him show off then you should have paired him with someone capable of drawing out talent without needing the use of their fangs.¡±


    ¡°Are you volunteering?¡± Havoc asked, playfully growling, ¡°Because I only found one Hound in my travels. But I suppose you¡¯re well trained enough if that¡¯s how you think it should be¡­¡±


    His question, made Amelia wonder how on earth her father could possibly know Martel dabbled in combat¡­ Until she remembered her father was super-human. And had seen Martel without clothes.


    Martel seemed to have realised this too, since she pushed Havoc back with one hand while hiding her blush with the other. ¡°In a duel? Out in the open?¡± she asked, downplaying the question as if it were silly, ¡°You¡¯re talking nonsense. Our¡­ Our fields of work are completely incompatible. Maybe on a busy street¡­ Or in a forest¡­¡±


    ¡°What are they on about?¡± Grace asked Amelia, as they watched Havoc tease Martel further by asking the woman how exactly she would go about preparing for such a fight.


    ¡°I think they¡¯re flirting,¡± Amelia answered, glad Grace appeared as pleased as Stanton, who relished in the audience¡¯s noise as he took a victory walk to the side of the colosseum where the nobles were seated. Where servants were waiting to decorate the man with an embellished victory cape, and a bouquet to hold.


    ¡°Shush it you two,¡± Martel said, turning away from Havoc to look back at the arena, where her eyes lit up in excitement, ¡°Oh my,¡± she said, patting Amelia¡¯s knee, ¡°I think he¡¯s dedicating his win to you.¡±


    Amelia could only stiffly smile as Stanton held up his flaming sword in their direction. He was covered in blood and had a huge grin on his face, but all Amelia could notice was Grace, who covered the front of her face with a fan as she returned Stanton¡¯s gaze.


    Maybe fate really did exist. The idea made Amelia jealous. She couldn¡¯t help herself from pointlessly wondering what life might be like if she had managed to meet the princess before The Historian had written their novel. Left with only one option, Amelia stood alongside Grace and respectfully waved towards Stanton alongside the princess, until the gladiator bowed low and departed for a well-deserved rest.


    ¡°That¡¯s half-time,¡± Grace said, when bikini clad women holding up advertisements began strutting about the arena, ¡°Did you want me to get you anything while I turn in my bets?¡±


    Knowing their time spent together in the future would lessen once Grace wedded Stanton, Amelia shook her head no. ¡°I¡¯ll come with you,¡± she said, ¡°Let me just tell my dad.¡±


    She found her father, who had left his seat at some point, with Martel at the top of the stairs. In the middle of talking with a knight who bore the king¡¯s mark.


    ¡°What did he want?¡± Amelia asked Havoc, finding it strange the knight wouldn¡¯t have arrived with a retinue of his peers.


    ¡°The king sends for me,¡± Havoc answered, directing his next question to Martel, ¡°Something urgent, apparently. Did you want to stay? I can bring you along if you want.¡±


    Astonished he would ask such a thing, Martel quickly refused. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t do for me to draw attention to myself. I¡¯ll stay with the girls. Why don¡¯t we meet again later?¡±


    Scratching his chin, Havoc turned thoughtful, ¡°Alright¡­ But it¡¯s too bad. I¡¯ll have to think of a different way to help reclaim your family¡¯s standing. I¡¯d thought we could¡¯ve brought it up with the King as a favor for him wasting my time.¡±


    Then Havoc left. Just like that. After admitting he knew Martel¡¯s background. And after having made it clear he could care less that her family had in the past been falsely accused of treason.


    ¡°A-Amelia,¡± Martel said, acting more timidly than Amelia had ever seen or read about, ¡°I¡­ I¡¯ve been sort of just messing around, but¡­ Umm¡­ You wouldn¡¯t mind if I seriously pursued your father, would you?¡±


    Amelia took in the older woman who looked on the verge of tears. Knowing Martel¡¯s life story, she could only feel pity. Even she hadn¡¯t offered to help reinstate Martel¡¯s family name for it would mean the king going back on his word. And yet her father had brought it up as if he were deciding whether to have his steak raw or cooked blue.


    ¡°As long as it doesn¡¯t interfere with my lessons, I don¡¯t care what you do,¡± Amelia said in jest, hooking her arm around Martel¡¯s to lead the woman to where Grace waited; leaning against a pillar.


    Together, they made idle chatter. All the way to the lower levels of the colosseum where Grace hurried away to line up to exchange her betting tickets for hard cash.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± whispered Martel, surprising Amelia since she hadn¡¯t been expecting thanks, ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll make sure to teach you everything I know until you¡¯re the centre of attention at every ball you attend. I promise.¡±


    ¡°With a dad nicknamed ¡®The Dragon¡¯, that might be too much attention,¡± said Amelia, before her somewhat fanciful mood crumbled to dust upon seeing in the distance amidst the crowd, a particular person, disguised as a pauper with another beside him.


    ¡°Wait here for Grace,¡± Amelia said, hoping Martel wouldn¡¯t notice the urgency in her speech, ¡°I¡¯m going to buy food then come back,¡± she added, unable to deny her need to know why the Marquess of Rutherford would be wandering the colosseum before the date of their duel.


    ¡°Alone?¡± asked Martel, her voice filled with worry. ¡°I don¡¯t feel comfortable leaving you to yourself in such a busy public space.¡±


    ¡°Please, you know I have a plan for danger,¡± Amelia lied. Since she hadn¡¯t actually brought the dragon tooth her father had gifted her in case an emergency happened. A silly mistake, however considering she hadn¡¯t thought they would wind up separating for more than a few minutes, it couldn¡¯t be helped.


    ¡°Just bring Grace back to our seats, by the time you two arrive, I¡¯ll be waiting there for you!¡±

 Chapter 29 — Misunderstandings

    Even amongst the virtual tide of humanity filling the Coliseum, Amelia managed to discreetly stalk the disguised Marquess of Rutherford and his friend, who could only be the Alchemist Richter. The only suitor from The Historian¡¯s novel Amelia had yet to receive the pleasure of meeting.,


    Dressed like a doctor, despite being prone to relying on untested concoctions and ill-begotten knowledge, the mere sight of the man who had in her readings kidnapped the princess had the little voice in Amelia¡¯s mind urging her to leave the disguised pair to their business and return to the safety of her seat.


    Amelia¡¯s heart, surging with opportunity, argued back that what Richter had done was in the past-future. She had already succeeded in recruiting Martel; wasn¡¯t there an equal chance she could convince Richter to abandon the Marquess?


    What more, hadn¡¯t Grace not given the man a second chance in The Historian¡¯s Novel? It seemed proper to follow the princess¡¯s lead, especially when Amelia took into account how often Grace tended to be right.


    The idea creeped deeper into her thoughts as she continued following the men from a distance. After all, Grace could probably be convinced to donate a vial or two of blood in the name of science, and she didn¡¯t think Richter would ever turn down such a good offer. Not when he had gone to great lengths to obtain it the first time around.


    Thus, with the little voice presumably bested, Amelia tailed the men into one of the many cramped Coliseum restaurants, where they entered a smoking room at the very back of the business. The perfect location for those wishing for private conversation.


    Entering the room next to theirs, Amelia made a quick promise with herself that she would only attempt to run interference if the Marquess left ahead of Richter, before she pressed her ear to the wall placed between them and began to eavesdrop. When again, the little voice returned to warn her. Bearing a message that some things in life were just not worth the effort.


    The warning fell on deaf ears. Amelia closed her eyes to better hear the dull, spoken words coming from the other side of the wall.


    ¡°¡­They only need one decent fighter for the duel,¡± The Marquess of Rutherford said, ¡°While we, we need three. If things don¡¯t go as planned¡­ I need a way to convince the Caneo prince of my value despite my idiot son costing us favor.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ I can see how getting one of the prince¡¯s men mauled by the Baron would put you in a bad light.¡±


    ¡°Tempting the leviathan into meeting Havoc with no plan was an idiotic decision. I¡¯ve half a mind to put him in a cell to cool down until we¡¯re ready to leave¡­ Which is why I¡¯ll be needing your notes concerning ¡®the project¡¯. Not all of them of course, only enough to tempt the prince into placing his best card on the table.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t mean¡­¡±


    ¡°To hunt a Dragon, one must use a monster of equal proportion. The Leviathan should suit our purposes well. The man¡¯s confidence knows no bounds, he will not deny a duel with the Baron if the prince asks it of him.¡±


    Richter laughed, ¡°How could my notes that show testing has yet to even begin, be enough to sway the prince of a country? My elixir theory is sound, but it still remains unproven¡­ And you know exactly why that is.¡±


    ¡°Give him only enough to come to conclusions,¡± the Marquess said, with a dark chuckle that sent a foreboding chill down Amelia¡¯s neck, ¡°You¡¯re a smart man, aren¡¯t you? Once we¡¯ve secured your test subject, the rest will fall into place.¡±


    ¡°No pressure,¡± Richter said quietly, as the padding of feet marked a strange grinding noise that echoed twice before the room fell into silence. Leaving Amelia to guess what the Marquess might have meant.


    She already had an inkling the Leviathan would eventually turn into a problem. But while the Leviathan might have been too much for her grand-father and his knights, Amelia remained confident in the fact that dragons ate fish¡­ Though it wouldn¡¯t do any harm to warn her father, just in case.


    Maybe after she visited Stanton to secure his blade for the duel? Hearing nothing else from the other room, Amelia gave up on meeting Richter and prepared to leave. Only to discover Richter was of the same mind, when they both opened their smoking-room door at the same time.


    Unprepared for detection, Amelia tensed. Thought her anxiety turned to confusion upon seeing that the room behind the Alchemist was decidedly empty.


    Had the Marquess already left? Having not noticed, Amelia¡¯s confidence wavered. Her only saving grace came in knowing Richter shouldn¡¯t know who she was, since they had never met. Her back to a wall, it seemed the only direction remaining was forwards.


    ¡°H-Hello? Are you Richter, the doctor?¡± Amelia asked. Trying not to flinch under the Alchemist¡¯s scrutinizing gaze, which drifted from her to the rest of the restaurant.


    ¡°I suppose you heard from someone I would be here,¡± Richter said slowly, giving Amelia plenty of time to interrupt or deny. ¡°I¡¯m guessing you want something kept under wraps? It¡¯s not a pregnancy you want gone, is it? Because I didn¡¯t think to pack any medicine for that on my way out of the house this morning.¡±


    ¡°Heaven¡¯s no, not that. Not me. It¡¯s more of a¡­ general issue I want to keep hidden?¡± Amelia said, deciding to play along with Richter¡¯s misunderstanding that she was some noble girl who needed medical assistance, away from the prying eyes of her parents.


    Richter adjusted his glasses. ¡°Apologies. Then, no doubt you want answers about why your skin is so pale. Your family¡¯s doctor probably told you to get more sunlight and fresh air, but you disagree and want a second opinion, is that it? Well¡­ come in, I suppose. I¡¯ve got enough time to spare for a checkup.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good to me,¡± Amelia said, and she followed Richter into the other smoking room, unable to stop herself from glancing down at her arms as she did.


    How lamentable, that even after years of relaxing in her mother¡¯s garden, she had never managed to tan herself a shade darker than pale. Though the truth didn¡¯t stop Amelia from thinking Richter¡¯s bedside manners were horrible. What kind of doctor assumed a patient¡¯s condition without first asking questions? No wonder he¡¯d never been able to get himself licensed.


    ¡°Please, sit,¡± Richter said, gesturing to a chair Amelia took since she remained unsure of how to go about announcing her true intentions.


    Mulling the problem over, she watched Richter retrieve a stethoscope from his bag, which he wore, and a clipboard for jotting down notes.


    ¡°Name?¡± Richter asked.


    ¡°Amelia Strightsworth.¡± Amelia answered, knowing if she were to convince him, then eventually she would have to give him her name.


    The scratching of Richter¡¯s pen temporarily paused as he looked up in contemplation. ¡°The Viscountess of Strightsworth? Daughter of the infamous, once Baron of Strightsworth?¡± he asked.


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    ¡°The one and only,¡± Amelia said, ready to proudly laud her new title if it meant increasing her odds of converting the fellow. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you.¡±


    ¡°Likewise. Now, let¡¯s start with your pulse,¡± Richter said, before he started to work. Commencing his examination of Amelia¡¯s heart-rate first from the front, before doing the same with her back. His time spent listening to the beat only broken off for the occasional request that Amelia loudly cough.


    The medical instrument felt cold, even against her clothes. Amelia felt time slowly drag as she continued to fail in coming up with a way to bring up what needed saying.


    ¡°You¡¯ve a sound heart at least,¡± Richter observed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been putting it through a lot of exercise lately,¡± Amelia said, deciding to wait until the end of their exam to give Richter an offer, ¡°Maybe it¡¯s gotten stronger because of that?¡±


    ¡°Doubtful,¡± Richter said as he put on a pair of gloves, ¡°Now, if you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯d like to continue.¡±


    Amelia nodded, allowing Richter to begin feeling her lymph nodes, but mentally she grumbled and docked the good doctor more points on her internal bedside manner review. Only choosing not to give him a failing grade because of how little he talked between asking her to lift an arm here, and resist a pull there.


    ¡°Relatively weak,¡± Richter mused upon finishing a quick mouth inspection for dental decay. He wrote down what Amelia found to be a concerning number of details, ¡°Tell me, has your body always been in such a poor state?¡±


    ¡°More or less?¡± Amelia answered, a bit upset from the assessment.


    Richter breathed out of his nose in irritation, ¡°Whoever your family doctor is, he¡¯s a quack. When did he last do an internal diagnosis,¡± he asked, while rummaging in his large duffel doctor¡¯s bag, ¡°Testing, bloodwork, anything like that?¡±


    ¡°I had my blood drawn once, when I was little.¡± Amelia answered nervously, when Richter pulled out a syringe.


    The sight of it motivated her enough to get to the real matter at hand.


    ¡°There¡¯s actually another reason other than my health for why I sought you out,¡± Amelia said, holding up her hand to express the fact she didn¡¯t want the needle anywhere near her. ¡°You might think less of me for having done so under a false pretense, but I have a good reason.¡±


    Richter frowned, though he lowered his syringe. ¡°Then, what are you here for?¡± he asked, ¡°I¡¯m a rather busy man. Unless your request has to do with your health, I would prefer my time not be wasted.¡±


    Amelia chose to strike at the heart of the issue. ¡°The Marquess of Rutherford will betray you in the future,¡± she said, revealing what she knew from the Historian¡¯s novel. ¡°If things continue, he¡¯s going to work you to the bone, and abandon you the moment he gets what he wants.¡±


    A nervous pause fell between them as Richter considered her words.


    ¡°And what exactly do you think the Marquess wants from me?¡± Richter asked, moving closer as if doing so might let him read Amelia¡¯s thoughts.


    His change in attitude unnerved her. Richter¡¯s eyes seemed to almost glimmer with excitement.


    ¡°You hope to synthesise an elixir, using blood blessed by God,¡± Amelia said, deciding it was too late to hold anything back.


    Clapping his hands in delight, Richter¡¯s face curved with a joy that made Amelia suddenly feel more like a test subject to be studied than a patient. ¡°Marvelous,¡± Richter said, ¡°Though I don¡¯t see why an insignificant life such as my own would attract your attention. Sure, the Marquess might betray me, but what choice do I have? Without his capital, I am nothing but a dreamer¡­ Or, are you hinting there¡¯s another path I could take?¡±


    His words gave Amelia courage. For in her hands was an offer which would surely convince him.


    ¡°I¡¯m willing to trade,¡± Amelia said, feeling guilty for signing Grace up without having first informed her, ¡°In exchange for the blood you need for your experiments, I want you to eschew the Marquess of Rutherford, and come work under my family¡¯s name.¡±


    Richter closed his eyes. He sat down on the edge of a desk. Idly tapping a finger against himself with both arms crossed in deep contemplation. Amelia waited. She waited, with such concentrated anticipation, that the noise of the door opening behind her went completely unnoticed.


    ¡°It¡¯s certainly an appealing offer,¡± Richter said, opening his eyes to meet Amelia¡¯s own, ¡°In fact, I think I¡¯m convinced. I think¡ª¡± He paused, and Richter¡¯s gaze rose a bit higher to somewhere beyond her, before he promptly shouted, ¡°Stop! We were making a deal!¡±


    A shadow fell over Amelia. She attempted to look for its source, only to spot in the corner of her vision the blurred movement of an object fast approaching her face. Unable to react, the blunt force made a dull, unpleasant noise as it struck her on the temple.


    Amelia dropped like a rock. Barely cognisant of the brick with a reddened chipped edge that fell next to her on the floor, or the warm sticky trickle beginning to drip down the side of her head, tinting her vision of the man who had hit her.


    Gregory Rutherford dragged a hand through his messy hair as he looked down on Amelia. His features were twisted in deep satisfaction. ¡°To think I¡¯d find you here,¡± he gloated, kicking Amelia¡¯s leg to elicit a pained moan, ¡°I knew you were stupid, but this is just sad. Better to put you out of your misery I say.¡±


    He made to reach for her face. When all of a sudden, Richter stepped forwards to shove Gregory back, hard. ¡°Get off her,¡± he growled, having placed himself between the Marquess¡¯s son, and Amelia, who struggled unsuccessfully to move anything lower than her neck.


    Something had broken. Of that she was certain. But the fact Richter was preventing Gregory from hurting her further allowed for some hope. That is, until Richter knelt down beside her, and continued talking.


    ¡°What were you thinking?¡± Richter said, sounding more irritated than irate, as he palpated the wound on Amelia¡¯s head, ¡°She¡¯s no use to us dead! Why are you even here Gregory? Your father told you to stay low for a reason!¡±


    Gregory scoffed, ¡°Worried I¡¯ll be taking the credit? We were going to take her anyway, why are you getting so upset now?¡±


    ¡°Because we were set to secure her on the day of the duel! Not today, you blithering fool! Just because your dad has trusted you with a few papers in the past, it doesn¡¯t mean you can stick your nose into everything else!¡±


    Returning to his bag, Richter pulled out a bottle. He unscrewed it, and began pouring its liquid onto Amelia¡¯s face. Where it seeped into her skin, and began numbing the pain.


    ¡°Don¡¯t kid me,¡± Gregory said to Richter, though his voice now contained a hint of hesitation, ¡°My men told me the Baron of Strightsworth has gone off to meet with the king. Isn¡¯t it you, who isn¡¯t following my father¡¯s plan?¡±


    Richter threw the emptied glass bottle. It shattered at Gregory¡¯s feet.


    ¡°We were testing whether Havoc would answer the king¡¯s summons!¡± he said, the veins on his neck prominently displayed as he berated the other, ¡°An arranged matter today, a false story tomorrow! How can we make it look like they¡¯ve absconded the duel, if she goes missing now? How long do you think we can even keep her hidden for?!¡±


    Their talk made Amelia wish she were dreaming. It didn¡¯t seem as if Richter was acting in her defense at all. Wasn¡¯t his greatest dream to create an elixir? Did he believe it was only a matter of time before the Marquess got his hands on the princess regardless of what she could offer?


    She couldn¡¯t even manage a proper ¡®Why?¡¯ as her body sunk deeper in numbness.


    ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s just the way it is,¡± Richter remarked, while he began rolling up Amelia¡¯s sleeve, ¡°But don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll make sure you¡¯ll be comfortably sedated in the future when running tests. I swear to you now that your contribution to science will be as painless as it is crucial.¡± Taking hold once more of his syringe, Richter snapped at Gregory, ¡°Well? Open the passage! If you¡¯re going to ruin the plan, then it¡¯s not going to be me who brings her to your father.¡±


    Amelia watched Gregory drag his feet towards the smoking room¡¯s fireplace. Where he stomped several times on the ashes in specific locations to click something below into place.


    A portion of wall ground open, revealing a passageway leading deep into the earth.


    Staring down the entrance to hell, Amelia felt a prick on her arm.


    ¡°Finally, I have it.¡± Richter said, reverently staring at the blood he had stolen, ¡°Amelia Strightsworth, I¡¯ll make sure your name will be included as a contributor once I make history¡­ Having historians revere you is the least I can do.¡±


    The talk of historians garnished Amelia¡¯s thoughts with an awful conjecture.


    ¡°Me? M-My blood??¡± she managed to gurgle. Until now, the discrepancies in the Historian¡¯s novel could have been attributed to misconceptions, or bias. But for Richter to take her blood, instead of Grace¡¯s¡­


    ¡°Who else would I take from?¡± Richter answered, confirming her fears that the Historian had blatantly lied. ¡°It isn¡¯t someone else¡¯s blood that¡¯s been blessed by god, it¡¯s yours,¡± he joked, with a smile that showed how quaint he found the idea.


    ¡°N-No, it isn¡¯t,¡± Amelia said, imploring the alchemist for mercy, as Gregory picked her up and slung her over his back, ¡°I¡¯m weak. I¡¯m not special. You¡¯re m-making a m-m-mistake.¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± Gregory said, and he slapped her on the back loud enough for it to echo about in the room, ¡°Even I know the king favors Havoc because of his blood.¡±


    Rendered speechless, Amelia helplessly found herself searching for help as Gregory began carrying her towards the hidden passageway¡¯s stairs. But for once, that small voice in her head, which so often tended to give little prompts of advice, was nowhere to be found.


    As if it couldn¡¯t bear to watch any longer.

 Chapter 30 — Misery

    At first, Amelia thought the secret passageway belonged to the hypogeum: The under belly of the Coliseum. Where workers would travel along twisting, vein-like tunnels to keep the amphitheatre¡¯s lifeblood of food, supplies, and everything else pumping along. Yet as they advanced through the dimly lit, moss-covered underground path it became obvious Gregory Rutherford was carrying her along a far older and much deeper section of the Coliseum.


    But with her body slung over Gregory¡¯s shoulder, all Amelia could manage was a memorization of the increasingly daunting return to the surface.


    Eventually, they came to a door. Guarded by a trio of men who exchanged surprised looks with each other before letting Gregory through, into the cavern in which flowed a narrow aqueduct just large enough for a ferry to float. Gregory placed Amelia down to meet those standing around the ferry. And soon the noises of a father and son arguing sprung over the distance.


    Amelia sat alone in her thoughts. Too scared to try making a run for it despite enough time having passed for sensation to have returned to her body. Not when there were at least five other men loading the ferry with crates, while an unknown woman dressed as a Coliseum vendor, idled nearby like she was keeping watch.


    Amelia found her options to be few. Her only plausible recourse appeared to be in striking a deal with the Marquess or his son. Whose argument had begun increasing in volume as they made their way towards Amelia. With Gregory now escorted ahead of his father by two of the ferry boat workers.


    ¡°How was I supposed to know it wasn¡¯t today!¡± Gregory shouted, resisting the men who made sure he kept walking.


    ¡°By not being an idiot,¡± said the Marquess.


    Amelia flinched as the noise of a crisp slap resounded.


    ¡°Get him out of here,¡± The Marquess of Rutherford ordered, holding his right arm while gingerly rolling his wrist.


    The men slammed the entrance door to the cavern behind them as they left. Keeping deathly still, Amelia held her breath in the nerve-racking silence, wanting nothing more than to become lost and forgotten. Since it may very well be her turn on the chopping board next. A fear, which proved real when with another command the Marquess demanded a knife be brought to him as one of his men forced Amelia onto her feet and grabbed her head by her hair.


    Her eyes tightly shut, Amelia offered a wordless prayer and waited. Until the grip holding her head slackened when the Marquess cut free a lock.


    ¡°Amelia Strightsworth¡­ Do you know of the future?¡± The Marquess of Rutherford asked.


    Terrified by her own imagination, Amelia shook her head no.


    The Marquess slowly traced a line from her temple to her jaw with his knife. ¡°Of course, you wouldn¡¯t,¡± he said, with a pleased snicker, ¡°No matter what lies your father might spin, no man may know of God¡¯s will. It¡¯s elementary, don¡¯t you agree?¡±


    Amelia nodded. Despite not understanding at all.


    ¡°Then, I¡¯m glad,¡± The Marquess said, like a child whose understanding of life had been confirmed beyond doubt, ¡°I¡¯m glad you are aware that knowing of future events is a privilege reserved only for the divine and their blessed. Of which, your family is not.¡±


    The Marquess looked over his shoulder, ¡°Prepare the ferry, I¡¯m leaving!¡± he shouted, before returning his attention to Amelia who wished he would not.


    ¡°This was meant to be a rehearsal,¡± The Marquess explained regrettably, while gesturing around himself at the cavern, ¡°Today, an arranged Kingly summons to ensure a guard dog still knows how to listen. While Tomorrow? A sending for that your father would never think fake. Granting me just enough time¡­¡±


    He waited for Amelia¡¯s guess.


    ¡°T-To do what?¡± she eventually managed.


    ¡°To bring you here, of course,¡± The Marquess said, with a smile that made Amelia¡¯s back shirk into contact with the working man holding her, who made sure she began shuffling forwards when his master turned and began walking towards the ferry.


    At the aqueduct¡¯s edge the Marquess spat into the dark water. ¡°Though it wasn¡¯t supposed to be today. God¡¯s mercy, my planning was perfect. Your father would have received a lock of your hair on the day of the duel and shown his true colors to the public in a destructive search of the city. Leaving only the Duke of Winchester to discover a hand-written note, in which you would have admitted to having slunk home alone, unable to further bear the shame of having lied during our little joke of a hearing¡­¡±


    The Marquess sighed with regret over what could have been. Giving Amelia a chance to use what bravery she had gathered to try and explain how crazy the Marquess¡¯s plan sounded.


    ¡°My father ¡ª¡±


    ¡°Would elucidate things with the duke and postpone our duel to check his estate for you before discovering note was a lie. Yes, shut up, I know. You¡¯re not smart.¡± Snapped the Marquess, ¡°Do you think it¡¯s pleasant having to explain a plan that¡¯s been made useless? Or are you as air brained as my son and require the names of every immigrant I¡¯ve had planted with enough kidnapping evidence to ensure your father¡¯s wild Goose chase takes him all the way to the West¡¯s Capital City?¡± A serene smile spread on his lips, ¡°Giving me all the time in the world to ensure heaven¡¯s ordained work can progress smoothly¡­ Instead of the quick fix I¡¯ll need to make now that our schedule¡¯s been hastened.¡±


    The Marquess of Rutherford gave Amelia a smug look. ¡°Well, you don¡¯t need to know about that. Now that you¡¯ve been taken out of the game, I¡¯m afraid from here on you¡¯ll be serving a more¡­ motivational role.¡±


    Amelia shuddered as the Marquess bowed apologetically towards her.


    The Caneo invasion, would it still happen despite her best efforts? Were there underground canals flowing throughout the kingdom, stretching all the way to the Ocean? The spot where Gregory had struck her on the head with a brick throbbed, making it hard to think. She didn¡¯t know whether to tell the Marquess he would never get away with it, or ask him why he thought betraying the Velvetican Kingdom was the correct course of action.


    Amelia simply didn¡¯t know what to do.


    In hindsight, since having found the Historian¡¯s Novel, most of her successes had been achieved through either blind luck, or with the help of others. Very rarely could Amelia claim to know precisely what needed doing. So why had she ever tricked herself into going off on her own? Even now, her only hope in escaping the Marquess appeared to be in whether Grace or Martel might have noticed her absence and sounded the alarm.


    Was that all she was? A damsel who needed saving?


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    ¡°This could have gone so much easier,¡± The Marquess said, as he boarded the ferry, ¡°Had you accepted my son¡¯s proposal, by now you would have been on a ship heading towards a new life with a blessed child in belly. Instead, here we are.¡±


    The fight in Amelia once extinguished, roused at the mention of children. The mere idea that the Marquess would scheme with the Alchemist Richter for not only her blood, but her own flesh as well¡­


    ¡°I would sooner kill myself then bear a child destined to be used and abused!¡± Amelia yelled, wanting to rush forwards and push the Marquess over the edge of his ferry and into the water. Only the man holding her by the arms kept her from trying.


    ¡°Scream if you must,¡± The Marquess said, unimpressed, ¡°Nobody will hear you. Not this far underground. Certainly not with all the wards I¡¯ve installed. Believe me, come night¡¯s end, you will wish you had chosen differently.¡±


    His choice of words gave Amelia a bad premonition. Enough to make her take count of those present for one final tally of her odds for escape. Six men who leered, closer than ever, and a woman whose demeanor showed she knew the situation was hopeless. Amelia¡¯s eyes returned to the river where an unexpected choice made itself known. She wondered how long it would take to drown should she jump in and swallow.


    As if prepared for such thoughts, the man holding Amelia let go, shifted his stance, and slipped an arm round her neck from behind in a one-armed headlock insistent enough to keep her interest in breathing alive.


    ¡°Shame, looks like you¡¯ve caught on,¡± remarked the Marquess. ¡°I suppose while you can¡¯t see the future, you can at least predict it.¡± He added, as if telling a joke before he dropped all pretenses of being nice and said, ¡°Time to end things.¡±


    Amelia looked on in horror as the room¡¯s only other woman approached her with a vial she could somehow recognize in hand. A vial the woman opened and held to Amelia¡¯s tightly closed lips.


    ¡°N-No I don¡¯t want to,¡± Amelia begged, as she twisted her face as far away as she could.


    The man holding her grunted in annoyance. ¡°Get it in her already,¡± he complained, ahead of plunging his free hand down the front of Amelia¡¯s skirt. Eliciting a cry of shock from the mouth that was forced into drinking the flavorless substance.


    ¡°I believe you¡¯re already acquainted with Richter¡¯s creation?¡± asked the Marquess, who leaned on the ferry¡¯s guardrail as his men worked on undoing the boat¡¯s mooring lines.


    Amelia sobbed as she felt the Alchemist¡¯s drug slide down her throat, while her restrainer¡¯s intruding digits explored deeper inside her. The quantity compared to what Gregory had spritzed her wine with was incomparable. It took seconds before the drug¡¯s effects settled in her stomach and began spreading outwards.


    Her knees growing weak, Amelia glared at the Marquess while she still could. ¡°You don¡¯t have to d-do this.¡±


    ¡°Of course I do,¡± gloated the Marquess, taking joy in her plight. ¡°Do you even know your own family¡¯s motto? Destroying your father¡¯s reputation through you is practically poetic,¡± the Marquess added, as Amelia¡¯s vision swam and she saw in his eyes the split pupils of a monster, ¡°Look around you,¡± gestured the creature who wore the skin of a noble, and Amelia fell to the ground when the man holding her up suddenly let go. ¡°There¡¯s only one way to hurt the legacy of a so-called invincible dragon.¡±


    Amelia took in the fact more men were deboarding the ferry. She inched away, hoping to disguise her escape for the water as an onset of panic.


    They grabbed her before she could even crawl half the distance.


    ¡°H-Help me!¡± Amelia shouted, to the woman who had yet to look directly at her once, as she was dragged down and set upon by the men who began tearing her clothes from her body.


    The Marquess of Rutherford giggled, ¡°Not much of a witness, is she,¡± he said, which had the woman lower her head in shame even more, ¡°But hey, it¡¯s hard to find witnesses for elopement these days.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ You¡¯re insane!¡± Amelia accused, and the Marquess of Rutherford acknowledged her words viscerally. All decorum lost in shouting as his ferry departed.


    ¡°Insane? It¡¯s the world I live in that¡¯s mad! A world which will soon know the truth of a bitch who falsely accused a Marquess¡¯s son, her false prophet of a father who supported her lies out of greed, and the Velvetican Kingdom that fell because it incited god¡¯s wrath!"


    Finished, he turned. Showing his back. Their conversation, over, the Marquess left Amelia to be leapt upon by his hounds.


    ***


    Discovering The Historian¡¯s novel had been a changing point in Amelia¡¯s life. It had helped her get outside and meet Grace. It was a gift that had led to the resolution of a more than a decade long misunderstanding with her father, had changed the destiny of more than a few story-book characters, and still held in it the potential to be a veritable blessing for the Velvetican Kingdom, which had already outright avoided a Western invasion.


    Each of these moments were changes in Amelia¡¯s life that never failed to beg the question:


    Who exactly was The Historian?


    It was a question that had begun to feel pointless. Under the heavy bodies shaking her limp form with each thrust, there was now only the heat, sweat, and pain that came from being taken on a ground rough enough to scrape away at her exposed skin.


    With the Marquess of Rutherford gone, she had tried to petition for mercy. But her pleas fell on indifferent ears. Her wants availing to nothing more than entertainment for the Marquess¡¯s men who made it clear how much they enjoyed her pained wailing by increasing their pace.


    She had even tried to call upon the magic she hoped must surely lay dormant within her. Only for those embers to smolder without catching flame. It was enough for her to wonder whether the role of ¡®Amelia Strightsworth¡¯ in the Historian¡¯s novel would soon come to an end.


    ¡°Hurry it up,¡± spoke one of the men waiting his turn. ¡°We¡¯re running on a clock as it is, the next ferry will be here within an hour and I haven¡¯t yet had my fill.¡±


    ¡°Fuck off, I¡¯m not done yet,¡± answered the man who dripped sweat onto Amelia¡¯s body, ¡°This is a once in a life time chance to play with a noble, I¡¯m not going to rush.¡±


    ¡°Means he¡¯s got about a minute left in him,¡± another interjected, and they guffawed at the crass humor.


    The one atop her seemed emboldened by the laughter of his peers. ¡°C¡¯mon girly,¡± he said, sticking a thumb deep into Amelia¡¯s mouth, ¡°Give us some more noise. It¡¯s not fun if you lay there like a dead fish.¡±


    In her drug induced haze, Amelia took in the world twisting into a smudged painting around her and blankly wondered whether the Historian this time around would even bother to include a mention of her name in their work.


    She considered both the face leering down at her, and the words that began speaking inside of her head.


    ¡°Amelia, what did I say about eating with your mouth kept wide open?¡± asked a voice that blurred reality with advice from the past.


    Amelia discovered the sugary treat in her mouth. Wrapping her lips around the strangely shaped candy, she gave it a lick.


    ¡°There we go!¡± said the man, whose jubilance turned into horror, when Amelia¡¯s teeth found purchase and she made the decision to follow her mother¡¯s advice and eat, with her mouth kept tightly closed.


    ¡°Fuck! My thumb!¡± shouted the man in pain, as Amelia started a listening streak by following the advice of a particular taunt recently used against her and made sure to properly swallow, filling her insides with a childish glee that revelled in having stolen something for the first time in her life.


    The groping hands molesting every part of her body departed as the injured man screamed in rage, replaced with fists that began to violently beat her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t kill her,¡± spoke the woman who raised her voice for the first time. Although she did nothing more to show she cared whether the Marquess¡¯s orders were actually followed, so the beating continued. Until Amelia was flipped over onto her stomach, for an impossibly hot rod of flesh to press pass the folds of her entrance with reckless abandon.


    Knocking, knocking, Amelia¡¯s life away against the stone floor.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take your other hole for that, whore,¡± the injured man spat, and he grabbed Amelia by the hair as if it were a bridle, forcing her to assume a kneeling, lopsided position for the prepared continuation of his sick twisted pleasure. When, with a click loud enough to interrupt, the door to the underground cavern began grinding open.


    An unpleasant reminder for Amelia that there were still more of the Marquess¡¯s men who might decide to join in.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t wait any longer?¡± the man taking Amelia rasped as he adjusted himself without looking. ¡°Get in line like the rest. You¡¯ll have your turn yet.¡±


    His mockery was met with a noise that cut air. And while Amelia couldn¡¯t see exactly what happened next, she most certainly felt what must have been nearly two hundred pounds of ¡®person¡¯ collapse fully upon her.


    The smell of blood invaded her nostrils.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think I will,¡± spoke a deep voice as a pair of steel plated legs entered Amelia¡¯s vision. Moments before a great force impacted the headless man suffocating her, sending the corpse flying into the canal with inhuman might.


    ¡°D-Daddy?¡± Amelia called, towards the immense silhouette, which didn¡¯t quite match what she remembered. ¡°I-Is that you?¡±


    ¡°God no. I wish,¡± replied Stanton, who stepped out of the shadows to be between her and those who yet lived, with a look that could kill. And a flaming sword in his hand.

 Chapter 31 — Enter a Champion

    Coated in blood half-way to each elbow, Stanton¡¯s arms were enough to explain why there could only be found silence beyond the cavern¡¯s open wide door, which ought to have been guarded.


    Initially, Amelia couldn¡¯t bring herself to believe Stanton¡¯s arrival was anything more than her mind playing tricks. Too afraid to believe, she tried to cover herself with her blanket, wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball and hope she could stop her lips from turning as cold blue as the giant bruise her skin had become.


    Cold and confused as to why her imaginary blanket failed to provide any warmth, Amelia remembered the existence of clothing. Knowing it wasn¡¯t proper to do without, unless it was bath time, Amelia scanned the floor around her, unable to distinguish where her rags were amidst the swirling patterns that danced as she shivered.


    The effort proved too much for the energy she still had. Amelia gave up, deciding to patiently wait for the world to once again sweep her up in its tumultuous nature. A decision she immediately questioned, when a warmth slipped its way into the crook of her arms. Hot enough to drive away the fog in her mind and ground her back in the present.


    ¡°Can you take care of it for me?¡± Stanton asked Amelia, who now clung to her father¡¯s sword as tightly as she could, letting its comforting flames freely lap at her exposed self without causing harm. Fearful that the beacon of hope might be extinguished by the darkness of a subterranean world.


    Stanton took her silence in stride. ¡°Thanks,¡± he said, before removing the victor¡¯s cape he had been gifted for besting the Hound.


    Their eyes met for the first time as he draped it over her back. Stanton narrowed his, upon seeing just how dilated Amelia¡¯s were.


    ¡°No falling asleep,¡± he said sternly, and only after Amelia had nodded did the gladiator confront the rest of the room: Both the men who had barely finished strapping their belts and the woman, whose quiet attempt to hide using shadows hit a roadblock when Stanton threw a rock hard enough to plunge into her chest.


    ¡°You¡¯ve touched what you shouldn¡¯t,¡± Stanton said to the men, as the woman gurgled for aid. Her life, amounting to nothing more than a declaration that help had arrived.


    And it had come with a vengeance.


    A gladiator in title, now a butcher in practice, the Marquess¡¯s men, who had revelled in their control of a woman with no chance to fight back, took up their weapons with arms that trembled in fright at the prospect of facing someone their own size.


    One couldn¡¯t take it, he attempted to flee like the woman before him. He went running past Stanton, towards the cavern¡¯s exit with a hand outstretched for the handle. It was a short-lived attempt. Stanton was on him before the man could even open the door. Ready and willing to crush a skull against wood, creating a horrible sound similar to that of a rotten fruit bursting as it fell upon concrete.


    There would be no running from Stanton. And in the seconds which followed, Amelia bore witness to an executioner systematically dismantling one man after the next. A crushed throat, a snapped spine: two more were left to drown in their blood and it didn¡¯t stop there. Stanton¡¯s ruthlessness was to the point Amelia, who once held a smidgen of pride in the fact she could usually handle the most gruesome of sights, felt her stomach do a few flips.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m only here for the money!¡± yelled the last man standing with his back to the wall as the second last slowly died under Stanton from asphyxiation, ¡°Not a finger of mine touched her, of this I swear!¡±


    Amelia tried to match the soft-hearted hero who had stood beside his princess in the Historian¡¯s novel until the bitter end, with the gladiator who appeared unwilling to allow his victims even the chance to speak words of regret.


    Another life sentenced against the silence of stone; Stanton¡¯s fierce expression searched the cavern for more signs of life. Until he stopped in his tracks, upon seeing how Amelia stared at his gore-stricken front.


    ¡°Shoot,¡± he mumbled. Stanton awkwardly flicked away a chunk of brain matter stubbornly clinging to his leather breastplate, then knelt on the ground. Slowly, he raised both his arms and began removing his armor, as if afraid Amelia might think he meant her any harm.


    ¡°Ah¡­ Hello,¡± he said, offering a cumbersome, well-meaning smile, ¡°My name is Stanton, Lady Strightsworth. I¡¯ve¡­ I¡¯ve heard a lot of things about your family. Truth be told¡­ I had hoped we might meet one-day face to face¡­ But never like this.¡±


    Amelia wasn¡¯t sure what to say. Although Stanton must have regretted his choice of words, since he hurriedly added, ¡°Not that I think any less of you even now. Why, for you to have endured such a thing¡­ It makes me want to dedicate my victory to you all over again.¡±


    ¡°Not the princess?¡± Amelia asked dumbly, since the idea that the gladiator¡¯s salute had been for her all along, was a very foreign idea.


    Stanton¡¯s expression turned befuddled but amused. ¡°I might be a bit of a fool, but I wouldn¡¯t mistake who I dedicated my match too,¡± he said, before his eyes lit up as enlightenment dawned. ¡°Ooh, the princess! Right. She must have been there with you as well. Makes sense, seeing that I passed her and Martel on the way here.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ You know them?¡± Amelia asked, her mind abuzz with a tsunami of questions.


    ¡°Not really? Sort of? In a sense?¡± Stanton said, appearing just as unsure, ¡°At least, I¡¯m pretty sure it was them. Couldn¡¯t quite tell due to the number of guards restraining the two¡­ I think one of them stabbed someone?¡±


    Amelia felt her heart hammer heavily against her ribcage. The sensation brought with it the question of what on earth had Grace and Martel done? And the return of a whisper; hinting to Amelia that her internal clock might need a reset. How much time had actually passed since her decision to tail the Marquess? Despite her questions, she could feel her eyelids beginning to droop.


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    Stanton moved fast. He managed to catch Amelia before her tired attempt to stand ended with her falling back down. ¡°Sorry, sorry,¡± said Stanton as he tried to find a way to hold her without touching too much. ¡°Shit¡­ Please don¡¯t fall asleep. At least tell me where your father¡¯s gone off first.¡±


    ¡°He¡­ He went to meet with the¡­ the king,¡± Amelia said, as she tried to stay awake. A task that became much easier when a new fear awoke from within her. ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ Please don¡¯t tell him what happened,¡± Amelia begged. ¡°Please, you¡­ you mustn¡¯t. I¡­ I don¡¯t want to disappoint or upset my father again.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t tell anyone about what has happened in this place,¡± replied Stanton, with immediate conviction.


    ¡°N-Nobody?¡± Amelia asked, her every thought now swimming with paranoid visions of the King deciding to cut off relations with Havoc should his Kingdom¡¯s Dragon lash out in anger. The thought of being separated from Grace in such an unfortunate manner made it even harder to see through her tears that began swelling unending.


    Stanton frantically looked around them for emotional help. Finding none, he began gently rocking Amelia in his arms. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, don¡¯t worry,¡± he whispered, ¡°Those in the know, are now among the dead. And my lips are sealed. Even if the good Baron walked through that door right this instant, I¡¯m sure he would be so preoccupied with helping and keeping you safe, that he wouldn¡¯t have time for anything else.¡±


    ¡°Do you really think so?¡±


    ¡°I do,¡± Stanton said, and Amelia found herself wanting to believe him, ¡°So, what do you think?¡± he continued, like they were discussing their plans for the day, ¡°I¡¯m not confident I can sneak you back home undetected, and I¡¯d really rather not leave you alone for any longer than a minute... With your permission, do you have anything that could send your father a signal?¡±


    Amelia looked at Stanton like he had grown a second head. It almost sounded as if he were speaking of the dragon tooth her father had gifted her for protection.


    Stanton abruptly clicked his tongue in ashamed annoyance, ¡°Forget it,¡± he said, brushing his idea away, ¡°If you had something like that on you¡­¡±


    Amelia knew what he wanted to say before he had finished. If she did have the tooth, it would have already been used.


    Stanton continued to rock her, ¡°Rats, leaves us in a bit of a pickle then, doesn¡¯t it,¡± he mused aloud, unaware of how much Amelia appreciated his friendly candor while feeling so dirty and stupid. Her lips began trembling, forever intent on betraying their owner.


    ¡°No-no-no,¡± Stanton said, beginning to panic, ¡°It¡¯s okay. Everything is going to be alright. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll think of something. Your honor will not be besmirched as long as I¡¯m here.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about that anymore¡­¡± Amelia whispered, pausing the wiping of her tears to correct his assumption. Personal honor had become the last thing on her mind. All she wanted now was to give Grace and the Marquess what they deserved before returning home to the safety of her mother¡¯s greenhouse. But she knew how pathetic that sounded, so she chose not to share.


    ¡°Okay¡­ that¡¯s fine,¡± said Stanton, as the man began nodding his head deep in thought, ¡°But¡­ If I said I had a way to get your dad¡¯s attention, would you let me?¡±


    Amelia hesitated, but ultimately nodded. Seeing this, Stanton bit the inside of his cheek and began doing math. ¡°Uh¡­ Shoot¡­ Alright, it-uh took me a good ten minutes of running to get here¡­ Worst case scenario if someone else started walking the tunnel after me it should still take them at least¡­ At least twenty, right?¡± He turned to look at the canal, ¡°Then if I¡­ Yeah¡­ That should be enough time¡­ It¡¯s him after all.¡±


    With a ¡°Pardon me,¡± Stanton leapt to his feet. Carrying Amelia all the way to the cave¡¯s entrance, he gently set her down on the tunnel¡¯s side, and shut the door with a nervous but excited grin on his face that to Amelia, spoke of nothing good whatsoever.


    ¡°What are you doing? Stanton!¡± Amelia asked, as loudly as she could, before pulling back in fright when Stanton, without explanation, bent the door¡¯s lower most hinge with a sharp kick: Ruining its ability to open.


    ¡°What a man should do in situations like this,¡± Stanton answered calmly, through the crack between door and wall.


    Amelia watched Stanton take a deep breath, raise his chest in firm resolution, and turn towards the canal. Did he plan on commandeering the second boat one of the dead Marquess¡¯s men had mentioned would arrive within approximately an hour? Amelia¡¯s head spun, since for all intents and purposes that shouldn¡¯t be something Stanton could have possibly known.


    But then Stanton turned around one more time, showing a face Amelia knew the man had been wanting to hide, but couldn¡¯t hold back any longer.


    Stanton looked¡­ Sad. ¡°H-Hey¡­¡± he said, with only the slightest of quivers to his voice, ¡°When you mistook me for your dad¡­ Did you mean it? Even just a bit?¡±


    His question to Amelia, was nonsense. His behavior, even more so. Hadn¡¯t Stanton only just stated he didn¡¯t want to leave her alone for any long period of time? Why was he acting as if that was no longer the case?


    Amelia, tightly holding the warmth of her father¡¯s sword, made sure to honestly answer his question. ¡°I did.¡± She said, and Stanton¡¯s dour expression melted away for a brilliant smile.


    Like she had given him the world, and he now wanted nothing else.


    Alarm bells began ringing in Amelia¡¯s head. Since if Stanton was even remotely like his Historian novel counterpart¡­ While he might be brave, honest, loyal and heck, incredibly cute, it meant the young man probably also still had a tendency of putting himself in incredible danger. After all, you couldn¡¯t become a princess¡¯s duelist by backing down when the going got rough.


    ¡°Then, I¡¯m glad,¡± Stanton said, before scratching his chin in embarrassment. ¡°You know, we were told the Hound they brought in was because the Baron of Strightsworth would be watching. My buddies¡­ They came up with a plan to have me take up the spotlight. Get his attention. Maybe get myself recruited as a page. Kind of a silly hope in hindsight, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so at all,¡± Amelia answered. Not wanting to belittle the dreams of another.


    ¡°Thanks. Now, just to check from a reputable source¡­ The Lord Strightsworth, he¡¯s the type of man who would rush to his daughter¡¯s defence if he felt something was wrong¡­ right?¡±


    ¡°Without hesitation,¡± Amelia said, thinking back to how her father had come to her rescue.


    A strange chuckle slipped out of Stanton. ¡°Sorry, that was a silly question. Of course he would.¡±


    ¡°Hold on,¡± Amelia said, wanting to find out why the man had begun acting so strange. Only minutes earlier, he had been acting like a warrior her father could be proud of, but now¡­


    Stanton once again turned away from the door.


    It was like he was saying goodbye, when they had only just met.


    ¡°W-Wait!¡± Amelia called after him, louder this time. When no response came, she began beating the door. ¡°Stanton! Stanton, what are you doing!¡±


    An answer of sorts did eventually come. But by then Amelia could tell Stanton had moved exceedingly far away. And his words¡­ weren¡¯t being directed towards her any more.


    ¡°I am Stanton!¡± Stanton yelled aloud, fierce to the point Amelia became convinced he had put all of his being behind his voice. ¡°And though I might not have been the greatest, I was still the best gladiator this Kingdom has ever, and will ever see!¡±


    A short pause followed. It didn¡¯t last long.


    ¡°I dare address you as an equal only this once! For through you I have come to know that hard work can bring great strength! And that the weak, can be protected!¡±


    Amelia gasped. The words Stanton spoke. Why did it sound like¡­ her family motto?


    ¡°Havoc Strightsworth!¡± came Stanton¡¯s loudest shout yet, ¡°I have rescued your daughter, but have not the means to protect her honor! Hear me!¡±


    And as his voice faded, an explosion rang out.

 Chapter 32 — Revelations. Both the Good. And the Bad.

    In that dark dreary forest wherein only a dim moon¡¯s light showed the way forward, Amelia ran with a bundle in arm, hoping her bone-tired feet might know how to escape the shouting voices that pursued on all sides. Louder than ever and with torches in hand, whoever the flickering shadows she could catch glimpses of were, they most certainly did not have her best intentions at heart.


    It all felt so familiar. Both the dream, the forest, and the unmistakable silhouette of a distant building; fast approaching in view.


    Ducking to protect her bundle, Amelia burst through the tree-line onto what had once been a front lawn, now covered in weeds, bramble, and saplings. Over-grown with vines that creeped to cover even its windows, the aged Strightsworth Manor she aimed for looked as if it hadn¡¯t been maintained for years, perhaps even decades.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be safe soon,¡± Amelia whispered, pulling back on the bundle¡¯s wrapping to reveal an infant, who upon being exposed to the cool air began feebly whimpering for its mother¡¯s affection.


    A pang of hurt traversed Amelia¡¯s heart. She didn¡¯t have any other words of comfort to offer the child. Not ones that felt truthful at least. Not when the closer they got to her family¡¯s manor, the more the place appeared to have been truly abandoned.


    Amelia wondered what had become of her mother¡¯s greenhouse. But with a quick check over her shoulder confirming those in chase had made frightening progress in closing the distance, it didn¡¯t seem like she would have time enough to check.


    Unable to process the sudden sensation of loss, Amelia stumbled the last few steps towards the Manor¡¯s front doors, fell against the hard wood, and painfully shoved to slip inside her familial home, into a world frozen in time.


    Her feet pressed onward without needing guidance, leaving Amelia free to marvel at what the manor had used to look like under her mother¡¯s careful eye for expensive decor and furniture: No longer in storage. An unexpected trip down memory lane, while she continued the futile endeavour of shushing a baby who knew only that something was wrong.


    ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± Amelia whispered, as they arrived and entered the drawing room. Where she found a lever disguised as a book, and pulled it to try and open a hidden room¡¯s door.


    Causing the world to fall silent.


    The cries of the babe, the distant haunting shouts of the men, it all fell away in an instant, allowing Amelia¡¯s concern to remain utterly focused on the opening safe room which stopped on its rails after only revealing a crack.


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t do this to me!¡± Amelia yelled, and she fell onto her knees in despair, knowing even as she tried that there was no hope of prying the secret entrance open on her own. Not when her father would have needed to put his back into it.


    Abandoning the effort, Amelia hugged the infant tightly to her chest and slumped against the jammed bookshelf, fearing that at any moment the room¡¯s door would burst open to drag her away. A thought terrifying enough to petrify even her thoughts, until there came a small voice, which sounded just like her own.


    ¡°Don¡¯t cry,¡± it said to someone, as the bundle Amelia carried began to grow lighter. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault mommy is sad,¡± the voice added, before the babe¡¯s blankets fell through Amelia¡¯s grasp, leaving her hands clutching at empty air.


    ¡°No! Don¡¯t take him from me!¡± Amelia shouted, as sight followed hearing and vanished completely. ¡°Give him back! Give him back!¡± she begged, while searching the floor around her in desperate want for what had been stolen.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± soothed the small voice Amelia pinpointed as coming from the other side of the sealed room, ¡°He¡¯s with me now. He¡¯s with us. You¡¯ll have your chance to spend time with him in the future.¡±


    Amelia flung herself against the bookshelf. Beating against it with her fists until she no longer could, ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t understand,¡± she sobbed, despite somehow knowing the voice harbored neither malice nor falsehood, ¡°Who are you? And why do I feel so horrible in my own home of all places?¡±


    The small voice took its time in replying. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ Been a long time since I¡¯ve held any affection for our household¡­ Are you sure it was a happy place to begin with?¡±


    ¡°O-Of course it is¡­ You¡­ You¡¯re speaking n-nonsense.¡±


    ¡°Words from the other side are often like that. It¡¯s okay, you¡¯ll understand eventually.¡±


    ¡°B-But I want to know now,¡± Amelia whined, as the pain in her heart grew along with her frustrations, ¡°At least tell me, how is it I can miss the face of a child I¡¯ve never once seen in my life?¡±


    This time in response, Amelia heard a baby happily gurgle.


    The small voice reluctantly suspired. ¡°Yes, I know we¡¯re running out of time,¡± it said, only for the babe to coo once again, ¡°No, don¡¯t be silly. I¡¯m upset I can¡¯t answer directly as well¡­¡±


    There came a brief pause, before a baby giggled like its belly were being tickled all over.


    ¡°Fine, you can say goodbye. There shouldn¡¯t be any problems with that.¡±


    The hidden bookshelf Amelia leaned on, lurched. Not sufficiently to allow entrance, but enough for her to press close and look, bringing Amelia face to face with a woman holding a child in arm.


    ¡°But you¡¯re¡­ No, this doesn¡¯t make any sense,¡± Amelia gasped, as the woman offered a sad smile and showed off her canines, which on close inspection looked only a bit sharper than average.


    Amelia¡¯s body began to tremble. And the longer she looked, the more certain she became that the woman who resembled Ophelia Strightsworth¡­ Was not her mother.


    She reached into the safe room, towards the woman who let her child rest its head tenderly against the warmth of Amelia¡¯s skin.


    Tears began streaming. ¡°You were mine,¡± Amelia sobbed, as the dark world began fading, ¡°You¡¯re my baby. Mine,¡± she lamented, until her eyes opened wide and Amelia returned to the land of the living.


    **


    Gasping for breath, Amelia¡¯s attempt to right herself resulted in a full-bodied spasm as every muscle inside her screamed out in protest. As did she, both from the pain and because the little life she had been touching was gone and could no longer be found.


    ¡°Where is he!¡± Amelia shouted, despite her throat aching like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper, ¡°Where is my baby!¡± she cried, fighting against her own body to drag herself towards her bed¡¯s side, where on the nightstand had been left unattended a plate bearing an apple and a sharp pairing knife.


    Her thoughts filled with nothing but a want to return to the dream, Amelia barely even noticed the clamor of footsteps as Grace and Martel slammed the door open and entered. Wasting no time, the two women forcefully confiscated the pairing knife before it could pierce something other than fruit.


    ¡°Get her father, something¡¯s gone wrong this time,¡± Grace ordered, as she climbed onto the bed to better restrain Amelia by sitting atop her.


    ¡°On it,¡± Martel answered. Her heels clicking heavy and fast, she left to find Havoc. Leaving Amelia to struggle and sob against Grace.


    ¡°I¡­ I had a child,¡± Amelia told Grace, driven by an overwhelming desire for comfort and safety, ¡°And I didn¡¯t protect him! I know I must sound insane, but I¡¯m sure of it¡­ I didn¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t¡­¡±


    She didn¡¯t dare say any more. Not when Grace¡¯s face morphed into a pained expression that had Amelia believing the princess must think she¡¯d turned crazy.


    ¡°Amelia,¡± Grace said, as she lifted some of her weight and tenderly left a kiss on Amelia¡¯s cheek, ¡°I¡¯ll make sure you have all the babies you want in the future. But right now, I need you to calm down.¡±


    Amelia melancholically sniffled. Her struggling diminished as reality started to weigh more than the dream. ¡°You¡­ You can¡¯t promise that,¡± she said, relieved her words had been so casually dismissed by the princess. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ That¡¯s not how it works.¡± She added, deciding to play along with Grace¡¯s attempt to distract her from the empty hole in her heart.


    ¡°Watch me.¡± Grace said, with such conviction Amelia was stunned into feeling less worse.


    ¡°I¡¯m... sorry,¡± Amelia said, trying not to fixate on how close Grace¡¯s face was to her own, ¡°I don¡¯t know what came over me. Can¡­ Can you please get off and tell me where we are?¡±


    Grace¡¯s eyes narrowed. Her blue pupils began softly glowing, like in assessment of whether Amelia could be trusted when in arms reach of a knife. They stayed like that for nearly a minute without talking, until finally Grace got off and began moving pillows around with only a warning.


    ¡°I¡¯m not above tying you to this bed.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine.¡± Amelia said, knowing that if their positions were reversed, she would probably act the same way. ¡°But I really do want to know where I am,¡± she added, taking in how white the walls were. ¡°Is this a hospital?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re at your Grand-father¡¯s mansion,¡± Grace answered, ¡°Your dad healed you. I¡¯ve been working on waking you up for a few days now. I¡­ Might have also shifted a few memories around while trying. So, I need to know if anything feels¡­ out of place? I¡¯m really sorry for acting without permission, but it had to happen. You¡­ You trust me, right?¡±


    Wanting to relieve Grace of her worries, Amelia contemplated her body¡¯s condition.


    ¡°Of course, I trust you,¡± Amelia said, as she stretched and internalized how surprisingly versatile Grace¡¯s magic could be, ¡°Though it feels like I¡¯ve been running for days,¡± she confided, before discovering a peculiarity, which caused her to start patting the bed¡¯s mattress for lumps. ¡°Did you put something under the mattress to make it so warm?¡±


    Grace turned her head to where a sword rested against the wall. Amelia recognized it as the one her father had gifted Stanton, only now its flames were completely extinguished.


    ¡°You¡¯re feeling¡­ warm?¡± Grace asked, treating Amelia to the rare sight of an utterly baffled, tongue-tied princess. ¡°Because when Havoc brought you in, the thing was already doused¡­ Do you think they¡¯re connected? Do you want it? I could probably light it again if you want.¡±


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Amelia shook her head no. She knew her father¡¯s flames could only be snuffed out by his will. Which meant the warmth inside her, dancing about as if happy she had noticed its presence, must be from something else.


    ¡°Well¡­ If you say so,¡± Grace said, and the princess conjured a hair-brush out of thin air, ¡°Let¡¯s focus on other things. Like you turning around so I can do my job as your lady in waiting. Your bed-head is awful.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Amelia said demurely, more than willing to give Grace whatever she wanted, despite her mind having fully awakened with a bevvy of follow up questions regarding the state of the world. ¡°Has there been any activity worth mentioning from the Rutherford¡¯s?¡± she asked, wincing when the princess pulled hard to untangle a knot.


    ¡°No statements from him,¡± Grace answered tersely, ¡°And the duel¡¯s been postponed.¡±


    ¡°Postponed? Why?¡± Amelia asked, thinking it strange the Marquess wouldn¡¯t have seized the opportunity to drag her name through the mud¡­ Until she remembered how Stanton had saved her, and killed every witness who knew what had happened.


    Wait¡­ What exactly had happened underground? Amelia¡¯s head hurt as she tried to recall what felt like a recollection mushed into an unrecognizable mess. Sure, she could recall negotiating with Richter, and how she was carried underground by Gregory¡­ Everything was there. Including her hatred for the Marquess of Rutherford and his tactics. Though¡­ It now felt more detached, as if she were thinking of a character from an unfortunate novel who simply happened to look exactly like her.


    ¡°Old venue isn¡¯t suitable anymore,¡± Grace said simply, drawing Amelia away from her thoughts with another sharp tug, ¡°Not after your dad took the shortest route to rescue you.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s recollection twisted inwards at the mention of a singular rescue. ¡°Wait, where¡¯s Stanton?!¡± she yelped, turning her head to pull the brush Grace was using out from her hand, ¡°Where is he?¡± she asked again, when Grace only grumbled and went to retrieve it, ¡°He¡­ He came to protect me, but I¡¯m not sure what happened after a point. Is he¡­ Is he alright?¡±


    Especially the explosion she had heard near the end of their meeting. She feared Stanton might have done something extreme.


    Grace clicked her tongue. ¡°The fool is alive, yes,¡± she said, which to Amelia seemed like a rather cold-hearted way to speak of the man who had saved her.


    ¡°Grace,¡± Amelia began, nervous yet determined to admonish her friend¡¯s attitude, ¡°I¡¯m not sure what Stanton did to earn your ire, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°He ripped off his slave collar to get Havoc¡¯s attention.¡± Grace interrupted, thumping a clenched fist on the bed, ¡°I¡¯m calling him a fool because that¡¯s what he is. If your father hadn¡¯t decided to immediately investigate, Stanton might have accidentally killed both of you in a cave-in.¡±


    ¡°W-what?! But that¡¯s suicidal!¡± Amelia cried, flabbergasted to learn of what Stanton had done. ¡°Did anyone get hurt?¡± she asked, wanting to shake the answers out from her friend. At the very least she needed to know what state Stanton was in.


    Grace pinched Amelia¡¯s cheek. ¡°A few people got hurt when your dad started digging. Nobody died.¡±


    ¡°O-Ow, why are you ¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why am I doing this?¡± Grace asked, before Amelia¡¯s other cheek joined its sibling in its suffering, ¡°I¡¯m doing this because you¡¯re not putting yourself first. And I¡¯m not letting go until you tell me you¡¯ll start, because it¡¯s that type of thinking that got you in trouble in the first place!¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I promise to try!¡± Amelia mewled, and the princess let go to replace discipline with reward as two quick kisses landed to cure the spots she had hurt.


    But before Amelia could ask Grace why she would do such a thing, or find out if there might be a chance for some more, the door to their room opened once more as Martel returned with not only Havoc in toe, but also the Duke of Winchester.


    ¡°Incautious child!¡± the Duke of Winchester barked. His cane loudly thumping, he pushed his way past Havoc. ¡°Tell me, who did this? Who dares try and spirit away my grand-daughter while I¡¯m still alive?¡±


    Havoc shoved his father-in-law out of the way in kind, ¡°Why would you have gone off by yourself? Are you trying to waste the life your mother worked so hard to give you?¡±


    Their concern weighed far too heavy to easily answer. Amelia shrunk back into her pillows.


    ¡°It was the Marquess of Rutherford,¡± Grace said dryly, grinding her teeth as she spoke.


    Martel hugged Havoc¡¯s arm. Tightly. To the point he looked at her in surprise. ¡°You¡¯re not blaming Amelia, are you?¡± she asked him, before turning her glare on the duke. ¡°It¡¯s the Marquess of Rutherford¡¯s goons who should be blamed. Going off on her own might not have been the smartest idea, but none of this is her fault.¡±


    Her criticism cut the energy away from both men like a knife.


    ¡°Forgive me,¡± Havoc said, sinking down on both knees to reach out and hold Amelia¡¯s hand over the bed. ¡°Martel¡­ Is right. This is my fault for not having arranged for our family¡¯s knights to protect you even while I¡¯m nearby. I shouldn¡¯t have left to meet with the king before having done so. I thought¡­ I thought a few minutes apart wouldn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°And I ought to have had the Marquess kept under closer watch until this feud between our two family¡¯s was resolved,¡± admitted the duke with slumped shoulders.


    Flustered, Amelia tried to come up with a way to stop two of the most powerful men in the Kingdom from blaming themselves. Rather, how did things manage to become their fault to begin with?


    ¡°Father, Grand-father,¡± Amelia said, after finding no likely help from either Martel or Grace, whose stern faces made it clear they both thought the apologies from Havoc and the duke were only barely passable, ¡°The matter of blame aside, do either of you know why I¡¯m feeling so warm? I woke up changed, and I would like to know why.¡±


    Havoc looked to the duke. Who returned the regard with a distasteful frown.


    ¡°I was born with a fire inside me,¡± Havoc said, passing the buck.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at me,¡± replied the Duke of Strightsworth, ¡°A sudden change reeks of divine intervention. Isn¡¯t that your specialty?¡±


    There it was again. Once more, the duke had alluded to a relation between Havoc and God. Amelia did not like the thought. If God truly did exist, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to believe they could be a benevolent one. Not while their intentions remained unexplained at least.


    She pondered the merits of trusting a higher power without explanation, no matter how unsuspecting or beneficial it might appear at first glance. Goosebumps arose on her arms, brought about by a newfound understanding that continuing to meddle with the Historian¡¯s novel, might very well end in her death. Or, as she remembered her dream, a fate worse than death.


    There was no doubt in her mind now, that had she confided in her father upon first discovering the Historian¡¯s novel, she would not currently be recuperating in bed.


    Maybe¡­ Maybe she could skip straight to the ending of the Historian¡¯s Novel?


    A selfish dark spot found its home in Amelia¡¯s heart, next to her secret desire to keep Grace for herself. Couldn¡¯t she beg her father to burn away the Marquess of Rutherford, along with the Caneo fleet who would invade cross the Ocean? They might receive a torrent of sanctions, and their family could quite possibly be confined to their territory for the foreseeable future¡­ But Amelia felt she could live with that if it meant waking up beside Grace every day.


    She calmed herself down, knowing her mother would never approve of such a deception. No, the Marquess of Rutherford deserved to have his crimes dragged through the streets. Only now, Amelia didn¡¯t want to do it alone. Thus, with great care, she began her greatest attempt at weaving falsehoods with nothing but truth.


    ¡°Um¡­ Actually, I had a good reason to follow the Marquess,¡± Amelia said to the room, which listened intently, ¡°Since a while ago¡­ I¡¯ve been receiving these¡­ Visions¡­ I, uh, didn¡¯t think much of them at first¡­ But¡­ Well¡­¡±


    And just like that Amelia floundered. Having nowhere near Grace¡¯s talent to lie on the spot. A depressing thought that caused Amelia to abandon her attempt at speech and burry her face in the folds of the princess¡¯s dress.


    ¡°Are you talking about the stuff you mumble at night?¡± Grace asked, as she stroked Amelia¡¯s back. ¡°I thought that was your sleeping medicine talking,¡± she said, before addressing Havoc, ¡°Has anyone in your family received prophetic dreams in the past?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Havoc said, crossing his arms in deep thought, ¡°Though such a thing wouldn¡¯t be out of the question. Amelia, could you please share what you¡¯ve seen in these¡­ visions?¡±


    Raising her face, Amelia¡¯s admiration for Grace swelled to newfound heights. The mere fact the princess would support her without any evidence made her want to propose on the spot. Was it really that easy? If she presented the Historian¡¯s novel as a dream of all things¡­ Would her family believe her, and be willing to help?


    Had someone asked her this question upon first receiving the Historian¡¯s novel, Amelia would have resolutely said no. Now, knowing her father and grandfather did in fact love and not hate her, she wanted to give it a try.


    ¡°Then¡­ would you believe me if I said that in the dream, I saw¡­ That the Velvetican Kingdom is destined to fall into ruin, and that the Marquess of Rutherford is involved?¡±


    ¡°Impossible,¡± Havoc said, without hesitation and Amelia¡¯s confidence crumbled in heartbreak.


    ¡°Havoc!¡± Martel shouted, ¡°You¡¯re not invincible!¡±


    Understanding dawned on Havoc¡¯s face. He got up, and slammed a fist into the wall. ¡°HIT ME!¡± he bellowed. A demand the Duke of Winchester was more than willing to grant with his cane, which delivered a strike harsh enough to turn Havoc¡¯s cheek.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Havoc said, as if his thoughts were now clearer. ¡°Sorry, Amelia. I believe you. I do. I just have a hard time accepting our Kingdom could fall as long as I¡¯m here. In this vision¡­ Was I not there to protect you?¡±


    A lump formed in Amelia¡¯s throat. Of course her father would misunderstand if she left it at that. ¡°In my vision you¡­ you were different.¡± She said, ¡°Colder¡­ More distant¡­ Like¡­ Like before, when I still misunderstood what had happened with mom¡­ And in the vision, when our Kingdom began burning, I tried looking for you¡­ But I couldn¡¯t find where you had gone.¡±


    Havoc¡¯s eyes wandered to a wine cabinet placed in the corner of the room. ¡°I think I understand.¡± Turning about, he marched for the door. Martel, as if sensing trouble, caught him before he could leave.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I¡­ am going to solve the problem.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t kill the Marquess of Rutherford!¡± shouted Martel and Amelia at the same time. (Differing only in how much one of them stuttered) Martel, with fondness, gave Amelia a wink, and then turned on a dime to begin tearing into Havoc¡¯s decision.


    ¡°What if that¡¯s the reason your daughter was sneaking around? Because she wanted to prevent our Kingdom from falling without your family coming off as murderous tyrants! She could have easily asked you to burn the Marquess¡¯s estate to the ground. But she didn¡¯t. Haven¡¯t you considered there might be a reason?¡±


    Havoc pulled Martel into a deep hug. ¡°To think you would be as smart as you are beautiful,¡± he said, before pulling away, ¡°Take care of my daughter. We will proceed as she wills but I must still leave. I need permission from the King for certain¡­ Restrictions to loosen.¡±


    Watching her father depart, Amelia could only remember in embarrassment the stalwart commitment she had made to change the future on her own while burning the Historian¡¯s Novel, and hope her dark past might be buried forever.


    The Duke of Winchester tapped his cane on the floor, steering Amelia¡¯s attention towards him. ¡°The Marquess alone does not possess the strength to threaten the Kingdom,¡± he said to Amelia, ¡°I take it he has a backer?¡±


    ¡°T-That¡¯s right!¡± Amelia said, impressed by her grandfather who had already begun putting the puzzle pieces together using what little she¡¯d told, ¡°He¡¯s been working with the Caneo Kingdom. Whose prince is here to sew chaos, on behalf of his brother, the king.¡±


    ¡°A prince who our own King would be forced to detain should our ransacking of the Marquess¡¯s estate reveal their collusion,¡± the duke said, drumming his fingers atop his cane, ¡°Giving them the justification to launch an invasion.¡±


    ¡°Actually, they¡¯re already here,¡± Amelia began, hoping to clarify further. Only to instead squeak in surprise when her grandfather burst into fire.


    ¡°Those rats!¡± The duke shouted to himself, ¡°No wonder their merchants have been running circles around us. Only one of their ships must have any goods! They¡¯ve come looking for a fight and are lying in wait for nothing more than an excuse!¡± His expression grew fierce, ¡°And if things are like that¡­ Then¡­ Could the West have been involved as well all along? Bastards! Do they think we¡¯re that easy to stab in the back?¡±


    A taste of iron seeped past Amelia¡¯s tongue as she punished herself by biting her lower lip. She wanted to cry. How hard would it have been to write an anonymous letter to her grand-father? Could it have always been this easy to thwart the bad ending of the Historian¡¯s Novel?


    ¡°Good job,¡± said the Duke of Winchester, laying a hand over Amelia¡¯s shoulder. ¡°And I suppose you¡¯ve already dealt with the reason why your father left in the visions?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I think so,¡± Amelia murmured, as the floodgates of her tear ducts opened upon hearing her grandfather¡¯s recognition that she had still managed to at least save her father.


    ¡°Then, do you have any plans to secure proof regarding the Marquess of Rutherford¡¯s betrayal?¡± the duke asked. ¡°Because we¡¯re still going to need that, even after he¡¯s gone.¡±


    Wiping away her tears with a handkerchief Grace gave her, Amelia resolved to accept her mistakes, be thankful for what she had accomplished, and finish what she had started. Pushing past the dull ache in the back of her head that still wanted to cower and run, she answered his question.


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Amelia said, enjoying the touch of her grand-father¡¯s hand, which brushed aside a few strands of hair that had gotten stuck on her face from her crying.


    ¡°Good,¡± said the duke, when there came a loud knock on the door.


    ¡°My lord, there¡¯s a wizard and a man who are here to see the young miss.¡± Came a voice from the other side, in the trained cadence of a knight reporting to their master.


    ¡°One of ours?¡± asked the duke.


    ¡°No, it appears to be one of the eccentrics for hire. Not sure about the name, but the wizard¡¯s companion is a merchant named Thompson Brown if that helps.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t.¡± Said the Duke. ¡°It does!¡± Amelia said with excitement, at the same time.


    The Duke of Winchester chuckled. ¡°One of yours?¡± he asked her.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to think so,¡± Amelia said with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. For with the arrival of Thompson Brown and his wizard¡­


    The Historian¡¯s novel would soon be put to a close.

 Chapter 33 — The Princess’s Knight ( + Minor Status Announcement )

    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re alright?¡±


    Seated on the edge of her bed, Amelia contemplated Grace¡¯s question while she changed into an outfit more suitable for meeting guests than pyjamas.


    ¡°I think so?¡± Amelia answered, finding it hard to judge her own state of mind.


    Certainly, there was a ghost of an impression that she ought to be more bothered by what had been done to her by the Marquess of Rutherford. The amount of hatred she still held for the man was reason alone to suspect Grace might have gone above and beyond when meddling with her memories ¡®a little.¡¯


    But even then, Amelia just couldn¡¯t care. The last thing she needed was to become a useless emotional wreck. And it wasn¡¯t as if her recollection had been completely erased. In the end, she was still the same person, right?


    Amelia shivered, because Grace had without warning grabbed hold of her foot.


    ¡°I can put my own socks on!¡± Amelia protested.


    ¡°But then you¡¯ll have to stand up again,¡± Grace said, before she flicked Amelia¡¯s calf, bringing about the return of a cramp Amelia had thought she was over and done with.


    Vowing to never stay in bed longer than a single day ever again, with a ¡°hnnng¡± of discomfort, Amelia began beating her mattress to help wait out the pain. Once the cramp had passed, she allowed Grace to finish dressing her like a doll, to avoid further abuse. Helpless to do anything but pledge that one day she would get the princess back for each humiliation inflicted upon her.


    But did that also include kissing? As Amelia and Grace met Martel in the hall, Amelia¡¯s eyes wandered towards Grace¡¯s back. The princess hadn¡¯t said anything, but Amelia could still feel how the princess¡¯s lips had brushed against the corner of hers. Had it been an accident? On purpose? Was the ball in her court? Should she¡­ Should she say something?


    Growing self-conscious, Amelia¡¯s walk stiffened. Though any thoughts of confessing found themselves crashing into a brick wall, when Amelia discovered a horrible consequence for having brought up The Historian¡¯s novel in the princess¡¯s presence.


    Grace wasn¡¯t an idiot. The moment she crowned Grace a princess¡­ It would be the moment her friend realized she had lied by omission.


    Amelia sighed. To think her first crush would be destroyed by her own efforts. At the very least, the time for thoughts of love and forgiveness had yet to come. In the present, she needed to focus. Otherwise, she wouldn¡¯t be able to uphold the dignity of her family¡¯s name when meeting the three guests who had been waiting to meet her in the drawing room of her grandfather¡¯s mansion.


    Noticing her arrival, Thompson Brown leapt from his seat to greet Amelia. Behind him, a wizard sporting a beard that dwarfed even the Duke of Winchester¡¯s, slept soundly with arms crossed and head nodding, upright in his seat.


    ¡°It is so good to see you again, Lady Strightsworth,¡± Thompson said, extending his right hand with the palm facing upwards. ¡°Did I come at a bad time? The Duke¡¯s Knights appeared rather¡­ On guard. They didn¡¯t even look at my business card, couldn¡¯t get in until I had mentioned your name.¡±


    Amelia, checked in on Martel. Who she had forgotten to tell they were meeting a merchant.  Surprisingly, the older woman looked calmer than ever.  A fortune Amelia took in good stride, unwilling as she was to risk stirring the pot.


    ¡°I am happy to see you as well,¡± Amelia said. Placing her hand lightly on Stanton¡¯s, she allowed the merchant to kiss it in a display of respect he had only ever shown Grace in the Historian¡¯s novel, ¡°More problems with the Marquess Rutherford I¡¯m afraid,¡± she continued, and Thompson frowned in concern, ¡°Oh, don¡¯t make that face, its nothing bad. How about you? How have you been doing? I take it my investment advice has begun returning dividends?¡±


    The tenseness keeping Thompson¡¯s jaw locked, melted, ¡°My services are yours henceforth Lady Strightsworth,¡± he said, bowing before her to wordlessly reveal with good grace just how much money he must have made.


    ¡°Then I¡¯m glad,¡± Amelia said, before she addressed the third man in the room. Who¡¯s restless, shifting posture showed how unaccustomed he was to wearing fine fabrics, even if they were hospital garments, ¡°And I am delighted to see you also, Stanton. Have you been recovering well?¡±


    Stanton looked exhausted. He looked lost. His mouth opened and closed like a puppet whose puppeteer didn¡¯t know what to do, ¡°H-Hello again, L-Lady Strightsworth,¡± Stanton said, with his regard affixed on his feet. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ Nice to see you in sunlight.¡±


    Amelia patiently waited for him to come closer. When it became clear Stanton¡¯s legs were frozen stiff, she gave him a curtesy over the distance. Having decided it would be the first thing she did to express her thankfulness regarding his actions.


    It wasn¡¯t every day a fairy tail hero was willing to die for your honor.


    Approaching from her side, Grace leaned in to whisper, ¡°Aren¡¯t we here to talk with the wizard?¡± quietly enough that only Amelia heard.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Amelia said, spinning around, ¡°Martel, would you?¡± she asked, and as they had planned Martel sallied forth to guide Stanton away by the arm, towards a certain location.


    Four left in the room, the wizard abruptly yawned. Fluttering open, his milky white eyes, like shrouded crystal balls found Amelia before anyone else.


    ¡°Smells like magic.¡± Grunted the wizard.


    Struggling not to stare at the man¡¯s tall pointy hat, or the cute, hand-sown yellow stars made of felt decorating it, Amelia prepared herself for one final round of negotiations.


    ¡°No handshakes,¡± grunted the wizard. He held a palm up to stop Amelia from offering hers, ¡°Is this her?¡± he asked Thompson, turning his palm into a finger gun; aimed directly at Grace, ¡°That seer you told me about? There¡¯s something weird about her state of existence. The woman just left as well¡­ They¡¯re not where they¡¯re supposed to be. At all. It¡¯s kind of freaking me out.¡±


    Amelia could already hear her own heartbeat. Not a great start. So, this was a wizard. It was truly impressive how he could sense how she had meddled with the Historian¡¯s novel.


    Thompson moved in, laughing like a jester, ¡°You and your jokes,¡± he said to the wizard, who he shared something with, in a hushed tone.  Amelia couldn¡¯t hear what he said, but she was almost positive Thompson¡¯s lips had whispered the word ¡®princess¡¯ at least once.


    She waited to see how the wizard would react. Surprising everyone, he mimicked firing his hand-gun towards Grace. Mouthing a ¡°bang¡± as he did.


    ¡°Huh, I¡¯ll be damned,¡± said the wizard, just as Amelia was starting to worry whether the man Thompson had found might have some loose screws in his head, ¡°That coot, he really did lose a kid ¡ª¡±


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    ¡°Fantastic, Let¡¯s stop there,¡± Thompson said, interrupting the wizard with a loud clap, ¡°Amelia, this is Donavan. A wizard well versed in identity fraud and bloodlines. Also no, that is not his real name. Feel free to call him Donnie if you want, all he cares for is money. He¡¯s a real stand-up guy, with him, there shouldn¡¯t be any trouble with¡­ that thing I¡¯m assuming you still want to do?


    ¡°I do,¡± Amelia replied, before addressing the wizard, ¡°It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Donavan.¡±


    Donavan, merely turned his finger gun on Amelia, ¡°Huh¡­ On second glance, this girl is even weirder,¡± he said, before the wizard once more, fired a shot.


    A hand came from nowhere to grab Amelia¡¯s shoulder. ¡°G-Grace?¡± Amelia said in surprise, as Grace pulled her back hard, while the princess¡¯s other arm swung outwards horizontally like a sword, to deflect an invisible force that shattered the window behind Donavan, leaving a bullet shaped hole in the wizard¡¯s tall pointy hat.


    Donavan removed his damaged hat. He poked a finger into the hole. ¡°Say, Thompson, this is getting a bit too weird for me, I want out.¡±


    His words were enough to throw Amelia into the first stages of panic.


    ¡°It was different that time!¡± Grace said, desperately, and Amelia had only her own incompetence to blame for not having earlier warned Grace, a wielder of inherited magic, that their wizard of a guest might start casting strange spells. Anyone would expect Grace to get defensive! Had she just lost the support of the one wizard who could help prove her friend was actually a princess?


    Fortunately for Amelia¡¯s state of mind, Thompson¡¯s unimpressed snort preceded a magic trick of his own. In which the merchant produced a satchel of jingling coins he threw to the wizard.


    ¡°Well¡­ I guess I can bear with a queasy stomach for a bit longer,¡± Donavan said, pocketing the pouch as he began muttering to himself, while side-glaring Grace, ¡°Freaking divine bullshit I tell you. No idea why there are still churches making deals with the guy, when every wizard of any worth will tell you it¡¯s best to avoid him. Shit, if it weren¡¯t for the King¡¯s decision to make ours a secular Kingdom¡­¡± Donavan got up from his chair. ¡°Ah, whatever, I¡¯ve confirmed your claim. I¡¯ll take part in your little performance,¡± he said to Amelia before turning his back, ¡°But don¡¯t expect anything else!¡±


    One of the felt stars on the wizard¡¯s hat began shining. ¡°Come on Thompson,¡± said Donavan, as the light grew to envelop both men, ¡°I¡¯ve grown hungry and I want you to buy me some food.¡±


    In a brilliant flash the two of them vanished.


    ¡°No, I can¡¯t. Preparations would take weeks.¡± Grace said to Amelia, before Amelia could ask the princess if she could do the same thing.


    ¡°That¡¯s alright,¡± Amelia said, as she led the way towards the drawing room¡¯s door, ready to find Stanton and Martel.


    It didn¡¯t take long. In fact, the two of them were on the other side of the door. Stanton, in a full set of brand-new armor, fit for a knight, with Martel behind him. Like a proud mother who had finished dressing her child for school.


    Amelia allowed herself to admire the second gift she had prepared for Stanton. It felt fitting, to give him colorful armor after having received his cape while down in the dark. She could only hope he would like it.


    ¡°This humble gladiator is relieved to see you have recovered!¡± Stanton said loudly, all of a sudden. His eyes flitted in panic between Martel, and Grace, ¡°I am immensely grateful for having received the opportunity to be healed by the Lord Strightsworth!¡±


    Stanton fell to both knees. He lowered his head, to the point Amelia could see the back of his neck, where began a terrible scar.  ¡°But I must beg your forgiveness! I really did think I was going to die. For burdening you with my faults in a moment of weakness, I apologize!¡±


    Amelia could practically smell a misunderstanding. She considered how relaxed Martel and Grace remained in front of Stanton¡¯s clearly rehearsed apology. Were the two-woman aware of something she wasn¡¯t? They didn¡¯t think her savior held any fault in her follies, did they?


    That wouldn¡¯t do.


    ¡°Arise, Stanton,¡± Amelia said, approaching the man whose large, well-trained body trembled with every step she took towards him. ¡°I will not speak with a man who hides his face after having done nothing wrong.¡±


    Stanton stayed on the floor. Although he did raise his head. ¡°B-But¡­ I let knowing about the underground tunnels get to my head. When I overheard how you had disappeared¡­ Instead of chancing a guess, I¡­ I should have told someone. The Lord Strightsworth might have arrived sooner if I had.¡±


    ¡°Then, in your eyes, am I a woman who would blame you for such an insignificant matter?¡± Amelia asked him, much louder than planned. Utterly unable to hide how much she wished he wouldn¡¯t blame himself, for anything.


    She refused to condemn noble intentions, regardless of outcome. Seizing the momentum her outburst had earned her, Amelia kept talking. But not before kneeling down to match Stanton¡¯s eye level.


    ¡°I heard you¡­ created an explosion to get my father¡¯s attention?¡±


    ¡°Explosion?¡± Stanton repeated, before snapping his fingers, ¡°Oh, right! The collar. Can¡¯t go far left or right, but up and down doesn¡¯t matter. Yeah, I don¡¯t remember anything after snapping the thing. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°No, I am asking why is it you thought sacrificing yourself would be a good idea.¡± Amelia said, marginally irritated by Stanton¡¯s apathy towards his own health.


    ¡°I mean¡­ I once saw one explode from a distance? Knocked me clean off my feet it did. Utterly decimated the cart the poor saps were hiding inside. No way something like that going off underground would have gone unnoticed by your father.¡±


    The irritation, grew. Struggling to comprehend, Amelia clenched her fists until they were calm. ¡°Are you in any pain?¡± she asked Stanton, ¡°I... I don¡¯t like knowing were hurt. Truthfully, I wish you would have instead carried me outside, wrapped in your cape.¡±


    Stanton¡¯s ears began turning red. He fiddled with the straps of his gauntlets. ¡°S-Sorry, that¡¯s on me¡­¡± he said quietly, before his eyes moved to look down at his own neck. ¡°Well¡­ At least I got a cool scar out of it,¡± he mumbled, in such a way that Amelia wondered whether he actually considered the marks as some kind of medal of honor. ¡°D-Did you want to see?¡±


    Grace answered before Amelia could. ¡°That won¡¯t be needed,¡± she said, ¡°My lady has no interest in you showing her our body.¡±


    The shade of red spread from Stanton¡¯s ears, to his face, ¡°T-That¡¯s¡­ I didn¡¯t mean it like that.¡±


    Sensing their conversation had begun going awry, Amelia asked Grace a question.


    ¡°Are my belongings still at the townhouse where we were staying?¡±


    ¡°I had what you brought delivered here yesterday.¡±


    Most pleasant news. Amelia rose to her feet.


    ¡°Then, could you fetch me my mother¡¯s ring?¡±


    ¡°Sure, I¡¯ve got it right here,¡± Grace replied, handing over the drawstring pouch she had tied at her waist.


    Reaching for the ring, Amelia tried not to ponder why Grace had been keeping her father¡¯s dragon tooth inside it as well. Or why the final object within happened to be a hand-mirror.


    ¡°Stanton,¡± Amelia said, affixing the ring on her finger. ¡°Soon, my family will hold a duel to bring those who have hurt me under justice¡¯s sway. I know neither the strength of my enemy¡¯s champions, nor whether they plan to use underhanded methods to triumph¡­. All I know, is that my father is not able to face them alone, as it will be in three parts and magic has been restricted for two.¡±


    Stanton gasped. He appeared starstruck. ¡°Then¡­ we¡¯ll be able to watch?¡± he asked her, before his expression turned sour, ¡°No, there¡¯s no way they¡¯ll have fixed the hole your dad made.¡±


    Her blood pressure rising, Amelia dismissed her imagination, which pictured Stanton under the Coliseum¡¯s floorboards, drilling holes so he and his friends could take turns watching her father fight.


    ¡°Are you familiar with the final rites a knight must take to be accepted by a master?¡± Amelia asked Stanton, who only now noticed she had extended her hand.


    ¡°I¡­ I am,¡± Stanton mumbled, staring at the ring as if it were a world unto itself.


    ¡°Then, have you an interest in fighting alongside my father?¡±


    ¡°Me? Alongside the Dragon himself?¡± Stanton asked, his eyes brimming with tears, ¡°I¡­ Do not think I am worthy.¡±


    ¡°Do not be mistaken,¡± Amelia said, while wondering how much longer she could keep her arm up, ¡°Regardless of what you decide, I vow here and now to take personal responsibility for all those you care for in life. This, is not an offer I am willing to extend unto a man desiring a life of peace. This is an offer I am making to the hero who saved me! A chance to forever be remembered and honored by not only myself, but my father as well!¡±


    She had to stop and take a deep breath before pouring her soul into her request, ¡°Will¡­ Will you not come to my aid a second time? Not as a gladiator, but my own personal knight?¡±


    Stanton arose. Close as they were, Amelia couldn¡¯t help but compare how the man towered above her. Although she didn¡¯t mind. In his presence, she couldn¡¯t help but feel safe.


    ¡°I¡­ would want nothing more than to become your knight,¡± Stanton said, before he placed an open hand over his heart, took her hand with his other, and lowered his lips to her ring where he left a light kiss.

 Chapter 34 — Round One, Confused, Willing, and Ready

    Heimdall had seen his fair share of war. Havoc Strightsworth was not a man you could follow without getting up to your ankles in blood, and a life serving his liege had beat into Heimdall¡¯s bones that wherever dragons went, trouble would follow. Never complacent, always prepared, he felt quite proud for having survived for so long. Despite always secretly wishing for a life that required only paper and ink to do battle: A dream he had once thought within his grasp for a time¡­ Until Ophelia Strightsworth¡¯s unfortunate passing.


    For years, Heimdall toiled to keep his and Havoc¡¯s childish dream of building a sanctuary for the common folk, alive and well. But like the spiral of depression afflicting his Lord, there was only so much he could do to keep the ride going.


    Truth be told, Heimdall had been approaching his wits end on the day Amelia began acting funny. Yet before he knew it, what ought to have been a weekly session of secretly guarding their house¡¯s poorly disguised young miss as she went to the bookstore had somehow become a whirlwind strong enough to re-ignite the heart of a Dragon. Inspiring a hope in Heimdall that Havoc had at long last returned and would soon right what was wrong.


    Heimdall glanced at the Coliseum undergoing heavy construction. He leaned back in his saddle, contemplating how best to channel his nostalgic frustrations as he once again read the letter Havoc had sent to the Strightsworth estate, upon which was written only a request to arrive in the Velvetican Kingdom¡¯s capital city.


    ¡®I need you for something.¡¯


    ¡°Give me a break,¡± Heimdall said in awe, as he urged his nervous horse closer to the immense sink-hole a group of workers were pouring an endless amount of dirt and gravel into. ¡°Do I even want to know why?¡± he mused, after confirming the hole did not have a bottom in sight.


    ¡°Excuse me! Hello? Are you of the house Strightsworth?¡± a chipper voice suddenly asked.


    Neck-reining his horse, Heimdall found a lass holding a sign with his name crudely written upon it. ¡°That¡¯s us. Who sent you?¡± he asked, hoping whatever this was would be more useful than the abandoned camp he had earlier passed.


    ¡°Mail carrier sir,¡± replied the girl, who riffled through her mailbag to hand over a note, ¡°Got a hefty tip to stand here these last two days. I¡¯m not complaining but I¡¯ll tell you my feet are killing me silly. Mind taking this from me? I¡¯d like to go get some sleep.¡±


    ¡°Your hard-work is appreciated,¡± Heimdall said, giving the girl a few extra coins for her troubles. Before he turned his attention to the note on which had been stamped of all things, the Strightsworth¡¯s family seal. Above a single sentence that caused him to rip the paper in half.


    ¡®I want you to fight for Amelia¡¯s honor.¡¯


    Heimdall struggled to stop his mouth from twitching in anger, for it meant both his rage towards the Marquess of Rutherford still had a reason to exist¡­ and that Havoc felt a need to stay where he was instead of coming to give his instructions in person.


    He hoped he was wrong. ¡°Where was this sent from?¡± Heimdall asked.


    ¡°Boss said the delivery came from the Duke of Winchester himself!¡± answered the girl proudly, ¡°Were you invited to the duel? I don¡¯t mean to pry, it¡¯s just¡­ I¡¯d hurry if I were you, it¡¯s starting at noon!¡±


    His worries compounded. What was she talking about? The Duke of Winchester? Those who had accompanied Heimdall on the ride up readied their steeds to receive his instructions.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving!¡± shouted Heimdall, deciding to first and foremost, ensure Amelia¡¯s safety. Knowing full well how limited he was in his capacity to help in a world littered with monsters of mysterious lineages and all-powerful wizards. ¡°To the Duke of Winchester¡¯s estate!¡±


    **


    Many questions and worries had come and gone by the time Heimdall sighted the Duke of Winchester¡¯s Mansion. Were his knives sharp enough to cut flesh? Did his poisons remain vicious enough to coagulate blood? Why hadn¡¯t he thought to bring his stash of fire-retardant oils as well? Fighting for Amelia¡¯s honor might sound to a layman as if a proper duel had been challenged, but any sort of fight between Havoc and the Duke in Heimdall¡¯s eyes, would eventually devolve into nothing more than two house sized mutts going at the other¡¯s throat like they were born and raised on the streets.


    It was times like this Heimdall felt thankful for his status as a mere servant. For once the gloves were thrown, the time for advising and overthinking was over.


    Who knew? Maybe things weren¡¯t even that bad. Maybe the Duke of Winchester had gotten fed up with Havoc ignoring his letters and had decided to bring Amelia back into his household by force¡­ Although, that wouldn¡¯t explain why Havoc would bring up his daughter¡¯s ¡®honor¡¯ of all things.


    Heimdall spotted a pair of patrolling knights between his group and the distant assembly of colorful tents dotting the horizon in a circular pattern. Leading his horse off road and onto the grass, Heimdall made for the knights who took notice of his approach. One of them, lifted his hand in friendly greeting. Had it been a sword raised instead, Heimdal would have run the man over.


    ¡°H-have you an invitation?¡± the Knight asked with a hiccup, his words slurred, and his stance on close inspection, was kept mostly upright only thanks to the spear he had wrapped himself around.


    ¡°Right here,¡± Heimdall answered, off-put by the lack of professionalism. Sliding down from his horse, he thrust Havoc¡¯s letter against the knight¡¯s chest. Then, without waiting for permission, continued onwards, towards the festivities in full sway.


    He signaled his men under the fluttering of three different flags, and together they entered the throng of attendants that only grew denser the further they pressed. ¡°Get out of our way!¡± Heimdall barked, as his escort formed a triangle to help split a path through the crowd, bringing them ever closer to where the cheering and hollering was at its loudest. Their advance only stopped upon reaching a roped-off enclosure, which made for a make-shift dueling ground on which two knights were already waiting, below twin wooden spectator stands that had been constructed for the viewing pleasure of the nobility in attendance.


    Squinting, Heimdall found Havoc seated next to the Duke of Winchester. Acting surprisingly amicable, the men were one row above and behind Amelia, as lovely as a smiling flower in her bright summer dress. Heimdall nearly melted out of relief, yet his heart strangled that relaxation to death before it could take over. Despite how happy Amelia currently looked, he refused to rest easy. Not while her attendants, one of whom Heimdall didn¡¯t recognise, appeared to be giving Amelia so much attention and care with a mixture of parasols and snacks. Not until he had heard first hand why Amelia now held in the crook of her arm what looked like a child.


    Heimdall¡¯s heart froze. As if Ophelia¡¯s spirit were returning from heaven to chastise him for not having done enough for her daughter. He blinked twice, time enough to reason out there was no way Amelia could have somehow given birth.


    A doll then. A very well-made doll perhaps, but not his worst fears come to life. Only, he still worried, since Amelia had not needed to carry around the comfort of a doll in many a year.


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    His suspicions found the Marquess of Rutherford and his entourage seated in the second raised viewing stand. ¡°Forget killing the son, I should have gone for the father,¡± Heimdall said under his breath, convinced as he was the noble had something to do with the spectacle, he now found himself watching.


    The crowd cheered. Heimdall followed the noise to where Amelia had stood up. In her hands, a handkerchief, dyed purple of all colors. Let go into the wind, the handkerchief soared over the field, descending with a flutter to where the Knight wearing a mixture of red and blue caught it in a fist. He wrapped it around his arm, adjusted his shield, then pointed his sword¡¯s tip towards the other knight who readied his two-handed mace.


    The favor of a lady, marked the clash of steel against steel.


    Confused, for Heimdall had been convinced there had been something going on between Amelia and the lady in waiting she had ¡®stumbled upon¡¯, Heimdall listened in on the crowd to uncover a name, quickly finding within the chants a potential match with a youth who just so happened to be on his very own list of potential recruits.


    Heimdall couldn¡¯t help but wonder why Havoc would let a greenhorn fight under their banner. He hadn¡¯t been able to identify the Marquess¡¯s knight who began swinging his mace again and again against the shield Stanton held strong against, but from how he moved, the man was clearly a veteran.


    ¡°Quit hiding, you rat!¡± Screamed the Marquess of Rutherford¡¯s Knight, ¡°I was promised a fight! So why have they sent out a child?!¡±


    Stanton kept silent, deftly diverting each attack against him away by the side. His sword arm helping to support his shield, the young man looked once behind him to check how many more steps he could take backwards before reaching the ropes. Seeing there weren¡¯t many, Stanton made a clumsy attempt to strike back at his opponent, only for his sword to glance off the Knight¡¯s sturdy chest-piece.


    Heimdall began analyzing Stanton. Did the boy hope to tired his opponent out? Was he testing for weak-points? Heimdall didn¡¯t think either guess was correct. No, from how Stanton was awkwardly moving, it was almost as if he were recently injured. Not to mention¡­


    ¡°You idiot,¡± Heimdall muttered towards Havoc, as Stanton¡¯s foot slipped and the boy avoided the Knight¡¯s mace only by falling, ¡°You can¡¯t give a gladiator a full set of armor and a slap on the back. He won¡¯t know how to move.¡±


    Havoc¡¯s face met Heimdall¡¯s from across the distance while Stanton played at being a turtle.


    ¡°Wrong,¡± Havoc mouthed, before Stanton abandoned both his sword and his shield, to entangled his feet between his opponent and bring the man down to his level.


    Their fight, devolved into a ground-based grapple contest for control of the mace. Four hands on the weapons hamper, an elbow struck Stanton¡¯s head. In turn Stanton bashed his head against his foe¡¯s visor. Their pristine equipment quickly became covered in dirt and stains of grass as they tumbled around. While the crowd¡¯s demand for more violence grew cruder and louder with every dent made.


    Heimdall checked in on Amelia, whose clasped hands made her look like a princess praying for the victory of her knight. Helpless, Heimdall sighed, knowing it fell on him to make sure the audience¡¯s jeering didn¡¯t stray and begin wondering why his master¡¯s daughter looked like a maiden in love. Raising his hands to his mouth, Heimdall drew in a large breath of air, and let loose a cry.


    ¡°Yeah! Fuck him up Stanton! I want to see you shove his head in the dirt!¡±


    His men, trusting there was a reason for his outburst, quickly followed Heimdall¡¯s example. ¡°Break his leg kid!¡± shouted one, ¡°Tear out his spine!¡± hollered another, creating a ripple of supportive insults that spread out and around the arena, as every knight under the Duke of Winchester and Havoc¡¯s banner began throwing banter, completing the distraction.


    Surprisingly, the disparaging remarks seemed to invigorate Stanton.


    ¡°They sent out a kid because you¡¯re not worth anything else!¡± Stanton yelled, abandoning his competition for the mace to jam his thumbs into the slits of the Knight¡¯s visor and begin digging deep


    The Knight howled and fought back with everything that he had. His mace pounded Stanton, who slammed the knight¡¯s head against the ground in response, with just enough force to finish gouging the knight.


    With the blinded knight left to shriek and writhe in the dirt, Stanton knocked the man¡¯s mace away with a kick. Stumbling away to retrieve his sword, Stanton turned towards the stands as a gladiator would if the King happened to be in attendance. Havoc in return bared his teeth in a bloodthirsty, savage grin of approval.


    Without hesitation, in a single downwards thrust through a gurgling throat that soon found its silence, Stanton executed the Marquess of Rutherford¡¯s Knight.


    A trumpet blared to declare the victory his. And as Stanton removed his own helmet, revealing his handsomely bruised face, Heimdall directed his men to jump over the ropes and carry their newest member away to be treated, towards a striped red and white tent.


    **


    Inside the tent, Heimdall found not only an injured Stanton, but also his liege. They were making idle conversation about how best to wrestle, of all things, while two knights aided the starry-eyed boy in removing the rest of his armor.


    ¡°Ah¡­ And here comes the second,¡± Havoc said in greeting, upon noticing Heimdall.


    It was enough for Heimdall to extrapolate why it was he had been called.


    ¡°You-called-me-here-for-a-duel?¡± he shouted, getting all up in Havoc¡¯s face, ¡°Why me?!¡±


    ¡°Because we needed three people,¡± Havoc said, which caused Heimdall¡¯s face to turn such a violent shade of red that the knight¡¯s watching silently excused themselves from the tent.


    ¡°Although¡­¡± continued Havoc, ¡°I mostly called you here to help comfort Amelia who encountered a misfortune I failed to prevent.¡±


    Heimdall¡¯s heart sunk. ¡°Is she alright?¡± he managed, needing to know at least that much.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± answered Havoc, his voice strained with an uncertainty seldom found in the man, ¡°but I intend to use this duel to send a message to those who might still wish to harm her¡­ Especially since my daughter has begun talking of visions¡­¡±


    Heimdall felt the unease an of existential dread find root in his heart.


    ¡°You don¡¯t mean God¡ª¡±


    Havoc moved like lightning, covering Heimdall¡¯s mouth before he could finish.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how involved he is,¡± Havoc said, ¡°Neither are we going to tempt him with our words in this place. We will stay within the boundaries of the game he has set without asking questions. I might have decided against seeking him out, but I will not risk anything else¡­ Right now, all I care for is the fact attention that will might soon fall on my daughter.¡±


    Heimdall agreed with Havoc¡¯s choice. Enduring a storm would be much easier than trying to fight it. ¡°And him?¡± he asked, gesturing with his head to where Stanton perked up.


    ¡°A knew family knight. He is of good stock, as you just saw,¡± Havoc said, confirming Heimdall¡¯s guess. ¡°And¡­ He helped my daughter avoid a miserable end my lack of oversight caused. When you have the time, make arrangements for a few more squires as well. I would imagine the boy has made several friends in his line of work who would be willing to fulfill such positions.¡±


    ¡°Duly noted,¡± Heimdall said, looking upon Stanton in a much better light.


    ¡°H-Hi there!¡± Stanton said, ¡°You¡­ You must be Heimdall!¡± he said, wiping at the corner of his eyes as he clearly tried not to, ¡°I can¡¯t tell you how amazed I am to be able to meet the Dragon¡¯s informant in person!¡±


    The boy¡¯s attempt to remain professional despite Havoc¡¯s confirmation that his friends would be free men was admirable. Though Heimdall did feel a bit self-conscious, since it had been a while since someone had mentioned that nickname.


    ¡°Yes¡­ Well¡­ Good to meet you as well, I suppose,¡± Heimdall said, as they heard a trumpet resound. ¡°Shoot, I really did come at the last minute. Is this a best out of five? Is this the result of the hearing? How screwed are we if I lose?¡±


    ¡°No. Yes. Best out of three.¡± Havoc said, which took Heimdall completely off guard. He had been absolutely certain of his guess, but once again had somehow managed to underestimate how idiotic his master could be when it came down to planning.


    Heimdall¡¯s eyes narrowed ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡±


    ¡°Boy. You. Me.¡± Havoc said, pointing in order, ¡°That makes three.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not asking what bloody order we¡¯re fighting in!¡± Heimdall gripped loudly, ¡°Why am I even here if it¡¯s a best out of three?!¡±


    ¡°I needed someone who I could trust not to die to set the stage for my entrance.¡±


    Heimdall breathed in deeply, then he grabbed a standing torch and threw it on the floor in anger, ¡°Stanton just did that!¡± he said, stomping it out, ¡°Why can¡¯t you just go next and finish the job? If Amelia¡¯s vulnerable, we should be wrapping this up!¡±


    Havoc pointed to the tent¡¯s entrance. The wind blew, fluttering it just wide enough for the trio to catch a glimpse of a flag bearing the Marquess of Rutehrford¡¯s crest in the distance.


    ¡°You¡­ will give them hope.¡± Havoc said, practically growling, like a beast who was struggling to hold itself back.


    ¡°Then this is¡­¡±


    ¡°A tour de force,¡± finished Havoc, ¡°To ensure no more vermin mistake my daughter as food.¡±


    Heimdall reassessed. Considering how accident-prone Amelia could be, he found himself in agreement¡­


    Though he didn¡¯t appreciate the idea of merely setting the stage with a loss.

 Chapter 35 — Round Two

    Readjusting the frilliest dress she had ever worn, for the day of the duel, Amelia fiddled with the jewels bedazzling its length from collar to base to keep herself distracted while waiting.


    ¡°Here, good as new,¡± Grace said from beside her. She was holding a doll, which had lost some of its stuffing during Stanton¡¯s fight with the Marquess of Rutherford¡¯s knight.


    ¡°Sorry, I¡¯ll be more careful with it,¡± said Amelia, hugging the doll Grace had enchanted to help her through the day¡¯s stress. A boon like no other, though not one impervious to having its cotton squeezed out when handled with far too much care.


    Grace simply moved closer, discreetly wrapping her arm around Amelia¡¯s waist in a comforting gesture.


    ¡°Feeling hungry?¡± Martel asked Amelia, for the tenth time that day, as she offered from a tin a fine selection of candies made to look like rubies and diamonds.


    Amelia partook with a quiet ¡°thank you¡±, and tried not to get emotional as the candies began to flood her mouth with their sweetness. Even that very morning, all it had taken was for her to mention a desire to feel pretty and the two women had gone the distance to ensure that it happened.


    ¡°I¡¯m awfully glad Stanton¡¯s fight ended well,¡± Amelia said, placing the doll in the crook of her arm so she could continue weaving the circlet of flowers she had decided to make.


    ¡°I suppose he did alright,¡± Grace said laconically. She gave Amelia another flower, conjured from thin air, ¡°Though I still think he could have been less gory about it¡­ Or have worn his usual armor.¡±


    ¡°Pish-posh,¡± Martel said in disagreement, ¡°Our lady wanted him shielded and the boy chose to interpret her words by wearing full plate.¡± She poked the circlet Amelia was making, ¡°I have to say¡­ That¡¯s pretty well-made.¡±


    Amelia held up the circlet of flowers to inspect her work. Secretly, she took a peek through its colors towards the erected wooden stands where the Marquess of Rutherford could be found sitting like a statue in his seat. The foreign prince lounged nearby, fanned by two muscular servants.


    ¡°My mom taught me,¡± Amelia said quietly, wishing she could know why the prince looked more annoyed than the Marquess. It was as if the royal wished he could be anywhere else.


    Their eyes met through the flowers. The prince lazily blew her a kiss, wrapped in a wink. Amelia shrunk back into her seat. If the Historian¡¯s novel could be trusted, then he was probably simply acting the flirt, but after what had happened beneath the Coliseum¡­ The idea of interacting with anyone even remotely involved with the Marquess of Rutherford felt like a vice-grip on her heart.


    ¡°Is he someone you know?¡± Grace asked, as she slid her hand from hip onto leg to pull Amelia closer.


    ¡°Nope,¡± Amelia said, happy to ignore the prince in favor of Grace. She still had a mind to petition the royal with a deal to overthrow his elder brother after the duel, but that could only happen if his aspirations to establish himself in the ruins of the Velvetican kingdom were sufficiently crushed. She just needed to wait¡­ and approach the prince in a safe manner. No more going off by herself. Bad things tended to happen whenever she did.


    Her decision to do so, lessened the vice-grip.


    Grace leaned forward, to better look between the Prince and Amelia, ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s kind of¡­ different, how he¡¯s not wearing a shirt?¡±


    Caught off guard, Amelia bit her lower lip in annoyance. It felt like Grace had been a thought away from calling the prince ¡®hot¡¯. It disgruntled her, since she agreed that in his loose flowing clothes the prince appeared especially¡­ She wasn¡¯t one to use the word ¡®tasty¡¯, but enough romance novels told her the descriptor was apt.


    Martel tapped her shoulder, providing an escape route from the jealousy Amelia hadn¡¯t realised she was capable of.


    ¡°Sounds like the Marquess of Rutherford will be sending out a hired mercenary next. But it¡¯s not the Leviathan.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Amelia said, relieved to know they could stick to their planned line up: Stanton to first test the waters, then whoever her father had found since they had won, followed by her father himself as their lynchpin against the Marques¡¯s ace, should they lose in the second.


    But why was the Marquess of Rutherford sending out a random mercenary? Was it because Stanton had trounced his Knight?


    The answer, revealed itself as the Alchemist Richter exited the Marquess¡¯s tent. Ducking under the ropes of the dueling grounds, he lifted the barrier from the other side, allowing a shambling beggar who looked two steps from death, to limp onto the field unimpeded.


    Grace retched with a hand over her mouth. ¡°There¡¯s something foul about that one¡­ He smells like tainted magic, although I don¡¯t know how such a thing could possibly be.¡±


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The fact the Marquess of Rutherford might be cheating, mattered little to Amelia, who reasoned Richter could probably spin whatever he was up to as ¡®Science¡¯ rather than ¡®Magic¡¯, thereby skirting the rules of the duel.


    A part of her still hoped her father¡¯s fighter might be able to wipe the smug look from Richter¡¯s face, but as Amelia watched four men carry out an immense battle axe for the ¡®mercenary¡¯ wearing nothing but rags, she reasoned the fight might already be over, when the sickly man lifted the weapon over his shoulder using an arm nearly as thin as her own.


    So, when her father¡¯s tent opened and a thin, bespectacled person she knew well strutted outside, dressed like he was ready for a hard day¡¯s work of accounting, it took the combined force of Grace and Martel to hold Amelia down in her seat.


    ¡°H-Heimdall?!¡± Amelia stammered, ¡°T-That¡¯s Heimdall! My father¡¯s aid! I knew I heard him earlier; he should be back home¡­ W-What is he doing here?¡±


    Grace held Amelia¡¯s trembling hands as Heimdall walked the full circumference of the field. Bizarrely, he patted each wooden post marking the grounds as he did, before making his way to the center.


    ¡°Is he a good fighter?¡±


    ¡°Heimdall? A good fighter? The question gave Amelia a reason to pause. But even after revisiting every memory she had of the man, Amelia struggled to find a single example of Heimdall being remotely capable of dishing out violence. This was the kind-hearted soul who would always ask her whether she had brushed her teeth before bed, the man she thought of as a second father who was always willing to help her find a new book. To her, Heimdall was a scholar. A self-made gentleman of fine learning.


    Of course, he had been willing to pull a gun and dagger on her father during their family¡¯s dinner fiasco, but hadn¡¯t he done that out of principle? Actually¡­ How many people were there who could pull a gun on her father? She watched Heimdall politely bow in their direction, and then he was off, with nothing more than a satchel towards the beggar who howled as Richter injected him with a syringe.


    A madness seemed to take over the man. His muscles began writhing like snakes under skin as he grew. With each passing second the beggar seemed less and less human, and more like a shuddering mass of pulsating flesh.


    Richter backed away from the field. Not straying far, he proudly kept watch over his creation that dropped its axe to begin clawing at its own exposed skin.


    ¡°It¡¯s starting,¡± Martel said, as the round¡¯s trumpet blew loudly.


    ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t watch,¡± Amelia gasped, unwilling to imagine Heimdall getting hurt for her sake.


    Heimdall, appeared relatively unbothered by the hulk that dropped on all fours to retrieve its axe. Squatting down on the grass, he opened his satchel and began to calmly dig through it.


    ¡°Move! Please!¡± Amelia screamed, as the beggar, with his axe dragging behind it, sprinted towards Heimdall. The crowd took Amelia¡¯s shout to decide something was wrong. One person even laughed, as if amused by the slaughter that would surely descend alongside the axe the beggar raised high.


    Squinting against the sun, Heimdal tilted his head to lazily consider the guillotine that began to descend. Amidst the collective held breath of all those who watched, Amelia managed to hear Heimdall speak to himself over the distance.


    ¡°What a pain in the ass,¡± Heimdall said, as he pulled out from his satchel a hank made from the finest of hairs, along with a knife.


    He darted forwards, keeping his centre of gravity low to avoid the axe¡¯s downswing. Stepping in, Heimdall without blinking shoved the tip of his knife into the beggar¡¯s belly and slashed the blade horizontally free. The beggar¡¯s impressive size began working against him, as the weight of his guts caused them to begin spilling out.


    Amelia, as the gore hissed unnaturally, found herself thinking that Heimdall¡¯s movement had looked incredibly practiced. It was almost as if the man had been preparing himself to take down a foe much larger than himself for a very, very long time.


    Though it didn¡¯t look like Heimdall had expected the beggar to ignore the gaping wound as if he were impervious to pain. Since he barely managed to react and dodge the second, much more frenetic attempt on his life.


    Seemingly panicked, Heimdall threw his knife. It went wide, not even close to hitting its mark¡­ But Amelia thought for sure she could guess what Heimdall was up to, as the spool of string Heimdall held began to unravel.


    The knife, attached to the string at its hilt, turned around in mid-air as Heimdall pulled hard. Amelia gasped, while the crowd¡­. stared open mouth, as the knife missed once again and returned to land in front of its owner.


    Heimdall, like an elderly man, slowly bent low to reach for his weapon. While his opponent took advantage of his apparent misfortune.


    ¡°No!¡± Amelia shouted, as a cloud of dirt exploded around the two men as the beggar axe fell once again. Their figures now shrouded, the outcome unknown, Amelia¡¯s shriek hadn¡¯t even finished before Heimdall burst from the haze to begin levitating, of all things, above the dust.


    ¡°That¡¯s cheating!¡± Amelia heard Richter yell, ¡°We said no magic!¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t magic,¡± Grace said, sounding offended that anyone would think so.


    ¡°K-Kinda looks like it!¡± Amelia said flabbergasted, before Grace reached out to share a spark of her magic, allowing Amelia¡¯s eyes to better see what faintly glittered as the dust continued to settle.


    Heimdall, was balancing on a string; a diameter of webbing connected by the posts roping off the dueling ground¡¯s zone. Somehow, the field had been strung up like a spider had made the field home.


    ¡°That¡¯s still cheating!¡± Richter shouted, before adding with a mix of desperation and a want to know more, ¡°What kind of string is that?!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re just dragon tendons,¡± Heimdall said. He began looping his knife between his cord of string, like he was getting ready to put it away. As he did, a single vertical string shimmered into view¡­ Revealing to all in attendance the trap that forced the beggar to tilt his head up.


    Heimdall hadn¡¯t missed, he had thrown his knife to loop it round the man¡¯s head.


    Without smugness or gloating, Heimdall shrugged towards Richter as he continued to reel in his struggling fish. ¡°And the rules didn¡¯t say anything about prepping the field,¡± he added, before Heimdall stepped off his perch, becoming the counterweight that made the beggar¡¯s eyes bulge, just before the string round his neck sliced itself shut.


    Landing as light as a cat, Heimdall raised both hands in the air as both a head and a beggar fell to thud and roll on the grass.


    Before the trumpet could sound to announce the duel¡¯s winner, Heimdall faced where the Marquess of Rutherford stewed in an anger he could no longer hide, and said, as if mocking the noble:


    ¡°I surrender.¡±

 Chapter 36 — Round Three

    A stone flew through the air towards Heimdall.  From her elevated seat, Amelia winced as it came precariously close to hitting his head, then traced the projectile¡¯s trajectory back to where a group of dissatisfied young nobles stood on the grass with their lackeys.


    Evidently, some of them had taken issue with Heimdall sullying the sacredness of a duel by forfeiting.  Or perhaps they were dissatisfied with how fast the fight had concluded.


    ¡°What brats,¡± Martel commented, as Heimdall twirl the severed head of his opponent to scatter the youth by throwing it at them, ¡°haven¡¯t they noticed their parents aren¡¯t laughing along? Talk about a generational gap.¡±


    ¡°Kids will be kids, I don¡¯t mind their reaction,¡± Grace said to Martel, ¡°it means word hasn¡¯t spread about what this is really about.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not much older than we are,¡± Amelia said, finding Grace¡¯s remark amusing. She stood as Heimdall passed by their stand in a showing of thanks, which publicly displayed her full support of his actions. ¡°Let them yap all they want, an overmorrow from now their tunes will have changed.¡±


    Having spotted Amelia, Heimdall rolled his eyes. He offered a wave in return, one that seemed to chastise her for ever thinking his actions needed gratitude to begin with.


    Truly, how foolish Amelia felt. In the end, she was but one person. No matter the hand she assembled, when it came time to play, winning would always be up to the cards once set down on the table.


    She watched Heimdall cheekily tap his own arm, on the exact place Stanton had wrapped Amelia¡¯s handkerchief, before he disappeared into the crowd. Amelia giggled and made plans to prepare a second. Returning to her seat, the heckling of the few youths who couldn¡¯t read the room now struck her as meaningless drivel.


    ¡°Really,¡± Amelia said, once she had resumed work on her circlet of flowers, ¡°It¡¯s like they¡¯re forgetting what Heimdall forfeiting means.¡±


    Already, like a spreading tidal wave of excitement, the few cackling jeers that remained were getting drowned out. Both Martel and Grace exchanged a strange glance. Then, they looked over the dueling fields to where stood a certain red and white tent.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried?¡± Martel asked, ¡°Is there a chance this might be a mistake? I trust your father¡­ But wouldn¡¯t winning have been safer?¡±


    Refusing to allow the entrance of doubt in her heart, Amelia answered with conviction and faith, ¡°I don¡¯t know if Heimdall planned this with my father¡­ But I agree with his choice¡­We need to show the world our family shouldn¡¯t be messed with.¡±


    A single tear formed in the corner of her eye. The Marquess of Rutherford might have forced things to get to this point, but she could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.


    Amelia tapped her friend¡¯s leg. ¡°Grace, there¡¯s something I¡¯ve been meaning to tell you.¡±


    Grace¡¯s head jerked in startled surprise.  ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s pretty loud right now. Why don¡¯t we talk once this is over?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Amelia said, wanting her friend to be as comfortable as possible when she broke the news that their Kingdom would soon have a princess. She could only hope spoiling the surprise early might earn her some forgiveness for having taken so long. Though her confidence that the day was already won, took a hit when a certain man with a scar on his face, leapt down from the foreign prince¡¯s entourage to land on the field.


    A hint of nervousness flickered across Amelia¡¯s soul as the Leviathan, under the confident eyes of the Marquess of Rutherford, took center-stage. She gulped, as the Patron-Saint of a foreign god, the very man who had taken the King¡¯s head and killed her grand-father in the Historian¡¯s novel, raised a fist in self-assured victory and pointed a finger to the sky.


    Once blue and clear, the sun¡¯s light soon found itself swallowed as an unnaturally dark cloud developed above them. Striking enough to bring about a hushed awe in the crowd.


    ¡°Grace,¡± Amelia whispered, under the pitter-patter of rain that began to fall on the stands roofing, ¡°Are you able to discreetly pass my father a message?¡±


    ¡°Easily.¡±


    Amelia passed on the words she wanted her father to hear in a whisper. ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s going to be a better opportunity,¡± she said defensively, when Grace raised an eyebrow, ¡°The Marquess of Rutherford is playing his best card. This is our chance to strike a crippling blow, and I think it¡¯s the best way to do it!¡±


    Grace laughed, ¡°Sorry, sorry, you¡¯re right¡­ Maybe I¡¯m just on edge for some reason. You can say some really frightening stuff despite acting cute most of the time.¡±


    ¡°Then do it,¡± Martel said, and both she and Amelia watched with anticipation as Grace, using fire for ink, traced in the air a message bearing only four words:


    ¡®Burn him to cinders.¡¯


    Sent out on the wind, Amelia¡¯s request had barely entered the tent her father was in, when the entire thing without warning erupted into a pillar of flames; piercing the Leviathan¡¯s cloud in defiance. Hot enough to be felt even over the distance.


    Havoc emerged from the blaze, along with Stanton proudly carrying a standard-flag heralding the Strightsworth¡¯s family crest, as if Havoc were but another of Amelia¡¯s knights, and Stanton his own personal Squire. A rumble of thunder growled above as they approached, growing louder still when Havoc burned his way through the dueling field¡¯s ropes.


    Of the two men larger than life, in dissatisfaction, Havoc spoke first. ¡°I can sense the blessings of a creature with some modicum of power upon you. Enough to earn worship, though hardly the rumored strength of an¡­ actual God.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard tales of your blasphemy,¡± the Leviathan snarled, and the tattoos on his skin undulated as if they were alive. The multitude of blue lines swayed back and forth as the sky continued to darken. ¡°I will stamp your flames of heresy out.¡±


    Rolling his neck, Havoc asked slowly, ¡°Tell me, is your God blind in one eye?¡±


    Lightning struck the ground between the two men. Revealing an enormous trident as the blinding scent of ozone diminished.


    ¡°Perfection would not suffer a marred body,¡± the Leviathan said, taking the weapon in hand as it crackled with power.


    ¡°Then I am glad I didn¡¯t waste my time in attempting to meet it.¡±


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    The final trumpeting bell tolled, marking the duel¡¯s start. And in their first exchange of trident on fist, the shock-wave that rippled outwards sent those who weren¡¯t immediately bowled over, scrambling for safety.


    Amelia remained unaffected. After all, she had Grace, who with an open palm before her had stopped the after-math of the terrifying exchange in its tracks.


    ¡°We should probably leave,¡± Grace said, as she slapped away a stray gust of wind towards the Marquess of Rutherford¡¯s tent, where it cut through the canvas like an invisible knife, exposing those still inside to the rain.


    Amelia thought that was a silly thing to say. ¡°I think it¡¯s important I watch this¡­ Can¡¯t you protect us? Don¡¯t worry, I trust you.¡±


    An explosion erupted as Havoc reared an arm back. His fist, now engulfed in fire, blazed to strike the Leviathan down. In response, another blue bolt descended, wreathing the Leviathan in an elemental armor for him to receive the attack.


    ¡°But there¡¯s a limit, right?!¡± Grace yelled, when in a twinkling display, the impact between both men became a maelstrom of intermixed fire and lightning.


    Death, began to encroach on those who had yet to make for the hills. However, Amelia¡¯s faith once built would not be so easily shaken. She knew neither her father, nor the princess would ever allow significant harm to befall her should they be present.


    ¡°Nope!¡± Amelia answered, before she used what many thought were their lasts moments, to sneak in a kiss upon Grace¡¯s cheek.


    Stunned for only a moment, Grace gritted her teeth and extended both arms with her hands clasped together, ¡°Fine! But you owe me big time!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll give you whatever you want,¡± Amelia answered, and her heart filled to the brim with a joyous love, as the woman she cared for screamed in exertion and split the sea of crackling fire away to both sides before it could kill them.


    Oh, if only they could be like this forever. It was a shame the Marquess of Rutherford had already fled... The view was to die for. To the point Amelia forgot how to blink as she watched the exchange of blows that had never once stopped.


    ¡°Die knowing your faith was misplaced!¡± howled the Leviathan, as he speared Havoc¡¯s arm and withdrew, drawing a fountain of blood.


    Havoc¡¯s wound burned itself shut. ¡°Is that all you can do? Talk?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do more than talk!¡± said the Leviathan, and he began moving his trident in a strange swaying motion; entreating the heavens to answer his will.


    The storm clouds above them, began swirling in sync with his weapon. Like the slathering maw of a serpent opening wide, a torrent of rain began to beat down on the earth, whipping what flags still stood in a wind that soon became a gale blowing every which way.


    ¡°No thanks,¡± Grace said drily as she kept their group drier with a middle finger to the sky, allowing for Amelia¡¯s clear viewing of where earth and sky prepared for a penultimate clash.


    By then, the only bystanders remaining besides them were Stanton, who fought on his knees to keep his tattered standard aloft, and two men on horseback who rode up beside where Amelia sat.


    ¡°We¡¯re evacuating!¡± said the Duke of Winchester loudly, as Amelia met him at the edge of the viewing platform, ¡°Why are you still here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m supporting my father!¡± Amelia answered, before happily adding, ¡°Hi Heimdall! Have you come to watch too?¡±


    Heimdall slid off from his horse and climbed up onto the stands to join her.


    ¡°We¡¯re here for you, not the fight,¡± Heimdall said, and he gave Amelia a hug as the Duke of Winchester grumbled something about being too old for such nonsense before joining the group, ¡°Don¡¯t you know how bored our patisserie chef has been since you''ve left? It¡¯s my job to make sure you get home.¡±


    Amelia¡¯s heart trembled with want. ¡°Almost,¡± she said in a whisper, as two horses whinnied in panic and raced each other for safety, ¡°Just¡­ Just a few more things Heimdall, then I¡¯ll come back.¡±


    ¡°In that case, I guess all I can do is wait,¡± Heimdall said with a chuckle, before he took a seat for himself, when all of a sudden, the cry of a bird pierced through the storm¡¯s noise as if it were laughing down on the world.


    To Amelia, the sound meant nothing. But even she could tell something strange had begun when the shadow of a bird descended from out of the storm clouds to perch atop a distant tree overlooking the Duke of Winchester¡¯s Mansion.


    It was a crow, utterly normal, in every which way except its behavior, and the fact it appeared to be missing an eye. Amelia looked towards Grace to comment about the strange sight, only to find the princess with trembling lips, and her eyes wide open in what could only be fear.


    ¡°Grace? What¡¯s wrong¡± Amelia asked, growing more concerned still upon spotting the state of her father, whose chest now rose and fell with sharp ragged breaths.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± asked the Leviathan who had noticed Havoc¡¯s strangeness, as the storm of a spell he had prepared finished reaching its apex, ¡°Have you realised that in the face of true grace, no pretender may stand?¡±


    Seeing how easily both Grace and her father had become distracted by the bird in the distance, Amelia had a horrible thought. Could the Leviathan have called forth the deity whom he worshipped? Were the bloodlines of the princess and her father reacting in a way she couldn¡¯t understand now that they were face to face with the powers of a god?


    Amelia yelped in surprise when Grace suddenly grabbed her by the waist. Given no time to ask why, she soon found herself atop Grace¡¯s lap, as the princess held her in a similar fashion to how Amelia held her own doll; in a base desire for comfort.


    ¡°It¡¯s here to watch,¡± Grace said, speaking against the back of Amelia¡¯s head like she was hiding, ¡°It¡¯s¡­ just here to watch¡­ That¡¯s¡­ That¡¯s all I can say.¡±


    ¡°O-Okay?¡± said Amelia, not daring to ask more, as the duel resumed under the noise of a thunderous clap. A bolt of lightning, larger and greater than any before it, zig-zagged towards the trident the Leviathan raised high above his head, imbuing both the man and his weapon with an eery glow that uncontrollably sizzled.


    The air split as the Leviathan swung forth a beam of pure energy. Havoc tore his gaze away from the unnatural bird and slammed his foot down with a guttural roar, engulfing himself with a molten inferno, which erupted from the earth¡¯s core in the shape of a dragon.


    Like a tsunami, the dragon crashed down to bite upon the Leviathan¡¯s might, consuming any resistance the white electric light could put up, before it plowed forwards still to submerge the man.


    Overcome, the Leviathan¡¯s protection crumbled around him. ¡°Impossible,¡± he rasped, now buried up to his torso in hardening stone, ¡°No mortal could endure the Leviathan¡¯s power!¡± he shouted, towards Havoc who walked his way over, despite the flickering traces of damage marring his own body.


    ¡°I have allowed you time to worship your God,¡± replied Havoc, ¡°Now, it is my turn.¡±


    Amelia watched her father lay his hand on the Leviathan¡¯s head. And with bated breath, she witnessed the greatest obstacle in her life become nothing more than burnt cinders that drifted away on the wind.


    She checked in on the bird, which began flapping its wings as if clapping in praise. Then, it ruffled its feathers and flew away, disappearing into the clouds that started to disperse.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Amelia asked Grace, upon feeling the princess¡¯s grip begin to relax.


    ¡°We¡¯re surviving,¡± Grace whispered, but she said nothing else.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t good¡­¡± Martel said. The older woman was looking between Havoc and those who had been watching his battle with the Leviathan from a safe distance, ¡°Havoc¡¯s powers are seldom witnessed in person¡­ After such a display, I worry the nobility of our Kingdom might deem him a threat.¡±


    ¡°Not if I give him a weakness,¡± Amelia said. Vowing to talk things out with Grace later, she left her doll with Martel and took the stand¡¯s staircase two steps at a time, onto the charred dirt. If she could, she would have jumped to get down. However, unlike the rest of her family, friends, and most of the world, she would have probably ended up twisting her ankle.


    After all, Amelia was weak. But that was okay, since now was the time to put that weakness to use. Not caring for the attention, she had begun to attract, Amelia¡¯s slow walk quickly turned into a run, allowing everything except her father to fade away into the background.


    Approaching the injured, blood covered, terrifying figure of Havoc like none other could, Amelia shouted to catch his attention in an intentionally childish manner.


    ¡°Daddy, you did it!¡±


    Then immediately, unintentionally, tripped on a rock.


    Implementing her lack of coordination into her plan on the fly, Amelia face-planted and waited for her father to sweep her up in his arms like she knew that he would. And with grass strains on her front, did she place a crown made of flowers onto his head.

 Chapter 37 — Audience with a King

    Under the richly decorated, well lit ballroom located in the King¡¯s castle, each congratulatory toast Amelia made left her feeling completely and utterly drunk, on vindication alone.


    Despite knowing most of the nobles approaching her did so because they now thought she held sway over her father, Amelia couldn¡¯t help but revel in how the Marquess of Rutherford had suffered the first return-blow among many to hopefully come.


    The details of the feud between the Rutherford¡¯s and Strightsworth¡¯s had in the end, been divulged to the public, partially. By the Duke of Winchester, whose released statement spoke of Gregory Rutherford¡¯s attempt to taint Amelia¡¯s honor; alluding to both his failure, and how proud the duke was that his Grand-Daughter had turned to him to seek justice.


    ¡°What a horrible man.¡±


    ¡°I always thought he would one day cross the line.¡±


    ¡°Is your father still single?¡±


    Such were the remarks and questions Amelia now needed to deal with since word had got out. She almost wished her apple cider had actual alcohol in it. Publicly branding Gregory Rutherford as an awful person was well and good, but it wasn¡¯t quite what she had pictured when she had first sought Martel out.


    Still, the future would come to those who deserved it. Even the King seemed to be currying favor with Havoc by allowing the use of his personal property to celebrate the results of the duel. An especially kind gift, considering Amelia intended to put to rest a matter kicked down the road long enough.  She prepared her heart one last time.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure to consider your proposal once I¡¯ve returned to my estate,¡± Amelia said, to the daughter of a Count who had approached her with a business proposal.


    Apparently, with her newfound title of Viscountess, quite a few third and fourth sons/daughters now viewed her as an investor of sorts. To use money to make even more money, it was an appealing idea, and with her knowledge from the Historian¡¯s Novel good for a bit under a year more, the opportunity to make an unimaginable profit was ripe for the picking.


    Not that Amelia wanted to put in the work. She might have decided to take advantage of The Historian¡¯s novel, but the work-ethic required for that would almost certainly get tossed in the compost the moment she got home and relaxed on her favorite lawn chair.


    Better to let more diligent people handle it. Like Thompson Brown, or Heimdall, whose professionalism had led him to return home for the purpose of managing the Strightsworth¡¯s estate. No sense in being greedy, not when Amelia already had everything that she wanted. Well¡­ Almost everything. But the certain someone she wanted most by her side, unfortunately had to be elsewhere.


    Pushing the greedy thoughts down, Amelia began searching for her father. She found him with Martel by, unsurprisingly, a food-bar.


    ¡°You look really pretty today,¡± Amelia said to Martel, who had for the first time since they¡¯d met, dressed up like a right proper noble. Everything until then could have been described as fancy commoner¡¯s wear, but now, the woman appeared to have dusted off what baubles she had in an effort to stand out.


    Judging from how her father was wore neither a military suit, nor casual clothing but instead a fashionable tux, Martel probably had a hand in that too. Although the effect was ruined a tad by how Havoc continued to devour a plate full of ribs.


    ¡°Whant Un?¡± he offered.


    ¡°I¡¯m too nervous to eat,¡± Amelia said, almost feeling ill at the idea of eating anything heavier than a grape.


    The next step in her plan after all, involved a certain amount of risk. Since she needed to avoid accidentally offending the King who would soon be put on the spot, while appearing like a dutiful vassal and not an over-eager achiever.


    ¡°Are we doing that thing you talked about soon?¡± Havoc asked, after swallowing down the rest of his plate.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to put it off any longer.¡±


    Nodding in understanding, her father licked his fingers clean then snatched a wine glass from a servant in passing. Despite Amelia having only told Havoc she needed to speak with the King for an ¡®important reason¡¯, he had agreed without question.


    ¡°I would like to make an announcement!¡± Havoc said loudly.


    It worked; all eyes moved towards him. Even before Havoc tapped the edge of his crystal with a spoon for attention, turning his wine glass into a powder that splattered his shoes with a vinaceous dark shade of red.


    Nobody laughed. A few nobles nervously looked towards their King.


    ¡°Havoc, have you something to say?¡± asked the King, who sat alone on his throne at the head of the room.


    Amelia hadn¡¯t been expecting the King to be as old as her grandfather. The royal portraits each noble was expected to have somewhere in their abode had always painted his likeness to appear much more youthful. Her worries twisted into a knot. Would Grace be able to bond with her father despite the lost ages laying between them?


    ¡°I do,¡± Havoc said, handing the stem of his glass to a servant as two more stepped forward to begin cleaning the mess. ¡°I would like to announce that my daughter, has received a vision.¡±


    This was it, thought Amelia. Not a single person in earshot would be able to ignore what happened next. With Havoc being the man to shine a light on the subject, surely even the King wouldn¡¯t be able to dismiss her words without first hearing them out.


    Although she didn¡¯t expect the glass in the king¡¯s hand to begin shaking. Nor his other which tightly gripped the edge of his throne.


    ¡°Truly?¡± The king asked, his voice straining as if the question had been exceedingly difficult to get out, ¡°Is it safe¡­ For us to discuss it here? Now?¡±


    ¡°The nature of my daughter¡¯s vision is one that benefits the Velvetican Kingdom as a whole.¡±


    ¡°Thank goodness,¡± said the king, breathing a sigh of relief as he slumped back in his chair.  ¡°Where is she?¡± he asked, his eyes searching for Amelia until he had found her.


    Planning it out was one thing, but to become the focus of their Kingdom¡¯s nobility all at once gave Amelia a good case of stage fright. The fact she was pawning off The Historian¡¯s Novel as some kind of divine message didn¡¯t help either. Word for word in its content, the book came off more as a smutty romance more than anything else.


    ¡°Umm, hello,¡± Amelia squeaked, clasping her hands since they had neither doll nor Grace to hold out of comfort, ¡°W-would it be alright to share only the important details of what I saw? My vision would otherwise be too long of a story¡­ your Highness.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see why not,¡± said the King, looking around himself for any signs of disagreement, ¡°Does anyone think otherwise?¡±


    Call it a coincidence, call it intimidation, but as Havoc took a heavy step to place himself behind his daughter, with his arms crossed and his eyes steeled to the point none could match his gaze for more than a few seconds without turning away, not a single hand or voice was raised in complaint.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± chuckled the King, who seemed to enjoy watching Havoc throw his weight around. ¡°I myself would prefer that the contents of a divine vision be delivered with less ears around, but if your father wanted that, then we wouldn''t be here, now, would we?"


    The King tilted his head towards Havoc, as if wanting to double check that his guess was on point.


    "Correct," Havoc said, allowing his one-word reply to set the stage for Amelia¡¯s prepared speech, wherein she began to describe the ¡®dream¡¯ she had received, transforming the Historian¡¯s Novel into a vision where she alone stood outside both time and space, to see the future unravel for undiscernible reasons.


    Leaving out any mention of the princess, as well as a few other embarrassing moments, Amelia revealed to those gathered what their Kingdom¡¯s future was meant to look like. Beginning with the disappearance of her father, and ending with a description of the enemy who would arrive from across the Ocean thanks to the help of a traitor.


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    ¡°You know who is responsible for this future, I take it?¡± the King asked somberly once she had finished. He wore a tired expression brought about by the very idea of what might have happened.


    ¡°I do, your Majesty. And I am willing to risk my repute in accusing the Marquess of Rutherford with collusion and betrayal, of his vows as a noble to serve and protect your Velvetican Kingdom.¡±


    Murmurs broke out all around. The King signalled for his knights to return order with a combined, singular strike of their spears upon floor.


    ¡°I am willing to consider your vision¡­ But These are heavy accusations,¡± said the King, his voice showing signs of a deep tiredness, ¡°Havoc, did you truly have intentions of leaving my service?¡±


    ¡°You know very well I have questions only one being can answer¡­ But I will move past them.¡±


    The King sighed, as if expecting as much, ¡°Then I must thank your daughter for having changed your mind. However, that is one thing, this matter of betrayal is another.¡± The King addressed Amelia, ¡°Do you have proof the Marquess of Rutherford is responsible? An investigation can be begun on your word, certainly, though I would appreciate anything¡­ concrete, to speed up the process.¡±


    His reservation was to be expected. Amelia herself knew how outlandish her words were. But she had held in reserve a certain reveal, whose time had come to finally take centre stage.


    ¡°While I might not have physical proof,¡± she began, ¡°I have something better than words, your Highness,¡± Amelia said, ¡°For my vision allowed me to meet a particular person, who might not have ever been found without my dream¡¯s guidance. And they are, in my opinion, undisputable evidence that my vision is real enough for a hasty investigation to be launched without any proof at all.¡±


    ¡°A person you say? Should I know them?¡±


    ¡°In a sense,¡± Amelia answered, ¡°might I have permission to bring them in? They¡¯ve been looking forward to meeting you for a very long time.¡±


    Well, she wasn¡¯t technically lying. According to the Historian¡¯s novel, Grace had in fact always wondered who her parents might be.


    ¡°Without prior approval?¡± the King chuckled, laughing at his own joke. ¡°I approve it.¡± he said, ¡°bring them in. Let me see this living ¡®proof¡¯ as you call it.¡±


    The ballroom¡¯s doors opened, allowing Thompson Brown to arrive with Donavan at his side. The merchant looked exhausted, while the wizard happily skipped as he walked.


    ¡°Your Highness,¡± said Thompson, presenting himself, until the King allowed him to raise his head in his presence.


    ¡°I¡¯m assuming it is not you who Amelia spoke of but the person hiding behind you.¡± The King said, ¡°Who is he? And why should it matter?¡±


    ¡°This wizard ¡ª¡±


    ¡°Big D,¡± Donavan interrupted.


    ¡°¡ªThis wizard named Donavan, who sometimes goes by a name I find not amusing at all, and who holds a very high standing amongst his peers, is only here to confirm the identity of the woman behind me. For I do not dare tread lightly while bringing to your attention a conspiracy, not against your Kingdom, but yourself your highness! And to the late queen!¡±


    Amelia wanted to applaud Thompson¡¯s sudden use of theatrics; he had instantly painted over Donavan¡¯s lack of decorum.


    ¡°Continue,¡± the King said, with an edge to his voice, ¡°However, should this conspiracy of yours place my wife in a bad light, I will have it buried and forgotten. Her memory is the one thing I will not allow sullied...¡±


    The room drew in a collective breath when Thompson actually chuckled, ¡°You need not worry of that, my King,¡± he said, and Amelia signalled for the servant she had prepared to carry out on a purple pillow, the locket she had found in the Historian¡¯s novel.


    The King nearly rose from his seat, ¡°I know what that is,¡± he said, and a Knight moved to collect it, ¡°This¡­ Belonged to my wife,¡± he added, after having received it, ¡°I never thought it would find its way back into my hands¡­ She used to call it her favorite child-hood keepsake, which never made much sense to me seeing that it looks like a carnival prize¡­ I thought it stolen, how did you come to possess it?¡±


    Thompson business face never faltered, though he did take out a handkerchief to wipe away a streak of sweat on his brow. ¡°It¡¯s all to do with the Lady Strightsworth, your highness,¡± he said, before turning Amelia¡¯s way, ¡°Shall I bring in the woman who has had the locket in her possession? The one who you¡¯ve been taking care of until now?¡±


    ¡°The thief?¡± asked the King.


    ¡°No, your Highness,¡± replied Amelia, and once again did the ballroom doors open, revealing a picture of innocence, as a girl dressed in blue nervously entered, wearing a veil.


    ¡°My King, the answer of how the locket became lost is simple,¡± Thompson explained, trailing his words off for Amelia to finish his words, as Grace approached but kept her head lowered in front of the King,


    ¡°Your wife passed it down to her daughter.¡±


    Amelia really did think things were going perfectly, until the bloodlust hit her, emanating from their King who now gripped the edge of his throne tightly enough for spider-web cracks in the stone to start forming.


    ¡°Is this the conspiracy you speak of?!¡± The King yelled, in a voice loud enough that Amelia needed to cover her ears. ¡°Do you find it amusing to insult me in my old age?¡±


    What had she done wrong? Amelia trembled, until her father stepped between the King and his people to shield those behind him from the wrath of their monarch.


    Havoc sighed, as if it couldn¡¯t be helped. ¡°The girl is yours, Bradley,¡± he said calmly, and he called Grace over with a regard, ¡°Please forgive my daughter¡¯s poor choice of words. Child, will you not show your face to prevent a fiasco?¡±


    Grace lowered her veil. The impact, was instantaneous. The resemblance between Grace and the former Queen unmistakable. And with her beauty enough to turn heads to begin with, none failed to see how her eyes, or her concerned, albeit fierce regard, matched the King¡¯s to a K.


    The King¡¯s bloodlust vanished, replaced with a confused look.


    ¡°But I¡­¡± he said blankly, ¡°Now hold on Havoc¡­ What are you saying?¡±


    Amelia realised her gaff. In presenting Grace, by stating she was the Queen¡¯s daughter without specifying who was the father¡­ She had unwittily accused the Queen of infidelity. And upon seeing how reserved Grace now looked in the presence of her own father, her scared stiff legs found a reason to scramble.


    ¡°I¡­ I apologize sire!¡± Amelia said, and she would have thrown herself at the feet of the King were it not for Havoc who stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, ¡°This woman before you is indeed the child we once thought to have lost alongside our Queen! Her blood has been tested by a reputable mage. Her powers, which she will demonstrate in private are undeniably blessed! There is no doubt your highness that this is in fact¡ª¡±


    ¡°My daughter¡­,¡± said the King. Out of his seat, he nearly stumbled in his hurry to bring Grace into his arms. ¡°There is no doubt about it,¡± he said, as he examined his daughter with mist in his eyes, ¡°My mind was momentarily clouded in anger, but I can now see clear as day that she is of my own flesh and blood. Please, will you tell me your name?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It is Grace, Lord¡± said Grace to the King, and Amelia allowed her father to support her weight as relief caused her to lose control of her power to stand.


    The king, with a wide grin looked over his subjects, ¡°It is a good name!¡± he said, ¡°One the whole kingdom should know!¡±


    Amelia felt herself shift as her father began clapping his hands together. His example led to the other nobles soon following suit.


    ¡°Congratulations your majesty,¡± Havoc said, as every noble of standing rushed to begin offering their sincerest best wishes to the reunited King and Princess.


    **


    A father had been reunited with his daughter. And with her own party having ended pre-maturely of her own request, Amelia prepared to say her goodbyes outside the King¡¯s castle., where a coach awaited to bring her on a long, hopefully calm, journey home.


    ¡°How long have you known?¡± Grace asked, while a half-hundred royal guards tasked with escorting their princess guarded their charge from a distance.


    Amelia struggled to face the princess¡¯s question. In the end, she chose the quick and painful way out and stuck with the truth.


    ¡°From the very beginning. Are you mad?¡± Amelia answered quietly, unable to plead her case more, for there had indeed been a time where she had thought to use the princess for her own personal gain.


    Grace closed the distance between them. ¡°Amelia,¡± she said, reaching out to stroke a hand through Amelia¡¯s hair, ¡°I¡¯m an opportunist. A good one. I can appreciate your attempt to use me for the betterment of your family¡¯s name. Besides, we¡¯re still friends, right? I think I would have noticed if you were pretending to like me by now.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like us to be.¡± Amelia said, though her cowardice caused her to drop the ¡®more¡¯ from her sentence.


    Grace traced Amelia¡¯s strands to their tips. ¡°Then, I would appreciate it if you forgave yourself already,¡± Grace said, moving on to grasp and raise Amelia¡¯s hands between them, ¡°This isn¡¯t something worthy of self-blame... Do you remember what you did during the third duel?¡±


    Amelia nodded, ready to take responsibility for having promised anything. She lifted her face, to uphold her commitment, and was taken completely off guard when Grace leaned down and gave her a deeply passionate, if not brief, lip to lip kiss.


    Having thought Grace was about to ask her for political support, Amelia¡¯s brain, overwhelmed with elation, shut down to bask in the after-glow of a taste she had expected to never again know in her life.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you go home and write me a letter,¡± Grace said, smiling in a way that showed she knew exactly what effect her kiss had taken on Amelia, ¡°Invite me over. I¡¯m not letting my Lady run away from me that easily. And¡­ There are things I¡¯ve been hiding from you as well that I would like to talk about once we¡¯re alone. How does that sound?¡±


    ¡°It¡­ It sounds w-wonderful,¡± Amelia answered, as she felt Grace pull away to begin walking back towards the castle.


    ¡°Then, I¡¯ll see you later!¡± Grace said over her shoulder, before her figure became blocked by the Knights who lined up to follow.


    Amelia practically floated her way inside her coach where Thompson Brown and Martel were already waiting. There she regained her composure, after all, a final detour remained.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to keep you both waiting,¡± Amelia said, ¡°Now, are we sure that it¡¯s him?¡±


    Thompson puffed his chest out proudly, ¡°Trust me, my connection knew who it was before he had even stumbled into his¡­ bar.¡±


    Martel stopped waggling her eyebrows at Amelia to scold Thompson. ¡°She¡¯s not a child, you can tell her he got caught messing around in a brothel,¡± she said, before the older woman added with utmost seriousness, ¡°You know, Amelia¡­ You don¡¯t need to meet him yourself.¡±


    Amelia tutted, ¡°Martel, a light wind might be enough to cause me to stumble, but make no mistake¡­ I want to do this.¡±

 Chapter 38 — Amelia Discovers Her Puzzle Has Always Been Missing a Piece

    With Thompson Brown leading Amelia¡¯s way, and Jessen Enfaith having met them at the gate with a key in his hand and a smile, which betrayed nothing of why they had come, entering the merchant¡¯s conglomerate office was much easier the second time around.


    ¡°Do you two know each other?¡± Amelia asked Thompson, hoping some idle conversation might distract from how eerily dark the staircase corridor they descended happened to be.


    ¡°Jessen?¡± said Thompson, as the wall torches intermittently bathed him in their dull light, ¡°No, not personally. But I¡¯ve dealt with him, and wouldn¡¯t be against doing so again in the future.¡±


    A faint groan came from the first of many locked doors dotting the basement hallway they reached, confirming Amelia¡¯s once guess that the merchant¡¯s had holding cells of their own.


    ¡°After all,¡± said Thompson, turning his head back to add with a dark laugh, ¡°His name wasn¡¯t on that list you so thankfully gave me.¡±


    Going deeper, more noises of woe began joining the chorus. Amelia could only hope her shared knowledge hadn¡¯t been too much of a burden. In the end, she might have given Thompson information on who among his fellow merchants were corrupt beyond redemption, but any spring cleaning would have been his burden to bear.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Thompson said, reading Amelia¡¯s face as they arrived at the end of the tunnel where Martel awaited, ¡°If they didn¡¯t want to get caged like rats they should have known when to stop. Am I right, or am I right,¡± Thompson added, for Martel, who nodded behind her expressionless mask.


    Amelia cocked her head in confusion. The way Thompson spoke, was there reason to think he and Martel might have begun communicating at some point?


    ¡°I¡¯m relieved my information was helpful,¡± Amelia said to Thompson, and she left the matter of merchants behind her to rush towards Martel who she gave a great hug.


    ¡°Nervous?¡± Martel asked, more than happy to offer comfort in return. The older woman was wearing the outfit she had donned on the night they had met. Functionality over form, and with enough leather straps to keep an arsenal of knives and concoctions in place, it was as if the murderous murderer from the Historian¡¯s novel had returned to fulfill their role. Only now, instead of being ¡®demonically handsome¡¯, Amelia decided ¡®devilishly pretty¡¯ fit her description much better


    ¡°Sort of¡­ I just want to go home. But it¡¯s only a matter of time before word of what I told the King reaches the Marquess of Rutherford. And since only an idiot would keep their important stuff all in one place, every second we waste might be another piece of evidence burned.¡±


    Thompson chuckled while Amelia felt bizarrely nostalgic. To know the Strightsworth¡¯s manor would be waiting for her return once the Marquess of Rutherford was finally dealt with¡­ Despite not all that much time having passed in the grand scheme of things, she was looking forward to returning home, where new possibilities seemed to await. With her relationship with her father mended and better than ever, hopes of re-decorating, managing the estate, and adding her own personal touch to the Strightsworth name were beginning to blossom.


    ¡°Last chance to back out before I start working,¡± said Martel, ¡°I¡¯m being serious, I don¡¯t want you scared of me, it¡¯s not conductive for lessons.¡±


    Amelia remembered she also had her etiquette classes to look forward too. Verily, the future had never looked brighter¡­ Except for the part where she would be separated from Grace by vast swaths of land since princesses were known to live mostly in their own castles. She couldn¡¯t even explain away her burgeoning affection any longer. At this point, telling herself she only viewed Grace as a friend would be a lie Amelia could never hope to believe. But what could she do? Abandon her title to become Grace¡¯s hand-maiden?


    ¡°Hey, time to focus,¡± Martel said, snapping Amelia out from her musings, as Thompson finished unlocking the door, ¡°Are you good, or staying out here?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good!¡± Amelia said, shelving that last thought since it felt like something she could potentially work with, ¡°But remember,¡± she said, taking charge as the hallway¡¯s light creeped into the cell and fell on the drunkenly laid out, sleeping form, of Gregory Rutherford, ¡°If he¡¯s willing to help us by turning in his father¡¯s misdeeds, then we won¡¯t do a thing. After all, we¡¯re the good guys.¡±


    **


    ¡°Then squeal for me, pig!¡±


    With her eyes practically shining in awe, Amelia watched with rap attention as Martel yelled, and ripped free one of Gregory¡¯s fingernails with the help of a knife, after the man had without logic, chosen to stay mum.


    Holding his head by his hair, Martel forced Gregory to look up.


    ¡°Ready to tell her where your dad¡¯s been stashing his good deeds?¡±


    Gregory spat on Martel¡¯s shoe. In return, she struck his chin with her foot. Only the chain looped around the kneeling man¡¯s neck; connecting him to the wall, prevented him from falling completely.


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    ¡°Y-You can¡¯t do this to me,¡± said Gregory, while gasping for breath. He turned his defiant glare towards Amelia, ¡°Do you think my father won¡¯t t-take revenge for hurting me like this?!¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t know?¡± Thompson asked, from the other side of the cell¡¯s door. The merchant had said he was just keeping watch but Amelia had seen his face turning green when Martel¡¯s had described what she would do to Gregory should he not yield to Amelia¡¯s wants.


    ¡°Know what?!¡± Gregory barked.


    Martel raised a shushing finger to the front of her mask to let Amelia know she should follow Thompson¡¯s silent example and refuse to answer for now.


    ¡°It¡¯s better to keep whoever you¡¯re working on in a state of doubt, or paranoia if you can,¡± Martel explained, before she removed her mask, flipped it around, and strapped it onto Gregory¡¯s face. ¡°My concoction works best when combined with heightened states of fear, pain, or arousal.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Amelia said, and she made sure to mentally jot each new piece of information down in case it might come handy in the future. Such as how Martel¡¯s mask could apparently, either keep smoke from entering, or administer it.


    What a convenient tool for interrogation indeed. Amelia watched Gregory begin to mumble and groan. Then, upon being encouragingly pushed forward by Martel, Amelia re-asked the man for the combination to the safe the Marquess of Rutherford kept under his bed; mentioned on page a hundred and seven in the Historian¡¯s novel.


    Twitching, Gregory divulged a slurry of numbers.


    ¡°He¡¯s still lying.¡± Amelia complained, greatly upset to know that Gregory could resist Martel¡¯s truth serum better than she ever could.


    ¡°Then, if he isn¡¯t disoriented enough, what do you think we should do next?¡± Martel asked Amelia, like a teacher leading her class.


    Bouncing up and down on the heels of her feet, Amelia excitedly answered with the first idea she could think of.


    ¡°Step on him!¡±


    Martel tussled Amelia¡¯s hair. ¡°We¡¯re going to have to talk about the information you¡¯re getting from those books Grace told me about.¡± Wiping the sweat from her brow, the older woman retrieved one of the knives she had earlier stabbed into a torch.


    ¡°It would¡¯ve just been to start,¡± Amelia mumbled, ashamed her idea to start small and work her way up had been misconstrued in such a way by Martel. Moreso when Martel proved there were easier ways to torture someone when she proceeded to skip stepping and move right on to branding.


    ¡°You¡¯re not even flinching, good job.¡± Martel said, as Gregory howled. His muscles tensed, straining to break free of their bonds with little success. Amelia hoped he was regretting his choice to get drunk and have fun after having been placed under house arrest by his father. ¡°Most people can imagine doing it, but in practice it¡¯s harder to commit.¡±


    ¡°Is it weird I don¡¯t care?¡± Amelia asked, ¡°Mom always told me that sometimes, bad people need to be hurt for good people to prosper.¡±


    ¡°Lots of people have codes they live by,¡± interjected Thompson, ¡°Yours sounds decent enough. There¡¯s no point in comparing.¡±


    Martel nodded, then clapped her hands. ¡°Alright, time to resume,¡± she said, pointing to her jacket, strewn over a bench, ¡°Mind being a dear,¡± she said to Amelia, ¡°Could you get me another vial of truth serum please?¡±


    Amelia hurried to fulfill her role as assistant torturer, ¡°Is it really that much more effective when their thoughts are distracted by pain?¡± she asked, eager to learn the tools of the trade.


    ¡°It depends,¡± Martel answered, upon injecting the vial into Gregory via her mask, ¡°But above all I just wanted to hurt him.¡± She slapped his face twice, ¡°Ready to talk? Let¡¯s start with¡­ I don¡¯t know, your dad¡¯s business ledgers. Where does he keep them?¡±


    ¡°My father will know that you did this! That you hurt me!¡± screamed Gregory, who found a second wind for thrashing about even as his body was pumped full of the drug. ¡°Stop¡­ Stop acting like he won¡¯t care!¡±


    Had the Marquess¡¯s son bought a ten-thousand-year elixir that could grant anyone will-power? By now Amelia had begun feeling downright impressionable.


    ¡°No sweetie, it just takes longer the denser you are,¡± Martel said. ¡°Go on,¡± she added, as Gregory¡¯s hysterics began to lessen and slump. Behind the mask, his eyes were starting to glaze, ¡°I think he¡¯s ready to hear what you¡¯ve managed since the time you last met. Really sharpen those words, it¡¯s time to push him over the edge with a good tongue lashing.¡±


    Amelia approached Gregory. She wondered if her current perspective of the helpless man was anything like how he had once viewed her.


    ¡°Gregory¡­ I don¡¯t think your father is in a position to care. My dad killed the Leviathan. We already won the duel and to be frank, there¡¯s a pretty good chance he¡¯s going to choose to run away without you. I mean¡­ You seem to have a problem following simple instructions, why would he bother to search for a wastrel if it meant risking his own future?¡±


    Gregory, fell silent. Amelia wondered if she should continue. Deciding in the end that yes, she should. If only because all of this felt extremely cathartic for some reason.


    ¡°Why, if you don¡¯t cooperate, I could have you tortured like nobody¡¯s ever been tortured before. Eventually, you¡¯re going to start telling the truth. So why don¡¯t you start answering before I have to call my dad in to heal you back from the brink of death?¡±


    ¡°Your Dad knows you¡¯re here?¡± Thompson suddenly asked, sounding shocked. And Amelia blanked as she realised that she¡¯d forgotten to tell him about this part of her plan.


    ¡°Umm¡­ Well, we¡¯re still going to hurt you a lot,¡± she said to Gregory, trying to salvage her threat.


    Martel came to the rescue. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, your father knows both what we¡¯re doing and that we¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°Really? When did you tell him?¡± Amelia asked.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡± Martel answered.


    Amelia wondered if she should again ask for clarification, when the older woman lowered her shirt¡¯s collar to reveal what looked like a sort of bite mark on her neck.


    Luckily for Amelia who was now even more confused, Thompson interrupted again, although this time he sounded much more urgent than the two times before.


    ¡°There¡¯s a Knight from the Duke of Winchester running towards us¡± he said, ¡°I... I think one of you should meet him!¡±


    Amelia hurried to leave Martel¡¯s creepy smile behind. Careful to exit while keeping the cell¡¯s door mostly closed, to avoid accidentally revealing what they were doing to Gregory, she greeted the Knight who appeared out of breath.


    ¡°Hello,¡± Amelia said, as the knight saluted despite his exhausted condition, ¡°What¡¯s going on? Does my grand-father want me for something? Aren¡¯t you one of my grand-father¡¯s men who my dad threw around? I hope you¡¯ve fully recovered since then.¡±


    ¡°No, not at all my Lady, that was an honor,¡± said the Knight, removing his helmet to speak. With dismay Amelia found he appeared very distraught. Sensing danger, her hand felt for the dragon tooth she had begun keeping on her person at all times.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s terrible!¡± said the Knight between breaths, ¡°The princess, the one who you found¡­ She¡¯s gone missing! And the harbor is under attack!¡±

 Chapter 39 — A Race Against Time

    Having left Thompson and Martel at the merchant¡¯s embassy to wrap things up with Gregory Rutherford, Amelia made quick progress towards the King¡¯s castle, thanks to the coach that ought to have been her ride home and the Duke of Winchester¡¯s knight now serving as her coachman.


    Outside, on the streets of the capital, it quickly became apparent that the Velvetican Kingdom had entered into a state of emergency. All around her, Amelia could see civilians fleeing away from the Harbor under the peeling of bells. As well as the city¡¯s men at arms who in tight formations rushed towards the conflict, ready to fight.


    Amelia looked towards the Ocean. Despite not being in sight, she could hear the noises of battle as the invaders pelted the harbor with cannons. Already several dark plumes of fiery smoke were rising high from the chaos.


    ¡°Where is my father?¡± Amelia asked of her grandfather¡¯s knight, as he brought their ride to a halt in from of the castle¡¯s draw-bridge, where to her surprise the Strightsworth¡¯s Knights Havoc had brought with him, were on horseback.


    ¡°He is inside with the King,¡± replied the Knight.


    Leaping down from the coach, Amelia considered the Knight¡¯s words and approached the captain standing at the front of her family¡¯s Knights. He saluted, confirming her suspicions that they had been awaiting her arrival.


    ¡°Lady Strightsworth, what should be done?¡± asked the captain, deferring command.


    Taking responsibility for having accepted the title of Viscountess. Amelia pointed to the Ocean, and as one her Knights turned to face it with steel in their hands.


    ¡°You are to assist in protecting the people until my father¡¯s arrival!¡±


    **


    Amelia found her father inside of the castle¡¯s throne room. Where Havoc, the King, the Duke of Winchester, and several other nobles were all intensively listening to the foreign Prince of all people, who was desperately pleading his case.


    ¡°They are my men only in name,¡± said the prince, and the few servants with him frantically nodded, ¡°I swear, I have no involvement in this attack. I admit, the Marquess of Rutherford might have approached me with words of betrayal, however I never once planned on joining his cause! I wholeheartedly disavow those who have chosen to attack!¡±


    The King, appearing haggard, stroked his chin while his foot impatiently tapped. ¡°We are¡­ already aware of your status as a puppet¡­ But I will only ensure your survival if you can explain how the Leviathan is still alive.¡±


    The Prince rent his clothes in distress, ¡°I don¡¯t know that! I¡¯m here because I saw what your Dragon did to our Leviathan the first time around! If you want answers, find your Marquess! He¡¯s the one with a madman pursuing the creation of elixirs, maybe they actually managed to pull something off?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid the Marquess of Rutherford isn¡¯t anywhere to be found,¡± Havoc said, before he stepped back from their group to meet Amelia as she ran to his side.


    The Leviathan lived? Amelia cared for all of two counts. ¡°Where¡¯s Grace?¡± she asked loudly, hoping someone might know, ¡°I¡­ I thought Grace would be safe once I had brought her back home!¡±


    ¡°Those assigned to guard her were found incapacitated without signs of struggle,¡± The King answered. He refused to look Amelia in the eye, as if their failure were his, ¡°Both¡­ Both my daughter and that young man named Stanton ¡­ We believe the Marquess of Rutherford has taken them as hostages, for protection against Havoc.¡±


    Stanton had also been kidnapped? Amelia felt her legs beginning to wobble. That made no sense at all, from what she thought she knew, Stanton was the type to die fighting before allowing himself or another to be captured.


    The King, turned away. He resumed giving orders for the defense of the harbor, while Amelia, felt the future she had been so close to achieving start to slip away through her hands. Trying to make sense of it all, horrible question after horrible question began worming their way into Amelia¡¯s mind.


    Was it really a coincidence Stanton had found a sponsor in this life but not in the Historian¡¯s Novel? How could he have found her so quickly underground after her disappearance? Come to think of it, he had said he knew of ¡®tunnels¡¯, as in plural¡­ So how had he known which one to go down?


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    The warmth in Amelia¡¯s belly, dormant since she had spoken about it to Grace, pulsed, filling her with a warmth that caused something inside her skull to shatter like glass. And all of a sudden, she could remember how Stanton had already known who Martel and Grace were, before they had met underground.


    Could it be? Had Stanton met the Historian, or have received something akin to the Historian¡¯s novel? Amelia had almost forgotten about the Historian¡¯s obsession with Grace, what if Stanton had signed a deal with the devil, and was now being forced to steal away a princess amidst the confusion? Her guesswork, made frightening sense. It was unbearable, to not know the truth, but the last thing she wanted was to fall victim to another misunderstanding¡­


    A faint noise in her ears, mistaken at first for the ringing of the city¡¯s bells, began dominating Amelia¡¯s hearing. And as her breathing, now erratic, began to increase more and more in its rhythm, in what felt to be a distance far off, she heard the prince shout.


    ¡°Lord Dragon, there is something wrong with your daughter!¡±


    Havoc moved swiftly. He caught Amelia by the waist before she could fall, and with concern in his eyes he went to check her pulse in an attempt to uncover what had overtaken his daughter. Though his care did nothing to impede the anger bubbling to a boil inside Amelia¡¯s heart. Like a tidal wave of power, it was enough to make her lose sight of everything except for the desire to give chase and hunt a thief down.


    ¡°No!¡± Amelia screamed. She clambered out from her father¡¯s arms as her vision went red, ¡°I won¡¯t let him! Grace¡­ Grace is mine, he can¡¯t have her! I found her. I made her my handmaiden and became her best friend! He has no right to take her from me!¡±


    By then the pain burning her insides had become too hot to handle. Gnashing her teeth, Amelia howled as the heat within her burned her throat before escaping her mouth in a geyser of flames. She could feel herself slipping¡­ Until a set of ginormous hands reached down to grab both sides of her face.


    ¡°Calm down. Calm down and focus,¡± Havoc said, and Amelia felt the madness she couldn¡¯t bear begin flowing into her father, ¡°If the princess is yours, then you just need to do something about it.¡±


    A ray of clarity emerged within the maelstrom. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ That¡¯s right,¡± Amelia said, within the trance her father worked to syphon down to a manageable level, ¡°If¡­ If Grace is mine, then I just need to find her!¡±


    Her mind once muddled, suddenly felt clearer than ever. And as she calmed down, Amelia chose not to doubt Stanton. She already feared for the worst, risking a misunderstanding would only hinder her latest goal of recovering both Stanton and Grace.


    This simple decision, left Amelia¡¯s feeling enlightened. And all at once the burning within her shot to the front of her mind¡¯s eye, where it took the shape of a fiery compass that spun madly before stopping to point in a direction which beckoned.


    ¡°Are you able to see her?¡± Havoc asked.


    ¡°No,¡± Amelia answered, before flinging herself against her father for a hug which he returned without question. ¡°But I know where she is. Dad, can you take care of the harbor for me? I need to find Grace.¡±


    ¡°Amelia,¡± The Duke of Winchester said, clearly concerned, ¡°are you sure about this?¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Amelia replied, having no delusions of grandeur, ¡°But in a race against time, wouldn¡¯t it be better to act as quickly as possible? Focus on the invaders, I¡¯ll let my father know where I am once I¡¯ve found the Marquess.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­ you¡¯d best get going,¡± said the King.


    Havoc gave Amelia a push, stumbling her out from the question of whether the King¡¯s reaction meant he approved of her affection for his daughter or not. In turn, she turned the stumble into a run, one which carried her out of the throne room, and down the long majestic stairs of the castle, which she dared take a full two steps at a time.


    She already knew the distance between herself and Grace would be too much for her body. Turning away from the call of her princess, Amelia sprinted towards the spot her family¡¯s knights had earlier been. Now deserted, but not yet completely abandoned.


    Nervous, but determined, Amelia approached her father¡¯s horse.


    ¡°Bone-Crusher!¡± she shouted, and the animal responsible for many a childhood nightmare reared its head and plodded towards her, ¡°Up!¡± she directed, raising both of her hands in the hope he might understand what she wanted.


    Without breaking his stride, Bone-Crusher bent his head low and grabbed her by the scruff of her dress. Flexing his neck, the beast tossed Amelia into the air, and caught her on his back.


    ¡°Woah,¡± said Amelia, barely managing to latch both arms around Bone-Crusher¡¯s neck to prevent herself from falling, ¡°Uh¡­ Please, I need to go over there!¡± she said, squeezing her legs as her father had taught her once more securely positioned, ¡°Do you¡­ Do you know what I¡¯m saying? Daddy told me you¡¯re smart.¡±


    For a moment, Bone-Crusher stood where he was. Then, just as Amelia had begun to worry, he spoke, in a deep, ageless voice, drenched in the violence of a creature born only for war.


    ¡°And those in our way? In these final hours, can I treat them as dirt?¡±


    Taking the fact her father¡¯s horse might possibly be part demon in stride, Amelia patted its mane in admonishment. ¡°If you follow my directions, I¡¯m sure we can find you someone who deserves to be trampled¡­ But¡­ I would prefer it if you avoided everyone else.¡±


    Bone-Crusher whinnied. It sounded like laughter. ¡°Very well,¡± Bone-Crusher said, and Amelia felt the muscles beneath her tense as he began to pick up speed as they passed over the draw-bridge and made for the city. ¡°But you should really hold on tighter,¡± he added, as his hoofs began leaving a trail of sparks in their wake towards Grace, Amelia¡¯s princess, who she couldn¡¯t imagine living without in her life.

 Chapter 40 — The Historian

    Guided by the strange power she had thought only her father could possess, Amelia guided Bone-Crusher closer and closer to where Grace was located. There were a few close calls on the way, what with the number of straggling civilians now flooding the streets; heading away from the conflict, but like a fish cutting through water, Bone-Crusher¡¯s thunderous charge adroitly weaved through them all, towards the smoke and flames of the harbor.


    Amelia urged Bone-Crusher to stop at the first sight of water. Where she received the strangest of impressions that her princess¡¯s location, had begun ascending to the clouds.


    A ridiculous notion. Amelia turned her sights from the ships raining down cannon fire, towards the Marquess of Rutherford¡¯s manor, located at the top of the cliffs overlooking the harbor.


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t see any stairs, do you?¡± Amelia whispered.


    Bone-Crusher snorted and began galloping towards the cliff¡¯s face. ¡°I do,¡± he said, upon reaching the jagged rocks of its base, before beginning to rapidly climb.


    Holding on for dear life, Amelia closed her eyes when Bone-Crusher¡¯s footholds started shrinking to impossible levels. Though the noise of his scraping horseshoes never once stopped, until they did, upon reaching the top.


    With the wind in her hair, Amelia half fell; half dismounted Bone-Crusher. Marvelling at the choice plot of plateau, which only someone incredibly wealthy would ever dare place a home atop, Amelia approached the Marquess¡¯s Manor where a mix of foreigners and country-men had been sitting around a table playing cards.


    ¡°I am Amelia Strightsworth!¡± shouted Amelia, to the guards so fixated on Bone-Crusher it took hearing her voice to notice her presence. Removing her mother¡¯s ring, confident she would be able to find it no matter where it might land, Amelia then threw it at the first man who began reaching for his weapon; clonking him on the head. ¡°And you will step aside! My father will soon lop your attempt to invade us, and if you don¡¯t stand down right this instant, your heads will be next!¡±


    Only one of the guards threw down his arm. The rest, nervously reached for their swords and their spears.


    ¡°Bone-Crusher,¡± Amelia said, pointing to those who had made their decision, ¡°I give you permission to treat them like dirt!¡±


    A wind stronger than the gales buffeting the cliff¡¯s plateau fluttered Amelia¡¯s clothing as Bone-Crusher charged past her and began living up to his name.


    ¡°Get the girl before the demon horse kills us all!¡± Cried a guard, only for Bone-Crusher¡¯s hoofs to stampede him low. ¡°Does anyone have a gun!?¡± hollered another, before a mighty hind kick separated his skull from his rest.


    The Manor¡¯s doors opened as if to answer his question. Three more guards, holding flintlocks, quickly took aim at Bone-Crusher, while the others trying to avoid the horse, made for Amelia who backed away not a step.


    ¡°Not this time,¡± Amelia muttered, reaching into her satchel to retrieve and raise high the dragon tooth her father had gifted, ¡°They¡¯re over here, Dad!¡± she shouted, then flung the tooth as hard as she could onto the ground, where on impact a hairline crack split the bone from its tip to its bottom.


    A pillar of flames illuminated the sky. Rising like a geyser, attaining a height bested only by space, one of the distracted guards had time only to say, ¡°W-What the hell?¡± before a shard of the sun broke away to crash-land amidst them.


    In the blink of an eye, Havoc had arrived to evaporate those who had managed to get in arm¡¯s reach of his daughter. While near the Manor, Bone-Crusher shrugged off a volley of gunfire and splattered the rest, leaving but one.


    ¡°I¡­ I surrendered!¡± begged the last guard, ¡°If you¡¯re here for the Marquess of Rutherford, you¡­ you can probably still catch him before he finishes packing and flees using his private harbor! There¡¯s a spiral staircase inside, it leads all the way down!¡±


    ¡°I believe you,¡± said Amelia, only for Havoc to catch her shoulder before she could leave for the manor.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a weapon on you, take this, you might need it,¡± Havoc said, removing a dagger that had been sheathed on his belt. Small and ornate, it was sharp enough to get any job done and the perfect size for Amelia to comfortably hold. ¡°It belonged to your mother,¡± he explained, before quickly adding, ¡°But Amelia¡­ Your friend, Grace¡­ You love her, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Of course I do! Why? What is it?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not quite as¡­ Innocent as I think you believe.¡±


    Was this the concern of a parent? Amelia didn¡¯t quite get why her father had only chosen now to bring up Grace¡¯s foul language.


    ¡°I know, Grace isn¡¯t innocent,¡± Amelia said, ¡°She¡¯s a liar who won¡¯t bat an eye when manipulating strangers¡­ But I think there¡¯s a whole lot of good in her as well, so it balances out!¡±


    ¡°Amelia¡­¡± said Havoc, and Amelia grew afraid of what he would say next.


    ¡°Y-Yes?¡±


    ¡°No more sweets until we get home,¡± grumbled Havoc, while rubbing his jaw, which upon close inspection, appeared to be swollen. ¡°We¡¯ll leave this place to you,¡± he added, and only then did he let go of his daughter.


    Amelia watched as her father mounted Bone-Crusher and proceeded to ride his steed off the cliffs edge, leaving her with a dagger in hand and puzzled beyond measure.


    **


    Inside the manor, beyond the entrance¡¯s hall, in a welcoming room, one that was connected to several other rooms seemingly built to wrap around a large, circular pillar, Amelia came across a wholly unexpected situation, and the shattered remains of a chair, with ropes all around it as if someone had once been tied up. She blinked in surprise at the debris, then again when Stanton came flying out of the adjacent dining room, with a thing that might have once been human right on his heels.


    ¡°Why are you here?!¡± shouted Stanton in surprise as he landed beside her. Leaping back onto his feet, he intercepted the creature that looked on the verge of death in a head-lock and began grappling to push the thing back.


    Beyond the pair, in a kitchen, Amelia found Richter furiously gritting his teeth. In his arms he held tightly to a bag stuffed to its brim with parchment and paper.


    ¡°You!¡± Richter shouted, with spittle spat from each incensed word, ¡°What did you do to the sample I took! There was nothing in it! Nothing! You tricked me, you must have!¡±


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    ¡°Maybe you were just wrong, man!¡± Stanton shouted, while pummeling the abomination that seemed to respond to its creator¡¯s venom. The thing reached for Amelia, Stanton chose to kick it away, ¡°A-Amelia,¡± said Stanton, ¡°If you¡¯re looking for Grace, she should be running back to the castle! I¡­ I helped her escape while they were bringing us here!¡±


    Richter began laughing maniacally, ¡°Lies! You¡¯re all liars without reason or sense! Why? What¡¯s the point of it all?!¡±


    Seeing Richter losing his marbles, Amelia reckoned she lacked something crucial in order to understand what exactly was going on. She looked down, past the floorboards to where she could feel Grace moving lower and lower.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± said Amelia to Stanton as she came up with a plan to pursue the Marquess who must be bringing Grace with him, ¡°I¡¯m going to go get help, so can you hold on for just a bit longer?¡±


    ¡°Of¡­ Of course!¡± Stanton said, and the relief, which washed over his face confirmed Amelia¡¯s guess that the Historian had given him some sort of instruction to lie about Grace¡¯s location.


    Turning around, Amelia ran for manor¡¯s main entrance, only to make a quick left through a doorframe upon escaping from Richter¡¯s line of sight. Then left again, into the next room, then left once more, bringing her to the side entrance of a particular kitchen.


    Now behind Richter, holding her mother¡¯s dagger in two hands, Amelia let the full weight of her momentum help plunge its blade into the alchemist¡¯s back before he could realise, she had circled behind him.


    ¡°This is what you get for not taking my offer!¡± Amelia shouted as they both fell. She used the impact of them hitting the floor to drive her dagger as deep as it could.


    The alchemist¡¯s creation, drawn by the noise, looked confusedly towards its creator. Stanton, seizing his chance, hollered with grit and snapped the creature¡¯s neck from behind. Exhausted by the effort, he collapsed with it, making it so not a person or thing in the room was still standing.


    ¡°Good job!¡± Amelia said loudly, giving Stanton a solid thumb¡¯s up for his work. She then got off Richter, who had begun blubbering words amidst the blood he now drowned in.


    ¡°But¡­ But I was so close¡­ Why? I was only trying to make a panacea for all¡­¡±


    Amelia felt indignant. Even in the face of death, Richter still believed his methodology was justifiable.


    ¡°Don''t worry," Amelia said to Richter, ¡°I will make sure your research is funded to the point that one day we will succeed in creating a world with elixirs¡­ But don''t think for a second that I¡¯m going to accredit your name!"


    "Y-you bitch,¡± managed Richter, before the light was lost from his eyes.


    "Really,¡± Amelia said, dusting herself off to walk towards Stanton, ¡°They picked a fight with my family first. It''s not like I''ve done anything wrong. Now¡­ don¡¯t worry, I know Grace is below us. And while I don¡¯t know what bargain you¡¯ve made with the Historian; I promise to not hold it against you.¡±


    Eager to continue, Amelia headed towards the spiral staircase. Stanton began yelling desperately after her back.


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand! It¡¯s me! I¡¯m the Historian! Don¡¯t worry about Grace, she can take care of herself! Please, you¡¯ve got to believe me!¡±


    ¡°I believe in you Stanton, but you¡¯re a horrible liar!¡± Replied Amelia cheerfully, before she began her descent.


    **


    Round and round Amelia went, lower and lower to where Grace had stopped. Thankfully, she could still feel the occasional movement, meaning her greatest fear that the Marquess might kill Grace, had not come to pass.


    Reaching the base of the staircase, Amelia slammed open the exit door and stumbled out onto a flat rocky beach overlooked by a blue sky; peeking out from a gap in the cliff. Tracing one light blue for another that lapped against the shores of a bay, she discovered two figures.


    ¡°Stop, don¡¯t do it!¡± Amelia shouted, as the one holding a flintlock, discharged their weapon moments before her eyes finished adjusting.


    ¡°A-Amelia?¡± spoke Grace, as the kneeling Marquess of Rutherford slumped onto the beach with a blooming crescent of a rose now staining his white shirt, ¡°You¡­ You shouldn¡¯t be here! I sent you back home!¡±


    Amelia, believing her princess had somehow turned the tables on the Marquess, skipped her way over. ¡°I came to save you!¡± she said, growing unsure of the atmosphere upon seeing how upset Grace seemed to be, ¡°But¡­ But I guess I wasn¡¯t needed?¡±


    The sternness of Grace¡¯s expression was starting to scare Amelia. Was there something she¡¯d missed? Amelia decided to test a hypothesis.


    ¡°Grace¡­ Have you met someone who refers to themselves as a ¡®Historian¡¯?¡±


    Dropping her gun, Grace¡¯s concern fell away to be replaced with a smile, ¡°What are you talking about, Amelia? A Historian? Are you feeling alright?¡±


    No doubt about it, thought Amelia, as she caught Grace¡¯s hands and held them to try and calm down whatever it was that worried her lying friend, who must have encountered the Historian in some way.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Amelia said, wanting to make it clear that no matter what, she would be there for Grace, ¡°I¡¯m sure there¡¯s a reason for hiding why you¡­ why you¡­¡±


    Out of nowhere, a blinding pain shot up Amelia¡¯s arm and into her head where something shifted. Painful enough to stop her from finishing her sentence with a ¡®didn¡¯t tell me¡¯, Amelia screamed without knowing why.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Grace, as the buried memories of Amelia¡¯s past began to stifle her breath like the hands that had once strangled her throat. Followed soon after by a rushing tidal wave of sensation as Amelia¡¯s rap at the hands of the Marquess of Rutherford¡¯s men and her encounter with Richter, became vivid to the point her assaulted senses believed she had returned back in time.


    ¡°G-Grace, h-help me!¡± Amelia gasped as the phantoms of her past began dragging their hands along her body, ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ I d-don¡¯t want to remember,¡± she pleaded, ¡°S-something¡¯s gone wrong, Grace¡­ Y-Your magic, it¡¯s stopped w-working¡­ P-Please make it stop.¡±


    The guiding fire inside Amelia, wailed like a child and began pushing back against the nightmare. Buying her a precious few seconds to figure out why Grace remained so impassively silent. Or why her friend had chosen to unseal the magic that had been keeping her trauma at bay. Believing Grace would never hurt her without a good reason, Amelia found herself desperately searching her surroundings for a third party.


    And in the shadows of the cliff, did she find someone watching.


    Relief filled Amelia, even after the shadow on the rocks flickered and disappeared from her sight. She had almost forgotten about the Historian¡¯s obsession with Grace.


    ¡°G-Grace, I need you to trust me,¡± Amelia said, hopeful that they might be able to work through this together.


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk, it isn¡¯t safe,¡± said Grace, and her friend¡¯s acknowledgment that they were in danger gave Amelia the courage to speak once again.


    ¡°N-No, It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s alright!¡± Amelia said quickly, as she felt her hysteria begin enclosing once more, ¡°My¡­ My Dad is nearby, I know everything, I¡­ I know The Historian is¡ª¡±


    Another burst of indescribable pain racked Amelia¡¯s body. With a whimper, she fell, into Grace¡¯s arms where her friend pleaded and said:


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t say that it¡¯s me!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ You?¡± Amelia numbly replied, as her understanding of the world fell apart at the same time as the sky, which through the gap in the cliff, shattered like glass. Revealing on the other side of the looking glass, a horizon of innumerable teeth that began to stretch wide.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m so sorry,¡± said Grace, her face gaunt, her eyes dead and hopeless, as nature itself, like a devouring serpent began shredding existence. ¡°I tried so hard to protect you, but in the end, it was me who messed up¡­ I¡­ I hurt you for no reason¡­ In our final moments no less.¡±


    ¡°W-What is this?¡± Amelia asked, as the maw of existence snapped shut on the sky, plunging the world into night. Leaving her with only the sensation Grace whose body silently trembled with sobs.


    In the distance, a meteor rose to defy the end of their world. As a rider and his horse burned all that they were to strike the heavens beyond, to become nothing more than a twinkling firework, which exploded on impact against the night sky.


    A force beyond what she could imagine began crushing Amelia¡¯s body against itself as she witnessed the death of her father.


    ¡°Grace¡­ Can you make the flames dance for me¡­ One last time?¡± Amelia found herself asking, when all hope felt lost.


    ¡°N-Not anymore,¡± Grace lamented. Though in a clumsy attempt to adhere to Amelia¡¯s final request, she snapped her fingers anyways, to light but a spark.


    In the brief moment lit between them, Amelia saw Grace¡¯s expression turned startled.


    She felt Grace grab her face to plant a tender kiss on her brow. ¡°Do you still believe in me, princess?¡± Grace whispered, and Amelia answered with all of her heart:


    ¡°Of course I do.¡±


    Grace¡¯s lips left her. Amelia could feel herself fading away. Though she managed to smile when Grace again snapped her hands, to create with her magic, a single red flower crafted from fire. The sight reminded her of the place she most wanted to be.


    ¡°Then¡­ Next time, I¡¯ll believe in you too, until the end.¡±

 Chapter 41 — The Princess, The Liar — Part 1

    Surrounded by dolls, Amelia slept soundly in bed. Unaware of not only the world, but also the women who had entered her room to check on her condition.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard seeing her like this,¡± Martel said, filling the silence.


    ¡°And it never gets any easier,¡± spoke Grace dully. She adjusted Amelia¡¯s pillow, ¡°Not now, not then, not¡­ ever.¡±


    ¡°But your plan worked, didn¡¯t it? We avoided the greatest danger there was, didn¡¯t we? I mean, we¡¯re alive, doesn¡¯t that mean we¡¯ve been spared?¡±


    ¡°Not sure... But we¡¯ll know when she wakes up.¡±


    The already depressive mood between them, dampened straight into the doldrums.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to find Havoc,¡± Martel said in a whisper, giving Amelia a tender look before turning away, ¡°He¡¯s¡­ I think he needs someone right now.¡±


    Grace didn¡¯t comment, she could care less. The door shut with a clack as Martel departed. Leaving Amelia alone with Grace, who considered the view of the Duke of Winchester¡¯s estate from a large bedroom window.


    Lately, Havoc and Heimdall had been drowning themselves in their work. The world outside Amelia¡¯s bedroom was now filled with gardener¡¯s, maids, guards, merchants and visiting nobles, all busy as bees¡­ Though Grace couldn¡¯t bring herself to pretend she was happy about it. Not when the person it was all for had, as if under a spell, refused to wake up for over a week.


    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be like this, Grace said, returning to the bed where she took a lock of Amelia¡¯s hair and ran her fingers down through it, ¡°You should be outside right now¡­ Why did you have to get so close to the truth? Why did you have to scare me like that? I didn¡¯t want to hurt you¡­ Please believe me, I would never want that.¡±


    Her hands trembled as she made another probing attempt to enter Amelia¡¯s mind with her magic. But once again, Grace had to withdraw upon sensing how fragile her friend¡¯s psyche had become. It was too dangerous to try and make any further adjustments. All because she had forcefully torn apart the protective spell keeping Amelia safe from her trauma, in an attempt to distract her from speaking about who the ¡®Historian¡¯ was.


    God must be laughing. In the end, it really was her who had done the most damage. All because somewhere along the line, Grace had begun to think of Amelia as reckless and prone to inadvertently messing things up.


    How ironic¡­ That the only reason their world had escaped its destruction, was because Amelia somehow held within herself enough belief in her, that Grace had barely managed to pull off an imperfect, shadow of the spell she had seen God use only once, and reverse the impossible by only a minute.


    Now, here they were, with Amelia¡¯s head wrapped tightly in bandages from when Grace had, instead of panicking and begging Amelia to stop talking right after killing the Marquess of Rutherford, panicked and pistol whipped her friend into unconsciousness.


    Her friend. Her lover. Her princess. For Grace, when it came to Amelia the words meant the same. She sat down on the bed, unable to help herself from remembering those days of the past, when Amelia had lived not at home as the daughter of a Baron, or even as a noble Viscountess¡­ But as her royal Hand-Maiden.


    A dark sentiment overcame Grace. On a whim, glancing sideways at a mirror on the wall, she let her magic shimmer to cover her own face, allowing for what was reflected to take on the illusion of a much older regard.


    ¡°When I took up my position as Heir apparent¡­ I had wanted to reward my childhood hero,¡± Grace said, to herself, as she let the illusion fall away like oil on water. She traced a line down the side of Amelia¡¯s neck. ¡°Now, I can¡¯t help but wonder if it¡¯s always been me who¡¯s been responsible for your misfortune.¡±


    Grace bit down on her lips out of self hatred until they leaked blood. In her first life, if she had paid better attention to what Amelia wanted, how Amelia felt, instead of choosing to live inside mere delusions¡­ could they have avoided this outcome?


    **


    Grace had been cleaning on that fateful day. Fifteen years after the fall of the Velvetican Kingdom, fourteen years and eight months since Amelia had abandoned her and run away into the night to never be found.


    With her father dead, and her desire for power as absent as her lover, Grace had made the decision to enter into a self-imposed exile; taking up residence in the now abandoned Strightsworth manor, which she worked every day to maintain. Content to spend the rest of her days idle, so long as the world let her be.


    Feather duster in hand, the moment that would change Grace¡¯s life happened during a habitual dusting of a bookshelf. When her tool had gotten pinched and she accidentally knocked down a row of books upon pulling it free, causing all but one volume to fall to the ground, as if it had been glued to the shelf.


    Having discovered a hidden lever, Grace¡¯s curiosity was piqued, so she gave it a pull. Before she fell to the ground upon finding at long last where Amelia had disappeared too.


    For there in the saferoom of the Strightsworth manor, did Grace find a pair of corpses unaffected by decay or rot despite how cold they were to the touch. A mother holding her child even in death, who must have died from starvation after Amelia had succumbed to her wounds.


    Grace set aside her feather-duster, to sit next to her friend for the first time in years, until she could bear it no longer and began silently weeping. Knowing the chance to ask Amelia all the questions she had, were now lost forever.


    From the ghost of a smile on Amelia¡¯s face¡­ The fool must have been trying to comfort her child up until her last moments. Grace tried to match it; her attempt broke into pieces. But from those shattered shards of a smile, did an idea begin to take root. Like the seeds of a flower that had been dropped on concrete to grow.


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    There Grace remained, holding Amelia¡¯s hand for who knows how long as she prepared to cast her greatest spell yet. Time, began to march endless, and when Grace at long last was forced to stop staring at Amelia¡¯s face, with muted surprise she discovered her own hands were now withered and old.


    ¡°Better get started,¡± Grace rasped, feeling a tremor run through her now aged, failing heart. She could feel each beat begin to lessen in strength, despite the magic around it now swirling as hot as the sun.


    Time to fix a mistake, Grace decided, as she began casting the spell that had taken decades to gather. Directing it all from her body, into that of another¡¯s.


    ¡°Amelia,¡± Grace said, as the current she channelled brought back joyful memories of the past, ¡°It¡¯s time to wake up.¡±


    Reality, screamed out in pain. Grace was blown back as her spell suddenly hit a wall and recoiled against her. She could feel her bones breaking even before she crumpled to the floor, where she blearily blinked to discover Amelia¡¯s corpse had shifted into an upright position.


    Grace¡¯s hope, that she had successfully revived the dead, came crashing down to join the pain ransacking her body, the moment Amelia spoke, in a condescending, irrevocably demeaning manner.


    ¡°Sorry, but I can¡¯t let you mess with the rules.¡±


    **


    The moment she had accepted the deal from the thing that called itself ¡®God¡¯,


    Grace found herself standing in that old, dingy bar from her past with a pitcher of ale in each hand. Her life scrubbed clean, just like that, she dumped the ail on the head of a patron in mid-reach for her rear, then called out to the bartender to let him know she was taking a break.


    Exiting the bar, Grace promptly found the closest bush and vomited the stress of what returning to the past actually meant. The foul taste helped her come to terms with the fact she had truly returned, and that her talk with God hadn¡¯t been a hallucination.


    Rinsing her mouth out using Lurington¡¯s town square water-pump, Grace did an inventory check of her person, finding both the small locket round her neck, which contained a picture of her mother, as well as a small velvet pouch, which shouldn¡¯t have been there.


    God had allowed her to bring one item back to the past. Of course, the bastard had let her pick before they had listed their final condition: That Amelia could not, under any circumstance, guess that Grace had come from the future. So now the front incisor she had removed from Amelia¡¯s child was functionally useless. Since it couldn¡¯t even be used as proof to convince her friend she wasn¡¯t stark raving mad.


    Her hand clenched around the small white incisor. Mocking her was one thing, but disparaging Amelia¡¯s efforts to save her child would not be allowed. Pocketing the tooth, Grace went to find Clarice the shepherd. A person from her past who she could barely remember, despite them having both grown up in the same orphanage.


    ¡°What day is it? What year?¡± Grace asked Clarice, having found her old friend surrounded by sheep.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s the second day of the fourth month of the two-hundredth calendar year, isn¡¯t it?¡± Clarice replied, too shy to ask why her Grace would ask such a basic question, ¡°You haven¡¯t been out in the sun too long, have you? You¡¯re usually really good at remembering dates.¡±


    ¡°And you spend most of your time sleeping surrounded by sheep,¡± Grace said, having finally remembered a detail about Clarice, who she had mostly forgotten.


    ¡°I¡­ I guess?¡± Clarice said, but Grace was already walking away. Not out of a disinterest in catching up with old faces she hadn¡¯t seen in forever, but because of one simple fact.


    ¡°That¡¯s not enough time!¡± Grace screamed, after having left Lurington to find a secluded spot in the forest, ¡°Why couldn¡¯t you have sent me back to when I was a child!¡±


    She could practically hear god¡¯s laughter on the wind. No doubt revelling in the fact he had sent her back only a week before Thompson Brown would hire a wizard to investigate her magic laced alcohol, which would eventually lead to her identity as a princess being revealed.


    Grace weighed her options. But her first idea, to show up on Amelia¡¯s doorstep and offer her services felt like she was asking for trouble. Too many mistakes around her eidetic friend, and Amelia might call her out for knowing more than she should. Even if it was only as a joke, would God make the distinction? Probably not, they might even be hoping for Amelia to accidentally guess that she had come from the future.


    All at once, a solution struck Grace. If she couldn¡¯t seek Amelia out, then why not have Amelia instead come to her?


    It wasn¡¯t much, but it was enough for Grace to walk the distance between Lurington and the small yet compact town situated at the base of the Strightsworth estate. Where she located the bookstore Amelia loved, and began laying a trap, using coins made from dirt; placed on the ground to form a trail leading into an alley.


    Soon, a group of children had discovered the bait. Their curiosity endless, by the time one of them had begun doubting their good fortune, Grace had sunk her claws in their minds, turning their belief in her magic into something much deeper. Like ants, Grace made the children march into the back of an abandoned store-house, where she made a book float before them, until it was all they could see.


    Belief in her magic secured, Grace began quickly rewriting the stolen book into something that would catch Amelia¡¯s interest.


    Placing herself as the protagonist, Grace layered her deception with a Historian who did not exist, and made sure to fill the details between with as much romance as she could to guarantee Amelia would read the novel from cover to back.


    Regrettably, Grace couldn¡¯t make ¡®A History of the Velvetican Kingdom¡¯ an exact representation of the future. There were gaps in her knowledge she could only fill with emotion, in addition to how unwilling Grace was to bear the thought of Amelia being deceived once again who had approached her in their first life.


    Unable to bear the thought of Amelia growing close to anyone but her first, Grace used what her spies had gathered and worked to transform Amelia¡¯s first impression of those she had been close with, into nothing more than ¡®suitors¡¯ destined for a princess.


    This time, Grace would do better. Either by vetting, or elimination, she would take charge of Amelia¡¯s poor judgment of character and save the Velvetican Kingdom while she was at it.


    After several days of hard work, Grace released the children from her influence and exited the alley to appear disguised as a man. Looking at bookstore, she took out the incisor she had taken from Amelia¡¯s child, and in a symbolic defiance of God, began casting a spell on the tooth to connect it once again with its mother.


    More than willing to wait, Grace closed her eyes and immersed herself in the sensation of Amelia going about her day, from the moment she woke up, up until the very moment she heard Amelia¡¯s voice speaking with the bookstore¡¯s owner who opened their shop.


    With a thought, Grace caused the tooth to crumble and dissolved the connection. Vowing to create an everlasting bond between them, she entered the bookstore, where Grace almost lost control of herself upon smelling Amelia¡¯s perfume. She could practically see the scented trail leading from herself to her princess.


    ¡°Hello!¡± interrupted the young man working the till, and that was all he managed to say before Grace had shown him her book and placed him under a state of hypnosis.


    ¡°You will wrap this, and present it to your next customer as a gift, for her good patronage,¡± she instructed, and the young man nodded his head as the command sunk itself deep.


    Only then did Amelia reward herself by brushing past Amelia to calm herself down on the way out. Before she returned to Lurington to await the results of her actions.

 Chapter 41 — The Princess, The Liar — Part 2

    The first ripples of change, did not take long to reach Lurington.


    Grace set down the telescope she had been using to observe the file of knights leading a coach. The sight of Amelia¡¯s silhouette in the coach¡¯s window worried her, since it meant Amelia had not only read the entirety of the Historian¡¯s novel in under a day, but was reckless enough to try and verify the book¡¯s authenticity by meeting the ¡®Princess¡¯ in person. Her expectation that Amelia would delegate verification to Heimdall or her father, even though Grace had written the thing to be self-evident, felt like a reality-check slap to the face.


    Though unlike Clarice, she wasn¡¯t about to let any concerns extend past her own thoughts.


    ¡°N-No!¡± Clarice wailed, ringing the bell attached to the top of her shepherd¡¯s staff while sobbing, ¡°You dummies, there¡¯s barely any grass over here, where are you going?!¡±


    The flock of sheep continued ignoring their shepherd, seemingly content to chew on what little grass they could find between the dirt and rocks of the hill they were on.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand it Grace, it¡¯s like they¡¯re possessed!¡±


    ¡°Well, at least they¡¯re not running away,¡± Grace said, before reasserting her control over the sheep, whose senses betrayed them into thinking they were grazing not on barren space, but upon luscious land, ¡°Why don¡¯t we let them do what they want?¡±


    Clarice whimpered. Her staff tightly gripped, she worriedly kept fretting over her sheep. Grace resumed pondering what else she might have overlooked while trying to artificially create an encounter with the woman she loved.


    ¡°G-Grace!¡± Clarice suddenly shouted, ¡°Something¡¯s happened to the B-B-Baron¡¯s procession!¡±


    Grace felt her heart sink as the noise of panicking horses reached her before she had even spotted the now out-of-control coach dragging hard on the road; barrelling ahead of the escort of knights who rode hard in pursuit.


    With the distance between her and the tragedy too great to intervene, Grace watched helplessly as the notion that God might be even crueler than she could ever imagine, played out before her.


    Had God¡¯s wrath for her transgressions of going against his law of nature really been that severe? Would Amelia be snatched away from her in this second life, before they could even converse? Or, could it be that the fault lay with herself. All because she had let her fond memories of the past, blind her of the fact that Amelia, even on the best of days, had a penchant for being an absolute jinx. Grace immediately discarded her assumption that she only had to worry about the ¡®suitors¡¯ who would eventually involve themselves in Amelia¡¯s life. Apparently, Amelia also needed protection from her own actions as well.


    Thank all there was for Havoc, who assuaged Grace¡¯s immediate fears the moment he revealed himself and exited the carriage to put a stop to the nonsense. Though Havoc¡¯s involvement created more questions, since Grace was positive that at this time the father and daughter might as well have been living like strangers in the same house.


    Had her novel somehow influenced their relationship for the better? Probably not to any significant degree, Grace decided, after she and Clarice were dragged by Heimdall and tossed at Havoc¡¯s feet, where they were ordered to explain their reason for being close-by.


    Grace played clueless while sneaking glances around her. With a bottle in hand, and a vacant glaze coating both of Havoc¡¯s eyes, along with Amelia¡¯s clearly injured hand and there being specks of blood on the coach¡¯s axle, Grace pieced together an idea of what must have happened, and became stressed to the extent she accidentally introduced herself as if she were still a princess.


    Once again, Grace couldn¡¯t help but feel that the Baron didn¡¯t deserve Amelia. No shot Havoc was completely ignorant to his daughter¡¯s behaviour, but he had still chosen to let her mess around to the point of self-hurt? Shackled by her promise with God, Grace¡¯s indignation had her rethinking her initial plan to help the pair reconnect.


    Falling deeper into her blissfully ignorant act to hide her emotions, while making sure to catch her friend¡¯s eye whenever she could, Grace chose to not think about involving herself with Havoc yet, to better enjoy her first encounter with Amelia. Until she found herself being escorted back to the Lurington Bar by a Knight, who proceeded to manhandle the owner upon their arrival.


    A tender smile creased the corners of Grace¡¯s lips. She could practically envision Amelia giving the orders to punish the man who had taken advantage of her talents for his own gain


    It was indisputable proof that in Amelia¡¯s heart, she had been deemed to be a good person. And when the knight gave Grace, an envelope inviting her to come visit the Strightsworth manor for a job opportunity, despite feeling like she had died and could now go to heaven to try and kill God, Grace braced herself, and began thinking of how to keep Amelia safe from not only her past, but the wide world as well, no matter the method.


    For as long as she could remain good in Amelia¡¯s eyes, Grace was prepared to become the worst of them all.


    **


    Obtaining a position that would let her stick close to Amelia, went as smoothly as Grace could dare hope, despite the interview for becoming a handmaiden being an absolute mess.


    Amelia¡¯s attempt to emulate the princess of the Historian¡¯s novel, might have been adorable to the point Grace¡¯s facade of a damsel out of her depths had nearly slipped loose, but witnessing Amelia proudly show off her safe room, where she had died in the past¡­ Grace had only managed to salvage her shattered mask of emotions by hiding within the awkwardness created by the few stories she knew about Amelia¡¯s father.


    It was strange, to see Amelia grow so abashed over the very tales she had once recounted to Grace, but it was also nice, since the longing loneliness that had always dampened those tender moments of sharing, was at present, nowhere to be seen.


    And Grace, for the life of her, couldn¡¯t figure out why that fact made her feel¡­ uncomfortable.


    **


    Time passed in tranquility once Grace began working as Amelia¡¯s handmaiden. A perfect lull Grace made full use of, to leave a lasting impression by working her hardest in all aspects of duty. From playing with Amelia in the garden, to gathering information while helping the maids, every moment spent was either to make Amelia¡¯s life easier¡­ Or used in planning how best to hurt others.


    Despite Grace¡¯s growing horror that it didn¡¯t seem like Amelia had, or intended to, tell her father about the Historian¡¯s novel, at all.


    Meaning if things progressed as they ought, Havoc would once again leave without a word¡­ Something Grace had by now realised would leave Amelia irrevocably distraught. Originally, she had been hoping Havoc would be receive her novel in some capacity, find it suspicious enough to investigate and deal with the West, before moving on to the Caneo Empire, leaving Grace to handle the Marquess of Rutherford who might lash out for having his plans foiled, as well as the ¡®suitors¡¯.


    But that wouldn¡¯t make Amelia happy. And Grace was finding that a happy Amelia, was much more open to reciprocating love and affection than a sad Amelia. So, when the love of her life started mumbling in the greenhouse about how upset she was of her father¡¯s depression, Grace swallowed her perfect future, took a gamble, and agreed to help.


    Despite knowing firsthand that there was a very real chance Havoc would notice her tainted drink¡¯s effect on his mind and sniff out her involvement. An issue, since Havoc had a penchant for killing before asking questions. And fighting back against the person Amelia thought a god among men wasn¡¯t an option even if she could do it. After how Grace had characterized herself in the Historian¡¯s novel it would be far too suspicious.


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    Thus, Grace made the decision, to hurt Amelia, only a bit, for the greater good of them both. She began helping wherever she could as Amelia fretted. First by whispering suggestions about how swell of an idea it would be if Havoc could only remember what once was, then by speaking with Heimdall to dress a dining hall present up as the past.


    All for the chance that Havoc would become enraged, then lower his guard to sooth his daughter¡¯s distress. Allowing Grace¡¯s magical drink to corrupt his taste buds, so that he might be forced to abandon his alcoholic crutch and think clearly for more than an hour in what must have been years.


    Unfortunately, Grace¡¯s plan to help now, then eventually remove her influence from Havoc¡¯s senses so he would rebound and show Amelia how unreliable and unchanging of a man he truly was, hit a snag, when Havoc¡¯s invincible ego shifted the blame for why his daughter was crying and blamed it all on the booze¡­ To the point his belief cemented her magic into something she couldn¡¯t take back.


    **


    Despite not knowing when Havoc had discovered the West had been making preparations for war, or why he thought killing a bunch of people would somehow endear himself to his daughter, Grace chose not to concern herself with the small details in life that didn¡¯t impact her. Especially when it meant she got to relax and spend more time with Amelia.


    Still, she had begun to develop a growing suspicion that things were going too well. Proven true when out of nowhere one morning, Amelia bashfully approached her while Grace was watering the greenhouse flowers and said:


    ¡°Let¡¯s go shopping in town!¡±


    ¡°The bookstore?¡± Grace guessed, despite her smile hiding another behind it, since she had by then influenced the owner to close up shop and go elsewhere. She had been waiting for this moment, since if Amelia ever did start investigating the Historian¡¯s identity, having a false lead would be the perfect warning bell to let her know in advance.


    But then Amelia started to stutter.


    ¡°Y-Yeah! J-Just the bookstore!¡±


    The watering can, slipped from Grace¡¯s hands. She hid her mistake with a ¡°whoopsie¡±, then laughed away Amelia¡¯s concern that Grace¡¯s dress was now wet.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Grace said, while she tried figuring out why Amelia would lie about visiting a bookstore of all things, ¡°Why don¡¯t we meet outside the manor? Just let me get changed.¡±


    It didn¡¯t make sense, until they¡¯d arrived in town, where Amelia saw the abandoned bookstore, did a double take, before suggesting out of the blue, that they should split up so she could go window shopping¡­ while looking towards Elmwood Street. Causing Grace to doubt whether she had in fact, made no mention of where Thompson Brown was staying in town.


    It was too much of a coincidence, however despite wanting to join Amelia, she was so worried about not having a good reason that in the end, she decided to sprint to get her own shopping out of the way (purchasing the freshest, juiciest meats that were for sale at the market), before cutting through town to arrive at Thompson¡¯s Brokerage all in under twenty minutes.


    Hoping her guesswork was wrong, Grace reached for the brokerage¡¯s doorknob and found it to be locked.


    ¡°Hey!¡± she called to a passerby, ¡°Shouldn¡¯t this place be open at this hour?¡±


    ¡°Ought a be,¡± replied the disinterested man, but it was a good enough answer for Grace to unlock the door with her magic.


    ¡°N-No! I swear I locked it this time!¡± shouted Erika, the shocked receptionist who appeared to be in the process of returning to her seat. ¡°Ma¡¯am, we¡¯re closed for the day! Please come back again later!¡±


    No doubt about it. With a foreboding comment like that, Amelia had to be present. A gut-wrenching realisation, since it meant Amelia planned on either revealing Grace¡¯s identity on her own, or she was trying to save the Velvetican Kingdom, using a cobbled together novel half filled with lies, data from rumours, spies, and the royal archives.


    Ignoring Erika¡¯s complaints that grew closer despite having already faded into the background, Grace slammed her filled basket against the receptionist¡¯s head, knocking her dazed.


    ¡°You¡¯re tired, aren¡¯t you?¡± Grace whispered, putting the woman to sleep, before eyeing the door at the top of the staircase, where loud music and noise was descending, signifying a party.


    Thompson Brown would never spend money on a party. Which meant Vanridge Dowsinger had believed the letter Grace had sent him; having slipped information that the merchant¡¯s reason for being in town was to sneakily expand his dealings under the cover of war, by stealing away the mob boss¡¯s many debtors by acting as a benevolent creditor.


    Grace considered the hallway leading to not only a cellar, but a set of cells, where Thompson was most likely locked up. Knowing Vanridge, he wouldn¡¯t miss an opportunity to throw a competitor into their own holding space. Perfect for her, since Grace had, by rarely leaving Amelia¡¯s side, made for herself an alibi against the merchant¡¯s disappearance, unlike the rest of the cast in the Historian¡¯s novel.


    After all, if one red herring was good, two could only be better.


    Stuffing Erika under the receptionist¡¯s desk, Grace disguised herself as a dancer with a simple believable illusion, before slipping into the upstairs party in full sway. There she found Amelia, judged with a quick encounter that there wasn¡¯t a way to warn her away without drawing attention, and found a corner of the room everyone else thought to be empty. She backed into the shadows and began hatefully watching, as Vanridge put on a show that Amelia fell for. Hook, line, and sinker.


    There wasn¡¯t a chance in hell the man who had once taken over the Barony¡¯s governance after Amelia had become a princess¡¯s lady in waiting wouldn¡¯t recognize the frail, red-headed daughter of a notorious Baron.  Grace could feel it, by pretending to defend Amelia from an out-of-control minion, Vanridge was already making plans to sway Amelia to his side, just as he had swayed the nobles Grace had assigned to help Heimdall manage the estate in their lady¡¯s absence: One man at a time, using blackmail or bribes until even Heimdall had fallen for an underhanded conspiracy against his life.


    Seeing Amelia begin to drunkenly giggle her way around Vanridge¡¯s finger, Grace could only endure and place the blame on herself for having written the Historian¡¯s novel like a pseudo-romance. She wondered whether having to watch her love be seduced by another, was divine punishment for her own incompetence.


    Her head low, Grace discreetly slunk after Amelia who eventually made the decision to leave. Though at the top of the staircase, she froze in her tracks, because down below on the first floor Amelia had chosen to remove her shoes and head towards where Thompson Brown had been imprisoned as if she knew something was up.


    A change of plans was in order. Amelia might very well be on track to free Thompson, but that didn¡¯t mean Grace couldn¡¯t still use a different suitor to achieve the same result of seeding confusion.


    Retracing her steps, Grace returned to the room Vanridge was in, where the man had begun malevolently laughing between sips of his wine. His true nature, revealing itself only after he¡¯d thought himself to be completely alone. Unfortunately for him, the drink he tasted happened to be something Grace had concocted. It wasn¡¯t even a challenge for her to turn what he tasted from delightful into something his body wouldn¡¯t be able to handle.


    Vanridge collapsed, coughing up drink until he couldn¡¯t no more. Allowing for Grace to approach him without worry and begin slicing away at his neck with a knife from her basket. Thinking it might prove useful in scaring away Thompson should Amelia¡¯s misfortune cause another fly to buzz too close to her light, she stuffed Vanridge¡¯s severed head beneath the meat she had bought.


    Yet, Grace¡¯s intentions again ran into a stumble, when from the brokerage¡¯s second floor window, she spotted Amelia leaving the building not with Thompson¡­ but all on her own. It felt like the world was conspiring against her. All Grace could have asked for was a normal day out in town, but instead it had turned into something she wanted to burn to the ground.


    She made her decision. And ran down the stairs of the brokerage and out the back door, where Vanridge¡¯s men had been waiting for a signal to come back inside. Still disguised as a dancer, she ran and fell against the chest of the man Vanridge had ¡®killed¡¯ and let her real emotions out in the fakest of manners.


    ¡°Fire! There¡¯s a fire inside, and Vanridge can¡¯t get out! I think he might have breathed in too much smoke; I was taking a break, but when I came back n-nobody was around and he¡­ he was just lying unconscious and¡­ and there was just so much smoke!¡±


    ¡°Useless woman! You could have at least tried to drag him out by his feet!¡± shouted the man, throwing Grace away to rush inside with the rest of Vanridge¡¯s men, unaware of how their loyalty and trusting of her words did nothing but help Grace fuel her magic to turn more lies into truth.


    The second floor of the brokerage went up like a struck matchstick.


    Running away from the scene along with the rest of the entertainers Vanridge had brought in for his party, Grace rounded the brokerage with a hope to reunite with Amelia and put this charade behind them. Only to instead find Amelia in the arms of Thompson, staring enraptured at the smoldering corpse of Vanridge Dowsinger; having been blasted from the building purely by chance.


    Knowing it should have been her holding Amelia and not Thompson, Grace stalked the pair as they hurried away from both the blaze and Vanridge¡¯s men, before closing her eyes to pass them, least her jealousy cause her to do something she couldn¡¯t take back, when Amelia took out her family ring and the two began acting dramatically.


    Wondering whether she should leave Vanridge¡¯s severed head on Thompson¡¯s bed for him to wake up with, or if she should instead hang it inside of his shower, Grace found a shop and let her disguise drop upon entering in. Inside, she subdued an old woman manning the counter into a slumber and went back to the entrance.


    Had Amelia been about to go anywhere else, Grace would have opened the door and drawn her attention by calling out, only fate for once seemed to finally turn in her favor since Amelia made a beeline for the shop Grace had chosen. And in the collision Grace made sure to occur, she even had the good fortune of hearing Amelia accidentally call her by her true title.


    Given an inch of opportunity, Grace had taken a mile when Amelia had given her blessing to take charge, and made for themselves a magically veiled moment reserved only for them as they shared a tender, albeit slightly addictive kiss that made the day worth its troubles.


    It was a moment, soured only by a slight scare when Amelia¡¯s keen nose nearly sniffed out Vanridge¡¯s head¡­ Along with the reminder that there lay a rat of a prospective fianc¨¦ who still needed to be dealt with.