Filleon rushed back to his royal chambers with a glint trapped in the corner of his eyes. As soon as he entered, he grabbed his pre-packed brown leather knapsack and tightened a rugged black and brown cloak around his back before pulling the hood over his head. Filleon grabbed an old, worn shirt and ripped the sleeve to quickly bandage his arm.

He contemplated making a run for it, but his attention was caught by a glimmer that he quickly identified as his old blue leather, and chain-bound tome. It had a red jewel socketed in the center of its thick cover, and in his haste had almost forgotten just how valuable it was. Potentially the key behind saving his daughter. Something he never fathomed leaving behind and yet cursed himself for almost doing so. He carefully attached a single chain to his belt and the other end to the tome, making sure not to damage its binding any further.

The quiet of the castle halls was eerie but welcoming. He often found himself asleep in despair by this time. Wallowing over the pain of failing another person he held most dear to his heart.

Filleon poked his head out of the room and scanned both sides of the hallway, his eyes adjusting to the many iron casted torches that lit the way. While grateful for the visibility, the large shadows he was sure to cast discouraged him from treading forward.

Filleon knew he had to avoid Margaret at all costs now that she confirmed to him their pockets financed her family in their previous confrontation some days ago in the castle. She should be lucky Sarai loves her so much. The nobles know killing Margaret at this time would only cause internal issues.

“Bastards,” he muttered under his breath. The noble faction leaders knew who to bring to their side to shift the power balance of the kingdom. Time was of the essence. The biggest problem was pretending he didn’t know. It was the only way to keep Sarai safe. Even if Margaret blabbed about his awareness of the noble faction movement against him, the seed of doubt was his ally in the public eye.

It didn’t take long for Filleon to find himself clutching the corner wall at the end of the second corridor, feeling the weight of everything on his shoulders yet again. He dragged himself to the southern side exit of the castle, where he crossed paths with the armor set of a silver paladin on display. The reflection of his pale, patchy skin and thin wavy brown hair disgusted him, and he quickly averted his gaze. His age was showing beyond his years.

A wave of relief swept over him as he could recall that the southern exit was rarely used. The reason was simple – it required a longer walk to reach anything of importance within the castle walls. As king, Filleon knew just how valuable it was as it provided the most direct route to an old secret access tunnel. He could remember playing around it as a young lad, pretending to be a valiant knight in search of goblins.

The main sewage system connected to the secret tunnel leading out of the city, and escaping through it would allow him to avoid detection by anyone who might recognize him. This specific sewage drain was just a couple of streets away, outside of the castle exit in the inner district. Easily accessible.

While everyone in the inner districts knew what he looked like, Filleon had hoped to go unnoticed through the gate where the paladin guards were generally young and inexperienced. Especially those on overnight duty. Night was upon them so they would be changing shifts soon. Hope glinted in his eyes as he was relieved to find the southern entrance unguarded. Only an empty bowl of swine goulash resting on the chair next to the open door.

They must be in the process of switching.

Filleon had just finished hiding the tome under his cloak when he heard rustling footsteps. Startled, he darted into a nearby bush just outside of the gate.

Dammit, isn't it too early for them l to be back already?

He peered out cautiously, but his heart dropped when he saw it was Margaret.

Shit.

She had not changed out of her draping sleeping gown and stood with her hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised. “Mhmm, I thought I would find your old arse trying to slip off this way,” she said triumphantly. "It would only make sense you would go the one direction so few people trafficked about."

Filleon stayed crouched in the bush, his mind racing. “I suppose you came to your senses about not telling my daughter about this?” he asked, referring to her dealings with the nobles. He pulled out a small coin bag from his cloak pocket and presented it to her.

“Pff, you wish,” Margaret retorted. “And I don’t want your useless coin, you buffoon.Tell me what you're up to so I can tell your daughter, be done with it, then finally get some sleep.”

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Filleon hesitated. He couldn’t tell her his true plans; it was too dangerous and risked national security for his kingdom. Even worse – he didn't know hers. What game is she playing?

A king that has left without escort or national attention was the same as welcoming your enemies to settle into the leaderless country. “I’m afraid I cannot do that,” he said. Thomas needs to keep up the persona that the king is still handling things and does not wish to be disturbed. It is the only way his plan will succeed.

“Then you leave me no choice,” Margaret sighed, her voice turning serious. “I am going to tell your daughter. It is pretty easy to figure out that you don't intend to come back for a while.”

With that, Margaret turned and walked back into the castle grounds keeping her arms folded. Filleon cursed under his breath. He had to get out of there. He immediately sprinted towards the closest sewage drain hoping he could find his way to the main source, making sure to tiptoe around the tall street lanterns.

As he crept through the shadows, just meters away from the sewage drain, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Filleon shuttered and immediately clamped his hand over his mouth.

Blast it, what now? Another mercenary hired by the nobles to kill me?

His arm began to throb in pain as he remembered his last encounter with such a person just a day prior. Thankfully, his sword skills only left him with a wounded arm. Much better than the head still rolling in the upper west wing of the castle.

He turned around and saw a hooded figure approaching him from the shadows of an adjacent alley. Filleon was on edge, but then noticed the royal blue and silver brooch the figure was wearing. It was a one-of-a-kind piece with a prismatic glow and silver engravings depicting the figure of the mighty leviathan. A creature of legend that represented the Jura royal family. The rubies around the edge only made it sparkle more. The brooch was holding together the stranger’s cloak, jostling around with each step they took.

“Just where did you get that?” Filleon asked, pointing incredulously. Wait, they are ten meters away at least…so who touched my shoulder? Sweat began to pool within his fading hairline.

The figure didn’t respond and dashed towards him with their hand reaching for the tome held against Filleon’s breast. Filleon quickly evaded them by hopping backwards and brandishing the longsword hidden under his cloak. The figure paused momentarily from their pursuit, and stared. “Hand it to me,” they said. The voice was certainly young, but not childish.

Filleon crouched down into a more proper fighting stance and asked again, “Where did you get that brooch? Answer me first.”

The figure looked down to the brooch and placed a hand over it. Then they looked up and snapped their fingers. “Wouldn’t you like to know, old man,” a voice suddenly said very close to Filleon’s ear.

Startled, Filleon jumped to the side, almost stumbling into the garden flowers that lay in front of the house next to him. Although he swore he heard someone whispering next to him, his eyes never left the hooded figure who remained motionless.

Frantic, Filleon looked around with his peripherals, making sure not to take his eyes completely off of the hooded figure. Two more voices joined the first, “I can do this all day pops. Hand it over.”

Filleon swung his sword around in frustration, knocking over a multitude of defenseless flower pots in the process. The noise echoed throughout the area.

Am I surrounded?

But as soon as he stopped, he felt a tug against his body. The book was floating – suspended and mocking the chain tied to his body, then it began to pull away and thrust his hips forward. The chain links screamed and screeched as they were stretched away from his burley body.

He dropped his sword to grab the links, but as soon as he did, the chain snapped and the tome rushed toward the stranger, causing Filleon to fall backwards onto his back.

The hooded figure remained motionless. The tome miraculously flew through the frozen figure, and the image of their silhouette fell apart like snow onto the cobblestone road. Filleon could only stand and dumbfoundedly watch as the tome stopped in its tracks midair. He blinked, and as the figure rematerialized out of thin air, their hand reformed around the tome.

“Thank you for your patronage,” the figure said as they turned around.

“You bastard, wait!” Filleon shouted, but the hooded figure simply walked into the dark of an alley close by and disappeared from sight. “Shit - what do I do now?” he grumbled under his breath. Someone at least has to know about some of the information that book holds. Thankfully I read some of it - not that I understood it.

With a stuttered grunt, he stood back up. The caw from above caught his attention momentarily. “What now?” he muttered, as he quickly sheathed his sword under his cloak in frustration. Filleon covered the wound on his arm with his other hand and could feel the blood soak through his bandage.

He took pause for a moment to pull his hood over his head, gather his wits and survey his messy location. The damned tome was supposed to be his chance to save his daughter. The book talked about shamanistic rituals, so maybe that was the key? He confirmed that he could only press onward for information.

“You there! Did you do this?” came a shout, snatching Filleon away from his thoughts.

“Oh – no, no, no,” he said. I was delayed so long, I forgot about the damned patrols.

The second he turned around, his eyes met with the eyes of a royal paladin patrolling the grounds with a lit torch. Filleon stared at his chance for a clean escape dead in front of him. Even worse – the paladin was standing next to the sewage drain that marked his escape.

His mind went blank, so his legs thought for him and catapulted Filleon in the opposite direction trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. Although, he did not hear the usual clanking associated with moving armor. Filleon realized he screwed up even more. He turned his head around to see the situation unfold for himself and watched in horror as the paladin pulled out his horn.

As the paladin blew, the sound reverberated through the entire city with a terrifying groan and he knew it was the sound they used for an intruder in the city.

As of that moment, Filleon became a fugitive in the capital city of the kingdom he ruled.