Prologue

“Your highness!” Count Marceau called out suddenly, the double doors of Lucius’ study bursting inwards with a swing of his arms. The man strode purposefully towards the desk, the thick soles of his shoes sounding loudly against the marble of the floor with every hurried step.

The boy stood, hand pressed to the window as he watched the streets below.

“Your highness.” The count repeated, breathing deeply from his brisk entrance. “The enemy are approaching at an alarming rate. You must leave at once.” His shoulders heaved as he tried to measure his tone and volume. But his distress was obvious.

“How did they catch us unawares?” The young boy turned to face Marceau and unlike the older man he showed no outward signs of concern, his voice was clear and authoritarian as he spoke. He did not seem a boy of barely ten years. Such was his manner.

“I do not know your highness. But they are advancing towards Voltas and at this rate they will be here within days. You must hurry.” The man insisted, the veins on his neck straining. Lucius regarded him in the dim light of the study. From his powdered wig and proudly lined face with its pallid sunken cheeks and intelligent blue eyes, down to the long tailed cream jacket over his waistcoat and pantaloons. He was the very picture of nobility. The proud and aristocratic gentleman before him had been a loyal supporter of the young prince these past few years since the death of his mother. Lucius considered the news carefully.

“What is it you suggest?” The young boy asked. His face was impassive. Serene. Long, wavy black hair was tied at the base of his neck into a low ponytail, the loose locks framing his rounded young face.

“That you hurry to the border of Salis.” The count replied with reassuring certainty. “Take this letter.” He reached into his overcoat and handed Lucius an envelope, sealed with his house’s coat of arms. “Take it to my son at the courthouse. He will deliver it to the Salisians to arrange an escort for you.” Lucius’s thin fingers slid the envelope from Marceau’s hand.

“I see.” The child said quietly, turning over the letter in his hands. “And what of Rothion, Marianne and Catherine?” He asked.

“They will be right behind you.“ He assured the prince. “Now. I must go and prepare our men. Be safe, your highness.” The man bowed deeply at the waist before turning on his heel and making his way down the corridor.

Less than an hour later and Lucius’ carriage drew up in front of the courthouse. The boy was ushered into the building flanked by two columns of armed guards who stood to attention outside the chambers of Judge Marceau whilst their prince entered. The Judge bowed, one hand on his breast as the young boy stood before him.

“Your highness. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” The judge said and Lucius produced the letter. From beneath his cape.

“Your father instructed me to give this to you. He said that it will explain what you are to do.” Marceau took the envelope, sliding a silver plated letter opener through the seal and reading it silently to himself. Lucius studied the man quietly as he read. He had the same hawk like features as his father. A long, thin face with a straight, distinguished nose and pronounced cheekbones. The man frowned in consternation.

“This is most disturbing news. You must hurry, my prince. Make for the road West. I will send my fastest messenger ahead with my father’s letter. The escort will meet you in no less than a day’s time.”

“I will inform my men.” Lucius said, but Marceau shook his head.

“No. It cannot be risked. If I am correct then the Sarifen already have spies and agents watching the roads. You would do best to travel covertly. Take only those men you have with you.” Lucius made to protest, but the judge spoke first. “Please my prince, there is no time. You must hurry.” He said and reluctantly Lucius nodded. The two exchanged bows and the young boy left the room turned to leave, his cloak trailing behind. The doors closed behind him as Marceau held the letter over the naked flame of his candle.

It was the tenth day of the ninth month in the year 2916 of the United Calendar. The Mighty Sarifen Empire declared war on Valania. The small kingdom which for so long had stood as the last line of defence against the mighty empire of Sarife was occupied and subjugated by the Imperial forces and now Sarife looms as the world’s greatest power. The Valanian nobility, divided by tensions following the death of the queen, sided almost unanimously with the invading forces. In the deciding battle in the city of Voltas the Sarifen Empire took the capitol city with little effort. Valania became a dominion of the Empire.

The once proud border nation was now little more than a mere territory.

Altaea Saga: The Prince

Eleven years from that fateful day. The country of Valania would once more be wrought with turmoil.

From behind the high, wrought iron fence the sounds of revelry could be heard. Valentia manor glittered like firelight in the dead of the summer night.

Inside the soft and gentle sounds of the violin carried over the crowded ballroom. Couples danced and men and women mingled, the sounds of conversation carrying over the music in a toneless din. The floor of the room was rose marble, decorated in an intricate pattern that called to mind the petals of a flower. The walls too had a pink hue to them, with brackets and decorations of gold leaf. The ceiling above was high and vaulted, painted with a mural depicting a host of angels encircling the sun. A huge chandelier above bathed the room with its light, lending the room a reddish tone. Servants and aids scurried to and fro, tending to the needs of the assembled nobility. The guests could be distinguished by their bright and ornate clothing. They laughed and joked, discussing business, politics and the matters of the court.

It was a breeding ground for betrayal. Gossip and hearsay spread like wildfire amongst the court and a person’s reputation could make or break them. After all without influence, you were nothing. If the King so wished a family could be stripped of their land and their sons sent to battle on distant frontiers. Likewise someone with his highness’ favour was in a position of considerable power. For nobles the court was a battlefield.

Lucenzio Di Amres cast open the doors of the ballroom and immediately all eyes were upon him. He stood there for a moment, framed in the doorway as he surveyed the crowd. It seemed that many of Valania’s nobility were gathered here today. He smiled and laughed quietly to himself before striding confidently into the room, his nonchalant swagger and devilish smirk seeming to draw the gaze of all around him. As he passed a gathering of ladies the man gave them a quick glance. They were dressed in the manner typical of nobility, curvaceous figures emphasized by tightly drawn bodices and corsets. Large flowing dresses with lace decoration and low cut cleavage designed to draw men’s gazes. Their hair draped in thick curls around their shoulders and large feathered fans hid their faces so that only their eyes remained visible. Their skin was pale from the thick makeup, cheeks daubed with rouge like a blush. They fluttered their eyelashes at him in faux innocence. Lucenzio replied with a courteous nod and in an instant the group erupted in giggling laughter.

As Lucenzio passed the group a serving boy crossed his path. Without pausing the man seized a glass from the tray the boy carried. He stopped to sip on the wine and inhaled it’s sweet aroma. Once more he cast his gaze over the crowd. Lucenzio was a handsome man, tall and with proud features. His velvet doublet, with its loose sleeves emphasized his broad shoulders and he wore breeches and tall riding boots. A rapier hung at his side, the swept hilt was polished to a fine silver sheen. He swept a hand through his wavy blonde hair and pondered who to approach. Influence after all was a game of strategy and skill.

"Lord Gideon Ce'dareaux!" The crier bowed and turned all in on movement as Gideon swept into the room his great coppery coat billowing slightly behind him. Two more of the nobility almost seemed to be caught in his wake; Ser Kord Dunnel, a landed knight, and Lord Peotor Sandovak. Both rode under Gideon's command and both accomplished soldiers.

Ser Dunnel had just recently gained his knighthood in service to the crown. Some said it had more to do with his father, a wealthy merchant and friend of the Ce'dareaux family. His pious and humble demeanor make some consider him dull. Lord Sandovak almost matches the Lord Gideon for height, but takes away from the attention garnered by his commander nonetheless.Though the ladies at court call him ravishing, many of the peasantry circulate rumors of his cruel and lustful nature. His long dark hair is thick and full, his pale blue eyes that shine with an ever present ferocity.

Gideon swaggered slightly from the weight of his sword as he navigated through the various gossip nodes, looking for a Captain or even the Lord-General. A few of the more domineering noblewomen were already looking in his direction, nostrils flaring slightly like a wolf smelling blood. He navigated with renewed vigor.

"You know, my lord," Lady Ismanne of Juriden, a southern fief. "My father, Lord Farquad, has often remarked upon your commanding presence, but I had no idea what he had meant until now." She took a dramatic breath, her chest rising and falling heavily.

"Ah, my dear Lady Ismanne. I see the rumors are true.." Gideon looked over her shoulder, he spied Lord-Captain Bernholdt gesticulating and debating with another lord."... your beauty really does rival that of the fabled siren song. Perhaps next time your father can introduce us properly. I shall look forward to it with anticipation."

Before she could respond Gideon strolled passed her and joined Bernholdt's entourage. He saw a few lords he recognized, but most he did not. With his title came an introduction to another level of the game of thrones. He often found himself lacking in common knowledge of his newly acquired peers. Bernholdt turned to look at him, as he laughed at a joke. "Oh! Here he is! The Lance of Valania! Gideon, we were just discussing it and I think that we, as gentry, have the responsibility, nay, the privilege of scouring major roads for bandits and brigands!"

Bernholdt swayed at Gideon expectantly, a overly-filled wineglass in hand. "Well, I believe that it is the duty of any lord with pride to maintain his domain." It grew quiet. Gideon slowly realized that may have just said something wrong. It was better to be seen in control. He could not afford to look a fool. "Of course, I believe in my right set any tariff I wish on trade goods brought through my land, as well."

The night was quiet. At least for now.

The city of Voltas slumbered heavily in the oppressive heat that had scarcely diminished with the sun's setting. Rotting garbage and the stench of open sewers combined to form a heavy malaise which hung over the narrow street, overwhelming the nose and pervading pores and fabric alike. To catch the slight breeze blowing in from the west every house had thrown open the windows of their second floors, out of which filtered the sounds of a few souls yet awake -- somewhere a child cried, while elsewhere a woman laughed softly.

From his place in the heavy shadows of the public fountain on the end of the street, Janos Souan missed nothing. He had crouched motionless for an hour, acquainting his eyes with the dark of the unlit street and familiarizing his ears with the noise of the sleeping city. A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead and hung maddeningly from his brow, but Souan forced himself to remain still. Waiting.

He perked up slightly; his ears had detected a new sound in the ambience. Souan sensed more than saw the dark shape of figure moving cautiously along the street towards him, hugging the shadows of the gutter. From his place by the fountain Souan shifted slightly, and the dark shape turned towards the noise. Janos gave a low whistle and in a single movement the figure scuttled across the street and was at Souan's side, emerging out of the obscuring darkness into the cloaked form of a man. A dirty and frightened face peered through the shadow of a hood at Souan. "Third house on the right," the man hissed.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure as sure, Inspector. Three of their kind inside."

Souan nodded slowly. "You better be right."

"Long as you keep paying gold, I will be." The man held out a hand. From his belt Souan removed a small purse and placed it in the other man's palm. The man made the purse vanish before turning and disappearing himself into the night.

Souan stared hard down the street, counting the houses on the right side until he found the indicated building. He marked it in his head, then turned and gave another low whistle. What had appeared as no more than a heavy patch of shadows in the alley to his right now dissolved into the figures of a dozen men, who moved quietly up the alleyway towards the fountain.

"What did the snitch say, Inspector?" The heavy features of the constable gleamed with sweat, his face framed by a heavy helmet and coif. In his hands was a poleax, an ugly weapon that was nonetheless brutally efficient at battering apart mail, piercing armor, and slicing through flesh.

"Third house on the right," Janos repeated. "We move in fast, before anyone can sound the alarm. Be ready for a fight, and remember that I want at least one alive for questioning."

"Yes, Inspector." The constable, a rough old bruiser who had made a career out of brawling in the street, sounded nervous. Dealing with an inspector of the Special Constabulary put most people on edge, when an ill-timed or ill-conceived remark could lead to a sudden and everlasting disappearance.

"All right, follow me." Boots scraped against cobblestones as dark shapes filled the alley. Moving quickly, Souan counted the doors that passed to his right. One...two...three. As the squad formed up on either side of the door, Souan nodded to two constables who carried between them a heavy log battering ram.

"BOOM!"

The quiet of the night was shattered as the wooden door splintered and toppled backward off its hinges. Souan was third into the house, his dagger in hand. The air inside was humid and close, and as a lantern was unshuttered he could make out the room's interior. It was sparsely furnished -- a stool, a rough-hewn table, an iron-bound chest -- and empty of any inhabitants.

"Ground floor clear, Inspector." The house was filling up with constables. Souan passed through a doorway into the back room, a small kitchen with an empty pantry and cold hearth. Another door led into a back garden and the alley beyond, but Janos wasn't worried. He'd left another squad of constables to cordon off the streets and capture anyone trying to escape this house.

A narrow flight of stairs led up from the kitchen to the second floor, and taking a shutter lantern from one of the constables Souan peered up into the murky darkness-- and there almost died. Two crossbow bolts hissed down from above, flying past his head and snatching the lantern from his hand. "Upstairs!"

Men were shouting now. Constables pushed past Janos and thundered up the stairs. There were more shouts, the clash of steel, a scream, and then silence. "All clear!" came the shout.

Souan climbed to the second floor quickly, sheathing his dagger. A constable was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, the spearpoint of the man's poleax tipped with blood. "Looks like that information of yours was right, Inspector," he said to Janos. "It's a regular armoury up here."

The room was filled with weapons: piles of spears, racks of swords and crossbows, and bundles of crossbow quarrels. What immediately drew Souan's attention were two men lying on the floor, one clearly dead. The other was moving slowly in a pool of blood, reaching for a knife which lay on the floor beside him. Janos kicked the blade away. "Don't let him touch anything or try to kill himself," he said to one of the constables. "And fetch the chirurgeon to patch him up. I want him alive long enough for questioning."

"Yes Inspector."

Janos looked about. "There were supposed to be three here tonight."

"The third one escaped through the window, Inspector." The constable gestured toward one of the windows, which opened onto the back garden.

Souan moved to the open window, and leaned outside. A plank had been laid from windowsill to the gutterspout of the next building, providing a means of quick escape to the rooftops. Janos cursed, for whomever it was that had escaped would be long gone by now.

"Clean out the room and bring everything back to the citadel," Souan told the constables. "I want this place cleared before dawn."

The men nodded, and began gathering up the cache of weapons. The constabulary chirurgeon appeared and began tending to the wounded man, who resisted feebly. Souan looked about the room and noticed a cloth satchel half-hidden beneath a discarded blanket. He picked up the satchel and flipped back its cover to find the bag filled with folded parchments. He skimmed them, curious as to their contents, but read nothing more than senseless gibberish. "Did you find anything on the rebels?" he asked, "Any papers, perhaps?"

"No, Inspector. Just a few coins."

Janos sighed. The writing on the parchments were clearly in code, but the key must have disappeared with the third fugitive. He put the papers back into the satchel and closed its flap. "Take these with you," he instructed a constable. "Make sure they're on my desk by the morning."

He stood for a moment, pausing to survey the room. Another rebel safe house busted, another stockpile of illicit weapons seized, a traitor's death for one who had stood against the king-- none of it got Janos closer to unravelling the conspiracy which threatened to plunge Valania into open rebellion and so destroy the peace and order he worshipped. With a final disappointed shrug, Souan trudged down the stairs.

* * *

It was nearly dawn when Janos returned home, slipping through the door and sliding the bolt closed behind him. As he removed his coat and slipped off his shoes, a light appeared at the top of the stairs. "Janos?"

"It's me, dear." He climbed to the top of the stairs to where his wife Lena stood in a night-gown, candle in hand and sleep still in her eyes.

"Late night at work?" Lena asked, giving him a kiss.

"A raid," Janos said simply, taking his wife by the arm. "The girls?"

"Asleep of course."

The door creaked as Souan opened it, but the two small occupants of the bed did not stir at the sound. Both Emily and her younger sister Laila had inherited the black curls and heavy-lashed eyes of their mother, and neither awoke as Janos carefully bowed and kissed the girls lightly on their cheeks. "They look so peaceful," he remarked in a low voice as he rejoined his wife in the doorway.

"That's only when they're sleeping," Lena replied with a smile. "You're lucky not here during the day."

Janos' smile was part-amusement, part-regret. "Shall we go to bed?"

Tomorrow was, after all, another day.

As Gideon spoke, one man appeared less than enamoured. "Perhaps so, but is it wise to tax those who would bring wealth to the land? The merchants will find other routes if need be." He remarked in a low, rumbling voice. Malik peered at Gideon with dark, beady eyes. His jowly face rolled wen he opened his mouth to speak and he thumbed the gold chain at his neck. He was a large man, as wide as he was tall. Malik raised the goblet of wine to his mouth and sipped it lightly. His was a strange countenance, his brutish, offputting appearance contrasting the strangely refined grace of his movements.

"Now, Malik." A woman nearby turned to face him, her features hidden behind the large peacock feather fan that she held to her lips. Lady Victoria was a tall, regal looking woman with platinum blonde hair arranged meticulously in loose curls that rolled down her left shoulder. Though she was approaching middle age she could easily have passed for a woman in her twenties. Pale of skin with only a dash of rouge on her cheeks, her face was framed by the large lace collar of her magnificent gown. She looked to Gideon, offering her hand with a flash of her long eyelashes. "My lord, I don't believe we have been properly introduced." She purred in a low, sultry voice. "Lady Victoria de Cristescu. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I have heard so much about you." She curtseyed politely, tugging at her bustled dress.

Lucenzio regarded the crowd that had formed around him. It was normal, he reassured himself for these people to be drawn to someone of his standing. Though he had no delusions as to the reason behind their fawning admiration. As the King's closest blood relative he would of course succeed the man if he were to die with no heir. Lucenzio listened blankly as one woman intimated none too subtly her desire to bed him. Her coarse and lewd double entendres punctuated by the forced laughter of her entourage.

The man was imposing. The fine gold of his robes shone brightly in the light of the candles. Fine blue and golden thread was embroidered in intricate patterns and decorations across the shimmering material which hung loosely over the bear like frame of the Emperor's body. He sat atop a throne of wrought gold embedded with sparkling jewels, a symbol of the power and wealth of the mighty Sarifen Empire. The throne in turn stood atop a vast staircase of marble and a carpet of fine red tumbled down its steps.

The young boy in front of him stared up defiantly at the man, his fists clenched at his sides. Lucius's expression showed no fear and he locked eyes with the fearsome looking monarch. The Emperor stroked his thick, black beard with one hand. His dark, fearsome looking eyes boring into Lucius' in a contest of wills. Those blue eyes seemed to blaze with fire. His cruel, stern features were etched into a deep frown.

"What have you to say for yourself, 'Prince of Valania'?" The man growled in a deep, guttural, rumble, fairly spitting the word 'Prince'. Lucius remained stoic and for a time there was a tense silence in the room. None of the assembled nobles dared to breathe, their eyes transfixed on the exchange between Emperor and captive. The boy answered, his words unhurried and with a quiet conviction.

"You will pay for the sufferings of my people." The small boy's expression did not falter as he spoke those words. More than a threat, it sounded like prophecy.

And once more silence fell on the court before being interrupted by the booming, rumbling laughter of the Emperor. That sound was like boulders rolling down a rockface, deep and ominous.

"Spoken like a true Valanian." The Emperor's face contorted into a wide, arrogant grin of triumph. "Empty threats and bravado." He sneered. He rose from his throne and descended those red carpetted steps. For the first time in years Lucius felt the jolt of fear run through him, a cold feeling like icewater running through his veins. Slowly the man approached with deliberate steps that, despite the carpet and his soft soled slippers seemed to sound out like that of an elephant's. He was a broad man, as wide as he was tall with dark skin and a burly physique. He drew the shamshir at his side.

There was a sound like he ringing of a bell as the blade of the Emperor's sword came to rest at Lucius' throat.

"Your life is mine, boy." The Emperor spoke. "No longer are you a Prince of Valania.You are a Prince of Nothing. Your life is mine to take." He proclaimed triumphantly and there was a rumble of applause and approving murmurs from the crowd. Despite his fear Lucius still gazed, unflinching at the dark blue of the Emperor's eyes "From this day forth you are a dead man. And dead men have no rights."

On that day, Lucius's sentence was passed. And for the next eleven years that palace would be his prison.

Lucius awoke from his slumber with a start. That dream again. Always that dream. Memories of that day would haunt him forever. Though in truth it had not been one day, but many that had lost him his kingdom. But for Lucius that was the day he had truly lost his freedom. The man rose from the bare stone of his cell where he had lain and shuffled back against the wall. Without windows, in the pitch black of that place night and day had no meaning to him. He brought his knees up to his chest and sat there, hunched over he stared at the darkness of that cell, dimly lit by only a flicker of candlelight that slipped under his door from the corridor beyond.

Those sharp, cunning eyes had not lost their defiance from that day. Even now they burned like embers in the dark.

Lucius could not tell how long had passed before the tell tale footsteps approached his door. And as it swung open with a creak he raised his head to greet the guard.

"Is it that time already?" He asked with a weary sigh.

***

Lucius poured the bucket of cold water over his head, the sting of the angry red welts on his back intensified at the water's touch and he clenched his fist. He hunched over the fountain for a moment, bracing himself against the wall from the pain before flinging his head back, flicking the water from his hair as he continued to bathe himself. The small courtyard was far from private and he heard the call of the maids and servants high above him in the palace's galleries.

"Good morning my Prince!" One of the serving girls called out with a wave. Though good natured there was a biting mockery in her voice, at least as Lucius percieved it. He shook his head, cursing her in his mind as he turned back to his bathing.

“Ah….I’ve lost.” Bahramesh removed his hand from his chin and tipped his horse piece, leaning back and stretching his arms over his head. Grunting at the loosening of the shoulder muscles, it was morning, and he had began the day by playing a game of Forlorn with the empire’s most unbeatable but little known champion in the board game, his sister. Ever since they were little and he taught her how to play, who knew that he was in fact teaching his soon to be worst foe? As much as he did not enjoy succeeding, he was not bothered by losing to Farah as much as he should have been, what with a man losing to a woman, something unseemly in the land of Sarife.

“Do you suppose that father is even up right now?” He asked mildly, knowing the answer, their father had taken too often sleeping in until midmorning lately. Bahramesh was not sure if it was due to his health, or a gradual increase in laziness because of his constant success with life; maybe a bit of both. His expression became one of bitter contempt, everyone in the palace and beyond was aware that he and his father did not see eye to eye. And as of late the people had began to take his side, realizing that he would be the future king, and wishing for that moment to come a bit sooner than later.

But while the great King was sleeping, his subjects were suffering from too many taxes, and cursing his very name for ruling as a tyrant with laws too strict and punishment too great. You tread carefully and kept your manners lest you lose an entire hand some days. A lifestyle the King considered perfect because it kept everyone in order, but at what cost?

“Well, shall we take to breakfast then? I haven’t got any appointed meetings until noon, so I can eat with you. And you can take lunch with Lucius if you wish...” His expression should have been a smile, but he was so used to wiping the smile from his face that it never came as easily as it should, and instead his features remained coldly straight, if anything his eyes were at least warm, even if they were a cold color. Bahramesh tried to take meals with his sister as often as he could, she was alone for much of her time, and he felt guilty for it. Taking the lace shawl from her chair, he placed it gently over head, obscuring her face from view, not even the maids and servants knew her secret, and when leaving a confined room she had to be covered. Which was a shame, “You look just like her a bit more every day.” He commented, holding his hand out for her to take.

With a slight bow and tilt of his head Gideon took Lady Victoria's hand in his, brushing his lips lightly across her knuckles. "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Victoria. Doubtless what you've heard is exaggerated."

Gideon looked down at the fat man before him, it was an effort to keep the sneer from his face. "My lord Malik, a man who is foolish enough to anger the merchants deserves his devalued estates. I was merely suggesting incentives for clearing roads and highways of the villainous bandits which have plagued our country as of late. I'm sure the caravans would prefer to pass through my lands unmolested, tariffs insure a lord's continued vigilance against thievery."

The night was young and already Gideon had grown weary of his fellow nobility. He sighed, masking it as boredom, and drank deeply of his wine. Looking over the lip of his glass he spied Lucenzio. The presence of one so close to the throne would draw the wolves out, gnashing their pearlescent teeth with their painted talons extended. Gideon smiled to himself, letting the image linger in his mind for a moment.

Many minor nobles passed the circle, hoping to be called upon so that they could join with the assembled elite. Gideon realized what a boon he had unwittingly granted to Sandovak and Dunnel. They stood on either side of him like obedient hounds, he was sure their noses had gained an extra inch of air. "Lady Victoria, have you met Lord Sandovak? I assure you that while my exploits may be exaggerated, but his are not."

Sandovak bowed with a flourish before Lady Victoria, "Ah, mon ami! The stars pale in comparison to the daunting beauty of your eyes. I wait in breathless anticipation for you to reveal more of your exquisite features..."

Gideon turned back to Malik, "My lord, I was wondering if you would be interested in supplying my men directly? I find that the hassle of military bureaucracy slows down my ability to wage war on our enemies. If I were to have access to quality items as they appeared I would be able to find a better use for the spoils of war which seem to have have untapped potential on the market." Gideon leaned close, whispering. "For instance; I have recently come across a few immaculate Sarifen tapestries depicting the mighty Emperor. Our allies might find them to be priceless gifts and could curry much favor for the right man."

“Celeste? Celeste! Where, pray-tell, have you been, you useless child?” Mrs. Ploom, the housekeeper of the McFarth household scowled fiercely, bringing a plump, manicured hand onto a wide hip.

“I was only—”

“Don’t start with me. I well as damn have eyes. And I know what it is you’re hiding in that laundry basket of yours!”

Audible giggles were heard a few meters away from the nearby maidservants. Celeste felt her face flare slightly as she slowly realized she had been snitched on. She muttered a curse under her breath. So they had seen her in the library.

“I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Ploom.” Celeste replied as innocently as possible, forcing a shy smile past her lips. She set the white basket down slowly and dared a glance at the rest of the girls who immediately turned their heads, stalking off with superiority.

“Don’t play dull. You’ve been sneaking off to the library, haven’t you? Don’t lie to me, girl. It’d be wise not to.”

Celeste widened her eyes, “I would never do such a thing, Mrs. Ploom. You have been mistaken. I’ve merely been carrying out your orders and my daily chores.”

At this, the old housekeeper screwed her eyes while she searched the face of her newest maidservant.

Maybe, she thought, it was foolish to believe the other maidens, for she knew the moment this child was introduced there had been a spark of jealousy of the tender relationship that had been instantaneous between Lord Nathaniel and the child. You had to be a fool to not notice that the dynamic of the household had changed.

Mrs. Ploom pursed her lips; she was torn. On one hand, she understood the bitter feelings towards Celeste. A child without a family or a home; it seemed she had come from nowhere. Yet here she was, penniless, literate, maid in the household of the esteemed McFarth family, and the sole driving purpose the Lord cared to return from his daily excursions. It was a concept Mrs. Ploom had not been able to grasp first hand. Had the Lord not a mother? Not a father? A housekeeper who had not loved him like a son?

Thus far, it had been none of these people who kept him grounded. But for a maidservant to…it was simply unheard of. On the other hand, however, Mrs. Ploom reluctantly admitted her elation at the Lord’s more frequent visits. The Lord’s presence had certainly made a difference in the dull but wealthy McFarth household. Lady McFarth had indeed seemed more vivacious lately—the sparkle in her eyes had not gone unnoticed. As for His Lordship, James McFarth, one could only say that a happy Lady of the house equaled a content husband.

Hesitant about this realization, Mrs. Ploom licked her lips, patting down her floral dress in a nervous manner, wavering between her feelings of resentment and gratitude for the girl. She studied the young girl with all the scrutiny of a suspicious mother.

“Are you angry with me, Madame? Will you dismiss me?” Celeste inquired self-consciouly, bringing a hand across her pale forehead.

“Well what are you doing just standing there? Show me the basket.” Mrs. Ploom clipped dryly, her previous anger dissipated.

At once, the auburn-haired girl bent down to rummage carefully and thoroughly through the basket full of clothes. There were no books to be seen.

“Fools.” Mrs. Ploom grumbled, feeling slightly shameful.

“Please don’t blame the others.” Celeste pleaded, a strange brightness to her eyes.

The housekeeper frowned, “You are the only one to be blamed! If you hadn’t been sneaking around in the library in the first place…Oh for heaven’s sake, very well! Carry on with your chores.”

“Yes, Madame. Thank you.” Celeste replied solemnly, and for a quick moment Mrs. Ploom wished she hadn’t been so harsh.

She was unable to draw forth an apology as she watched the maidservant saunter away, a light bounce in her steps.

A small smile crept along her chapped mouth.

At once the realization finally struck her: even if the girl had lied, she wouldn’t have dismissed her. Somehow in her mind, she knew she would have complied an excuse for the child. And maybe, just maybe the girl had somehow been able to occupy a small place in her rugged, old heart.

***

As soon as she had been able to escape to the servant’s sleeping quarters, Celeste hoisted up her skirt shamelessly, excitement dulling the nimbleness of her digits as she struggled with the knot of rope discretely tied around her slim waist. Quickly, with the slight fear of being caught, she untangled the rope that held two books attached to her waist. She then slid them underneath her mattress firmly, but not before grabbing two different novels, the ones she had taken a few nights ago. She propped them against her waist, tying them securely with a vicious pull on the cord. She draped her skirt out, making sure no bumps appeared. Feeling a little warm with exhilaration, a devious, yet playful smirk danced across her face as she took a few deep breaths, right before leaving the chambers to return the items she had borrowed.

She breathed a single word, however, there was no hatred or anger in her voice, “Fools."

"You are too kind, my lord." Victoria curtseyed to Sandovak, replying to his flirtatious remark with a coy smile. "A pleasure to finally make your acquaintence. How is it that I have not met you before tonight?" She asked. "It is a good thing we have such brave and able men as yourself protecting us.

Lucenzio Amres swilled the wine in his half empty glass, the all too sweet aroma choking his nostrils. What was this cheap bilgewater these people had been drinking? He regarded the man infront of him with half lidded eyes and barely concealed contempt. Lysander Asturia was the head of an influential and well established aristocratic family and had spent most of his life in luxury. there were various reasons why Lucenio had reason to despise him. He rarely worked and was well known to spend most of his time and money courting numerous young ladies of various classes. His flamboyantly effeminate appearance and attitude were also widely mocked in his absence. The deluded child even had designs on the throne, it was rumoured.

And most importantly, the boy was a moron.

Lucenzio sighed loudly as he listened to Lysander prattle on about his latest conquest. The not-so-veiled insinuations pointing squarely at the middle daughter of the Verona family, suggesting that she had been 'most satisfied' following his latest visit. Lucenzio rubbed his forehead.

"I think perhaps you mistake satisfaction at your leaving for satisfaction at your performance." Lucenzio remaked, loud enough for all around to hear. Far from the subtle and biting wit expected from one of his standing, but Lucenzio had never been one to suffer fools gladly. He watched with a grim smirk as Lysander clenched his fists, a frown turning into a snarl turning into a grimace as his boyish face turned bright red. Though whether from fury or embarassment none could tell. His work done, Lucenzio bowed deeply at the waist with a flourish before turning away.

Lucius slipped the white linen of his short over his head and shook out his hair, reaching behind his neck to fasten it with a length of ribbon. The young man placed the small cutthroat razor down on the basin in front of him, running a hand along his chin and cheeks. He smiled grimly at the guard who stood by the courtyard archway and the man replied with a stoic frown.

A short while later he rapped on the door of the chamber where Bahramesh and Farah sat.

"You'll never beat her you realise." He let the corners of his mouth curl into a devilish grin. "Not so long as you are willing to sacrifice the long term win for the short term gain." He said, strolling casually over to the two royals. "One of these days, you shall have to indulge me in a game, Farah." He said, scooping up a piece from the board and holding it between thumb and finger as he inspected it. His face reflected in the pearlescent black surface of the gamepiece.

"And how are the prince and princess this fine day?" Lucius asked with mock formality, setting the black king down on the board again.

The crier looked uncomfortable, as he stepped through the door to the ballroom. His face was flushed, as he smoothed his cloths and drew in a deep breath. Maybe it was shame or embarrassment that colored his face but it could have been anger though. Nervous was certainty written on his face, as if he was about to cause the greatest scandal in Valanian history.

“The Lady” he called out, praying not to twist his tongue into knots with the strange names of those he was to announce, “Aliyyah Bahiya Bint Amid Al-dhi’b, wife of Sheikh Asad Hakem Ibn Fawwaz Al-Dahabrabiya and escort!”

“The Lady” the crier continued, “Ghaniyah Imtithal Bint Fareeq Al-Alyah, second wife of Sheikh Asad Hakem Ibn Fawwaz Al-Dahabrabiya and escort!”

“The Lady” he finished, “Haifa Najibah Bint Kareem Al-Baqqar, third wife of Sheikh Asad Hakem Ibn Fawwaz Al-Dahabrabiya and escort!”

Three women appeared through the doorway, in the order that they were named. The first, the Lady Aliyyah was clad in a red silk khalat, which was decorated with flowers stitched in gold thread. A matching red silk headscarf covered her hair and neck. Across her face was a Bushiyya of gold silk, the veil so sheer that it didn’t need eyeholes and was held up around her forehead by a gold chain, set with small rubies, save for the one in the middle of her forehead, which was of good size. Peaking out from under the wide robe, were a pair of red slippers.

The second, Lady Ghaniyah, was dressed much like first. Her khalat was light blue silk, helmed in red and decorated with stars of gold thread. Her headscarf was of the same blue silk and worn in the same manner, as the first wife’s. Her Bushiyya was sheer gold silk, held with a gold chain but set with small sapphires. Her slippers where blue.

The third, Lady Haifa, was again dressed in a khalat but green in color and did not have stitching covering it. Instead the robe glittered with tiny flecks of gold, slipped into the weave of the cloth. Like the other two, her headscarf was worn around her head and neck and was made of the same material as her robe (just like her slippers). Her gold Bushiyya was held up by a gold chain, which was set with small emeralds.

Behind each woman stood a massive man with almost black skin. Uniformly, they were tall, broad chested, well muscled, heads shaven and stripped to the waist. Each wore a pair of baggy black cotton trousers, a pair of black slipper-like boots and a red sash wrapped around his waist. On the left hip of each man, there was a broad blade, curved sword, thrust naked through the sash. On their right hips, were curved daggers. Each wore a guarded expression, as they stood close to their mistresses. The eunuchs behind lady Haifa and Lady Ghaniyah, stood with arms across their chests. The one behind lady Aliyyah rested his hands on the hilts of his weapons.

------------------------------------

The soft sound of a quill gliding over parchment drifted lazily across the study of Asad Hakem Ibn Fawwaz Al-Dahabrabiya, in the royal palace of Valania. Candles flickered, as a breeze drifted in through the windows, causing the shadows to dance on the walls. The almost lullaby of the quill paused for a second, as it was dripped lightly into the inkpot and tapped against the plain brown clay.

“Rebels” said the Sarifen in soft tones, while stroking his short beard with his left hand. Before him was a report for the Emperor about their activities, as well as a request for more of his countrymen, to reinforce the royal guard here in Voltas. One of the Tazhi Spai hounds lifted it’s head and looked towards it’s master, as if awaiting a command to run down prey. After a minute, the dog lowered it’s head back to the rug and went back to sleep.

Asad glanced over at his pack of sight hounds, whom had invade the room and smiled for real. He always looked like he was smiling but he rarely did in truth and not so much since he arrived in this foreign land. Now it just was the sight of his dogs, his wives or many a pretty serving girl, that got a real smile out of him anymore. Or when he counted the gold he had stored in his chambers.

Victoria watched with cool curiosity as the women and their bodyguards entered the room. She could not help but admire the eunuchs and their well muscled bodies. However it was the women that most piqued her interest. They were dressed in the exotic and lavish garb of Sarifen nobles. She wondered what business they had at the party. Most of the Sarifen lords and their families openly spurned the Valanians and their functions. She regarded them from the corners of her eyes.

Lysander reached to his waist for the sword that hung from his belt, gripping the hilt so tight in his hand that his knuckles blanched. One of his entourage steadied him, placing a hand on his arm and the boy quivered with anger, sneering at Amres as the man left. Lucenzio, for his part seemed to have already forgotten the other in the split second it took him to avert his gaze and he now ambled over to another part of the hall. Suddenly and without warning he felt someone seize him by the arm and Lucenzio whirled.

"You made it then, Lucenzio!" The man holding his arm said happily. He beamed at him with a wide grin beneath a dark moustache. "You and I must talk. It has been too long." Jean wagged his finger as though lecturing a child. Lucenzio smiled.

"You are right. It has been too long." Amres nodded with a shrug of acquiescence. "And I would appreciate the intelligent conversation. I just spent the last few precious minutes of my life conversing with that fool Asturia boy." He snorted, sipping from his wine.

"You never were the best at making friends." Jean laughed, looking over to the furious young man as he left the hall and Jean clapped Lucenzio on the back.

"Your sister seems well." Amres gestured to Victoria, still chatting idly with Sir Gideon and his knights.

"As always, she takes care of herself. She keeps harrying me to ask you about your brother." Jean smiled, casting his gaze over to where Victoria stood.

"She is not his type." Lucenzio remarked slyly. Victoria had always been too brazen in her attempts to ingratiate herself with the King. It was all too obvious that she was interested only in setting her son on the throne.

"It seems no one is." Jean barked with laughter. "Watch yourself. If he doesn't produce an heir you'll be the one to take his place." Lucenzio's shoulders shook in a snorted laugh.

"Over my dead body."

"In any case. I shall let you be off. Remember, come and see me when you are free. We have much to talk about." Jean smiled boldly and Lucenzio nodded, making his way slowly to a group of closely clustered men and women in one corner of the hall.

"Lord Amres!" There came a cry and one of the men beckoned him over. "We were just discussing business. Maybe you can offer some advice." Baron Anhalt suggested. As Lucenzio approached he half listened to the conversation, allowing his gaze, along with most of his attention, to wander. He spied a shy looking woman by immersed in the crowds, her dark hair tied back by two braids. His expression softened as he beheld Margaret and they exchanged a playful glance before his attention was drawn suddenly back to the conversation.

"I can assure you, Baron, your investment will be safe. Cornsilk from the West is a prized commodity in Sarife. The women, they use it in their makeup." The man, Galli, rubbed his fingers together as though grinding powder. "And if we can ensure monopoly on the route, then we will make a killing!" He exclaimed. Lucenzio couldn't help but smirk. He hummed to himself as though trying to place a thought and the others looked at him.

"Galli. Wasn't it your advice that the Veronas invest in the northern mines?" Amres said.

"What of it?" The man spat back, guarded.

"Well that venture left them out of pocket by some margin. They had to sell half of their land to cover the debt." Lucenzio smiled grimly. "I merely wish to save the Baron such a costly investment." He could feel the spite rise from Galli like a black cloud. The man's eyes were like daggers. Lucenzio shrugged. "Of course, you've always been know to as one who is careful with his money." He turned to Anhalt.

"A backhanded complement if ever I heard one." Anhalt said, his expression hardening and he frowned.

"I assure you I meant nothing by it." Lucenzio raised his hands in supplication, and yet the mischeivous smile on his face did not fade. Galli sloped off quietly sneering at the tall man.

Gideon turned from Malik, smiling at one of Sandovak's witty comments. "Sir Dunnel is my most trusted friend, and sits at my right hand."

Dunnel smiled politely and bowed before Victoria, his demeanor humble and formal. His garb was drab, but good quality. He seemed at odds with many of the nearby lords. His look, rather than making him look out of place, seemed to mock the gaudy dress of many nearby. "My Lady Victoria, it is an honor of the highest order to meet you. I shall treasure this moment."

Gideon put his arm on one of the passing servants. He leaned in and whispered, "Get me a strong drink from your cellar-man, I tire of this perfume."

--

With a grunt Derfel shifted uncomfortably in his sleep around the musky pillows of the opium den. His limp hand rested on a small end table with a great number of small and fine writing tools on it. Among these were a perfect counterfeit seal of one of the notables of the Merchant's Guild and an open letter to a specific caravan master.

"Caravan Master Rendy Balsh,

You may be aware that a number of caravans have waylaid recently, making investors wary. I send these men to vouchsafe our materials. Do not be alarmed, for they have an ulterior purpose. I have them searching for signs of anything that may lead us to those ultimately responsible. I ask that you give these men a deal of autonomy so that they might best do their jobs. They are my personal men, none will care as to the contents of your caravan.

I understand that this is unexpected, but I assure you that had we not been cautious and had played our hand to soon that nothing would be gained from this.

Walter Lafer, Secretary Posterior of the Merchant's Guild"

--

The servant brought back a wide glass full of a slightly transparent brown liquid. With a bow he extended his tray. "My lord."

Gideon took the glass without looking at the man. He took an overly large swig and bowed before the Lady Victoria and the Lord Malik. "If you will excuse me, I need to return the Lord-Captain here to our garrison. We depart for the border tomorrow. Hail Valania!"

With that he turned from the assembled and departed, his knights in tow. Lord Sandovak with a look of mock disappointment and Sir Dunnel assisting his Lord-Captain in walking.

A woman with raven hair approached Aliyyah, and she smiled softly as she curtseyed, lifting the sheer black dress from her knees. She was tall, with a curvaceous figure that her slim, satin dress did little to hide. Long black gloves ran the length of her arms. "Lady Aliyyah." She started politely, making sure to keep her distance as custom decreed. "It is a surprise to see you and your fellow ladies here. Will your husband be joining us tonight?" The woman cocked her head to the side slightly. She was pale, almost white even without the aid of makeup and her eyes were a dark blue that seemed almost black. She was Lady Daniella Fauvine, the head of the King's secret police, a fact that she made little effort to hide.

At the same time a tall and gaunt looking man took Haifa aside, bowing at the waist. His hands were hidden in the folds of his crimson robes and he wore a high brimmed collar. His curiously pointed features called to mind classical depictions of the devil, with dark hair slicked back to reveal a high widows peak and his thick facial hair styled into a pointed van dyke. He smiled disingenuously at her. "My lady." He offered curtly as though testing the waters. The Lord High Chancellor continued, still not removing the hands from his robes. "I take it the journey was not a long one. Would you care for some wine?"

Lastly another man approached Lady Ghaniyah. He was short and stocky looking, with a jutting brow and misshapen jaw that protruded grotesquely. Though he walked with the bearing of nobility his appearance drew quiet whispers and sneers. The king's youngest brother, James Montenoire swept a hand behind his back and bowed at the waist, looking as though he might topple as he righted himself. "My lady." He purred in a voice like silk. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" He spared a glance to the Eunuch by her side. "It seems your husband spares no expense in keeping his wives safe." He continued, smiling broadly. It was then that Lucenzio arrived.

"Please excuse my brother, milady." The tall man said with a gentle smile. He looked down at James. "I know he isn't the most sparkling of company." Lucenzio slapped the other man on the back and James replied with a guarded smile filled with barely veiled hostility.

Victoria bid the two farewell as they departed and at their prompt the room erupted into a chorus of proud salutes. "Hail Valania!" They cried.

"Such a pity." She cooed in exageratted disappointment.

Faridah was the kind of person that rose always before the sun over the desert, and today was no exception. Her term of duty for the day did not begin for several hours, so the knight-captain usually took this time to get in a light training session before bathing and eating breakfast.

As the first rays of light cast the sky in a delicate pink, she arrived at the training field, but a short walk from her lodgings within the palace. This early, she was a solitary figure against the backdrop of a new day, and her glaive forms were practiced in solemn, exacting silence. It was always this way when she fought; no battle cries, no taunts or jabs, merely the minimal whispers of cloth and the deadly whistle of steel slicing air. Smooth, flowing, controlled. She began slowly, accelerating at even keel until her limbs began to feel heavy, breaths became more punctuated and urgent.

After an hour or so, Faridah noted that the guard was changing, and took this as her cue to depart, returning to her quarters to clean the sweat from herself and also to eat. The sounds of the rest of the world awakening could be heard, then, though most of the nobles wouldn't be up for a while yet. It figured, of course; when you weren't accountable to anyone, you could get away with that sort of thing. The young woman chewed over her light meal slowly, knowing that at around this time, Prince Bahramesh would probably be making his way to his sister's room for a game, as he was wont to do. She'd watched them play a few times- it was rather entertaining to wait for the inevitable slip-up and watch as the Princess Farah took full, merciless advantage of it.

She knew also that her unofficial charge would be awake by this point, and likely occupying that courtyard. It was shameful, how he was forced to bathe publicly, but of course she knew better than to say as much to anyone. She was already under enough constant suspicion for simply being who she was; there was no need to add to it. Faridah shook her head, before realizing that the gesture was useless and stopping herself. She had taken it upon herself to generally watch Lucius as she would watch the other two, though whether this was because she was suspicious of him or because she mentally equated him with Bahramesh and Farah was something she did not know and did not particularly desire to find out. Easier to just do it and not bother too much with the whys and wherefores.

Her timing was as precise as ever, and she could hear the voices of all three young nobles through the door as she arrived. Rapping her knuckles smartly on the door, Faridah announced her arrival in businesslike (if cordial) tones. "Milady, milords, I've come to escort you to breakfast. Are you yet prepared?" This, they would be well used-to; she was usually with one or all of them from now until the sun set, after all.

“I am afraid not” said Aliyyah, her tone light and musical, as she returned the curtsey, “My husband is currently very busy in the palace. The rebels have him very concerned, their growing numbers and the unrest they create. Your own troops have been very valiant and diligent in collecting them, so much so, that my lord husband is requesting more of our soldiers to free up more of yours to hunt these traitors.”

Haifa smiled behind her gold bushiyya, at the offer of wine. She was perhaps the youngest of the three women married to the wealthy Sheikh and the most out going but she was still a little nervous around men (but not the eunuch, as they were not men), having been sheltered from them for most of her life. Her feet shifted but the movement was hidden under the wide hem of the glittering green khalat.

“Yes” she finally said, a slight blush appearing on her olive skin, ‘I would enjoy tasting the local vineyards.”

Ghaniyah was the only one of the Sarifen women to look a little taken aback by the guest that approached her. It wasn’t so much his words, although those could be taken as too bold or unrespectful, but it appeared that he was drunk. Her large bodyguard dropped his hands to his weapons and took a half step forwards, as the second man appeared.

“He has been perfectly charming” she said, recovering with the reassuring presence of the eunuch, “Whom might I have the pleasure of addressing my lords?”

"More's the pity." Daniella said. "But it is good to hear that he is dilligent in his duties. We could use more men like your husband." She cast an appraising glance around the hall. "I fear that the men of this country have forgotten what it means to be a noble." She turned back to Aliyyah.

Nicholas smiled graciously and snapped his bony fingers loudly. A serving boy appeared with hurried steps, presenting a tray of wine glasses to Haifa. He waited in silence until they had chosen and bowed stiffly before scurrying off like a frightened rodent. The Lord High Chancellor lifted his glass to her. "I hope you find it most pleasing." He offered, taking a sip. Out of the corner of his eye he spied Daniella and he stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the woman.

"Lucenzio Amres." Lucenzio bowed with a flourish as he introduced himself to Ghaniyah. He gestured to the shorter man. "And this is my younger brother, James." He said. "Please forgive him any improriety, his is a hard lot." He patted his brother on the shoulder like one would a child. A brief flicker of emotion passed over James' face and short lived though it was there was no mistaking the hatred as he looked up at Lucenzio. "Have no worry. He is not nearly as offensive as his appearance would suggest." He smiled and strangely James did too, chuckling at the comment.

"Truly. You have no idea how difficult it can be for one of my... standing." James made light of his stature.

"It is a shame that our elder brother could not be here tonight. But I hear he and your husband have their hands full these days." Lucenzio added. "Richter speaks most highly of the Sheikh."

***

"Victoria" A strong hand clapped on her shoulder and she turned. Her brother's face smiled down on her through the thin moustache and pointed beard.

"Jean." She replied in kind. "How are you this evening?" She asked and Jean sighed.

"Weary." He said with a sigh. "It's been so long since I last saw you I was beginning to foget what my little sister looked like these days." He laughed. It was a tired, strained laugh. Victoria patted his hand on her shoulder.

"Well, then we should take this time to reacquaint ourselves. Walk with me. There are things I need to discuss with you." The blonde woman said, walking primly from the hall through to the gardens.

Farah smiled wistfully as her brother replaced her veil. That simple slip of cloth seperated her from the world as much as any prison bars. She could see the pain in his expression when he spoke of their mother. Though he tried to hide it it was as plain to her as the words in a book. She often wondered what kind of woman her mother had been, but she did not ask Bahramesh for fear of causing him more upset, and her father refused to speak of the woman. She rose gracefully form her seat, her willowy frame standing surprisingly tall. Another gift from their mother, she supposed.

When Lucius entered Farah shrank back slightly, tensing as though in fear. But fear from what? She wondered. The man had never so much as said an unkind word to her, and yet she never fetl at ease in his presence. She looked at him and once more his pain was an open book. So frail. So filled with hate and anguish that it hurt to look at him. It was her curse, these eyes which saw the truth.

Farah did not speak, letting her brother answer in her stead.

A second knock surprised Farah and she lifted her head to see the woman, Faridah standing by the door. Farah nodded, walking to the woman and waiting silently by her side while the two boys decided.

Charlotte sighed. The night air was cool against her skin as she stood on the balcony's edge, her elbows propped on the stone railing. She crossed her arms and looked out over the garden of the Valentia manor. Music from inside the hall drifted to her ears, muffled slightly by the glass door behind her. She smiled to herself, enjoying the brief respite of the balcony. She enoyed it here, the vantage point was as good as one could get for watching the manor grounds and she spied a couple making their way across the lawn towards the bottom of the garden. A couple of lovers taking time out from the party she supposed and her suspicions were confirmed when the man took the blonde haired woman aside behind one of the trees. Charlotte giggled to herself, wondering what they would think if they knew they were being watched. Then, with another tired sigh she turned around and returned to the party.

Inside Lucenzio spotted something across the hall and his smirk soon contorted into a frown.

"Excuse me." He said to Ghaniyah, though he did not look at the woman. He marched off in a hurry and James watched him leave out the corner of his eye.

Some time later and there was a thunderous crash as the doors of the hall were swept open.

"Someone, call the constabulary." The young man yelled loudly. "Lord Amres has been assassinated!" He was aghast, his hands caked in still wet blood. Red smears streaked across his jacket and flecked his face. His eyes were wild and staring, twitching as he looked between the partygoers. Charlotte gasped, clasping her hands to her mouth in horror.

A slight smirk crept across Daniella's lips, nearly invisible as she heard the man's desperate cries. She stood back and watched from a distance as a crowd gathered around the distraught young man. She recognised him as Amres' nephew, Stephan de Aurin. Strange that he had not been attendant at the party until now, she thought to herself. two more figures were quick to follow the boy. Jean and Victoria de Cristescu, who shared the boy's anxious looks. They were breathing heavily from the run and Jean braced himself on the door frame.

The crowd parted as James approached the boy, a look of concern written across his face. The short man looked up at Stephan.

"My boy, what is the matter?" He asked.

"Uncle." Stephan said, gripping James by the shoulders. The blood from his gloves stained James' coat. "He's been killed. Someone has killed him." The young man's words were hurried and choked.

"Who, Stephan. Who has been killed?" James took Stephan's face in his hands, looking into the boy's bulging eyes.

"Uncle Lucenzio." Stephan panted, almost in disbelief at his own words. James' expression turned quickly to one of shock as he froze. Stephan rose, looking to the others in the hall. "Someone!" He cried out. "Someone call the guard!" He was sobbing, tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Do as he says." Jean barked, stepping forward into the hall. James turned away, his head buried in his hand.

"Stephan!" Charlotte cried out, running to him. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. "I-" She started, but could not find the words. He shook in her arms as his body was wracked by sobs and she stroked a hand through his sandy blonde hair.

***

There was a loud, frantic rapping on Janos' door as the messenger called out for the inspector loudly.

"Inspector Souan!" The messenger bellowed, his voice urgent with panic. He stepped backwards and looked up at the windows of the house. "Inspector! You must come quickly! There has been an incident!" The young man shouted. He was a callow youth with lank blonde hair that hung limply about his face. He brushed back the curls from his face as he waited for an answer.

Faridah for the most part stood by impassively, gloved hands laced together behind her back. Her mother, who had never been particularly approving of her choice of profession, continued to assert that her daughter had the hands of an artist: long, tapered digits and fine control. Faridah had put aside any such notions in favor of weapon calluses, which she very much preferred.

The Princess stood and walked to her side, and the knight offered her a dip of the head, a small smile breaking the hard lines of enforced neutrality upon her marred countenance and lending it something different in return. Though in truth Faridah did not feel she owed loyalty to anything in particular, she had something of a soft spot for the Princess. Many envied the young woman's position and rank; Faridah was disinclined to do so. Unsure if she believed that Farah had some sort of disease, she nevertheless could understand the horror of such a plight as the girl was truly in. Disease or not, something about the Emperor's daughter had bid him cage her like the exotic birds she was so fond of, and the thought of living that way was not something the knight-captain relished in the slightest.

A steady gray gaze fixed back upon the men, but no more escaped the soldier's lips and tongue. Lucius, she had always thought, was caged as well, though the creature behind his bars was more akin to the tigers the Emperor kept for his entertainment. Contained, yes, and to a certain extent perhaps even placated, but to say domesticated would be a mistake most grave. She had the distinct impression that it was but temporary.

What would Bahramesh do, she wondered, if and when it came to that? The Prince seemed to truly value the other man's friendship, but in the end, she felt he probably held his nation above such things, as princes should. He was a model archetype of his position in just about every other manner of thinking, to the point where it placed him often at odds with the more tyrannical aspects of his father. An interesting group, her charges, and she the simple observer.

Such gathered estimations were among her few courtly skills, and she trusted her own instincts well enough to understand that one day, not all would be as it was now. She had watched for enough time, seen enough hints and unconscious gestures, to know this much with certainty. Unlike most, however, Faridah was not the sort to dangle such tidbits of information about for the wolves to snap at. On the contrary, she was inclined to keep her observations to herself. A symptom, perhaps, of not knowing who to trust, or maybe just choosing to trust no one.

Upstairs, Janos Souan groaned and pressed his face deeper into his pillow. "Can a man get no rest?"

"Don't answer it," Lena said sleepily. "Go back to sleep."

Janos was silent for a moment, wrestling with temptation. In the end, however, duty won out over sleep and with a long sigh swung himself out of bed.

"Isn't there another inspector in the constabulary they could call on?" his wife asked, watching through half-closed eyes as he dressed.

"There are dozens of other inspectors," Janos replied, pulling on his boots. "However, they've sent for me, and so I must do as I'm ordered."

Descending the stairs, he removed his hat and coat from their pegs by the door, and slipped into the hot night. A boy waited for him outside, breathing hard. "Inspector Souan, you've got to come with me!"

"So I gathered," Janos remarked drily, shivering slightly as a cool breeze blew in off the river. "Where are we going, lad?"

"Valentia manor, Inspector. It's about Lord Amres."

"What about it?"

"He's dead, Inspector."

The thin smile on Janos' face vanished in an instant. "We must hurry."

A party of constables and soldiers had already assembled at the River Gate by the time Souan arrived. A horse was waiting for him, and Janos clambered awkwardly into the saddle. With a clatter of hooves on cobblestones the riders made their out of the River Gate and down the switch-backed road to the stone bridge across the River Valans. Souan was no great horseman, and as they reached the far bank he found himself hanging on for dear life as the pace increased to a gallop.



After what seemed an age, but was in truth little more than fifteen minutes, dark and sleeping countryside gave way to the bright lights of Valentia manor. The riders passed through the grounds gate and at last came to a halt before the manor's arched portico. In the commotion a groom appeared and held the bridle of Souan's horse as the inspector thankfully dismounted. He paused for a moment, standing unsteadily on legs that felt like jelly, before making his up the wide stone steps to the portico. "Where is Lord Amres?" he asked the crowd which was gathered before the manor's large double doors.

"This way, Inspector," someone said, and the crowd parted to allow Souan inside. The halls through which he passed were lined with Valania's richest and most powerful men and women, who stared silently as Janos passed. Meeting their gaze, he recognized the fear in their eyes and knew at once all shared the same thoughts. If Lord Lucenzio di Amres could be killed here, no one was safe. Who would be next?"

Souan was led through the great public spaces of the manor to the wing where the family's private apartments were located. Lucenzio di Amre lay where he had been found, his body sprawled half-out of his bedchambers in a pool of blood. Souan squatted beside the corpse and gently turned it over onto its back, revealing a face frozen in a horrified grimace and eyes clouded in death. Amres had been stabbed several times in the chest, which indicated he had been attacked from the front, but examining further Souan could find no defensive wounds or signs of a struggle. Janos sat back on heels, thinking. To be attacked from the front Amres must have seen his attacker, but the absence of a struggle suggested he had nonetheless been surprised. Could he have known the one who killed him?

"Are the manor grounds secure?" he asked one of the soldiers who had been standing by the body.

"Yes, Inspector."

Souan nodded. "Who discovered His Lordship?"

The soldier indicated a fair-haired boy who was sitting cradled in the arms of a well-dressed woman. "His nephew, Stephan de Aurin."

Janos felt a pang of sympathy for the youth, who he could see was scarcely older than his own Emily. "My apologies, my lord," he said with a stiff bow. "I am sorry for your loss. Could you tell me how you discovered your uncle... like this?"