"I see," Princess Charlotte said, after hearing her story.

Amy was beside herself, although she was managing to hide it well. She knew, deep down, that the best move was this: to ask for help. But she was having second thoughts.

Didn't think it would take so long. So much time wasted.

Now Charlotte had her hands resting on the table and her head down, thinking. Wasting more time.

What the fuck was there to think about?

"See what?" The answer came from her lips, in a rude tone, before she could think it over. Think about it at all. "What's your answer? Your majesty."

The princess smiled slightly.

"I told you that you can... you can call me Charlotte."

Amy felt like screaming.

She felt like putting her hands to her head and tearing her hair out chunk by chunk, from the pure rage boiling inside her.

And what did it matter, especially now?

Why had she wasted any more time saying something like that? And right now she was wasting time too. Angry instead of simply responding.

"Okay. Charlotte. What's your answer?"

The girl raised her head, but not to look at her. Instead, her gaze was directed...

At a painting.

The only painting that had hung in her room. In it were depicted the former rulers of Albion, who had died during the war. Jordan and Celeste. That is, Charlotte's father and mother.

And Charlotte herself too, sitting on her mother's lap.

***

Charlotte didn't have a normal life, like other children.

She had been born into the royal family, so she had never been able to aspire to a normal life.

But then her parents had been killed in the middle of the war.

And she had been left alone, and had been forced to grow up very fast. Too fast. Surrounded by people who wanted to take advantage of her.

Or who looked down on her.

Or who were nice to her to curry favor.

Never an equal relationship. She'd never had a friend she could trust.

And she had grown accustomed to it.

She had told herself that it was to be expected. That it was good, even.

To not have anyone too close.

So there wouldn't be...

Conflicts of interest. So that she could fulfill her role as princess properly to the end and make her parents proud of her.

But, when she had nothing to do, she would stay for a long time in her room just looking at that picture.

And she wondered: where has all that time gone?

And she wondered: What could it have been?

It filled her with nostalgia, even though she had been too little when they died to really remember her parents. At the same time, however, it made her feel .... small. Very small. Insignificant, even.

As if she might, if she wasn't careful, fall... and end up trapped in the painting. As if...

As if she was still the same little girl as she had been then.

And she wondered if she had changed as much as she thought she had. If she was really following the right path.

Many more things. Things that scared her even more.

Or rather... just one thing.

"Princess." Engrossed in her thoughts, she had forgotten about Desmond's presence in the room, so she jumped as soon as she heard his voice.

Charlotte turned her head toward him.

"I told you, you don't have to call me that. Except when we're in public." She smiled, playful, or at least trying to look it. She lived the kind of life where even the jokes she told at events were written for her, were an obligation. "Do you see anyone else around?"

"No. It's just... hard to get used to."

Charlotte thought about saying something along the lines of, "I beg your pardon? But it was so easy for you the first day we met. You spoke to me very 'naturally'.

It was a brief, petty impulse that she swallowed.

Yes. That experience hadn't exactly been a pleasant one, but she couldn't blame the boy for reacting the way he did. Come to think of it, she shouldn't have expected any other kind of reaction.

If she had been in the same situation, her first impulse would also have been to fight.

And survive at all costs.

"I'm sorry I got distracted," Charlotte said. "Where were we?"

"That doesn't matter right now. If I may..."

"What?"

"You got distracted looking at that painting."

Charlotte grimaced. Of all the possible topics, that was the one she least wanted to talk about. Strategy could be tedious. Limiting, even.

But at least it was a safe topic.

That topic, on the other hand... It was dark and heavy. Like a battlefield after the end of a battle.

When there was only blood, corpses and the wails of those at death's door vibrating in the air.

"Yes. Excuse me."

"No. No need to apologize, you have nothing to apologize for. It's just that... How can I put it? I lost my parents when I was little, too. I'm one of many war orphans. I was a little older than you...." He smiled as if mocking himself. "Evidently. But still... I don't remember what they were called. Still less what they looked like. And I...""

The boy looked away. For a while, she thought he was going to leave it there. An attempt at support thwarted by his own emotions coming to the surface.

But only for a moment. Because he only gave her a moment.

"For years, I thought I would become a soldier and fight for my country. Partly in hopes of being reunited with Abigail. I won't lie to you. But also because taking revenge was the only way I could think of to honor their memory. It was... all I had. I did a lot of dangerous things, without caring about my own life, for that. All for the sake of..."

Desmond raised one hand, clenched into a fist, to his eye level.

It trembled.

Was he trying to comfort her by explaining that he'd had it worse than she had?

That was something Charlotte herself had told herself many times. That she might have been unlucky, losing her parents, carrying this great responsibility on her shoulders from a very young age.

But at least she didn't have to worry about food.

About the clothes she wore.

Or of simply having a roof over her head.

She was very aware that, in reality, compared to many people she was really lucky. And she had told herself that many times, as she had already mentioned.

But it hadn't worked.

It hadn't done any good, except make her angrier at herself and the world.

She had a lot of... anger buried inside her.

"You know. Without stopping to think about the consequences. But lately, I've started to think... If I could talk to them... wherever they are... Would they really want that for me? To push myself so far? To destroy myself, in the name of whatever it is?"

Ah.

Now she could see where he was going. Partially. It's not like she could stop pushing herself.

For better or worse, she would be the monarch of Albion until the day she died. It was her destiny from birth.

"I guess I'm not telling you anything new. You're a smart girl. And I'm not an overly reflective person. Half the time I don't even know what I'm thinking. But I think I understand... "He ran a hand over his face, anxious. He seemed more nervous than herself. He was trying to cheer her up, or something, but she was actually getting the urge to cheer him up. "I think I understand one thing, at least. We've clung so tightly to honoring their memory because it's the only way we have to connect with them. The only thing we have left. I understand why you can't let go. Because you're... consumed with fear. But they belong in the past, Charlotte. You should think about yourself. Your future."

She'd never heard him talk so much or so often. He'd picked a bad reason to open up, though. Every word was like plunging a knife into her heart. Then twisting it.

"Get out of here," Charlotte said.

Desmond looked surprised, hurt even. How did he think she would react?

Did he think she would thank him?

That she'd smile and shake his hand for his wisdom?

"Charlotte..."

"I said, get out of here," Charlotte repeated, not screaming, but not because she didn't feel like screaming. Because she was painfully aware that she would not be able to raise her voice without bursting into tears.

Desmond got up and left with no more farewell than a look that mingled sadness and compassion.

Most of all compassion.

That was what hurt Charlotte most of all that was said and done.

***

That conversation had made the next week rather uncomfortable... and more complicated than it needed to be.

But in the end they had come to an understanding again.

Rather, Charlotte had come to an understanding.

That it... those words, all of it, had cost as much to Desmond as it had to her. But he'd done it anyway because he really cared.

Because he had something real to offer her, unlike the many people who had tried to comfort her in the past. To play her confidant.

Something real, because they were similar. Because they had been through things no one should have to go through.

And it hadn't turned out well at all.

As uncomfortable and painful as it had been, it had been something real, drawn from deep in Desmond's heart. Something he surely hadn't told anyone but her.

And it could well be that he was right. About everything.

It could be that, as she sometimes feared, this wasn't the right path for her. That, with a handful of good intentions, she was sinking into the abyss.

It could well be so.

In coming to understand this, she had forgiven him and they had become closer.

Calling him a friend sounded... a bit presumptuous, on her part. But Charlotte liked to think of them as friends, at least. Her first friend.

So the answer Amy's request would give should be obvious.

It had been obvious from the beginning, ever since she'd known Desmond needed help. Even if there were... no other feelings involved. For she couldn't afford to lose him. Charlotte was the princess and, eventually, queen of Albion. She already was in all but name, in fact.

Charlotte represented, therefore, the future of Albion.

But...

No matter how bright a future she was able to chart with her hands.

Without Desmond, it was quite possible that there would be no future in which she could try to lead her people down a good path.

Yes, the answer was more than obvious.

"I will not send my soldiers after him," Charlotte said bluntly. Without a second thought.

Amy adopted a hurt expression. Betrayed.

Christina's expression didn't change at all. It didn't usually. At least not in front of her. Truth be told, that girl made her more nervous than Abigail, the woman they called the Witch.

Speaking of her...

She took a step forward, determined.

"So this is what it boils down to? After all these plans?"

"I didn't say..."

"So many so-called promises? After all, you'd abandon him at the first sign of danger?"

Charlotte frowned. Irritated. Because they hadn't even let her finish.

Before and at the beginning.

"I didn't say that. I said I wouldn't send my men. Right now the situation in the kingdom is bad, morale included, watching the Albionese fight among themselves won't help morale at all. So I will not send a detachment. I'll go myself."

"I beg your pardon?" Abigail asked.

Charlotte stood up and lowered her sword from the wall, hung it around her waist. Then she turned around, facing the group.

"I will personally take care of this."

***

His head was spinning round and round.

Desmond felt sick. He felt as if he were short of breath. His vision was like a candle about to go out.

He saw...

Blue. And shadows floating in the blue. And a sound... the sound of water.

Desmond was convinced that he was underwater again. That was why he was short of breath. That's why everything was so dark. But, as time passed, his vision became clearer.

He realized he wasn't.

He heard water, yes. The sound of water rushing, not around him, enveloping. Drowning.

He wasn't sinking in the water.

He was very still. In a chair. Bound hand and foot. His neck ached, and his head was pointed toward the ceiling. He returned his head to its natural position.

His vision was still a little blurry, and the darkness didn't help, of course.

But he saw enough.

He saw that some of the shadows in this place were alive. And their faces were covered by golden masks.

That's right, he thought. They got me. These sons of bitches... they got me.

One of the shadows took several steps forward. Toward him. The shadow... had a syringe in his hand. Filled with a green liquid.

He remembered that, before he fell, he had been injected with some of it.

Whatever it was, it was the cause of him being so weak that he couldn't even break the ropes they had him bound with.

Desmond had previously strengthened himself, of course.

He was messed up, his mind confused, but not that messed up.

It hadn't worked, though. The magical energy seemed to drain away like water, instead of settling in the right places.

He was weak and dizzy and.... at their mercy.

"What have you done to me?"

They didn't deign to answer him.

Instead, the golden mask in front of him forcefully, without the slightest regard, plunged the syringe into his neck.

Desmond gritted his teeth and tried hard not to make the slightest sound. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction of watching him groan.

He didn't want to give them that, at least.

Cold comfort, considering they already had him. Considering he had been their target all along. If he had his hands free, he'd take them to his head first.

It hurt like hell, like it was splitting open.

Desmond felt ashamed of himself, frankly. How had he let them capture him? It was humiliating.

A few petty pigs like these?

They shouldn't even have been able to touch him, and, yet....

"I don't understand why you're doing this," Desmond said.

He really didn't understand.

It couldn't be to use him, and Abigail by extension, like all the enemies before them.

Because he worked for the crown.

They already had him, so to speak, in their pocket.

So why?

"Isn't it obvious? We want you dead. It's as simple as that."

That was new.

Couldn't say it was a relief, though. Or refreshing.

"Why? Since I came to the capital, I have done nothing but sweat and bleed for the good of the kingdom. While you have done nothing but stand in my way."

"We are aware of that."

It required an effort. To follow the conversation.

He had the feeling that, if he was careless, he would lose consciousness. That's how weak he was.

"So? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You are powerful. And you are using your strength for the good of the kingdom. That's all true. For the moment. But things could change at any moment."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Or rather, he didn't want to believe it.

All this...

What had happened and the inevitable consequences, actions and reactions, of what they had set in motion. All of it, for such a stupid reason.

"That's how you plan to justify it? For what might happen? You can't be serious."

"I don't expect you to understand or accept it. After all, your life is at stake. But it's necessary. You're too powerful to leave anything to chance."

"Albion is in a bad situation. Princess Charlotte knelt before me, asking for help, because she believes it takes someone as powerful as me to turn the tables.

"The princess is a child, after all. Innocent. Ignorant of how the world really works. She thinks she can judge and make proper decisions from her glass castle. Not so."

Desmond laughed.

"She has a better head than all of you put together. She knows what's good for the kingdom. She knows when to make... compromises."

"So do we."

"What's more important... She's not selfish. She honestly thinks of nothing but the good of the people. She doesn't even consider herself. If there is anyone who deserves to rule, it is her."

"We are doing this for the good of the people. Not for our own good."

Desmond laughed. He couldn't help it, again. His laughter bordered on hysteria. Anyway, there was no reason to hold back.

"Do you really believe that? Do you?" He looked around, asking the same question to the shadows of this dark and dank place with his eyes. "You have decided that I must die unilaterally. Carrying that huge responsibility on your shoulders. But according to your own interpretation of justice, of what is right, not the people's. What gives you the right to decide for them?"

Silence.

There was silence in that stinking sewer, where living shadows writhed as if suffering in the bowels of hell. If such a thing existed. And if those who deserved it ended up there; Desmond considered the idea that the other world was more just than this one ridiculous.

If it existed at all, it would simply involve moving things from one place to another. People's shit, of course, included. What could that change?

The golden mask that had been talking to him so far passed the empty syringe in his hand to someone behind.

Presumably so he could refill it.

Or simply to have his hands empty.

He who seemed to be the leader of these maniacs came very close, fearlessly, to his chair. I had to admit, as much as I would hate it, justifiably so.

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There was nothing he could do. Not on his own...

At least not at the moment.

But he would recover. He always did. And then he would make them pay. With his own hands.

He stared into his eyes, before finally answering.

"Because someone has to."

Desmond gritted his teeth.

He hadn't answered his question. Rather, he'd cowardly dodged it. Perhaps because deep down he himself recognized that it was an unanswerable question.

That nothing, absolutely nothing, gave them the right to do as they pleased.

No matter how much they wanted to believe otherwise.

And as much as they wanted to believe otherwise, Desmond was certain that they were not seeking the best for the people, in their own way. He was certain they sought only two things: power and control.

No more, no less.

The leader pushed back from his chair, taking a few steps back.

"The kingdom belongs to the people. Not of people like you. They were the ones who built it up in the first place."

The leader of the golden masks (or at least the highest ranking person among those present, now that he thought about it) stretched his arms out to the sides as if to suggest that his view of things was too narrow.

"Are you suggesting that we should leave the future in the hands of the people? That's an invitation to chaos. The people need someone to control them. To make decisions for them and lead them to a better future. It has been that way since the world has existed. And it always will be. The roles are always the same, only the actors change. It may be dirty, but it's necessary. But I don't expect you to understand. Because you don't fight for a better future, I know."

Desmond simply looked back at him.

"Oh, yeah?"

"You think we haven't checked you out? We know your past. We know what kind of person you are. I know you well, maybe more than you know yourself. So, tell me... do you think that at the end of this long road... you'll finally be able to tell yourself that you deserved salvation?"

Desmond spat at him. His spit hit not his face, but the mask covering his face. Too bad.

But he was content with watching the flash of indignation that passed over his face.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

Almost nothing, really. Because he knew that by doing that, he had basically conceded to him. Granted victory.

That was exactly why the golden mask ran a hand across his mask, wiping the spittle away, very calmly after a moment. As if nothing had happened.

Because the bastard had the satisfaction of having won.

Satisfaction that he had handed to him on a silver platter.

Satisfaction that, unfortunately, he couldn't take away from him once it had already been given. He felt frustrated with himself. As usual.

One of the shadows stepped out of the darkness to hand their leader the syringe.

Again it was filled with a green, viscous liquid. Not a simple liquid. Poison, to have him in this state. And a poison he had never heard of. Something new, brewed with the aid of magic, he'd wager.

Only that would have reduced him to this pathetic state, where he couldn't defend himself, let alone the people important to him.

Only that.

The leader took the syringe, the henchman, in response, went back to hiding in the shadows. It seemed as if this sewer was a stage just for them.

The leader grabbed the syringe with both hands, examined it, twirling it around almost as if it was the first time he had seen it.

Or as if he were checking something.

He put the syringe down, then. And he locked his gaze on his.

"Well. I think I've made my point."

The leader moved the syringe closer to Desmond's neck again. Slowly, as if he was enjoying it. Surely he could get "as if" out of the way. He had no reason to doubt that he would enjoy it, but rather the opposite: every reason to think he would enjoy every second of it.

Desmond gritted his teeth, grunted, squirmed in his seat.

He put in all the effort, all the strength he had, and more. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

The syringe plunged into his neck.

Then the golden mask pressed the plunger. He felt the poison spreading throughout his body like a cancer.

He felt the effects growing in intensity.

Within seconds he was unconscious again.

***

At least it didn't last too long.

He saw the golden masks gathered around a door. A large part of them, at least. Maybe it was the only entrance to this part of the sewers. No, probably not.

The sewers were like a fucking maze. All connected to everything else, necessarily.

He knew that from his own experience.

In any case, that wasn't the important thing. The important thing was that they were all gathered there. The important thing...

Desmond was barely able to stay conscious.

But he had to hold on to his consciousness with everything he had. He had to fight to recover. Otherwise, the next time he lost it was beginning to look very likely that he wouldn't get it back. Forever.

They hadn't been kind enough to share the details, but they seemed to believe that this poison was capable of killing him.

Really kill.

Desmond shared the same opinion, in that case.

He had been unconscious for some time and wasn't feeling any better at all. Quite the contrary. He hadn't recovered one bit. So... he was starting to panic, that's all.

"They're here," one said, he didn't even know who, impossible to make out. So much darkness. So many identical masks. And the voice sounded as if it had come from every direction, though it was barely a whisper. It carried across the wide space. "That boy's companions."

It could not be said that he had recovered his strength, but upon hearing that, instantly his consciousness cleared a little. Fear penetrated the dense fog.

It wasn't just his life at stake.

He knew that, but... He had almost forgotten. That he now had much to lose.

The golden masqueraders prepared for battle. There were many of them. And that was only the ones he could see, in his state, where physical reinforcement didn't work.

Desmond suspected there were many more.

Dozens and dozens. In any case, too many for him to be at ease.

Only his comrades...

"Put down your weapons," the leader said. But Desmond only knew that had been the leader because they listened, stowing their weapons back in the dark robes.

Well. It was a symbolic gesture, at best.

Many, if not all, of them were mages. They didn't need any blades to be dangerous.

They weren't even special knives, similar to Abigail's.

No, they were knives. While of good quality, they could be found anywhere, really.

He thought about shouting to warn them of the danger ahead.

But his throat was dry and sore. He couldn't speak properly if he tried, he was sure, let alone shout a warning.

"The princess is outside, too. Let's give them a warm welcome," the leader of this bunch of lunatics continued.

Desmond swallowed.

Charlotte, too. Fuck.

They were on a collision course that was too late to be stopped. The consequences, one way or another, would shape the future for all of them.

And they could be frightening, those consequences.

Really, there was too much at stake. Too much to lose.

***

The hiding place of those golden masks was, of all possible places, at least in theory, in the sewers.

Charlotte had to admit that hadn't occurred to her at any time.

Which was what made it a good hiding place. Of course.

Together, they left the palace at night, found an entrance to the sewers, and went into them. Looking for the subjects who dare to conspire behind her back.

Looking for Desmond Orosco, the hope of this kingdom on the brink of ruin.

It was necessary to go so far. To risk her own life. Her kingdom couldn't afford to lose such a valuable ally.

Right now, the four of them were standing still as Christina tested the terrain in front of them with her famed shadow magic.

Charlotte felt impatient, felt the girl was taking too long, when every second counted.

But Christina must feel far more impatient and fearful than she could even dream of.

Charlotte needed Desmond for the sake of her kingdom.

Her people. And to make her parents proud.

But Christina knew Desmond well, they were friends. If she lost him, it would be a personal loss. In comparison, her worries were nothing really.

Or so she would say, at least.

That was what she would have said until recently.

Perhaps it was too presumptuous to say that Desmond was her friend. But they had engaged in conversations that were unnecessary to the plan. He'd held her in his arms. He had supported her, when she had no one else.

There was more there than pure interest. Or professionalism, to make it sound better.

There was something more and…

The girl was afraid. She was afraid of losing him too.

Maybe her blossoming feelings couldn't compare to those of her friends. But Charlotte was also very afraid of what might happen.

Christina opened her eyes. She guessed that meant it was over.

"Is there something there?"

She was referring to the other side of the hatch at the end of this path.

"Lots of them. Dozens and dozens of enemies. And Desmond. I think."

"Think?" Abigail asked.

Yes. It had made Charlotte question exactly how that ability of hers worked. She hadn't explained. Did she or did she not see through the shadows as if they were her own eyes?

If she only sensed the presence of people, then there was no way she could tell if Desmond was there or not.

If she saw, even if not perfectly, something?

Then she would have to be sure if it was Desmond or not.

Right?

"There's only one person in this world who feels like Desmond," Christina said, "and that's you, Abigail."

"Oh, really?" Abigail seemed pleased. In a frankly adorable way.

But she would keep that opinion to herself.

Abigail would surely not welcome it, and more importantly, this was no time for nonsense.

"But I also have a contract with Amy," Abigail continued.

Christina shook her head.

"I don't feel the same from her, for some reason. However, I feel something similar there. But... different. Somehow. For some reason. Maybe it's Desmond. But it also might not be Desmond."

"You've cleared things up for me," Abigail said.

Charlotte wasn't surprised by her acid sarcasm.

Desmond saw Abigail as a mother, and the same was true in reverse, wasn't it? A mother would do anything for her child.

Well...

She didn't know what a mother was like. But at least she liked to think so.

""We know, thanks to her, that there are dozens and dozens of enemies on the other side," Amy said. "Where else would they be gathered, if not where they have Desmond, after trying so long to get him? It has to be him."

Abigail crossed her arms.

"Yes. But I'm worried... Because his 'feeling' is different. What's happened to him." She gritted her teeth. "No, what they've done to him."

"I wish I could tell you," Christina interjected. "Sorry, but this thing doesn't exactly come with an instruction manual. We've wasted enough time anyway. It's time to get in there. Before we..."

She couldn't finish the sentence.

Instead, she swallowed. Which failed to undo the lump she must have had in her throat.

It showed.

"We're walking into a trap," Amy said.

Charlotte bit her lip. That was true, of course.

Part of her wanted to reply that, once they saw her among them, they wouldn't attack. They wouldn't dare. But... That would sound painfully ridiculous on her part.

It was something she herself only half believed.

After all, if it hadn't been for Desmond, she would have been out of the way.... But... But...

What?

What?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The truth was the truth. They would most likely have to fight their way out of this one. There was little hope of a peaceful resolution.

The first thing she'd done after making her decision had been to reach for her sword.

That said enough.

No more fooling herself.

"It's not a trap if they don't know we're coming," Abigail said. "And, one way or another, we have no choice."

"It doesn't mean we can't do this the smart way," Christina said, taking a few steps forward.

Toward the door. Toward what awaited them.

"Do you have a plan?" Amy asked.

Charlotte was standing on the sidelines, like the rest of the time. Not contributing anything. In fact, they were treating her as if... as if she wasn't even there.

She liked the honest and open way Desmond and his friends were treating her.

But, she wasn't going to lie, only up to a point.

She was used to being paid attention to. To people hanging on her every word, as if they were the most important thing in the world.

So this... being brushed aside so naturally, it bothered her. It hurt her pride.

But she couldn't and wouldn't act like a child with a temper tantrum. If she was being treated this way, it was her own fault for not contributing. Nothing was stopping her. Except her own indecisiveness. It was as simple as that.

If she wanted to be treated differently, she would have to earn it. Wasn't that what she had always wanted? Well. This wasn't exactly what she had imagined. But it was a chance to prove herself, all the same.

A real chance.

"Don't you remember?" Christina answered the question with another question. The night we went after the false teacher.

"Oh." That made Amy react.

"It sounds like you're scared."

"It's just that now I know why you rarely use something like that. Are you going to be okay?"

Christina looked away again. Possibly so that neither Amy nor anyone else could see her expression. Possibly. She didn't understand what they were talking about, but at least she understood it was something heavy.

"I don't know. But it will help us turn the tables. I have no choice."

"Okay, enough chitchat," Abigail said. "I won't even ask what you're talking about. Because I don't want to hear it."

They finally approached the door.

Christina brought the shadows around the door to life, forming a sort of giant fist. With which she slammed the door.

The impact not only broke it down.

It ripped the door off the frame, sending it flying, spinning in the air.

It also raised a cloud of dust.

Through which they entered.

The four quickly entered the room. Charlotte unsheathed her sword. Her heart was beating a mile a minute. But she was ready.

She could fight.

She had already proved it to others and to herself, rescuing Desmond and Abigail on that beach.

She could fight... and she could kill?

It didn't matter that she wasn't sure. She'd find out soon enough, anyway....

The golden masks dropped to the ground. On their knees. Many of them bent until their foreheads touched the ground. Submitting. At least in appearance.

They were Albionese, after all.

It meant nothing that they had no weapons in their hands and were kneeling, or genuflecting.

They could get up quickly. They could go on the attack in the blink of an eye.

It was at most a symbolic gesture. But...

Charlotte saw Desmond and forgot everything else. He was in the center of this place. On a chair, bound hand and foot. There were ropes around his chest, too.

He wasn't conscious. His head was hanging to one side.

Face was very pale and covered with sweat.

Seeing that, her heart ached as if someone had grabbed it and was squeezing. What had they done to him? What the hell had they done to him?

"Princess, we don't wish to fight," one said.

Just so she could see him better, she supposed, he was the only one whose forehead touched the ground who wasn't hidden in the darkness of the upper levels.

If he was taking the liberty of speaking for the group, he should be the leader.

"All right. Then step aside."

"Let me explain. Please. That boy over there thinks you're some kind of saint. The most suitable person to rule. Because you think of others, not your own self-interest. Well, I'm one of your subjects. Will you listen to me?"

Abigail ignored those words and walked with firm, strong steps, between the golden masks, towards the chair where Desmond was tied.

Without a word.

But her divine presence spoke for her. And the rage etched on her face, such a stark contrast.

The leader of the golden masks held up a hand. Hoping she would stop.

Needless to say, she didn't stop.

She didn't even see him, in all likelihood.

"I wouldn't do that. Wait a minute."

"Abigail," Charlotte said. "Please."

Her request was clear, but the woman ignored it completely. As she had expected her to do. Abigail summoned that knife to her hand, with which she set about cutting the ropes. Carefully. Methodically.

For her hands were shaking violently.

Her teeth too. They gnashed. From the sheer rage that burned through her body.

She wasn't surprised. And she, actually... She felt the same way.

No one tried to stop Abigail. Even if they had tried, no one would have been able to. Not for long. She was sure of it.

The leader didn't try either. Instead, he looked at her again.

He saw some hope in her, she supposed.

He thought he could fool her like that simply because she was a child. Actually... Maybe the mere fact that she was standing here was proof enough that she had been fooled.

Maybe she should go over and separate his head from his shoulders where he knelt.

Execute him without further ado. But...

"There are many things you don't know, your majesty," the leader continued.

"What do you mean? First of all, tell me why I should listen to those who tried to kill me. And now they are trying to get rid of precisely the person who prevented that."

"We didn't send that man to kill you, your majesty. Believe me, if we had, you would be dead. The whole point of the plan was to capture Desmond. Nothing more, nothing less. He was just going to stab you and then allow himself to be captured."

"Only, you say. Sounds like a lot to me. And it doesn't exclude the possibility that in the future you might decide that killing me would be... acceptable."

"We would never do that. One of the things you don't know is that we've been active for over a decade. And that your father founded us!"

Charlotte took two steps back, as if she'd been hit.

That... she hadn't expected something like that.

He can lie to you, she told herself. He can and would say anything to get his way. So...

But, for some reason, she didn't believe he was lying. Maybe simply because she wanted to believe it. To believe that there was still something of her parents left in this world, apart from her. And the kingdom they had left on her young shoulders.

Because everyone, even the princess of the kingdom of humanity, needed something to hold on to.

"My father? My father?"

"Yes. Your mother was also aware, of course. There was nothing his majesty King Jordan would do without consulting his wife first. He was a wise and just man. He knew that one cannot do everything alone. He knew when to heed advice. And when to... bend, if not break, the rules for the greater good.Charlotte noticed that Abigail had already finished cutting the restraints. It had taken her longer than she might have guessed."

Either that or it had seemed longer than it actually had.

Because she was very nervous. And there seemed to be no end to this conversation.

"You're lying."

"It's natural that you don't believe me, I guess. If you go to my office, you can see a portrait of your father. You'll see letters signed by him. Reports. Orders. But I imagine you wouldn't be willing to do that. Too risky, isn't it? Moving from here."

"I..." Charlotte swallowed.

She didn't know what to do, what to say. She wondered, briefly, why Amy and Christina were standing aside for the moment.

Watching and waiting.

A signal from Abigail, perhaps, to take action?

Or were they hoping this could be resolved relatively peacefully? Because the odds were stacked against them? She didn't know. She didn't know, but whatever the reason, it was making her feel... alone.

Alone on a big stage.

She wanted... She needed some guidance. She needed it.

Abigail stood between them, with Desmond held in her arms. He was limp more than anything else. Completely limp. He still hadn't woken up. She was beginning to fear, looking as he did, that he would never wake up at all.

That they had arrived too late to do anything.

Or worse, that they had arrived in time.

But she'd wasted her chance anyway.

"I don't care if what you say is true or not," Abigail spoke. "It doesn't make any difference to me. What I want is to know what you've done to my child. And I want you to fix it. Sooner or later, I always get what I want."

She was more composed and controlled than she thought she would be. But it must have been only on the surface. Inside, who knew what was going on?

Charlotte certainly had no idea.

She had lost her parents, and that still hurt. But... she had been so young that she didn't even have a memory of them, nowadays.

Nothing to miss except the hole it left that she didn't have something she knew was normal for other kids.

Losing someone you knew so well? That was more than just portraits, whispers of others, loose ideas?

That... Charlotte couldn't even imagine it.

Not yet, anyway.

No. She could imagine it. She'd been imagining it... ever since she'd heard that Desmond had been kidnapped, after all.

"At first we thought he couldn't die, like you. We had plans to lock him away forever. So that he could never be a threat again," the leader of the golden masks explained, whoever he was, calmly. As if it had nothing to do with him. As if he couldn't feel what she felt. That, if he said just one wrong word, his head would roll right then and there. "Then... we came to know that wasn't true, so we started to think about how to get rid of him. And we developed a special poison. His body shouldn't notice that anything bad is happening, not until it's too late."

And how many times had he been injected with that poison, while it had taken them so long to get here?

How many doses?

How far had it spread throughout his body?

The more she thought about it, the more fear crept into her body. The darker the possibilities. Of how this would end.

"The antidote," Abigail demanded.

"We haven't developed such a thing. Until today we couldn't even test it. Understandably."

Of course. And that meant they couldn't be sure the poison would kill him. But...

"Then you're no use to me alive," Abigail declared.

The leader tensed up. Many of the golden masks reacted, too. Getting up on their knees like the leader, those who had been on ground. Others half rose to their feet.

"You're completely surrounded," the leader said. "You think if you try you'll get out of here? That you can take us all on, just like that?"

"Yes. I do."

Abigail's answer was as simple as it was powerful.

Charlotte believed her. Why shouldn't she? She saw a hopeless situation, where the odds were heavily stacked against her. But she was just a child. Abigail, if she gave credence to the stories (and she did), had lived for thousands of years. This would be nothing to someone like her.

She could come out of this like it was nothing and she would. There was no doubt in her mind.

Unfortunately, she wasn't alone in this. Charlotte was sure that Abigail could manage to get out of this alive and with her boy in her arms.

But, as for them...

About them she wasn't so sure.

Looking around, up and down, she saw nothing but enemies. That could come upon them at any moment. That could, no matter how strong they were, overwhelm them with the numerical advantage and tear them to pieces.

Charlotte would feel calmer, actually, if they were in such a situation but surrounded by Empire soldiers. Not Albionese.

Not just because she was one hundred percent sure she wouldn't hesitate to go for the kill..

Because then she had no way of knowing.

Because at least the capabilities of the Empire soldiers were clear, it was enough to look at the weapons they had on them and the armor that covered them. But each mage was a world unto himself. Each affinity was unique, even if it might resemble a previous one.

That was incredibly dangerous. Like blundering around in the dark. The information. He hadn't realized how dangerous it was, in fact, because until now she'd had no reason to consider what it would mean to fight her own people. How could she?

She had seriously believed that such a situation would never happen.

Charlotte should have known better.

That this world... wasn't so kind.

"If you save him, you'll be making the biggest mistake of your life. What he did on Kronos... It's worth a medal, yes. Because he did it to our enemies. But imagine turning that power against us. Power enough to shake the capital of the Empire and escape, albeit barely, alive."

Right.

Desmond was incredibly powerful. He was cooperating with her, for the moment. But of his own free will. If he saw that it suited him better to work against her, he could just as easily turn on her.

And she couldn't do shit to stop him, as hard as it was for her to admit. She couldn't lift a finger.

She had seen him work, after all.

He could kill her before she was able to draw the sword. No, even with the sword drawn beforehand, Desmond would be faster. Always. He wasn't someone who could be stopped by a single individual, no matter how strong that individual was.

Charlotte swallowed hard.

"He's too dangerous to let him live. The time has come to make a decision."

The leader received a syringe filled with a green liquid. That had to be the special poison he had developed. The poison... that was supposed to kill Desmond. Charlotte tensed, ready to act, to finally take action. But the man didn't do anything to Desmond. He didn't try to stick him with the syringe, even if it meant sacrificing his life in the process.

No.

Instead, what he did was present the syringe to her. Laying it in her open hands.

"Take it and be done with it."

This man, the leader of the golden masks, was right. He was partly right. Desmond was very dangerous. But...

Would he really do that to her? Was it really best to get him out of the way before he could harm innocents? The people she'd sworn to protect?

Could such a betrayal really be the right decision?

Would it make... Make her parents proud of her?

But... sacrificing her heart for the greater good, wasn't that what it meant to be queen? Wasn't that what was expected of her? What they had expected from the beginning? So before she knew it, the weight of the whole world had been placed on her young shoulders.

Charlotte stared at the syringe.

She took the syringe into her hands. The leader looked pleased, very pleased, even though most of his face was buried under that golden mask.

She supposed it was her imagination. Anyway, it made her stomach clench painfully.

As if she was going to vomit.

Charlotte didn't throw up, but still... she felt like... half dizzy....

As if... As if she was dreaming and was going to wake up at any moment. But of course, something so convenient couldn't be true. This was very real. And the time had come to make a decision.

A decision that, in fact, she had already made.

"I've heard enough," Abigail said. "So this is how it all ends, huh? It will be your last mistake. I promise. And I keep..."

She couldn't finish the sentence.

Charlotte turned around and plunged the syringe into the chest of the leader of the golden masks, then squeezed the plunger.

He was so shocked that he didn't react at first, except involuntarily jerking in response to the pain.

After a while, he slapped her hand, knocking the syringe to the ground. Causing it to explode.

But, by then, about half the poison had been emptied into him.

A poison designed for the purpose of killing someone practically immortal. What would that poison do to an ordinary person?

Nothing, apparently.

The leader didn't fall. He didn't start to complain, to scream, he didn't even tremble a little. Why? It may have been only half the dose, but....

"You don't have to worry about your life," he said firmly, "I'll just put you to sleep. Your friends, however, are...."

It was obvious what he was going to tell her. But he didn't get a chance to say it.

The shadows controlled by Christina struck him in the chest with enough force to rip his feet off the ground and send him flying ten meters, more even, backwards.

Armed with daggers. But, of course, that was the least of it. Hardly worth mentioning.

Howling like caged wolves, the golden masks went on the attack. Those on higher levels jumped off the edge without fear.

Confident that the fall wouldn't kill them or that their affinities would help them fall well.

Charlotte unsheathed her sword.

She held it in both hands when she realized she was shaking. To disguise it, if only a little.

Charlotte took a deep breath.

She had to be strong. Brave. If there had been a chance to keep this from ending badly, she had lost it at some point. Now... she had no choice but to do just that, to continue all the way down this path.

Before they reached them, Charlotte made several cuts around them. Opening cracks in the air.

Portals.

The portal exit had to be in her line of sight. That was their only limitation. But...

As far as limitations went, it was no big deal.

While it wouldn't always help her escape when she needed it, in a fight it gave her control over the battle that was hard to match.

The four... No, all five of them, Desmond in Abigail's arms also counted, got through the portal before they were surrounded.

They didn't come out on the other side of the room.

Charlotte created the exit portal in the upper levels of this room. From where the golden masks had descended. They were outnumbered, so she had thought of how to turn that into an advantage, or at least make up for it.

This was what she'd come up with.

Move upstairs, force them to follow and get exposed along the way.

Charlotte thought, at least, it was a good idea. And she didn't hear any complaints after they stepped onto the ground on the other side of the portal.

If it wasn't such a good idea, well, she could reposition everyone quickly.

They just had to say it.

"I have to get out of here as fast as I can," Abigail said. "Before Desmond..."

I have, no we have.

She spoke in the singular. As if she alone was in this predicament. Or as if only she cared about Desmond. But she wasn't bothered by that. She had more important things to think about.

Like her life was in danger.

No, all of their lives. Not just that of the group that would fight with her here and now.

The lives of the entire kingdom, quite possibly. That was why she had come so far. Risking trusting Desmond, giving him asylum. Knowing that the reactions wouldn't be... exactly favorable.

Though she had never imagined anything like this. Evidently.

"We know," Christina said.

For a moment, she thought that had been in response to her own thoughts.

"There are too many of them, anyway. If we stay and fight, we'll die," Amy said.

Abigail wouldn't.

Neither would Desmond, most likely.

But yes. For the others it would be madness. Practically the same as suicide.

Christina looked around. There was nothing to see in this hole in the wall, though. It was wide enough to hold a dozen people easily.

But there was nothing to find in it.

"There's no way out," Christina said. That was what she had expected to find. Of course.

"We'll have to make our way through the same door we came in," Abigail said.

"It sounds like it," Charlotte said.

Her voice, sounding so far away, so young. She hated it. Hated the weakness in her voice. She had to be strong.

"Here they come!" Amy shouted.

They couldn't waste any more time talking.

For the golden masks were climbing up the sewer walls, helping each other with their respective affinities.

Some had it very easy. They were flying, really or practically.

Others had the means to climb up the walls.

Slower, more vulnerable.

Still others, their affinities weren't suitable for movement, so they needed the help of their companions to climb. They had a good rapport.

And there were many of them. Too many.

Watching them move forward, her heart leapt into her throat.

They could do this. They could do this.

Amy stepped to the edge. She threw a hail of ice spears at the enemies, using her sword as a conductor of magical energy.

Those who could, immediately raised defenses. But fortunately it wasn't a futile attack.

A few fell, wounded in the limbs or chest.

Others died outright.

Guts flying, heads... exploding. The screams of those who knew their death sentence had been signed.

Charlotte's guts churned at the sight of the carnage.

Knowing that it was humans... her subjects, who were dying. Her knees began to tremble. She hadn't been prepared for this. Not at all.

She had only fooled herself.

She was regretting the decision she had made. To deal with this alone. But... it was too late for regrets now....

It always was. Regrets always came when it was too late.

Abigail was in the background, with the unconscious Desmond in her arms. Impassive. Just watching. She was protective, especially in these circumstances. But not only that.

She had no long-range attacks, so she couldn't help yet.

As for herself... Yes she could do something... But...

And Christina.

Christina wasn't doing anything, at the moment. For some reason.

"If you're going to use your secret weapon, now's the time," Amy chided her.

"I know."

Christina took a deep breath and put a hand on the floor.

She didn't know what this secret weapon she was talking about was. What she intended to do. But then Charlotte felt as if something was passing through her body. A mysterious force.

She thought she was going to be crushed by that force. That it would leave nothing behind.

But it was only for a moment.

It passed through her as air would. The real, crushing effect took place beneath her.

She didn't understand why.

It was sudden and terrifying. But, before she knew it, many of the golden masks were fighting each other. And the others were trying to stop the madness.

Charlotte just understood... why the girl, Christina, had looked scared before she did it.

Now she understood.

"He's stopped breathing!" A voice from outside made her gasp.

It was Abigail's voice, of course.

Desmond. Desmond was so bad that he had stopped breathing.

No, please, please....

But the shock of seeing the boy not breathing was no greater than the madness she had seen before. Their enemies fighting each other, the incoherent things they had said before they started,

She felt like... numb, and she didn't react as strongly to Desmond as she should have.

As she would have, normally.

She just...

"What's going on?"

Those words escaped her mouth. She needed someone to tell her what to do. She needed... She needed...

"This is our chance. A portal, come on!"

Charlotte shook her head, pushing aside the fear, that terrible, suffocating weakness. Like a burial shroud.

Right. A portal.

To where?

The doorway. Of course it is. Where else?

Charlotte formed the portals, entrance and exit. Since Christina had smashed the door, from this position she could see beyond the threshold. She could make them cover a good distance.

After that...

After that, Charlotte would think about it later.

They stepped into the doorway, through that nightmarish pandemonium in the blink of an eye.

Once on the other side, they embarked on a desperate race to save Desmond's life...

If... it hadn't already slipped through their fingers.

Knight of justice (4): END