Rosslyn walked back to the living quarters of the palace, unconscious of the fact that each of her footsteps was more of a stomp.

To observers, she gave off the feeling of an uncaged lioness hunting for prey.

Her breath came hot and heavy. Though she had cleaned herself up, her body was still burning up from the spar with Matilda, and her pulse raced. Part of that was the intensity of her physical exertion. She could still feel some of the blows she had received, and those she had landed, in her abdominal muscles and biceps respectively. Some of the places Matilda had struck would bruise in the morning, and undoubtedly Rosslyn had done the same to her opponent.

But the main driver behind the Princess’s quickened pulse and tumultuous feelings was the conversation the two women had exchanged.

That bitch, how dare she? competed with But is she right? for the foremost position in Rosslyn’s thoughts.

She was outraged at the one and a mixture of afraid and confused at the other thought—and the latter feelings often translated for Rosslyn into more anger as a sort of coping mechanism.

Where she was angry without any physical target available and deserving of her wrath, Rosslyn’s interior world became a fiery cyclone.

Outside, as if trying to keep pace with her mood, she could hear the pitter patter of rain that had started when she left Matilda turning into a noisy, violent thunderstorm.

Rosslyn managed to maintain a stoic expression, so that the only outward sign of her inner turmoil was the intensity with which she moved. She wasn’t even grinding her teeth.

Still, if she had been moving through the garden, every creature within yards of her would have scattered to avoid the monstrous predator in their midst. As it was, the newer palace servants sensed some fraction of her feelings and either ducked into rooms or made themselves busy as Rosslyn neared. They had never seen the Princess in one of her dark moods before.

The staff who were more familiar with Rosslyn carried on as if nothing unusual was happening. And Rosslyn, in turn, was oblivious to almost everything around her right now. Though her senses were sharp enough that she would still perceive any threat before it could reach her, at times like these, she withdrew almost fully into herself until something interrupted her.

Only semi-conscious of what she intended, she was looking for her father. They would finally talk about Matilda—or at least about what Rosslyn and Matilda had discussed regarding Rosslyn’s future—and she would press her father about whether he had truly lost confidence in her.

Rosslyn knew that her position in the line of succession had not been particularly strong before she lost her eye—she was the oldest, but her father could name as heir any family member he chose, and there was a preference for strength—but she wanted to hear his feelings directly from him.

I do not want the throne, she thought, accompanied by the uneasy secondary—and much quieter question—So why does it bother me so much to think of losing it?

Her mind unclouded for a moment as the head butler stepped across her path—or she moved through his path, perhaps.

“Oran!” She called out his name, noticeably louder than she had intended to, and she flushed slightly as she felt the reactions of all the other servants in the nearby rooms and hall.

The gray-haired butler bowed deeply, ignoring the volume of her voice and maintaining his usual unshakable professionalism.

“Your Highness, please forgive me for not asking after your needs more quickly when I saw you,” he said. “I observed that you were deep in thought and did not wish to disturb you.”

“Oh, um, that is all right,” Rosslyn said. “I was just thinking that I should go and spend some time with my father. Do you know where in the palace he is?”

“I believe you will find him in your family’s residential wing, Your Highness,” Oran replied, smiling. He lowered his voice confidentially. “When I last saw him, he was escorting the mystic butterfly back into the mystic beasts’ chamber.”

“Adon—I mean, the mystic butterfly—has returned?” Rosslyn asked. “When did that happen?”

“I do not know exactly when, but I understand that the butterfly asked a gardener where Your Highness might be,” Oran said. “When he was told that you were busy training, he asked to be escorted back to his friends the spiders. And then His Majesty came out and brought the butterfly back inside himself. The butterfly was undoubtedly honored at the interest that you and your father have continued to take in him.”

Rosslyn was not quite certain of that—especially if her father was giving Adon a hard time about leaving in the first place. But surely he would be more diplomatic than that.

“Thank you, Oran,” Rosslyn said, already turning and preparing to speed-walk away.

“You know that any trifling matter that I can help you with brings me great pleasure, Your Highness,” he said. There was a slight quiver of emotion in his voice as he added, “The same goes for all of the staff. We are all gladder than we can say to see you up and back to your usual activities.”

Rosslyn stepped back to face the butler, flashed Oran a warm smile, and said, more quietly, “Thank you. It is good—it is good to be back to myself.”

Then she continued toward where her father and the arthropods should be waiting.

She did not stop and speak with anyone else on the way there. Her mind was still fixed on the same subjects that had been troubling her during her walk.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

As she entered the room, she heard her father laugh. It was a hearty sound that reminded her of better, more secure times.

“What happened next?” he asked between guffaws.

Then Rosslyn saw the King’s face. The areas around his mouth and eyes were all creased, showing his laugh lines. Somehow the little wrinkles made him look a bit younger.

Hello Princess—I mean, Rosslyn, Adon sent suddenly. I was just telling His Majesty that I fought a Golden Eagle.

“That must have been quite a story,” Rosslyn replied, finding her lips already curling into a smile.

“It was a tale of twists and turns,” her father agreed.

Adon mentioned that the eagle seemed to have a sort of power to manipulate the wind, added Goldie from the bed.

I wish I could have seen it, man, sent Samson good-naturedly.

“I understand that the wind manipulation may be unusual for your previous worlds,” the King said, “but our mages have studied these creatures. I am given to understand that the Goddess may have gifted some animals with primitive Mana-harnessing or sensing organs—or the ability to attain those organs through a focused Evolution process. Nothing like what you have—no animal other than a mystic beast or a human can do complicated magic requiring intelligence—but a good defense mechanism nevertheless, in a world where Mana is one of the fundamental laws of nature…”

Her father continued with a slightly more detailed biological-magical explanation of the likely root of the Golden Eagle’s defenses, but Rosslyn found herself hardly focused on the substance of the conversation. She was still caught up in her emotions and plans from before she had entered the room.

Now she felt conflicted. On the one hand, Rosslyn wanted to discuss what she had come to discuss: the things that Matilda had said during their encounter. On the other hand, her father was in a good mood for once. Pulling him away from this for that conversation would almost certainly spoil it. And the King was not even giving Adon a hard time about going on this trip, as she had been concerned he might.

Who cares if he disinherits me, anyway? she thought. As long as father is happy, I can be happy too. I know he does not see me as broken anyway, no matter what that woman says…

She forced herself to push her feelings about her eye and the succession all the way to the back of her mind and focused herself to listen in to the conversation again. She would not break up the pleasant atmosphere that Adon’s return had somehow created.

As Rosslyn’s attention returned to the conversation, she noticed that Adon seemed to have turned to look at her in the middle of her father’s explanation, but he quickly turned back to the King as her eyes moved to him. It was the butterfly’s body language that caught her attention.

His posture had been slightly tilted as if he had been listening to something—though the strange thing was that it felt from the positioning as if it was her that he had been listening to rather than her father.

I have not said anything out loud, have I…?

When a lull occurred in the conversation, Rosslyn found her opportunity to join in.

“I am sorry that you were unable to breach those defenses, Adon,” she said. “I understand that the Golden Eagle is an apex predator in its ecosystem, and—”

Oh, no, I killed it, Adon quickly transmitted. Sorry to interrupt you.

Truly? Rosslyn’s mouth gaped slightly. How?

I used magic, Adon added. Specifically, the, um, fire magic that I recently learned.

“It is all right for you to acknowledge that you learned it from Rosslyn,” the King said, slightly amused. “I am not upset about it. I hope you understand that our other family discipline is kept strictly within the family, however.”

It was sweet of him to remember that it was a sensitive subject, though, Rosslyn thought. Wait, did he respond to something I only thought, a moment ago, rather than something I said aloud? Or was he just continuing his story?

Adon should not be able to read her mind. Though mind-reading creatures were rare in the time period that Rosslyn lived, they were not unheard of in Claustria’s history. Her thoughts were protected by mental defenses—though they might be penetrated if Adon attained a high enough proficiency with Telepathy.

Had he done that already? The rate of improvement Adon showed with his various powers was already enviable. It was plausible that his daily use of Telepathy as a communication tool was producing a rate of improvement with that Adaptation that exceeded even his normal growth.

But I know secrets that cannot be spoken aloud in the presence of persons other than myself and father, Rosslyn thought very quietly, very guardedly. Adon is not some stranger, I trust him more than anyone outside the palace, but I will have to be more on guard. I will not inadvertently betray my country.

“Congratulations on your very successful hunt, then,” Rosslyn said. “I suppose you obtained everything you were looking for.”

Yes, Adon replied. Next time, maybe we can go as a group.

Samson let out a little whoop from where he stood on the bed.

Goldie was more controlled, but the joy in her tone was apparent, as she sent her response: I will look forward to us all spending time together.

Rosslyn found the atmosphere in the room exceedingly genial. She could not help but smile at the enthusiasm of the spiders. She also looked forward to going hunting with them. She would keep the spiders safe and observe how far Adon’s training had taken him. Perhaps her father would join in, if he could find time away from the affairs of state.

It was a simple, happy few seconds—for the moment, Rosslyn’s happy anticipation of the future was uncomplicated by even the looming threat of war.

Then a knock came at the door. Everyone turned in unison to face the slightly sweaty servant who stood panting in the doorway. As all eyes struck him, he forced himself to straighten his posture and deliver his news with careful decorum.

“I beg your pardon, Your Highnesses, but I have an important piece of news.”

The King spoke quietly. “Deliver it, please.”

“The sons of Duke Pruford of Dessia have arrived, Your Majesty,” the servant said quickly, breathless. “We have them in the drawing room, and we are entertaining them with all possible courtesy in accordance with our standing instructions.”

After that news, nothing was simple anymore.