I wake in the morning to a generous breakfast brought by goblin servants. Too generous in my estimation given the situation in the mountains, but that decision isn’t up to me and I’m certainly not going to appear ungrateful by objecting to it. I do eat quickly though as I’m supposed to meet the princess this morning to discuss our strategy for approaching the king. She said there are some…sensitivities involved.

Imagine that.

Before I walk out the door I also grab the supremely important letter for my sidequest. I’ve no idea what it actually says but I said I would deliver it and I don’t want to break my word.

Or try to deliver it anyway. I’ve gotta tell the princess first. Otherwise I’m smuggling an unread letter to a handmaid behind her back.

I ask the goblin outside my door about Vestra’s quarters. I’m told they are nearby and easily reached after two lefts and a right. I nod and agree that sounds straightforward. So of course I’m lost immediately.

“I coulda just asked for an escort, but no, I had to all self-confident,” I mumble under my breath. “Now I’m gonna be late to our meeting.”

“Good,” says a voice beside me. “You shouldn’t be going at all.”

I stop so suddenly a goblin behind me slams into my back.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say quickly as I turn.

The older goblin just rubs his nose and mumbles some pleasantries before going on his way.

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize,” says the demon. “Though I guess I wouldn’t mind if you did. For someone so righteous you have been treating me pretty badly. Even after I saved your ass with the elves.”

“Saved my ass?”

This spirit always gets me. Always finds a way to get under my skin. Get me to react.

“You’ve forgotten already. ‘Doubt is the beginning of wisdom’. I gave you that line. It was just what you needed to say.”

“I only said that because you distracted me.”

The demon smiles. “I know. And that’s why I distracted you.”

I am so tired of the word games.

I look for a guard, or anyone else who might take well to a young man asking directions.

“Are you not into elves, anymore? Is that the issue? Cause I can be green if you like.”

I spin on her. I look right into those playful, fiery eyes, and that dark smile. “You told the sorceress she was chosen by the Maker. You lied to her for your own ends. Just as you're doing to me now.”

She slinks back again. “I already said that you didn’t understand that. You just need to listen to me. Let me explain.”

She holds-up a finger. “Not true. I told her she was chosen. Which she was. She just assumed it was by the Maker. I never actually said it.”

I gawk at her. “That’s evil.”

She throws-up her hands. “Ugh. You’re so judgmental. Let me explain why will you? Let me tell you why I did it.”

I waive my hand at the words. “I’m through listening to you.”

She stomps her immaterial feet. “But you’ll listen to Angel? Is that who you’ll listen to?”

“You sided with the sorceress!”

A goblin looks at me apprehensively. I’m talking too loud, and I’m talking with thin air. At least from his point of view.

I take a deep breath and compose myself. “Excuse me. Do you happen to know how to reach Princess Vestra’s quarters? These tunnels,” I motion all around me with my hands, “well, they make me a little…frustrated.”

The older man relaxes, probably relieved that I have at least a somewhat reasonable explanation for my mutterings. “Oh, yes,” he says. “It can be quite a maze for a visitor. Even with the fewer tunnels at higher altitudes. Allow me to escort you. If you please.”

Yeeessss.

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“That would be great,” I say. “Thank you so much.”

The demon sticks out her tongue at me. “You think a little old goblin will scare me away? That wrinkled old thing wouldn’t even scare a gerbil.”

Shut up bitch.

“So,” I ask the goblin as we walk. “Have you lived here all your life?”

“Of course the goblin answers congenially. Where else would I live? The goblins take to the mountains like fish to water.”

“They’re about to drown like fish in water as well,” says the demon. “Once the orcs come.”

“Well, your kingdom is quite magnificent,” I say to the goblin. “I’ve never seen the like.”

The old goblin bows his head. “Thank you, Sir Ethan. I believe we are the only civilization to exist beneath the rocks as they say.”

“As they say,” mocks the demon. “Who is ‘they’ anyway? That’s what I’d like to know. Whoever ‘they’ are they’ll be saying something else about the goblins soon enough. About their arrogance. About their misplaced faith.”

We come around a bend and the old goblin points to a large door – or large by goblin standards. “Through there, Sir Ethan. I assume she is expecting you?”

“I believe so,” I respond.

The goblin bows. “Then may the Maker mark your map.” And he turns to leave.

“May the Maker mark your map,” the demon mocks him again. “Mark it with what? The Maker can’t even be bothered to protect his own creatures. I doubt he’d take the time to doodle on a piece of paper.”

I approach the door and the demon pops right in front of it. Her face is suddenly serious and completely devoid of playfulness or flirtation.

“You have no idea what you’re about to walk into. What I’m trying to spare you from. You’ve been deceived. But I won’t leave you. You’ll see. I’ll prove myself to you. And then, maybe, you’ll finally listen to my side of the story.”

She’s gone in a flash and naught but rock and wood remain. The air still feels unsettled though, like the little oxygen is rattled from so much demonic energy. I take a deep breath.

At least she’s gone.

I knock on the door. A handmaid opens it and I wonder if it could be the one I’m looking for. She doesn't provide her name though, instead just motioning me inside.

The princess’s quarters are nice enough but still austere by elven standards. Part of it is just the perpetual mountain rock. The stone is always present and there is just a limit to what one can do with such practicalities. What I’m most attracted to aesthetically is the painting. Not paintings in frames mind you but paint on the mountain itself. Like those old scratches by cavemen in Earth’s ancient world except there is nothing primitive about them.

The goblins must have developed some sort of special paint to adhere to the stone because the colors somehow appear both old and vibrant at the same time. And the scenes are very detailed and creative, even using the natural variation in the rock to enhance or curtail characters or events in goblin history. I can’t say I really understand the depictions but it certainly looks very pretty.

In that way, it’s much like the princess herself, who continues to look positively ravishing in skimpy outfits. I psychologically prepared this time and manage keep myself from oogling her rbody parts. This is made easier by the surprisingly modest clothes of the handmaids. In fact, I’m sort of taken aback by their long, simple dresses.

I guess when all the chicks look like prostitutes it’s the normal ones who attract all the attention.

My gaze at them is so obvious even the princess notices it.

“It’s not disrespectful to you, Sir Ethan.” she says. “My handmaids serve me and dress accordingly. They don’t concern themselves with society outside this room.”

“I see,” I say slowly, not really sure if I do. “I actually have a letter for one of your handmaids. I know we have to discuss meeting with your father, but I wonder if I might give it to her. It should only take a moment.”

The princess raises an eyebrow. “A letter? From where?”

“It’s from an elf, actually. He begged me to give it to her. I haven’t read it but he was quite adamant about it.”

“And elf?” She practically barks the words out of her mouth.

“Yes, princess,” I say. “Is that a problem? Do you want me to keep it?”

“Who’s it for?”

“Bhess I believe.”

The princess looks to another girl. “Go fetch Bhess please,”

The handmaid curtsies. “Of course, Highness.”

The princess motions me to a table and I sit across from her.

“Sorry,” I start. “I didn’t mean to cause any conflict or confusion. I didn’t even want to deliver the letter at first. But the elf seemed so desperate about it.”

The princess nods thoughtfully and gazes at the door, like she’s wondering if someone is listening. “All correspondence is supposed to go through me. They are my handmaids. This is, frankly, a breach of trust. And no correspondence should be sent outside the mountain.”

“Wow. Why the prohibition?”

The princess shrugs. “The same reason we do everything else: custom and tradition. The handmaids are supposed to be focused on me, not the outside world, and especially not the world beyond the goblins.”

There is another knock at the door.

“Enter,” calls the princess.

The handmaid returns, head down, and alone. “Highness, apologies, but Bhess is not in her quarters.”

The princess stands. “Not in her quarters?”

“No, princess.”

The princes pauses, considering. “Come with me Ethan if you please.”

I stand slowly. “Shouldn’t this wait for a bit?”

“No, it’s my father who can wait. This might be important.”