“When I was an inkling,” Enkaiein said in that voice veterans use to tell their grandchildren war stories, “The world was different. All these boundaries and kingdoms and castles did not exist and the world was luscious and inviting.” A chuckle and he added, “At least that is how I felt when I was young and the world young with me. Ah, I am getting off topic. Back to what I was saying; Kingdom Albreton had not yet been established and neither had any other vast colonies sprung from the human population. At the time, your people were scattered about the land, in pockets and bands, huddling for warmth in the night and serving as prey to many a beastly thing.”

Mythos remembered the first time Enkaiein told her this story. She remembered gulping rather loudly at the point he noted humanity as fodder for beasts and monsters. Somehow, that did not frighten nor disturb her anymore. She smoothed Prince Albert’s bangs across his forehead with her fingertips as King Allard listened to Enkaiein’s tale on the next bed over, stroking his beard in contemplation. At a mere glance Mythos could see the King’s impatience. If she could speak, she might have informed the King that a creature like Enkaiein must not be rushed, lest he forget the point of the story and habitually start over from the beginning. Despite his restless visage, the King impressively said nothing of his current irritancy and remained atop the bed, statuesque and regal as he listened and held his tongue.

Enkaiein was continuing, “While no alliance as large as a kingdom had formed at that time, there were plenty of conglomerations of humans: small villages, groups of nomads and the like.” Folding his wings half-way, some of Enkaiein’s ink dripped from their tips onto the floor and slipped across the white stone in swirling patterns towards King Allard’s feet. “It did not take long for the humans to adapt, to form larger and larger groups and to discover many things we beasts have known since the ageless times.”

Before King Allard’s eyes, the ink on the floor spread thin, curling itself into a moving image of three humans walking up a hill. That image molded into a village, where five humans and three children sat around a fire, seeming to laugh as the stark shadows molded their faces.

“Initially, this was inconsequential to my kind and the creatures with whom we associate. After all, the humans were not discovering anything inherently new. However,” the image shifted to reveal one human standing up and leaving the fire, “You are the most curious beings, such ambitious things. When one of you discovered magic, he sought to find more. He journeyed, returned, and taught his kin what he had learned and they, in turn, taught the future generation. The pattern continues to this very day, and not just with humanity. This also was not seen as a problem for my people, as that craving for knowledge is something our species share. And so for a great many ages we ignored your growing populace.”

Mythos recessed her stroking of Prince Albert’s hair. Her ears perked and she expected King Allard’s did too, for Enkaiein paused in the dramatic way narrators do in theatrical plays.

Once he was sure he captured everyone’s attention, Enkaiein went on, “That is, until the wizards came.” The spilling of ink on the floor shaped itself into a figure who carried a staff and whose presence was amplified by staggered, diagonal lines, rigidly straight against the grooves of the floor. “Magic is a curious thing,” Enkaiein went on, “It resides within some creatures naturally and is simply absent in others. Humans do not have it, of course. And wizards are the humans who seek it, under the guise that they must use it to help their fellow man. The people they aide never question where the magic comes from.” The image shifted again; this time a caricature of Enkaiein himself stood beside the wizard. “But we beasts know.”

King Allard watched the ink fizzle as the wizard impaled Enkaiein’s miniature self with the staff. The King’s face wrinkled at the edges like cloth stretched too thin. The image shifted between forms so fluidly, so seamlessly, as the miniature Enkaiein shifted into a nymph, and then a dragon, and after that a being covered in looming eyes that King Allard had never seen before. All of them, the large and the small, the grotesque and the beautiful, died by the wizard’s staff. And each one of them left something of themselves behind, an object that the wizard would collect and pocket deep in his robes before he faced the next creature.

“When we die, or sometimes while we live, we magical beings leave a part of ourselves in our wake,” Enkaiein explained as the ink melded together and slunk across the floor, returning to him, “The wizards you praise for being ‘scholarly’ or ‘genius’ do not use their own magic to aid you; they use ours. Naturally, there are quite a bit of creatures who resent you for it.”

At this, King Allard lifted his line of sight. Mythos only listened and Prince Albert remained motionless save his breathing.

Enkaiein folded his wings completely now, so that they were seamless where they met his body and he appeared as a large black horse whose torso was too bulky to seem natural. “Dragon saliva, the blood of my people, mulch torn from the bones of nymphs… wizards will take anything they see as useful to them, regardless of whom they hurt in the process. We creatures and beasts came to know this and so we avoided humans, killed them, defended ourselves as best we could in the fear that someday your whole race might learn to use magic. We feared extinction.”

King Allard grunted, placed his head in his hands. “And we would trust the wizards most of all, for they ‘protected’ us from these ‘savage beasts’, beasts that would lash out more violently the more we hunted them. An endless cycle of kill or be killed, which I only now realize was encouraged from both sides.”

Mythos thought to herself that he sounded tired. She wondered if it was because Enkaiein wasn’t getting to the point quick enough (namely, Fragmaroginog’s role in all this and how the kingdoms would be affected) or if the King honestly empathized with her ink-made friend. She supposed it were a bit of both. Discreetly, she cleared her throat. The King looked towards her with aging eyes and an expression, worn.

“Fragmaroginog,” King Allard said, “He came to this kingdom when my father still ruled the throne. As a boy, I never imagined him as anything more than an insufferable old man. I do not remember how he came into our service, but my father’s opinion of him always struck me as odd somehow… No matter what Fragmaroginog suggested, my father agreed to it, even though Fragmaroginog was not our appointed advisor at the time.” In remembrance, the King’s eyes widened as he looked back to Enkaiein, “Our advisor. There came a day when he was no more. I cannot comprehend how it happened, even now. We saw it not as a mystery but an expectation. Nobody mourned despite that he had served our Kingdom into late age. Could this also have been Fragmaroginog’s doing?”

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“It most likely was,” Enkaiein answered, “For Fragmaroginog was the most tenacious of all wizards, seeking our artifacts—those things we leave behind in death—with a greater thirst for power than a dragon’s hunger for gems. There are many artifacts capable of such distracting magic; certainly a wizard as skilled as he could have obtained one of them. No doubt there are other things, other missing subjects that you have yet to consider. After all, your son’s betrothed has been beside him all along, unbeknownst to anyone in Kingdom Albreton.” At this, Enkaiein bowed his head to meet Mythos’ eye level. He said, “He is lucky to have one as brave as you.”

Mythos had not in her life received a greater compliment. She cast her attention downward to hide the embarrassment.

The King said, “You have long awaited my son’s acknowledgement, Princess Salina, as well as that of the Kingdom, have you not?” He rose to his feet and then knelt, a knightly gesture. His armor pinged loudly against the white floor and echoed throughout the room, the sound seeming to encompass all of them. “Forgive our ignorance, and for not being able to see something so blatant before us.”

The King knew. In a wave of relief, of knowing at least part of Fragmaroginog’s scheme had been unraveled, Mythos wept. Prince Albert, her Albert, was there beside her, sleeping though he was, and she felt the return of her home to Castle Albreton, no longer a place of fear and loathing but of acceptance and love. King Allard: her companion and King, Enkaiein: her truest friend and Prince Albert: her lover; it was too much to contain within a person and so it fell out of her in tears of thanks and shivers of hope. She did not wipe her eyes and instead let everything expel, unashamed of her blubbering state. Never before had the King of Albreton bowed to another. Mythos had been the first to receive that honor.

Enkaiein seemed to be smiling, a subtle expression apparent only to those who knew him. He said, “There, there, Princess. Everything is all right now. No more hiding. You are free, as I am once more, thanks to yourself and the prince.” He reached out one of his wings, holding it over Mythos the way mother birds cover their young.

The King took Mythos’ shoulder in one large hand. “I swear to you as King; we will find a way to return your voice. I will tear it from Fragmaroginog’s very throat if that is where he keeps it.”

Mythos steeled her face, flattened her mouth and nodded, her eyebrows squished together. She wiped the tear-streams from her cheeks. King Allard removed his hand from her shoulder and Enkaiein refolded his wing.

A moan emanated from beside them. Prince Albert was awakening. With a clop of his hooves, Enkaiein backed out of the way, King Allard following suit. Mythos leaned over Prince Albert in anticipation as he groaned once more and brought one hand up to his forehead, his eyes opening into a squint. “…Where?” He asked, groggily.

Mythos licked her lips, turned her face to the King.

“Lay still, my son,” he said, “You have suffered a wizard’s strike.”

“Wizard,” Prince Albert said, his eyes wide open now, “The wizard! Where is he? Where is Fragmaroginog?”

“Do not excite yourself,” Enkaiein remarked, “You will agitate your injury.”

Mythos wished desperately for her speech to return, but when she opened her mouth to answer Prince Albert, she was voiceless.

“He is gone,” said the King, “Thanks to this beast and the Princess. Although, I feel our Grand Wizard’s return is inevitable.” The way Grand Wizard had been emphasized made it seem as though King Allard disliked the taste of that phrase on his palate and was presently spitting it out.

Ignoring the advice, Prince Albert sat upright. His head throbbed in pain and he brought up a shaky hand to amend it, wincing. “You say a princess helped? The princess of which kingdom,” He asked. He remembered not a princess, only Mythos fighting alongside him as they flurried about the Hall of Truth, struggling to corner Fragmaroginog. Then, before he could stab the wizard through, Prince Albert’s world had whitened, his consciousness slipping away like a fish wriggling from the grip of its captor.

“Princess Salina,” King Allard answered slowly, studying his son. The King could not recall ever seeing Prince Albert so pale.

In that moment, Prince Albert lost all recognition of the pain in his head. “Salina! Where is she?”

The King bobbed his head in Mythos’ direction. “She is beside you as she has always been.”

Prince Albert torqued his head to face Mythos, dizzy with the motion. He saw no princess in her, only a handmaid, but nonetheless a friend. “Mythos?” He said, “Father, I don’t understand.”

Mythos awaited the prince’s inevitable realization patiently, as she had waited all this time since Fragmaroginog’s curse. She bode her time with counted breaths.

“Look closely,” Kind Allard urged, “Attentively.”

Prince Albert once more faced Mythos. He scrutinized her in the way archers track their arrows through the air, seeking any resemblance to Princess Salina he could find. But, he found none. His face contorted into an even more bewildered expression.

Unable to restrain herself any longer, Mythos took Prince Albert’s chin in hand and pressed her lips against his, her spare hand falling to his chest to grip his fraying tunic. Enkaiein, in the way of his people, rose joyously onto his hindquarters and neighed and laughed and cheered, his wings spanning out involuntarily. The prince’s face ripened into the red of an autumn maple leaf and, though he had stiffened at first, he soon placed one hand at the nape of Mythos’ neck and returned the kiss, rather passionately.

His father was smirking but everyone was too preoccupied to notice, of course.

With the release of the kiss came the prince’s remark, “Salina, my love, how long you must have waited. I’m so sorry…” He took her in his arms and they held each other for the longest time until Prince Albert let out a pained grunt and Mythos removed herself from him. Basking in the warmth of Prince Albert’s body heat, residual on her skin and clothing, Mythos—no, Princess Salina—let King Allard inquire as to the prince’s physical state.

“How are your injuries, my son?”

“Hurting,” said Prince Albert, sounding begrudged.

The King shrugged. “Rest,” he said, “Regain your strength. I shall retire as well, for now.” He then hefted himself up, bowed his head to Enkaiein and made his way to his quarters, armor banging and scraping the stone floor quite loudly as he went.

Enkaiein dipped his neck to meet Prince Albert eye-to-eye. “I sincerely thank you for freeing me. Is there anything you would ask of me, Prince Albert?”

Prince Albert blinked, “I have yet to learn your name. Tell me that in return.” Truthfully, Prince Albert simply didn’t feel like thinking of a debt to impose on the great beast, nor had he intended to in the first place. When he rushed into the Hall of Truth with Mythos, it had been only to slay Fragmaroginog. The fact that he had helped this inky creature was a mere consequence.

“I am Enkaiein,” said Enkaiein, earning a friendly smile from the prince.

“Hello Enkaiein,” Prince Albert said with a glance to Princess Salina, “My love trusts you and so do I.” He then concluded, “Forget about debts. From now on, we are companions.”

Enkaiein said kindly, “Of course. Now then, I shall leave you be. I have not stretched my wings in the longest time and crave the wind against them!” Melting into a pool of ink, Enkaiein slithered between the tiniest gaps in the windows that faced the Icy Mountains and recollected himself into the black, winged horse outside. The prince and the princess watched him rear, gallop across the starkly white grass plain and lift off the ground with a swift two flaps of his wings.

Princess Salina climbed into bed with Prince Albert, snuggling into him, and the both of them stayed there content, neither remembering in their exhaustion the whereabouts of Jasmine.