The town of Rexport was a beautiful, frosty place awash in haunted history. It was filled with the slick, shining mazes of old houses, antiquated shops and old, rotten factories that lined the ceaseless, narrow and crooked streets. It snowed much less there than in Malachias, but was still often drowned in constant rainfall. Among the sodden gambrel roofs stood tall the ancient steeple of a small church dedicated to the worship of Macha. The Matron of the Maddened, however, seemed to hold little sway there and was mostly just for the few out-of-towners away on pilgrimage. Countless stone bridges and wooden wharves surrounded the town, while void willows—aptly named for their grimly dark leaves—grew abundantly throughout every street and around every corner. A freezing, enigmatic ocean filled with beaten-down ships battered the decaying wharves, rotting them away slowly. A small fog was slowly rolling in, lightly covering the drab roads intersecting the town.
Among the small alleyways moved an odd, hooded figure that seemed out of place with the rest of the town—a hitched breath with every step taken. Princely boots unknown to harsher realities were trudging through puddles of wet slush of another melted winter.
It was a nice neighborhood, but not one he ever thought he would cast his eyes on. His destination was a small, unassuming café with little tables out front where customers partook of the surprisingly famous pastries they had on offer. Despite the innocence of this small haven, the hooded figure surveyed the area with a growing anxiety. He dashed to a small table where a young lady had been sitting—her milky white eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.
“J-June! Shouldn’t you be dressed a little more discreetly?” asked the hooded man. Pulling the mask down concealing his face revealed the familiar visage of Prince Bartholomew. “We’re not exactly on vacation here!”
The young lady across from him had been enjoying a fancy cup of coffee with a cute little design drawn on it with cream. Despite the bitter cold, she was wearing a trendy, green turtleneck dress and long black boots. The wide-brim, onyx-colored hat covering her crimson red hair and the large, round shades shielding her eyes from view pitifully served as the only real disguise concealing her identity as the runaway princess of Malachias. The once-stoic monarch remained quiet as she took a small sip from her beverage.
Bartholomew looked around once more before remembering to lower the volume of his voice before speaking. “I checked around the harbor and there were plenty of longshoremen willing to let us hop on a boat to Mitra where our supposed answers lie. You said you recognized a desert you once saw in one of your visions? It’s such a far off place… Are you sure you wouldn’t much rather go by aerocar? I hear it’s much safer.”
June lowered her shades just a smidge, allowing her eyes to peek out just a bit. “Is that you, dear brother? You must forgive me, I couldn’t hear you over all the fun I’ve been having.” She took a loud sip from her drink. “See?” And another. “You see? This is called having fun. You should try it sometime.”
“June, I think you’ve had a bit too much caffeine. I know the tea at the palace gets a bit dull after a while, but you mustn’t indulge so needlessly when we’re trying to keep a low profile.”
June groaned. “You really are a pill, you know that? You think me not careful? I can practically get around on my own. I’ve already been to so many interesting places I never thought I’d visit before. All the lovely stores and wonderful people! I met this couple earlier that talked my ear off about their simple home life like it was the dullest thing in the world. But you know what? I would trade everything just to switch places with them.” The princess cast her lightless eyes downward, holding her shades up with a finger. “My ears have never experienced such bliss. Even now, I can hear the rolling waves of the ocean. It’s so serene. It's like I’ve never lived, Bart. My only regret is not being able to enjoy the sight of freedom with my own eyes. The last loathsome sight I can vividly recall seeing was of my old room. Speaking of that palace, we are finally free from its suffocating walls, so you will let me indulge as much as I please. Now please, do not bring up that accursed place again.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“I know you hate when I’m overbearing…” Bartholomew reached his hand out and placed it over his sister’s. “But we are in possible mortal danger here. Who knows what kind of procession of knaves and mercenaries they must have sent after us?”
June pulled her hand away. “I’m not stupid. They’ve surely have sent someone after us by now, but at least permit me to enjoy myself until they eventually capture us.”
“Capture us? I thought we were on some important mission to find this girl you claimed to see in your visions.”
“I… I’ve been thinking, since we left, if this was perhaps not a good idea after all. That they’ll probably find us sooner rather than later. That I should just make the most of this while I can.” She took a much more subdued sip of her coffee this time.
“Finally! You’ve come to some sense! If we leave now, we should make it back by—”
“Ugh! Bart, no!” June slammed a fist down on the small, round table. “You’re supposed to convince me that expressing doubt is a reasonable concern, but that I shouldn’t give up, no matter the odds! To damn the world and its stakes! My, what kind of elder brother are you? —No—You know what? You’ve just convinced me to keep going.”
Bart pressed a palm to his forehead. “Why must you be so stubborn? And why must I follow meekly along?”
“A princess is always stubborn.” She took a very polite sip from her drink this time. “It’s in their nature. Now how about taking a load off and enjoying a drink with me. The coffee here truly is exquisite.”
The prince contemplated for a moment in quiet concentration. “Very well, June.” The tension in Bartholomew’s shoulders relaxed as he pulled down his hood, revealing the short, reddish hair underneath. “I suppose we’ve both earned this brief respite. Goddess knows I’ve—” His sentence was cut short by a sudden thud emanating from his chest. The prince looked down for the source of the piercing ache felt in his heart and quickly noticed the butt-end of a bolt sticking out from inside of him. Shaky hands attempted to close around the projectile, but a sudden cough assaulted him as he contended with his situation, crimson blood shooting then dripping down from his mouth. “But…” he struggled to speak. His head made a crashing sound as it slammed down onto the café table.
“Bart!” June’s scream came out of nowhere. As did the strange action of flipping the table in front of her as she leaped from her seat, knocking her drink over and spilling it all over her brother.”
“June? What? What?!” The skittish prince jumped up and looked around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, causing him even further confusion. His sister was in a sudden state of apprehension, darting her head in all directions. “Relax, June! There’s nothing to be scared of! It’s just us and now the clerk inside is eying us very terribly. Oh dear.”
“You! You—But I saw you! Shot! You were killed!” June rushed forward and tripped over the table in front of her, just barely falling into her brother’s arms. She ran her hands desperately along his chest, looking for any obvious shaft-like protuberances. “Where…?”
“What has gotten into you, June?” He slowly helped her back on her feet, only for her to immediately crouch back down and rub her ankle. “This is odd, even for you. How could you see me get killed if you can’t even see the table you just knocked over in front of you?”
“I—Don’t talk to me in that tone! I know what I saw!” She felt her brother’s hands place the shades that had fallen back onto her face. “Please. Let’s go somewhere else.”
“That’s fine. We should probably go apologize to the clerk first.”
On the other side of the intersection directly across from the siblings, a pair of watchful eyes kept vigil.