Beyond the window, he could hear the birds singing in harmony.

Inside the room, there was no such harmony, however, not by a long shot. They had moved from the window to sit at the only table in the room.

Not side by side, but across from each other.

The light filtering through the double windows of the balcony fell between them. Maybe that was at least one of the reasons why the distance between them seemed larger than it was.

Some kind of optical illusion. A trick of his mind.

As for the distance between their hearts, well, that was something even the gods couldn't measure.

Even the room itself seemed to scream about that distance.

It wasn't the queen's room. Of course it wasn't. If they had meetings in her room, they would only fuel malicious rumors about their possible relationship, which they didn't want to do.

Not on purpose, at least.

Instead, they were using a meeting room. Normally, it was filled with advisors and ass-kissers alike.

Today, however, it was just the two of them here.

It wasn't the queen's... sorry, the princess's personal room, but that didn't change that the difference between them was stark. The architecture, the pillars, even the curtains that hung. Everything spoke, evidently, of a life very different from the one Desmond had always had.

The distance between their hearts could not have been greater. Why bother, anyway? Part of him wondered about that. As he had rightly told her, they weren't friends. Most likely, they would never be anything like that. Desmond's world was small. His heart, very closed.

So why bother?

He remembered something he thought he had said to Christina when they first met. Or maybe he hadn't said it, but at least he had thought it, and it was something he believed in.

You didn't need a reason to help someone. He could be selfish, but he had a heart. If he could help her feel better, even if it was just by listening to her, why not give it a try? Charlotte was dangerous. The most dangerous person in the world. But, not to him. She wasn't his enemy.

At least... he could make the attempt.

Charlotte wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was riveted on the table, thinking, he assumed, about how to say it. Or maybe if she really should say it. If not, it would be better to throw him out and handle things herself. That possibility worried him. Well, not too much. But a little. In the end, though, Charlotte began to speak. She spoke in monotone voice, without looking at him, as if she were simply thinking out loud and not telling him something.

"My parents were killed when I was little, so I was forced to grow up fast. And get used to lies, selfishness. People trying to gain my favor, to increase their position, rather than caring about the interests of the kingdom and its people. In truth, I'm used to it. I hate it, but I move through this... sewer like a fish in water.”

Silence, again.

Half sure that the princess didn't expect an answer, at least not for the moment, Desmond remained silent as well, letting her tell it at her own pace.

"But I never expected anything like this. That they would go this far.”

Okay. It seemed the time to respond had come faster than he had thought.

"What do you mean?”

"These... golden masks, of course. A secret group formed to undermine efforts, to go against my wishes, when all I want is the good of the kingdom.”

"You don't have to fear them. They wouldn't harm you.”

"No. They have no intention of removing me. But that doesn't make it any easier. And that's not the real problem. That it exists, that such a group could be born. That's what worries me.”

"It's our fault.”

Charlotte shook her head slightly.

"Your fault? I was the one who made the decision to bring you guys here.”

"Well, yes... But you know what I mean.”

"I do. But it doesn't change anything. If something like those golden masks could have formed, sooner or later it would have formed for one reason or another. Inevitably. As soon as I did something they didn't appreciate. That's assuming, of course, that it's something recent, actually. Maybe all of this is simply the first I've heard of a group that has been around forever.”

That was a good point that he had never considered.

Perhaps because he had an overly self"centered worldview, he had just assumed that such a group had come into being because of the 'threat' they believed Abigail and he represented.

But, more likely, now that he thought about it, was that they had been there all along.

After all, they had a child as their ruler.

No matter how good she was, adults would always look down on her as immature and incapable, until, at the very least, she came of age.

Then the perception of her would begin to change.

There was also, of course, what Abigail had said and with the girls on her team had agreed, without even having to think about it.

That Charlotte was a woman.

That, perhaps, went more against her than age.

"So I'm afraid, Desmond. I am very afraid, you don't know how much, of what they could have done and do behind my back. I am afraid that they will bring my kingdom and its people to ruin in the name of good intentions. I am afraid…”

Desmond looked at Charlotte, alarmed that she was on the verge of tears, about to burst. He thought: Maybe this is more than I can handle. He thought: Maybe it's already slipped through my fingers.

"Seeing it being ruined, unable to do anything." She took a deep breath. A lone tear fell down her cheek, but her eyes glistened with the accumulated tears, it was a harbinger of what was to come. “To know...that I have failed...that I have dishonored the memory of my parents.”

That was... a heavy weight to bear.... For anyone. It didn't matter how old they were. Desmond was mute, watching her, watching as her face contorted, as she ducked her head into clenched fists in her lap, as the tears began to fall, fall endlessly.

But he wasn't here, listening, taking the initiative, to stand idly by.

Desmond did the first thing that popped into his head.

For once, for a change, he didn't think endlessly about what he could do or not do and its possible consequences and ramifications, or about whether he might look like a fool or a freak.

He simply got up, went over to where Charlotte was trembling in her chair....

And hugged her.

He hugged her tightly against his chest.

Charlotte stiffened in his arms, but she didn't go completely stone"faced. She put her hands (gods, how small they were, how small she was, in general) on his chest.... Desmond stroked her back and her soft hair. Then Charlotte dropped her hands. And gradually, with great difficulty, she allowed herself to relax.

"I'm sure they'd be proud of you, even if that happened. Proud of the person you've become. Proud that you tried to the end, even if you weren't able to make it.

As for him, as for his own parents, whose faces and names had been lost in the mists of memory... what would they think of him, if they could see him?

He had never thought of that. Well, it wasn't true... but he had never thought much about it. He didn't know. He had no way of knowing. He didn't remember them, after all. Not his father, not even his mother, let alone his sister. But... he sincerely doubted it. He doubted they would look at him with kind eyes.

Because even he himself didn't.

Yes, they wouldn't be proud of him. Of what he had become. But Charlotte's parents?

He didn't know them either, but what did they have to be ashamed of?

"But that's not going to happen." Desmond pulled away from her, just enough to look her in the eye, not taking his hands off her. "I'll help you make sure that doesn't happen. To lead Albion to a better future. I promise. As long as I can do something about it... As long as I'm alive... I won't stop.”

Charlotte held his gaze... as if searching for something inside him... until she couldn't take it anymore and lowered it.

"You can't know what they would think. You haven't met them. You didn't even... even I didn't really know them. They're just vague memories. So what you're saying... they're just words, to try to make me feel better. I may be young. But I'm not stupid. I know that. I know what you're trying to do.”

"That's right. I didn't know them. But... If they wouldn't be proud of you, then they wouldn't be people worth listening to. You've done nothing to be ashamed of, Charlotte. I'm... I'm proud of you.”

She hadn't expected that, it was clear.

"In your position, so many people would have only sought to take full advantage. But you think of others. You're a good person. And I'm proud of you.”

Charlotte pursed her lips.

Then, hesitantly, after a while....

"Thank you.”

And, almost without realizing it, Desmond's little world expanded. Almost without realizing it, he gained a little sister.

——

He continued to do his duty. The only thing that made it difficult was the very clear feeling that he was getting nowhere, despite his efforts. Desmond was immature, even he admitted that.

But not enough to be unaware that you didn't always see the results of your efforts, like your life placed in the balance.

That sometimes you had to persevere for a long time blindly, before you saw your efforts even begin to bear fruit.

But the knowledge didn't stop the reality of living through it from being crushingly frustrating.

Day after day. He had the feeling that his life was like a ticking time bomb.

And that he was running out of time.

He could say for sure that this, at least, was not his imagination. Even if he couldn't see them, even if he hadn't heard from them since that night, they were at work beneath the surface.

And sooner or later they would act, one way or another.

Even if they couldn't beat them, in a straight fight, one could end a fight in a thousand ways without having to fight for a single second. That's why Desmond was so scared. That's why he felt an invisible pressure, every second of every day, unable to relax even in his own home. This was not an enemy like the ones he had fought so far.

His specialty was cutting flesh until there was no one left standing. But, unless they made a mistake, the fight between the golden masks and them might be over before they could have that kind of encounter....

There was nothing that scared him more.

But at least he felt more comfortable fighting to control crime in the city, even if it only indirectly served his real purpose.

He felt energized, alive, in the middle of a battle.

It felt like home...

Unlike places like this.

Looking around, he saw only evidence that he wouldn't fit in, wherever he went. He had to be here, as the princess's personal knight, he had no choice. He hated every second of it. Even though this was literally the second event he had been forced to attend. A charity dinner. Something like that. Frankly, he hadn't paid much attention to the details.

Desmond had hoped he wouldn't be around long enough following the plan to get used to this kind of event. To the opulence, to this environment and lifestyle, and the people it spawned.

He hoped not.

But, for the moment, he didn't hold out much hope.

"You don't always have to stay by my side," Charlotte had told him. "It wouldn't hurt, but I know you're uncomfortable here. Go for a walk, if you like. Kill time.”

For the moment, all Desmond had done was wander around, looking around like an idiot. Like a... hick who'd never seen anything like it. Which wasn't far from the truth. He'd been to the royal palace, even the princess's chambers, so he'd seen better than this. Much better. But he still hadn't quite gotten used to it.

It was no wonder.

Who knew he was going to go from shivering in the sewers, or under the dirty, damp earth under a bridge, to walking around in places like this?

Who would have told him he would last this long in the first place?

Sometimes his life seemed like a fleeting dream. He clenched his fists, digging his fingernails hard into his palms. It might seem that way. But it was very real. Lost in his thoughts, he almost bumped into a group of girls walking around, whispering and laughing. They were young. Most of them younger than him, although the dresses and excessive makeup did their best to hide it.

Fortunately, Desmond was able to stop in time. There was no collision.

"Excuse me. I wasn't looking where I was going," he quickly apologized, and thought that would be it. But he was stopped.

"I recognize you. You're Princess Charlotte's knight, aren't you?" asked one of the girls.

"With such an important position, I thought I'd be wearing a suit of armor all in gold. Or something like that.”

It wasn't the first time he'd heard such a comment, worse even, so Desmond didn't take offense. He just blinked at the fact that this other girl had spoken so nonchalantly, as if he wasn't right in front of her.

"Well, we already know that's not why she chose him," a third girl said that.

Maybe that nonchalance (or maybe bravery?) was something innate, that came with age.

Or not.

The one who had made the comment about his lack of armor elbowed the third girl.

"Hey, shut up," she said.

The girl in question, rubbing the area of her arm where she'd hit her, protested:

"But it's true.”

Even girls like these were talking about such a thing. That wasn't good. The rumor had grown bigger than either of them would have suspected. He should do something about it. If only to change the situation a little for the better. But even if he could, how could he...?

He had a sudden thought.

"It isn't. I don't wear armor, gold or otherwise, because I don't need it. It was only in my way.”

"What do you mean?”

Desmond prepared to demonstrate.

He picked up one of the knives on the nearest table to his right. And, casually, he pushed it toward his heart.

They didn't know how to react. One of the girls put her hands to her mouth, her eyes widening.

Anticipating a tragedy.

There was no such tragedy, of course. He had been reinforced beforehand. So the dining utensil was crushed against his chest as if it were made of wet paper, before the girls' astonished eyes.

Desmond put what was left of it back on the table.

He felt a little bad, but hey, it was just a piece of cutlery. It would be easily replaced.

He just hoped that this little demonstration would pay off, that it would help, if only a little, to change the course of the rumors.

"Well, I hope you understand now. She chose me because I'm the one who can do the job best, and not for anything else. Excuse me. Ladies," he added that, but wished he hadn't done it a second later.

He sure had sounded like a pretentious asshole. Too full of himself. As he turned away, his cheeks flared.

Anyway. Maybe they were too distracted and impressed by his little stunt to notice his words.

Or maybe they weren't.

In any case, he hurried away from there and none of them said anything to him.

Anyway.

Anyway, he hoped it had been worth it. Just for talking to those girls, for what he had done, wasn't going to change everything.

He wasn't that optimistic, and he wasn't that stupid.

But... a little bit was enough. Even if it was just a little push in the right direction.

It would be enough for him. He walked away from there, slipping through the abundant crowd. There were a lot of nobles around here. Pompous people. But not just nobles. There were also normal people. It was a charity dinner, and anyone could attend, no matter what social status.

Still, looking around, he wouldn't say for sure that he was the only one, but at least he had the feeling that he was the only one who felt out of place here. That he didn't belong.

Desmond stopped at one of the tables for a bite to eat.

There were drinks, but they were all alcoholic beverages. Desmond couldn't stand alcohol. Least of all alcoholics. And he certainly wasn't going to start now. He had enough problems in his life without starting to poison his mind for fun. So he would just eat a little. More to do something than anything else. Kill some time.

Yes, kill some time...

Gods, how long this shit was going to take him.

Soon after, a person tapped him on the shoulder. When Desmond turned around, he had to correct himself. Not a person, a drunk.

Well-dressed, clearly wealthy, but a fucking drunk, nonetheless.

Desmond slapped the drunk's hand away from his man, with a slap. The drunk didn't seem to notice or care about his abrupt movement. He was staring at him.

His breath reeked of alcohol. Desmond grimaced and took two steps to the side.

That didn't help much.

"That's you. That... That gentleman. That... Desmond Orosco, isn't it?

The same thing again.

Wherever he went in this damn event, they couldn't leave him alone. What would he have to put up with now? More of the same, like with those girls?

"That's right," he answered.

For a moment, he allowed himself to think that maybe he was jumping to conclusions and wouldn't say anything wrong.

He might even want to congratulate him on the job he had done so far.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Maybe.

But he didn't see it as very likely, ha.

"I wonder what the fuck she sees in you?

There we are, he thought. Back to the same thing.

"Excuse me?" He answered his question with another question, though he was fully aware of what he was getting at.

Hoping, perhaps, that he'd think better of it and not go through with it.

Which also turned out to be a display of baseless optimism.

"I'm better looking. And richer. And I know my way around a sword. Why did she decide on you? Someone who came out of nowhere.”

Oh. This was different, Desmond figured.

He was angry, but not because he thought he was doing 'it' with the princess, but because he himself hadn't been chosen to fill the position.

Somewhat annoying, too. Certainly.

But he would bear it better than such accusations. Such accusations made him nauseous.

Desmond wouldn't articulate it in these words, not consciously, not yet at least, but it made him sick that they believed he was... having sex with someone he saw as a little sister.

"Because no one could protect her better than me.”

It was the truth. Plain and simple.

No matter how much this man had trained, he could never become a better protector than he was.

Desmond was a practically unstoppable killing machine.

Whereas this drunk was just another little human.

Nothing special.

"Protect her? Come on, you don't have to lie.”

What the hell was he talking about now? Lie? About what? And for what reason?

"We both know that's not why she chose you. And that's why I can't understand it. I'm better looking than you. Richer…”

Apparently, he had been wrong again. He had never thought of himself as someone who sinned in optimism. But perhaps he should revise that estimate.

Another one. Another one who thinks I'm... That I'm doing that with Charlotte. That she only gave me that position because... she's entering puberty.

"And too old to look at a girl like her, isn't that right?”

That was one of the most disgusting things about this whole situation. It had made him forget, even, the smell of alcohol on his breath that was throwing him off. This man...no, be drunk, this piece of shit, was looking at Charlotte with those eyes. When he should be almost thirty. If not older still.

That was unforgivable.

The man was no better than the traffickers of women and children he'd recently cut to pieces. Not at all.

"She has bigger concerns than finding a mate. Everything she does is for the good of the kingdom.”

"Oh come on. Women are only good for spreading their legs and begetting heirs.”

It was neither the time nor the place, perhaps. But Desmond couldn't resist. He didn't even think about doing it.

Before he knew it, he had swung him across her face.

Hard enough to make him turn his head to the side. With enough force to make that piece of shit stagger, almost losing his balance.

With enough force to make many turn their heads, drawn by the sound of skin hitting skin.

Desmond paid no attention to his surroundings.

He approached the drunk who

He approached the drunk in front of him. He saw red and his ears were ringing, buzzing like a wasp's nest. But... But he wouldn't take the step. He wouldn't do anything he might regret.

At least, not for the moment.

But he moved closer to the drunk, close enough to whisper in his ear. What? Well, the truth.

"Watch your words, you piece of shit. Or the next one I'll use all my strength. And you won't have a mouth left to talk with. Got it?”

The drunk simply nodded. Then he turned away from him in a hurry. A dog with his tail between his legs. Less dignity than a dog, he would say. Utterly repulsive, from head to toe.

Desmond adjusted his tie, which suddenly bothered him more than before. It even weighed him down.

"I need to get some air," he said to himself.

——

Desmond went outside into the courtyard. He was glad to get away from that oppressive atmosphere and equally oppressive people, with their malicious questions and accusations.

He was almost grateful that the piece of shit had given him an excuse to leave. Almost, but he would never say he was truly glad. What he had said... How he'd talked about the princess....

He'd almost torn his head off her shoulders right there and then. But he hadn't done anything to deserve that. As far as Desmond knew, at least. He'd only said a few stupid shitty things. He'd feel more comfortable if someone like him wasn't in this world, but he couldn't kill him.

He just couldn't.

If he started doing things like that... then he would truly become nothing more than a monster. And, by doing what he was doing, he was helping other people. Not just himself, his own interests. He was helping others and… And it felt good. He had to admit it. It felt... very good.

He drank some water from the fountain.

He gathered water in the palms of his hands and splashed it on his face, ran his hands over his face, slowly, closing his eyes. Trying to calm his anger. He wasn't going to turn around, find that son of a bitch and kill him. Not under any circumstances. But the rage was still burning inside him. And he needed to calm it down to feel better, because it was searing him from the inside.

Time heals everything, he thought.

Time...

Damn time, just what he didn't have. What they didn't have.

He shook his head.

After a while, Desmond returned inside the building, in time to see it all end. Princess Charlotte's speech was what would end this.

He didn't really listen to the speech. He had heard it a million times, helping Charlotte rehearse it.

He thought she wouldn't worry too much, since it was just a little charity party.

But Charlotte took her role and all it entailed very seriously. Nothing was a trifle to her. She faced whatever was put in front of her with everything she had, every time. Which was a virtue, but could also be a liability. Only half-listening, Desmond smiled as he moved through the crowd, toward the platform where Charlotte was giving the speech.

He should have been at her side. But Charlotte hadn't sent for him.

As she had said, she had wanted to give him his space, as he didn't like this sort of thing. Desmond's smile grew a little wider, thinking of that show of consideration.

He hadn't been listening intently to the speech, no.

But he couldn't help 'noticing' it.

Anyone would have. Anyone would have noticed something was wrong, facing complete and sudden silence. Charlotte grimaced, her throat twitching as if she had something stuck in it. Desmond worried, wondering if that might not be the case. If the little girl might not be choking. Or if she'd been poisoned, or if....

Desmond noticed a person in the crowd, advancing swiftly but silently, like a panther in the lushness of the forest.

Armed with a dagger. Approaching...

The only person they could be approaching, of course.

Desmond opened his mouth to shout a warning. But nothing came out of his throat, not the slightest sound. This silence wasn't a natural silence. He should have seen it coming. Should have ended this before it started.

But he would put an end to it.

Desmond broke into a run, pushing his way through the silent crowd, who were like statues.

A race against time.

But it wasn't his life at stake, it was Charlotte's life and everything they had been fighting for.

——

Desmond was running through the crowd, moving toward the platform where Charlotte's life hung in the balance.

Others could protect her from a single assassin with a knife. But he didn't care, he couldn't see any of the guards around, he could only see himself. He had sworn to protect her. And that was what he would do. He would protect her. With his own hands. Desmond wasn't being the slightest bit careful, going through the crowd. It wasn't time for that. He had no time to waste, not a single second. In other words, he was pushing his way through. Throwing a lot of people to the ground.

But they didn't react. Not verbally. Their throats were sealed.

The affinity of the assassin they had sent after Charlotte seemed to be to silence an area and anyone, or anything, inside it.

That was what he assumed at first, at least. The first thing anyone would have thought of. But it turned out to be a mistake. As soon as he pushed one of the people in the crowd and they didn't move an inch, despite the force he'd put into it, he realized how profoundly wrong he'd been.

The assassin was going much slower, now. Step by step, as if trying to sneak up to the platform, to plunge the knife into the princess before anyone noticed. Despite the commotion that had already formed.

And then...

Then, Desmond realized what was really going on. This area hadn't been silenced. It had been frozen in time. Looking at the person he had charged, he found that not even his eyelids were moving. The assassin was the only one who could move freely within the frozen time.

Yes, it was. Even Desmond himself had been frozen, caught in that trap.

He tried with all his soul, but he couldn't move an inch. Only the killer retained his freedom of movement. Stopping time " that was, without a doubt, the perfect weapon for an assassin. Since he could move even when everything else was stopped, it was practically the same as being invisible.

At this rate...

If something didn't change, if he failed to do something, the assassin would plunge the knife into the princess's heart with impunity. And he would get out of there, and no one would be able to do anything to stop him.

Was it really over? So suddenly? Without him being able to do anything?

No. He refused to accept something like that. He refused to accept that something like that was possible.

Desmond gritted his teeth.

There had to be something he could do. It was still, as long as he was alive, possible! He had to believe it was possible!

As he watched the assassin approach the platform, he thought about it over and over again, as if he could find an answer just by wishing for it.

At least it was true...that he hadn't been as affected as the rest of those present. The realization hit him like a thunderclap.... He was frozen, but not completely. He was still blinking. He still sensed what was going on around him.

It was strong.

He was strong.

He had made it this far because he was stronger than anyone else, so there was no way he was going to stand here idly by while someone he could have protected died!

No way. He refused to let that happen.

What good was his strength if he couldn't protect the people he loved?

He had thought something similar many times. It was still as true as the first time. Desmond was powerful, more than anyone else. Not only did he control his own destiny. Also, his actions would shape the fate of his kingdom. And that of the Empire. So how could he let the princess's life slip through his fingers?

He was strong.

He was strong.

He had long since... stopped being impotent.

Long time since all he could do was watch as his life, as everything came crashing down around him, so.... Desmond screamed. With the determination needed to set his body on fire, Desmond managed to step through the stopped time. It really felt like he was on fire.

But, for all his effort, he had only managed to take one step. Even the assassin was moving relatively slowly. But, at this rate, he couldn't stop him from doing what he intended to do. He needed to try harder! Much harder! He took a few more steps. To say that every movement was an effort was an understatement. In reality, it felt like his body was crumbling from the core. Actually, he felt like... like a house at the mercy of hurricane force winds.

It didn't matter. Even if his body fell apart, it would be rebuilt. That had always been his main advantage.

That he could take risks that others couldn't.

So it didn't matter.

Only his determination mattered, and stopping that monster.

Steps. More steps. Slowly, but surely.

The feeling of the tendons in his feet being cut. Of course, that hadn't happened, literally. It wasn't as if the killer had approached him by surprise, cutting his tendons with his knife, so he couldn't interfere. Or a companion of his, hiding in the crowd, had attacked him in such a manner by surprise.

It's just that, due to the effort, they snapped. They could no longer withstand the pressure.

Desmond managed to get out of the crowd, even with his tendons in that state, leaning on the shoulders of people in the crowd and moving forward as if he were swimming through it.

But then, evidently, he didn't get very far and fell to the ground.

The platform, and Charlotte, weren't that far away. But, in this condition, they seemed a world away.

Desmond gritted his teeth, biting his tongue. What if his tendons had ruptured? What if he couldn't walk? He wasn't dead, so he was still able to crawl. He wasn't dead, so he could still do this, damn it!

Desmond crawled on the ground like a child who hadn't yet learned to walk. Undignified? Nothing was undignified, as long as he managed to get what he wanted.

And even if he was the kind of idiot who cared about such things, no one could see him, anyway.

He reached the small stairs that led to the top of the platform, shortly after the assassin did. He was just in time to grab him by an ankle.

The assassin gasped, spun around and lowered his head. His expression screamed disbelief.

"How is it possible that you can move? I've never met anyone like you." The assassin was able to speak against the flow of his magic, albeit slowly, like walking. In that way, his voice sounded distorted and not like the voice of a human being. He had given up the right to call himself a human being from the moment he agreed to do something like this. "But it doesn't matter. You can't stop me, it's already too late.”

Now that he had him in his grip, Desmond had hoped to exert his strength on the assassin's ankle.

Break it.

But it was a slow process like everything else. He realized that, because of this, he would never be able to apply enough force to break his ankle. That way of stopping him wouldn't work.

He realized he had another. Concentrating, Desmond tried calling the sword into his hand.

Tried was the word.

For the first time since that day, it didn't answer him. Surprised, even frightened, Desmond could not react in time to what was coming at him. In other words... A kick to the face.

Desmond fell rolling down the stairs, back to the ground. He spat out the taste of the bastard's boot.

Charlotte was in the center of the platform.

Once the assassin was done climbing the platform, he would be within three people standing in line to get to the princess.

Placing his hopes on the magic effect having a time limit was naive and childish.

Even if it did, nothing would change. It would deactivate, at this rate, with the assassin being close enough to stab Charlotte before either she or anyone else realized it was happening. Of what was coming at them.

That was the truth.

Moreover, even if it deactivated before they could finish their work, surely they could apply the effect at least one more time. So... it was too late to rely on that. He had allowed the enemy to get too far. And, besides...Desmond wouldn't make it in time. He would try, of course he would try, he wouldn't give up until the last moment.... But he wouldn't make it in time. It was impossible to fool himself.

If he had had a chance to save the princess, he would have lost it after he got that kick in the face. There was simply too much distance now, for him to save her in the time he had, considering the speed at which he was able to move. The very little speed.

So...

So...

This was over, wasn't it?

This...would come crashing down, like a house of cards. Desmond imagined Charlotte's castle coming down, literally and figuratively. Desmond began to crawl down the stairs, continuing to chase the killer. Potential killer. But only that. He wouldn't kill anyone, not tonight.

Because...

There must be something else I can do. As long as I'm still here. As long as I'm still... still here.

Desmond reached the top of the platform.

But the assassin had already positioned himself behind Charlotte. Too late. Too late... He had already missed… He reached out a hand towards the assassin, no, towards Charlotte, desperately. As if he could touch her, no matter how hard he tried, as if he could grab her just by stretching his fingers a little further.

The distance between them, the distance between life and death, was unbridgeable.

Except it wasn't.

He realized that there was indeed still something he could do. He had done it only once, when the golden masks had attacked his new home, and on instinct. But it was something he could do. It was worth a try. It was maddening to think about, but... at this point, it was the only thing he could try, really.

He reached out, concentrating his will, trying to think about how it had felt then, how exactly he had done it....

The knife was millimeters away from sinking into the princess's back.

At the last possible second, the would"be assassin, along with the weapon with which he intended to wrest the future of this kingdom, went flying. He hit the cloth behind him and threw it down, ending up on the ground, wrapped in it.

The effect dissipated. Desmond knew because again the room was filled with voices.

Confused voices, angry voices, because they had been thrown to the floor. Just that, for the moment.

Because no one had seen what had happened... what had been about to happen.

Not yet.

Charlotte was the first to notice him. Or at least, the first reaction he noticed.

"Desmond! What are you...?”

"Get behind me," he said slowly and with effort. He hadn't spoken while time had been standing still, but his throat was raw all the same. It had affected him.

"What?”

"Behind me!”

The princess, fortunately, obeyed him, leaping down the short stairs, placing herself behind him.

He had managed to save her, but this wasn't over. In fact, it had only just begun.

"Help me up." Charlotte bent down, letting him put an arm around her head, resting it on her shoulder.

She pulled him up.

She had to support his weight practically unaided, because of the condition of his tendons. But Charlotte was able to do it without much effort. She might be small, and not only in age, but she was also strong. It helped, of course, that she didn't have to endure it for long. Desmond's tendons regenerated, and he was able to stand on his own two feet again.

Desmond understood right then and there, what had happened.

He could be a complete idiot.

He could be a complete idiot at times, but when it came to fighting, he caught everything on the fly. Just like his ability to call back his sword, wherever he was, his regeneration had not worked within the stopped time.

As soon as the effect wore off, however, it kicked in.

That was why he had recovered so suddenly. Because before that moment, there had been no progress at all.

Desmond didn't pull away from Charlotte. He pushed her back and she recoiled without asking why, face red, sweating. He could hear her heart beating.

She hadn't expected anything like this.

To be honest, neither had he, that's for sure.

The assassin stood up, tossing the red cloth aside. The raised voices were distinctive, to him, like the buzzing of a hornet's nest.

Desmond made sure to summon the sword to his hand, before the assassin activated his ability again. Within the stopped time, he hadn't been able to exert enough force to disable the assassin, and so he had been forced to resort to a desperate measure.

With the sword, it didn't matter how much force he put behind the blow.

It would cut him as if he were made of paper, anyway.

The assassin wore no special protection. No armor, no nothing, he was dressed like just another person.

And he already knew the details about his affinity, they had nothing to do with protecting himself. So his sword would cut him. So Desmond would never again allow him to approach the princess.

The guards who had attended the event reached for their weapons, surrounded the assassin, prepared for a battle. Perhaps they were asking him who he was. Maybe they knew. Desmond didn't. As he had said, the rest of the voices were a buzz. Deep down, he supposed the details didn't matter.

"This has only just begun!" The rest of the voices were a mess. But not the killer's voice. That voice he heard, loud and clear.

Then, before he was skewered by spears, axes and swords in all directions, he used his power. The blades of the weapons stopped inches from his forehead, the back of his head, his neck, his trunk, his legs.

The assassin came out of that deadly circle slowly, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Of course, it was because his magic was forcing him to, really. To move slowly. In reality, he would be filled with anxiety. Of worry. Because control of the situation had slipped through his fingers. It would do Desmond good to remember that.

That it was he who had the upper hand. That it was his enemy's back against the wall.

For doubt invited fear, and fear invited ruin. He couldn't afford to doubt. Too many lives were at stake. He had to finish the killer with everything he had. To his surprise, the assassin dissipated the effect of his magic shortly after he stepped out of that circle, and ran toward them... toward Charlotte.

"It's like he's suddenly disappeared," Charlotte said, speaking as if she had a lump in her throat. "What's going on? Why are you still standing here?"

"I won't let him hurt you. I promise," he replied, without turning to look at her. His attention was focused on the enemy.

He hoped she trusted him.

Maybe not one hundred percent, but apparently she trusted him enough not to move, as he had asked.

And then, the choice to move was taken away from her.

The assassin's magic spread through the room once more, freezing everything in time. He had activated it as soon as he got close enough.

For he himself was affected by his magic, albeit to a lesser degree.

That was why he had waited so long to activate his affinity again. Because, had he activated it from so far away, he would only have placed himself at a disadvantage.

The guards had run after him as soon as the effect wore off.

But he had gained too great an advantage. They were nowhere nearby in the time the assassin used his magic again.

So, once again...

What stood between life and death, for Charlotte, was only him. Desmond intended to succeed this time, too.

Desmond stood between the assassin and Charlotte, so the assassin spun around, trying to attack from the side or from behind.

Desmond matched his movements, getting in his way again.

That's why he had chosen not to move, to stay glued to Charlotte. Because that way, when the moment to defend her came, he wouldn't need to move much or make wide movements.

The assassin's face twisted.

Not only anger, there was surprise there too. Perhaps he had hoped that he wouldn't be able to repeat 'the miracle' a second time.

That it would only have been a matter of luck, an unlikely coincidence, an anomaly, nothing more.

The assassin extended the hand with which he wasn't holding the knife forward.

Perhaps to offer him a more tempting target, because of his proximity.

Desmond ignored him, if that was his intention. Instead, he swung the sword toward the assassin's head.

His sword cut through the air... but slowly.

Capturing the assassin alive was the ideal outcome. Surely it was one of those golden masks, even if he wore no mask at all, he might be interesting and allow him to discover more about that faction.

But Desmond wasn't going to take unnecessary risks with Charlotte's life and the future of this kingdom.

I will kill him here and now.

The assassin crouched slightly, so that the sword would pass over his head, instead of separating his head from his shoulders.

But it didn't matter. Desmond could change the direction of the blow, and he would.

He'd split him in half before he could do anything. And if he saw himself on the ropes, with no choice but to deactivate his magic so he could dodge the blow, then all the better.

He would chase him down and kill the assassin before he used his affinity for the fourth time.

He saw a clear path to victory. But he did not expect what would happen next. The assassin threw the knife The killer threw the knife into the other hand, the one he had extended forward. That was why he had done it. Anticipating that this would happen. That hand was already in a good position to attack, so it could attack faster than he could.

Bastard!

He felt disappointed with himself. But in reality, this was to be expected. Of course the assassin knew better than he did how to fight within the limits of his own magic. He'd had years of practice, and Desmond had just come across magic like this.

But...

The knife sank into his chest.

Desmond had the advantage, anyway. He always did. He dropped the sword. At the rate things were going, it would be a long time before it hit the ground. He placed his hands on the hilt of the knife.

The assassin had decided to get rid of him to have a clear path to the princess. That had been his mistake. Desmond pushed hard, not to pull the knife out, but to keep it right where it was. What's more... he pushed it even deeper into his chest. The assassin's eyes widened like saucers.

"Are you out of your mind?" A distorted, inhuman voice in this frozen time.

As distorted and inhuman as the person to whom that voice belonged.

"Let go of me!" the assassin shouted, as if he would do such a thing just because he was ordered to.

Desmond's lips twisted into a smile.

Inside this frozen space, he might not be strong enough to break bones with his bare hands. But at least he could do this. To keep him here until the effect of his affinity dissipated, or he purposely deactivated it.

To attempt some desperate move that would end, inevitably, with his death.

Desmond was grinning from ear to ear.

Because this was over.

He had won.

The assassin had been affected by his own magic in the same way he had been, albeit to a lesser degree.

It became clear that he wasn't strong enough to wrench the knife away and put distance between them. Not as long as time remained frozen.

But if he unfroze it, he wouldn't be able to escape either. There was no way to turn the situation around. It only remained to see what he would choose. What form of defeat he would choose. In the end, predictably, the assassin chose to end the stopped time rather than allow it to start up again on its own, running out of magical energy with which to fuel the effect.

He motioned to rip the knife from his chest.

Desmond grabbed the back of his head hard, using one hand. And slammed his face into the ground.

He heard a crack.

The force of the impact had broken his nose. And not only that, he checked. It had knocked him unconscious. Desmond took a deep breath. Finally, he could rest easy. More or less. He grabbed the dagger with both hands and yanked it out. Blood began to spurt out. Desmond ignored it. The assassin had called him crazy, but the wound was no big deal. It was just making him a little dizzy, that's all.

Chaos reigned in the room.

Shouting, people asking for explanations. People running back and forth. Some, clearly, aimlessly. Others to the exits. Now that time had started up again, there was such ear-splitting chaos. He dropped the knife. Desmond was thankful it wasn't up to him to control that chaos. He was tired enough...besides, he had his hands full with something else.

Charlotte crouched down beside him.

"Do you recognize him?" he asked without turning to look at her.

The princess shook her head. Crap. He'd really hoped she'd recognize him. But... Well, at least he'd captured him alive, he'd been able to do it. So they could… They could take him back to the palace. Interrogate him, and discover the secrets of the golden masks. Then exterminate them from the face of the earth. Desmond's expression filled with determination.

"What exactly happened, how did he appear and disappear at will?" Charlotte asked.

"That's not what it was about. That's just what you thought you saw. In reality, his magic was stopping time."

"Time? That's absurd. Something so powerful..."

"Only within a limited range."

"That doesn't make it much better. I understand you're not lying to me. I just find it hard to believe, all this. If it's true that he can stop time, how have you been able to do anything...? How come I'm not...?" The girl swallowed hard.

Without thinking, Desmond put a hand on top of the princess's head and stroked her hair.

She blushed and looked annoyed, but she didn't say anything, she didn't reproach him.

Because they had better things to focus on, he supposed. Anyway. She was right. That had been out of line. He wouldn't do it again. It had just been...

An impulse. A strange impulse.

"Because, like this... man, I too am able to move even in the middle of stopped time.”

"Why?"

"Well... You know... For the same reason you sought my help, probably."

The thing that made him special.

Charlotte nodded her head. Her face also filled with determination, and she stood up.

"I'm going to try to control this chaos."

Desmond nodded, too.

And, in the meantime... He'd make sure to tie this son of a bitch up. He was unconscious, not dead. Sooner or later, he would open his eyes again.

He bound him hand and foot and covered his mouth, while Charlotte gave a speech to calm the crowd with her melodious voice.

A voice that had power not only because she was royalty, but also because it contained something he had learned not to expect from any member of the ruling class.

Honesty.

And pure motives.

Charlotte was undoubtedly the right person to lead Albion to a better future.

That day, on that ship, Desmond had made the right decision. Now there was no room left for doubt, if there had been any before.

——

Hours later, Desmond found himself in a cell. It wasn't a dark, dank hole. It was the palace cells. So, apparently, they had to be as luxurious and extravagant as everything else.

The prisoner in this cell hung in front of him.

It was, of course, the murderer he had caught with his own hands.

He had asked Charlotte to let him handle the interrogation. And she had agreed, though not for that reason. Simply because he was the only one who could act while the assassin used his affinity.

"It's no use," he said. He was bound hand and foot, but his mouth was not covered, of course, that would defeat the point of this. "I won't talk, no matter what. You could end this and cut my throat."

Desmond had all kinds of tools laid out in front of him on a table.

The assassin was suspended in the air by chains. He was laid out for him like an animal in a butcher shop. Only... the animal was alive. And it was up to him to cut it into pieces.

"That's always an option," Desmond said, as he grabbed a knife on the table. "But first things first."

They weren't alone in this cell.

There was a woman beside them, standing still, watching and waiting. She was not an interrogator. The main purpose of her affinity wasn't to hurt people, but to heal them.

That was exactly what she was here for, in fact.

"Let's have some fun," Desmond said.

He began to cut.

Knight of Justice (2): FIN