Joan idly stared at the door of their cell. Waiting never would be her talent, though she kind of wished she could be better at it. Was it possible to train yourself to get better at doing nothing? She wished. Bauteut and Zorn were handling it better than her, at least. Though she suspected the former was just happy they weren’t almost dying and the latter was Thalgren’s brother-in-law. He’d have to have some patience for that.

She just wanted to be out and planning again. Or running. Or doing SOMETHING productive. Not tapping on the walls and waiting for something to happen. Hopefully something good.

Perhaps it was that those thoughts of hers counted as a prayer as it was at that moment she heard some light clinking on the door. The small screen above opened and then a face peered in. “Joan?” the guard called.

“What?” Joan asked. “Are the Chosen here?”

“No, but you have a guest. Come here,” the guard said.

Joan sighed and glanced towards Bauteut. A guest didn’t sound good at all. Who would want to visit her? Except maybe to stab her? Wait, what if that was it? Could an assassin try to lure her out and--

Joan shoved that thought aside and started to get to her feet. She was well rested, had her magic, the key, she could maybe summon her sword to her if it came to that. Maybe. She’d fought assassins before, how bad could it be?

Oh, right. Very bad. She laid back down. “They can come here, I’m comfy.”

Of all the reactions the guard expected, that apparently wasn’t one. He stood there for a moment before closing the small window.

She thought he had given up entirely for a while before suddenly there was more clinking and then the door slowly opened. A figure stood in it and stepped inside, their hood up. “You know, most people would welcome getting out of their prison for a bit of a stroll. Lady Joan?”

Joan didn’t respond for a long moment as she tried to remember where she’d heard that voice before. She knew she had, but where. She looked towards him again, measuring him for a few moments before her eyes lit up. “Oh! Little Quincy!”

That made the boy go entirely still. “I… excuse me?”

“Err…” Joan said before giving a small, nervous grin. Right. First of all, he was older than her. A little older than Searle, in fact. Second of all, he wasn’t exactly ‘little’ in comparison to her. Third of all, he was still one of the princes and maybe calling him that when she wasn’t the Hero wasn’t the best thing to do. “I… I meant Prince Quincy. Sorry. Err, Hardwin said you were in the elven lands and I, uhhh… didn’t expect to see you here.”

Quincy just stared at her, though she couldn’t blame him. This first meeting of theirs obviously wasn’t going at all the way he imagined.

“Prince Quincy?” Bauteut asked before getting to her feet. Joan had to give her credit, her curtsy was quite a bit better than any she could manage. Maybe it was the more simple robes she wore.

Wait, was she supposed to get up and curtsy? How did you curtsy in trousers? Joan urked and jumped to her feet, only for her leg to decide this was the perfect time to fall asleep and drop her to the ground with a startled squeak. She quickly picked herself back up, little pins and numbness traveling up her leg. “Err, right, sorry, um, right, uhhh…” Joan bowed her head with as much poise as she could muster. Which was to say almost none.

“Please, that’s not necessary,” Quincy said. “Whatever you’re trying to do, it’s not needed.”

“Oh, good,” Joan said before dropping back onto her cot and stretching her leg out. “Bauteut, is there any magic to stop a leg from falling asleep?”

“Yes, it’s called not jumping up like that,” Bauteut said. “But no, you’ll need to stretch the leg out more.”

Quincy just stared at her and, well, judging by the look on his face she imagined he wasn’t very impressed. He looked startled, certainly. But not impressed. His dark hair was a lot poofier than she remembered, too. She would have sworn it was straight and kind of stringy before, but now it looked soft and kind of cute, especially compared to his--

Oh, yeah, she really didn’t need those thoughts right now. Or ever. Definitely ever. Especially not with his mother wanting her head.

“What did you want?” Joan asked before cringing at how rude that sounded. “I mean, err, how can I help you?”

“Are you truly THE Joan Dusklam? The one the songs sing of?” Quincy asked. “I must admit, the great ‘prodigy’ I’d heard of I expected to be more…”

“Refined? Elegant?” Joan asked. “Not slapping random elves?”

“Actually, the last part didn’t surprise me nearly as much,” Quincy said, a tiny bit of amusement in his voice. “I saw quite a bit of Lord Hardwin in that particular reaction.”

“He’ll be so proud,” Joan said. “Actually, he’ll probably be annoyed. He would have controlled it better, I think.”

“You are still young,” Quincy said. “Besides, mere mortals can hardly hope to match up with the Chosen. Though, I must admit. The story you told us was… quite impressive.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told I can be quite impressive at them,” Joan said before putting her leg back down. At least it didn’t tingle anymore. “Especially when they’re true. Not to sound disrespectful, your highness. But what do you want?”

“Joan,” Bauteut said.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“What? I wasn’t rude! Was I?” Joan asked. “I just want to know what he wants! Is there a polite way to go about it? Am I just supposed to beat around the bush until it leaps out like a frightened bunny?”

Quincy stared at her for a few moments before giving a light chuckle, a hand moving up to his mouth. “Oh, you are certainly Hardwin’s daughter. He rarely had much mind for such things either. I do understand, this must be quite stressful for you.”

“You have no idea,” Joan said.

“Unfortunately, the aid I can offer is limited,” Quincy said. “I--”

“You’re the visiting prince,” Joan said. “Kind of. You have no power here, even if your title garners you respect. Please do not take this the wrong way, but I don’t expect you to get us out of here.”

“O-oh,” Quincy said, looking a bit startled and, surprisingly, sheepish.

“Joan!” Bauteut snapped, glaring at her.

“Sorry,” Joan said, sounding just as sheepish. “I know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want something. Or want to offer something. I don’t have a mind right now for court politics.”

Quincy gave a soft sigh, narrowing his eyes on her slightly and there it was. That look of annoyance she was so used to receiving. Exasperated annoyance, one of her favorite emotions to inflict on others it seemed. “I wanted to confirm that Neia is truly a chosen. The story you wove was incredible. It also spells a rather horrific image. If it’s true that one of the holds have fallen? Then things are quite dire. Especially if Neia is one of the Chosen.”

“Why?” Joan asked before sitting up a little straighter.

“I saw her when she was brought here and sentenced. It was unanimous, even the temporary head of her own hold agreed,” Quincy said. “If she truly is the Chosen? This may prove to be a mistake that cannot be rectified.”

“What, imprisoning her?” Joan asked. Oh, she was certainly going to be furious about it for a while, but knowing Neia? She’d probably understand it and accept that she deserved it. That was something she’d always hated about the elf. No matter how many times she was slapped on the cheeks, she just assumed it was what she deserved.

“No, that the gods could choose such a corrupt soul,” Quincy said.

Joan barely, just barely, suppressed the urge to tackle the man. Her fists clenched at her side and her eyes narrowed. “Neia is not a mistake.”

“Then you must be mistaken. Whatever vision you had,” Quincy said. “I saw her then. There was no denying what she was. Her very soul had bee--”

“Neia is NOT a demon! She is just SPECIAL!” Joan yelled before pointing towards the door. “Out. Get OUT! GET OUT!” she screamed.

“Lady Joan, please,” Quincy said. “I merely--”

“GO AWAY!” Joan yelled again. “I don’t want to hear about you, or what you think you know! I’ve had it with you and your whole family!”

“Joan,” Bauteut snapped. “Calm down, he’s not--”

“Not giving Neia a chance? No, he’s not!” Joan yelled. “Nobody ever does. And that’s what--” She stopped herself and then took a few slow, deep breaths. She needed to calm herself. One way or another. She then turned to Quincy once more, who was staring at her with another bewildered look. “The Chosen will come here. They will find Neia. No matter how much Corin hates her. It doesn’t matter. They won’t stop her from saving the world.”

Quincy stared at her, his mouth falling open. He finally sighed and looked aside. “My apologies, then. Perhaps I judged her wrong.”

Joan was about to snap at him again before she realized that he had, in fact, apologized. She’d been ready to tear into him again, but it took all the fire out of her. “Well, I mean. Yeah. You did.”

“I will endeavor to meet with her again,” Quincy said in a soothing tone. “Perhaps see why it is the gods would choose her.”

“Of course you will,” Joan said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice.

“If I do, would you care to come with me to meet her?” Quincy asked.

“Yeah, sur-- wait, what?” Joan asked, her fists opening once more. “You can do that?”

“I can try,” Quincy said. “I can make no promises, but I can at least try.”

“Yes!” Joan said, all of her anger forgotten. “Of course!”

“Joan,” Bauteut said again, but Joan ignored her.

“Then I will do my best,” Quincy said before giving a small nod. “Either way, I should leave now. As per your request. Until we can speak again.” He then bowed his head politely before turning and leaving, the guard outside quickly letting him go and shutting the door behind him once more.

“He was not what I expected,” Zorn said. “Here I heard the children of the royal family were a bit more quick to anger.”

“You don’t think he’ll really do it, do you?” Joan asked, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice.

“Take you to meet Neia?” Bauteut asked. “I doubt it.”

“Oh, right,” Joan said sheepishly. “I guess they wouldn’t--”

“You yelled at him, insulted him, threw a fit,” Bauteut said. “You need to show a bit more control.”

“I show control! Sometimes!” Joan said.

“You certainly didn’t here,” Bauteut said. “I’m amazed he wanted to help you at all.”

“I don’t think he did,” Zorn said. “Don’t get me wrong. He did show quite a bit of restraint. But I think that was his goal all along. I’d say he sees Joan as his key to meeting Neia himself. He certainly seemed quick to change his mind once he riled her up.”

“I don’t care what his reason is,” Joan said with a light, happy squeal. “If he can get me to Neia? If I can tell her that there’s someone here, on her side? That this is almost all over? He can use me all he wants! I can’t wait! This is going to be my sixth Chosen!”

“Assuming he can even do it,” Bauteut said with a soft sigh. “He’s the prince of humans, after all. It’s not like he can make demands.”

“He is still a prince,” Joan said. “And he probably navigates that whole politics thing a lot better than we could. It’s fine.”

“I think you’re being a little too casual about all of this,” Bauteut said.

“Would you rather I work myself into a ball of stress?” Joan asked.

“Of course not. But isn’t there a happy middle between stressed out and being too relaxed?” Bauteut asked with an exasperated sigh.

“Nope!” Joan said.

Bauteut just rolled her eyes.

Joan gave a soft giggle none the less. She was going to see Neia soon. Let her know it was all going to be okay. Finally share everything with her. Well, maybe not everything. But enough to know it was going to be okay. There were so many lives where Neia had been left alone, abandoned, hurt by those around her.

This wouldn’t be one of them.