Princess. Never has said the word with such disdain. Chris follows behind, his cheerful whistling is like a razor blade over his nerves. He recalls every encounter with her until now. She had every opportunity to say something; anything. Instead, she allowed him to embarrass himself in front of everyone. She made him a fool. And his blood boils. But Chris brings him to the present, asking questions about the artwork or which room belongs to who.

Even though he didn’t quite trust the panther, he did agree to put Chris in a section of the palace away from Moira’s private quarters. The wing is mostly empty, since the palace doesn’t get a lot of visitors. Which he doesn’t mind, considering his own quarters are on the same floor. They walk through the airy hallway, cutting through the harsh shafts of light from the tall windows. The dark varnished mahogany space is cozy, especially on sunny afternoons like today.

Unfortunately, in the summer the wing gets most of the afternoon sun and is stifling hot. Even now he can feel the sweat forming under his collar. His boots echo through the quiet hardwood hallway until he stops in front of Chris’s door. He leaves him to settle and reaches his room; closing the door behind him. Thankful for the solitude, he flops into his favorite chair beside the unlit fireplace.

What was that back there, he asks no one. Last he heard the princess was at the Academy. The more he considers it, when was the last time Lex or Allan even spoke her name. He recalls a portrait of a child once but doesn’t know where it went. It seems like she vanished or, worse yet, erased. But why, she’s annoying but what did she do to merit being stricken from the palace memory.

“The room is bigger than my entire apartment!” Chris barrages in, rattling the painting on the wall.

“You’re surprised? It’s a palace.”

He sets to work, circling around the space muttering to himself. It's small when compared to those set aside for visiting nobles, but he inspects the space with relish. He plunges into the mattress of the four-poster bed. Wiggles the dressing table. Taps the washing basin and opens the wardrobe. Unlike his comrades, he didn’t collect mementoes. So, the decorations are orphans abandoned from the previous occupant. The few books he owns rest on a shelf in the corner; organized from tallest to shortest.

“It’s everything I expected, not a sock out of place and impeccable to the last detail. But these aren’t you,” pointing to a painting of a bear wading in a river hanging over the fireplace. “You aren’t a bear kinda guy.”

“It came with the room.”

His friend had this strange ability to fill a room with his presence. Which is at odds with his line of work that requires him to disappear. Most times its comforting or at least entertaining, but not this time. What he wants most it to be alone with his misery.

“I could use a drink. You look like you need a drink,” he pours a glass of whiskey from the makeshift bar near the dresser and hands it to him. The amber liquid smiles at him from the glass, for once it offers salvation from the nightmare he can’t escape. He gulps, barely savouring the smooth burning sensation and places the glass on the table with a thud. “Well then… do you... want to talk about it?”

“A Princess,” it spits from his mouth like venom. “The goddamn princess! She couldn’t be an average, annoying Mage. No! She has to be the king’s only child!”

“The heir to the throne,”

“Unquestionable and all-powerful, can you imagine her with that power?”

“You did swear an oath to the royal family.”

“To protect and to serve the monarchy with honour, bravery, and loyalty.”

“Yup,” an evil grin blossoms on his face, “and you almost chopped her in two!”

As Chris laughs, the anger in his veins evaporates. It’s not a joke, at least to him. He remembers the magic coursing through his body, the strength of his strike. He remembers the whispers urging him on. His blood runs cold. How close did he come to killing her?

“Stop, that’s enough. I have enough to worry about already, I don’t need this on top of it.”

“C'mon Zack,” he laughs, “imagine the odds, the one Mage you attempt to provoke is the princess of the kingdom you serve!”

“It isn’t funny!”

“It is! For the first time in your life, you stepped out of line. Well, you ran over it, but you get the point. Now you’re doing that self-hate thing people of honour do when they screw up.” He takes a drink, “But there’s something bothering me, though. Honestly how didn’t you know Moira was the princess? You grew up here! For god's sake— General Stone is your uncle—”

“After the Treason, I had nightmares. Simply walking through the street sent me into a panic. So, Lex kept me in the countryside, a cottage Allan gifted him, where I studied and learned to ride horses. When I returned to the kingdom proper as a Page, she was already sent to the Mage Academy.”

“Shame, a better story would have you two be childhood sweethearts.” He swirls the amber liquor in his glass as Zack refills his. “This Kipling guy, it’s pretty serious huh?”

“You know the story; what do you expect? Kipling’s support originated from a pocket of the dissatisfied population who objected to Moira’s grandfather’s greedy ways. He overharvested the crops and mines and we barely survived that winter. Kipling, along with General Braun, encouraged their hatred and together they marched through the streets destroying innocent lives.” His small feet racing through the alleyways echo in his ears. “It’s taking us years to recover from the destruction. If Moira’s right, and he’s on his way here—well I don’t want to think about it.”

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“So, what happens now?”

“You, my friend, are on vacation. I suggest seeing the sights. I need to return to work.”

“I wholeheartedly intend to explore Alexanderia,” an elvish grin grows, “but I’m torn as to which direction to start. Ideally, I prefer to begin at the top moving down until I get to the best she has to offer.”

“Chris…be good. You are here on my reputation. Don’t sully it.”

“Relax, my gallant friend. I’ll tarnish nothing, in fact, when I’m done, I’ll ensure everything is polished and glowing.”

“Don’t cause problems,” he repeats rising to his feet, “I need to speak to the General. Behave.”

Unable to interrupt Lex’s meeting with the king, Zack inspects the equipment stores, stables, and listens to reports. He cherishes his time with the knights, free from the suffocating atmosphere of the palace. He relaxes with the people who understand him best then returns to the palace in the early evening; discovering Lex staring at the king’s portrait in the throne room. They’re alone in the vast space. The long shadows stretch across the floor, waiting to snatch some unexpecting prey. He fidgets with a letter in his hands; motioning to break the seal then second guessing himself.

“Sir? You wanted to speak with me?” Lex faces him, shaking whatever thought crossed his mind from his thoughts.

“How goes the rounds?”

“It seems everything is in order. Apparently, Greyson is taking certain liberties with the training regimen again. The men don’t mind the work as long as the brass isn’t sitting on their high horse.”

“Greyson isn’t much of a team player.”

“I’ll talk to him, sir.”

“The king passes on his gratitude for returning her Highness.” Zack grinds his teeth, gratitude. His uncle’s secrecy made him a puppet to the king’s plot. Instead of treating him with dignity, they made him a pawn.

“Why didn’t you tell me who she was? I thought I was searching for a criminal, not the—”

“Orders. I needed to protect her identity and the king’s agenda.”

“Agenda?”

“It’s a need to know,” but his cocked eyebrow demands more, “to secure the throne from Beckham, Allan needs Moira here.” At least Beckham won’t blow through the palace like a tornado. “Did she cause much trouble?”

“More than I prefer.” Only the Gods know what consequence awaits if Lex discovers he almost killed the king’s daughter. Lex fidgets with the letter, turning it over in his hands. Its not often he sees him distracted like this. “Is everything okay uncle?”

“It arrived in a message from Lord Barclay.”

“Charlie? Has he heard from General Diamond?”

“No, and we both fear the worst. Charlie wrote that his father sent this to him to send to me by a trusted source. It's addressed after are last correspondence which hinted to Kipling’s return. Charlie has been petitioning Margaret to investigate the disappearance. But his pleas are falling on deaf ears. No one wants to cross her and risk her wrath. He’s recently learned from a witness that the last time anyone saw Friedrich alive was after the king’s funeral. He was last seen arguing with Margaret. She claimed to have him removed from his position if he continued insulting her. Friedrich served Bellavere loyally for years, if he made a public disturbance then it was something he believed was truly justified and required to correct an injustice.”

“This could contain the answers you seek, are you going to open it?”

“I’m afraid I already know what’s inside.” He glances at the portrait then at the letter. “To Moira’s credit, she isn’t a liar. If she saw Kipling, then she did. There’s no other reason for her to come out of hiding and return here.”

“Hiding? I thought she was at the Academy.”

“She was expelled two years ago. Since then, she and Lord Orbit have been…elusive. I must say, he is better than expected. I thought I had intel from every corner of the kingdom but he slips by each time I get close. He managed to keep any information about her at a minimum and my spies at a distance.”

“Why would he hide her from us?”

“I suspect because she asked him too. As her Guardian, his first and only priority is her. I kept telling Allan she’ll only return on her terms, he fought me, but in the end, she walked through those doors on her own accord.”

“Why was she expelled in the first place?”

“The only two souls in this palace who know the answer won’t speak of it.” Chris considers her a mystery, but he disagrees. She reminds him of a wild horse kicking the stables. “I know she’s different from what you are used to, but she’s an important part of our future. Have some faith Captain, you’ll see in the end.” He pulls folded parchment from his pocket, “until then, I need you two to get along. Your new assignment.”

“Sir?” But Lex taps his finger to his nose and nods with a playful grin. As he exits Zack reads his loopy handwriting three times before the words sink in.

“Sunshine!” Chris shouts from across the room. He mimics the delicate way he presumes lords walk; waving at invisible adoring supporters. “Man, do I ever need a drink!”

“I assume you’ve been drinking in my room since I left,”

“What’s your point? C'mon, is there a tavern close by?”

“I can’t get drunk, I’m on duty tomorrow.”

“Drunk?” He feigns bewilderment, “I didn’t say anything about getting drunk… unless you want to?”

“No.”

“Then let’s get a drink!” he swings his arm around Zack’s shoulders, “I caught a glimpse of Moira in fancy princess clothes. I tell you; she’s pretty cute.”

“The king doesn’t know your reputation of being warrant—”

“Here we go…”

“If you do anything to Moira to ruin her reputation, I will kill you myself.”

“You make it sound like I’m moving in on your territory,”

“Chris I’m serious. As of tomorrow, I am responsible for Moira’s complete safety.”

“You’re her bodyguard?” He gives him the letter describing his new duties and his own version of personal torture. “Does she know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Can I be there when you tell her? Please? C'mon, Zack, come back! I just want to see her face!” He roars with laughter until he wheezes, “she’s going to murder you!”