The knock came again, louder and more officious. “Summoning—”

Mouse threw open the door. A startled knight stared back, accompanied by a pair of dull-faced guards who didn’t so much as flinch. “Thank you. Shall we go?”

The knight gestured. Mouse and Dayander obliged.

“Wait. Only the princess was summoned,” one of the guards said, reaching out an arm to block Dayander.

“He’s my attendant and council. Am I to be denied this?” Mouse asked, quirking an eyebrow.

The guard hesitated.

“Goodness, man, do you have no idea how court operates? Moussaesa could bring her entire retinue if she wished,” Dayander blustered. He crossed his arms and fixed them with his fiercest look, one Mouse had often been on the receiving end of, back in his schooling days.

Wilting under Dayander’s glare, the guard backed away. Dayander harrumphed and followed Mouse after the knight and the other guard. The first guard fell in behind them as they went.

The route they took swept by the grand ballroom, and, coincidentally, by the narrow, dark hallway Mouse had noticed on his first day here. He peered down it, curious, but saw no more than he did the first time. Dark even at midday? Interesting.

“What are you looking at?” the guard behind them growled.

“Is it of concern to you? Are we not allowed to turn our heads?” Dayander snapped, before Mouse could reply.

Not knowing how to reply, the guard fell silent.

Mouse grinned a little. He felt for the poor guard. Dayander was fiercer than the fiercest librarian when he had to be. The guard had no idea who he was fighting.

At last, the guards led them through a massive pair of doors and into a grand hall. High overhead, a vaulted ceiling arced to the heavens. Massive windows opened up along the length of the hall, supplementing the crystal chandeliers above and the golden braziers along the wall. Mouse glanced around, no longer awestruck so much as mystified. Why do humans build such big rooms? They’re no bigger than we, but looking at their architecture, you’d think them giants.

At the far end of the hall, a grand pair of thrones, one slightly smaller, stood atop a dais, much as they had in the ballroom. A third chair sat to the side, off the dais but more opulent than the other two. Humans and a few other creatures clustered near the throne, some with a harried look to them, as though they’d been called as suddenly as he had.

The human’s king sat atop the large throne, while a demure, sickly woman perched on the smaller throne, eyes downcast. The opulent chair remained empty. Beside the king, Sabelyn fussed over Reginald, going over every tiny scrape as though it was a mortal wound. At the sight of Mouse, her eyes flashed with a vicious, triumphant light.

I knew it. Pasting a mystified look on his face, Mouse nodded back at her as he swept down the aisle. The humans turned and muttered amongst themselves, eyes hesitating on his snow-white hair, still tied in a now-messy and dusty braid, his silver eyes, his gray skin, his long, mobile ears.

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Have you never seen a moon elf before? Mouse wondered. These humans really needed to venture out of their kingdom more. He barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

At the edge of the dais, Mouse dropped into a deep bow. “Your Majesty.”

The king nodded. He waited a long beat, until Mouse’s back ached from the strain, before intoning, “You may rise.”

Mouse stood. He gazed up at the king with even eyes, unafraid, but perhaps confused.

“You stand accused of vicious crimes, crimes that threaten our kingdom and require my immediate intervention. You know of what I speak, correct?”

“I’m afraid I’m in the dark,” Mouse replied.

The king cleared his throat. “Firstly, of violating the honor of a duel; secondly, and principally, of intentionally tainting a citizen with blight and inciting him to attack his fellow countrymen.”

Mouse stared, flabbergasted. He glanced at Sabelyn, who pointed a fierce glare his way, as though she truly believed any of that. The honor of a duel is one thing, but deliberately blighting Sidd? Ridiculous.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” the king asked.

“Your Majesty, you accuse an innocent man. I made a small mistake at the front end of the duel, but due to differences between your customs and my own, not by ill will.”

“A small mistake? Reginald’s face will never be the same!” Sabelyn cried. Tears brimmed in her eyes, almost realistic enough to fool Mouse.

“I am given to believe the Mage-Emperor has comprehended the healing arts,” Mouse replied evenly.

With a slight, uncomfortable glance in Sabelyn's direction, the king gestured vaguely. “This is the lesser of the two crimes. What have you to say about the blight?”

“They’re a poisonous race, everyone knows they are. Doubtless she brought some from the border, to intimidate us into fearing her,” Sabelyn hissed.

Mouse ignored her. “I had no role in blighting Sidd. For the first, I met the man today, on the dueling grounds. I can furnish several witnesses, impartial witnesses who have no connection to myself, who will pledge that they saw me make no strange move, and that neither myself nor my champion used any tainted weapon. Furthermore, he displayed signs of blight before I came into contact with him. Finally, he bore a form of blight I have never seen before, one that escalated him rapidly from blighted to darkfoe.

"No, I did not blight Sidd. However… may I recommend that Your Majesty searches the Arena? Sidd may have came into contact with this mutated form of blight within its walls.”

The king nodded, slowly. “You would have me believe this was all happenstance?”

Mouse spread his hands. “The alternative is to believe that I, someone who has fou—who lives on the front lines of the Barrier and has seen the damage blight can wreak upon entire towns, even cities of my countrymen, who has watched my own friends die from this horror, intentionally brought such a dangerous thing across the entire Barrier Alliance to infect my opponent’s champion in a duel I did not know I would fight.” He took a breath. “And then, that I risked my life to defeat that champion I blighted, for no material gain whatsoever.”

Frowning, the king peered at Mouse. “It does seem a strange thing to do.”

“Don’t believe her, father. She’s a vicious beast. Don’t you see what she did to Reginald? Drow are poisonous creatures. She’s lying to you,” Sabelyn stage-whispered, glancing aside at Mouse. She let her hands tremble a little as she spoke, as though she really were afraid of Mouse.

The king waved his hand. “I am not pleased with your conduct, but I see no evidence for such a convoluted plot. Consider the charge of blighting my citizens dismissed.”

Mouse started to bow. Dayander cleared his throat, and he quickly changed it to a curtsey. So the king doesn’t completely spoil his brat of a daughter. Perhaps there is some hope for this country, after all.

“We must investigate this strange occurrence, however. Councilor Gray, take down an order: investigate the Arena for any sign of blight. Until we have proof that there is no blight within the Arena, the Arena shall be shut.”

One of the noblemen, this one in a simple, pale robe, bowed. A quill danced across the notebook in his hand.

Displeased, Sabelyn turned toward her father, an injured look on her face.

“As for the charge of injuring my son and violating the honor of the duel,” the king began.

The doors slammed open. The bang as they hit the wall echoed down the hall and back again, loud enough the king winced. Felix charged in, eyes blazing. “She didn’t do it! She didn’t, I was there, I—I saw.”