“Her Royal Highness, Felitïa Asa Folith, Princess of Arnor!”

Felitïa stepped into the audience chamber following the herald’s announcement. The room was brightly lit by great crystal chandeliers, their light reflecting off the polished marble floor and walls. To either side of the doors, guards in chainmail with the waterfowl of House Belone on their chests stood at rapt attention. A green plush carpet ran from the door to the dais on which Lord Belone sat in a bejewelled throne. Around him stood several courtiers, most dressed in various shades of green. At various points around the room, more guards stood.

Lord Feodor Belone himself was dressed in a flowing silk robe of state, also green. Thick rings on his fingers, and gold and silver chains round his neck sparkled in the light of the room. He was a somewhat small man. His thinning hair and neatly trimmed beard were grey, but he showed few other signs of age.

“Her companions, Rudiger Fonivan and Zandromeda Armida.” Zandrue and Rudiger followed Felitïa in, while poor Meleng and Corvinian were left to enter unannounced. The herald probably thought they were her servants.

“I always knew one day I’d manage to get in here,” Zandrue whispered. “You should have seen Almais’s face when he delivered us here.”

Zandrue and Rudiger had been apprehended by Almais, who was also the one who had alerted the palace to Felitïa and the others’ presence in town, which resulted in them sending the Isyar after Jorvan.

“Your Highness!” Belone exclaimed, rising from his seat, and approaching her, arms outstretched.

“Lord Belone,” Felitïa said. She stood still as he hugged her and kissed her cheeks. She did not return the gesture. Her own trip here had been by armed soldiers who had then insisted at the gate that she was a guest of honour, but the fact that Belone had made her come all the way to his audience chamber before greeting her was not lost on her. If she were truly a guest of honour, he would have met her at the gate. Gods, she hated all this political nonsense where the slightest small action or gesture could carry high praise or high insult. Still, with multiple insults levied against her already, at least she could dispense with pleasantries. “I expect Jorvan released immediately.”

“But of course!” Belone replied, returning to his throne. As he sat back down, he motioned to one of the courtiers. “Please escort Jorvanultumn here.”

“Your Lordship.” The courtier bowed to Lord Belone and headed towards the door, pausing part way to bow to Felitïa.

“Please accept my humblest apologies, your Highness,” Belone said. “I meant you no ill respect.”

“No ill respect? You kidnap one friend, you threaten other friends into plotting against me, and say you mean me no ill respect?”

Belone nodded. “I understand your anger. Please accept my apology.” He looked repentant, but there was no telling whether that was just an act. His feelings were not distinct enough for her to separate them from the wash of feelings from everyone in the room. She wished her abilities would come out of their slump.

“I trust Jorvan has not been harmed.”

“A little bruised I believe,” Belone said, “as he tried to resist arrest. However, he has since been treated with the utmost civility.”

“Danel Belone, heir to the Province of Belone!” the herald sang out.

A young man entered the room and knelt before Felitïa. He was taller than his father, with darker, fuller hair, but was otherwise his father’s spitting image. “Your Highness,” he said, “please forgive my tardiness. I was not informed of your arrival.”

Felitïa nodded and waved him away. He rose, bowed, and stepped aside.

“My son was exceptionally rude to Jorvanultumn earlier,” the elder Belone said. “I was attempting to punish him by not having him here. If I have committed an offence, your Highness, then I humbly apologise.”

“What’s one more offence between friends?” Zandrue said.

Feodor Belone lowered his head. “Your friend’s words sting, your Highness, but they are truthful. I again implore you to accept my apologies.”

“Why did you do it?” Felitïa asked. “Why didn’t you just ask me to come here? For that matter, how did you even know who I was?”

Belone raised his eyebrows in amusement. “I’ve known for many years that you were living in Quorge, your Highness. I knew of your departure from Quorge, but I will admit to being surprised by your return.”

He knew? “If...” She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Surely that was a lie. “If you knew, why did you do nothing?”

“By order of the King—a secret order, mind you, but an order from his Majesty, nonetheless. He commanded that you be allowed to lead the life you wished with no interference from me or anyone of my household, or anyone in my employ.”

No, that couldn’t be true, could it? “Then...then why do you break it now?”

“Again, by His Majesty’s command. A few months ago, Lady Plavin sent word out that you had been seen in Plavin-Tyl. I suppose that pulled at the strings of your father’s heart. He wishes his daughter to return home.”

Lady Plavin? That surprised Felitïa. If Lady Plavin had known who she was, then why…? “That still doesn’t explain why you kidnapped Jorvan, or why you threatened the Council. Why not just deliver my father’s message?”

Belone sighed. “Strictly speaking, I arrested Jorvan for stalking the Isyar ambassador. I did not kidnap him. However, I did it because I needed a way to bring you and your friends here. You would have ignored a simple request. The King is most insistent that you return to Arnor City.”

“Insistent he may be, but that does not excuse your actions!” Felitïa snapped. “How dare you use my friends like this! You had no right!”

Belone held out his hand and a nearby courtier placed a rolled-up scroll in it. “Actually, I had every right. Your father was most specific that, as long as no harm came to you specifically, any means necessary were to be used to return you to Arnor City. Any means necessary.”

“Plavistalorik and Jorvanultumn!”

Jorvan entered beside another Isyar. He had a large bruise on his lower right cheek and another under his chin, as well as a sizeable lump on the side of his forehead. Meleng rushed over to him. “Are you all right?” Corvinian squeezed over to try to help as well. Jorvan nodded.

The other Isyar walked past them, nodding briefly at Felitïa before ascending the dais to stand beside Lord Belone. She was a little taller than Jorvan and quite skinny. She wore a loose-fitting garment, similar to Jorvan’s. It was a pale beige in colour and looked almost transparent. The Isyar kept her head lowered, hands clasped in front of her. The only features that remained visible were the ears on the sides of her white, hairless head—and they were so tiny as to be barely noticeable.

“Jorvanultumn,” Lord Belone said, “I hereby release you from your captivity. I hope there are no hard feelings.”

Jorvan simply stared back with thin eyes. He said nothing.

“Was it really necessary to beat him?” Felitïa demanded.

To her surprise, it was the Isyar who responded. “I did only what was necessary to subdue him.” The Isyar’s head rose, small grey eyes making contact with Felitïa’s momentarily. Sad eyes, there and gone again. For a brief moment, it was as if the Isyar’s mind was the only one there with her. For that brief moment, the Room in Felitïa’s head seemed empty apart from the Isyar. Felitïa shivered.

“I am fine,” Jorvan said to her.

“In all honesty, your Highness,” Danel Belone spoke up, “it was less than he deserved. You did not hear the wild tale he tried to swindle my father with when he was questioned.”

Felitïa turned to look at the young Belone. “Wild tale?”

“I told truth,” Jorvan said.

Danel smirked. “So you say. Even Plavistalorik—your own kind—did not support you. What did she say again? Oh yes! No sane person could believe such a fanciful tale.”

Felitïa glanced back at Plavistalorik, but her head remained lowered, and she gave no acknowledgement of what Danel had said. “No sane person?” Felitïa asked Danel.

“That is so, your Highness,” he replied. “When asked why he was following Plavistalorik, he said he wanted her help, and spoke of Volgs and boys with impossible powers.”

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“Sounds like the same story I would tell you,” Felitïa said.

Danel’s eyes widened. “Surely you jest, your Highness?”

“No, I don’t.”

Danel laughed. “Then you are as insane as he!” A moment later, he mocked, “Your Highness.”

“Danel,” Lord Belone rumbled, “I do not wish to go through this again. I have already sent you from my presence once today. Do not make me do it again. You will apologise to her Highness.”

Scowling, Danel said, “My apologies, your Highness.”

“My son is a born sceptic, your Highness,” Lord Belone said. “Even though he’s lived his whole life in a city of wizards, it was years before he would accept that Plavistalorik’s spells were anything more than sleight-of-hand. Recently, he’s begun listening to fools like Mitchal Plavin and his niece.”

“Mitchal Plavin is not a fool, Father,” Danel protested. “Simply because you do not agree with his beliefs—”

“He is a fool!” his father bellowed. “And he marks himself even more foolish if he believes I will ever let him bring his blasted Red Knights onto Belone soil!”

“Mitchal Plavin is one of the greatest warriors alive! You should be in awe of him, Father!”

Feodor Belone rose from his throne and tossed the scroll in his hands aside. “I grow tired of these arguments, Danel! You will remain silent!”

Felitïa was growing tired of the whole scene. Just what was Feodor Belone’s game? She watched him as he lowered himself back into his throne, his face red with anger. With a wave of his hand, the scroll he had thrown was delivered back to him. He snatched it from the courtier’s hands. The courtier bowed and retreated.

“Lord Belone,” Felitïa said.

He took a deep breath, the colour of his face returning to normal. “Your Highness, again, my apologies. It seems I owe you many apologies. We are not off to a good start. I beg your forgiveness. Please, join me at dinner tonight. You and your friends. Let it be the beginning of making amends.”

“Considering such an offer is only to be expected,” Felitïa said, “one can hardly consider it making amends.” Was he testing her somehow? Trying to determine what she knew of courtly life? It had been a long time, but she hadn’t forgotten everything she’d been taught.

Belone nodded. “The beginning of amends. You must provide me with the opportunity to make things up to you.”

Enough was enough. “I want to see my father’s orders”

Belone held out the scroll towards her.

Felitïa moved forward and took it. Unrolling it, she read what was written there. It confirmed Belone’s earlier words. Any means necessary.

“I have already informed the appropriate authorities,” Belone said. “A suitable escort is being prepared to take you to Arnor City. It will be ready to leave on the morrow.”

Felitïa shook her head. “I’ll make my own way to Arnor City.”

Belone smiled. “Now, now, your Highness. Would that I could trust that statement.”

“I have an appointment tomorrow morning. I can’t miss it.”

“Reread your father’s decree, your Highness.”

She didn’t need to look at it again. Without delay. “But I’m expected. I can’t just fail to show up.”

Belone nodded sympathetically, and for a moment, Felitïa thought he might give in and let her go. “I’ll send someone to deliver your apologies. Have no worry.”

Felitïa shook her head. “That’s not necessary. My friends will deliver it. Meleng, can you explain to Agernon—?”

“Surely your friends will accompany you to Arnor City,” Belone said.

“Why should they? The order does not cover them. I’ll go alone.”

Zandrue touched her arm. “We should go with you. Weird things are happening and I don’t think we should split up.”

Felitïa was about to protest, but stopped. Damn her, Zandrue was right.

She faced Lord Feodor Belone again. He sat there watching her, his expression unreadable. “Very well, Lord Belone, I accept your gracious offer of dinner.”

* * * * *

“You look really pretty,” Corvinian said.

Felitïa smiled and shifted in the chair. She didn’t feel pretty. The last time she had worn a dress like this, she had still been living at the Royal Palace. Even then, it hadn’t been a dress like this. It had been a child’s gown, made for a child’s body. Now, she was uncertain how to sit without some part of the gown pulling, pinching, or squeezing her. The blasted thing constricted her every move. It was far too tight in the chest, pressing painfully against her breasts and making it hard to breathe. But it was the best fit Lord Belone’s wife’s ladies-in-waiting could come up with on such short notice.

And she couldn’t go to dinner dressed in commoner’s clothing. Gods, this was reminding her of why she ran away from the palace in the first place.

She shifted positions again, but it just made things worse, so she shifted back before something tore. Perhaps she should just show up to dinner in her regular outfit. She could use a spell to make everyone think she was dressed like a noblewoman. It could be her own private little joke—a joke that would be on her when she passed out from the strain of maintaining the spell for so long.

“We need to look at the positive side of this,” Zandrue said, breaking the sullen silence in the room. “This could be more advantageous than we think.”

“Positive side?” Felitïa said.

“Whatever’s going on, there are people in high places who have a stake in it,” Zandrue said. “Take Lady Plavin, for example. Based on what we’ve heard today, she knew Felitïa was in Tyl, yet did nothing to ensure her Bloods didn’t kill her. We could use somebody in a high-up position ourselves—someone who can beat them at their own game.”

Felitïa felt like laughing. A politician she was not! She knew some of the basic courtesies, but political manipulations were beyond her. “I’m glad you have such faith in me, Zandrue, but really, I—”

“I’m not talking about you,” Zandrue interrupted. “I’m talking about me. Oh, you’ll be the figurehead, of course, but I’ll be the brains of the operation.” She cracked a smile, and Felitïa couldn’t help but laugh—which she quickly discovered was not a good thing to do. Far too painful.

“Let’s put you in my dress and see if you’re still in any shape to think,” Felitïa said. Of course, Zandrue’s dress fit perfectly..

“I like the one I’ve got, thank you,” Zandrue said.

“So, while you two play nobles, what are the rest of us supposed to do?” Rudiger asked.

“For a start,” Zandrue replied, “we all need to find out as much as we can from people here before we get dragged away tomorrow morning.”

“I talked to Plavistalorik,” Jorvan said, “but she said not much. She stayed with me, but she spoke not much. I think she is in trouble.”

“Why do you say that?” Zandrue asked.

“Something she said. I try to translate. Magic is gone, and my wings fly not.”

“Magic gone?” Rudiger said. “What’s that mean?”

“It’s an Isyar saying,” Zandrue said. “It means she didn’t have a choice. She’s being forced.”

“Who could be forcing her?” Meleng asked.

“I do not know,” Jorvan replied.

Felitïa sighed. That hurt, too. “Somehow, I doubt we’ll have time to uncover that answer. I don’t suppose you had a chance to learn anything at the Hall of Knowledge, Meleng?”

Meleng shook his head. “Pedrin knocked me out as soon as we left you with Madame Ezmelda. I never even got to see the stacks.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. “Come in,” Felitïa called.

The door opened and one of Lord Belone’s pages, a young Folith boy named Lucas, entered. He bowed to Felitïa. “Your Highness, there is a Captain Agwinton DeSeloön here to see you.”

“Show him in,” Felitïa said.

The page bowed again and retreated from the room. A moment later, a Folith entered. His skin had the darker tone of southern Foliths, his hair was dark, and he sported a thin moustache. Standing about six foot three, he looked a regal sight in the sapphire-blue uniform of an officer in the Royal Arnorin Army. The lighter blue, ten-pointed star of Arnor was pinned over his heart, and underneath it he wore several other medals. A broadsword hung at his side. As he entered, he went to his knees and bowed his head. “Your Highness.”

“You may rise.” She was really starting to despise all the kneeling and bowing everyone kept doing. She stood as he did, and winced. Gods! Was there no way to move in this thing without suffocating? She tried pulling at the front of the dress to loosen it, but stopped when she realised how undignified it must make her look.

If Captain DeSeloön found anything odd about her behaviour though, he did not show it. “Your Highness, I have come to inform you that preparations for your departure are almost complete, and wanted to know if you had any particular requests for the journey.”

“You’re to be my escort? Not one of Lord Belone’s people?”

He nodded. “It would not be appropriate for Lord Belone’s people to escort you through other provinces. The army, however, is not part of any one province. It is all of Arnor.”

Felitïa nodded. “I intend to travel incognito, Captain. I have no intention of being paraded around the country. I hope that doesn’t ruin the plans you’ve already made.”

Captain DeSeloön smiled. “Of course not, your Highness. I anticipated that would be your desire. I assure you, you will not be paraded anywhere. I have selected four choice men to accompany you along with myself. They are all fully trustworthy, loyal to the chain of command and to the Crown, not to any local lords. They are also efficient warriors who will give their lives for you if necessary. Your safety is assured.”

“Five of you and six of us start to make us a fairly large group,” Zandrue said.

“No larger than some merchant groups,” DeSeloön replied. “My men and I will play the role of mercenaries.”

“And the rest of us?” Zandrue asked.

“The merchants. I understand her Highness has experience in selling things.”

“Do we have anything to sell?” Felitïa asked.

“Of course.”

Zandrue nodded approvingly. “I like this guy, Felitïa.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Felitïa said. “It sounds like you have things well planned. We’ll meet you on the front grounds at first light tomorrow.”

Captain DeSeloön gave her a gracious bow and exited the room. When he was gone, Felitïa sank back into her chair, ignoring the protesting dress. “I don’t suppose we can ditch them somewhere on the road between here and Arnor City?”

Zandrue shrugged. “Possibly. However, I don’t think we should. We need a princess on our side, right now.”

Felitïa nodded. “You’re right, of course. I suppose we’d better not keep Lord Belone waiting.” Groaning, she stood again and summoned Lucas. “Please escort us to dinner.”