For Adrian Whitestone, the days that he enjoyed privacy were a fading memory. Since the armed conflict began he was always with someone. Adrian had sworn himself up and down to King Sancho but understandably, doubts still lingered. His father was literally the head of the Usurper's army. Quentin Redfield had swooped up this opportunity; assigning a harem of maids to cater to Adrian day and night. Redfield claimed they were there to ease Adrian's unease at his Father's treachery. Not a lot of intelligence was needed to deduce that Adrian was surrounded by spies watching his every move. Adrian guessed that it was an attempt at putting him in his place, rather than glean info from him. Adrian resorted to daydreaming to keep his spirits up. He would not be broken if he could help it.

One particular night he was woken up by a light thudding on his window. The maid who was watching him - he couldn't be bothered to remember their names - walked up and unfurled the curtain. A small black form was ramming into the glass. "Shoo it away," Adrian said, covering his head in the blanket.

He heard glass sliding, followed by a suppressed yelp. He turned to see the black form circling the maid - her face scratched up and bleeding. "Wait here let me call somebody," she said as she left the room.

The creature flapped down to Adrian. He was no fighter but he was reasonably sure he could at least bat it away.

He finally saw its form in the moonlight streaming in from the open window. It was a dark purple - almost black - with the body and features of a mouse. On its back were a pair of disproportionate webbed wings. Its beady eyes looked at Adrian softly, like it was calling for attention. That was when Adrian saw it.

On its left foot, the mouse-bat had a piece of paper tied at the ankle. Adrian reached out and the bat rested on his palms. It rolled over to its side allowing him to take the paper off.

Waiting for you - I'll get you out of there.

love you ~ D

He had to do a double-take when he recognized Dixie's flowing writing. Where is she? Nobody had heard from her. The official line was that she was abducted by the nefarious forces that kidnapped the Princess - The Usurper. Adrian doubted this. If his father had got her, he'd have made a spectacle of her death. But as of yet, no execution declaration had come from Euwaine.

The bat scurried under his bed as footsteps approached. Adrian tossed the note in his mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed. When the door opened his head was beneath the blankets once more.

“I trust everything is to your liking, Whitestone…”

“I cannot complain, Chancellor.” The Redfields had found him leaning on a parapet overlooking the sunrise. In the soft morning light the city was colourful and still, almost idyllic.

“I heard there was a disturbance yesternight, is everything okay?” Susan Redfield asked. The maids probably reported directly to her.

“A wayward bat, nothing more.” The bat in question was lounging upside down beneath his bed as he spoke.

“That is good to hear. We already have enough issues as is.”

“About that,” the Chancellor joined in. “Adrian, there’s something I need you to do. Over lunchtime today, sit next to the King. Speak with him and assuage his fears that you are a traitor. Give him your word that you are a loyal Whitestone.”

“I will do this, my Lord.”

“It is worth noting that Sancho has casually mentioned publicly executing you,” Susan said. “We have kept his impulses in check for now, but it would be best if you mellowed his attitude toward you. After all, Euwaine will require a Whitestone. A loyal one this time.”

Adrian did his best to retain a neutral expression as Susan’s eyes combed for a reaction. “I will do my best, my Lady.”

“Good, good. On that note you should prepare yourself, mentally at least, to fill your father’s boots. When the time comes we cannot have you faltering. You will need to be a strong presence to keep the rebellious rabble in check.”

Adrian wasn’t sure he was up for that. All he wanted was Dixie. “I will do my best to shoulder this weighty burden.”

“This course of action will inevitably lead to you clashing heads with your father,” the Chancellor said. “I hope you will be up for that.”

“My father and I are not very close, my Lord.” It was true - Adrian could hardly recall his father’s face. Adrian grew up in Euwaine while his father was the acting Treasurer. Then when the Grand Duke fell ill Adrian replaced him in the Capital as he retired to the port city.

“Understandable. He does not seem to be a man who values family.”

“Indeed all he has is a snake’s tongue,” Susan added. “Who knows how far his venom has spread among us.”

The Chancellor clenched his fists. “I still cannot believe he managed to spirit away the princess.”

Susan Redfield put a hand on her husband’s shoulder - keeping her eyes levelled at Adrian. “An intricate web weaver, that one. Which is why we need to be mindful of the people around Sancho.”

“Marshal Bluewater left a few days ago,” Adrian said, hoping to change the flow of the conversation. “Has armed conflict begun?”

The Chancellor relaxed a bit, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. The sun was barely up and he was sweating. “The Usurper’s main army is to the North. Burning and pillaging villages and towns. To the west, Gareth Greengrass is marching his army towards the Capital. Our options are to either split up and face them both, or to march to meet either one as one of their armies flanks us from behind.”

“So? What is the plan, Lord?”

Quentin smiled like he knew a juicy secret. “Neither - Bluewater is on his way directly to Euwaine.”

“But what about the people to the North?”

“They are to flee, or die. Their sacrifice is worth it.”

“But surely Euwaine must be protected.”

“Their defences will be blown away like straw in the face of our numbers.”

“Doesn’t that also leave the capital relatively undefended?”

“It does - which is why we have the armies of Hosterwaine, who-”

“-who are our ace in the hole, so to speak,” Susan interrupted her husband. “Dear, I know you love speaking about war and such, but there is no need to burden poor Adrian with the details.”

The Chancellor was visibly dismayed. “You’re right - I apologize.”

“All you need to know, Adrian, is that victory is assured. Our scouts and spies have told us that Gwendolyne has surrounded herself with a bevy of ‘beautiful women’ to serve as her councillors.”

That was news…

“The war will be over before it even begins.” Susan turned her nose slightly upward, looking over the city.

“Do we know any of these councillors?” Adrian tentatively asked.

“Unfortunately not,” Susan answered. “Though Druscilla Clearwater might be one of them - pure conjecture of course.” A cloudy expression came over her. “Naturally the Royal Scholar is being questioned about it.”

Ah, no wonder Clementine Clearwater has been absent from court. “I am sure the truth will shine through, my Lady.”

“So it shall Adrian, so it shall.”

Adrian spent the rest of his day wandering about like an ant without purpose. Everywhere he went, a maid followed behind. He could sense her presence over his shoulder. The Redfields may be cordial with him, but they did not want him forgetting his place.

At lunch he said the empty words to the King. His mouth was moving but his mind was on Dixie’s pale skin. The king didn’t notice Adrian’s lack of heart - he was too busy complaining that the rice tasted like wood chippings.

Ever since the conflict began there had been a change in the palace - in the city even. A lot of supplies and resources went into the war effort. Gone were the extravagant and flagrant meals of peacetime. Luxury, it seemed, was the first casualty of war.

In the wake of these developments, war was all anyone was talking about. It seemed an impossibly big thing - one whose presence and whose impact was inescapable. Some said glory would rain down on the battlefield. The more sceptical ones said it would actually be a horror show. In his confinement Adrian could not possibly know, nor did he care to find out.

What he knew, however, was that he needed to see Dixie again. He did not know where she was, or whether she was safe. The uncertainty gnawed a hole in his chest. All he had for comfort was a mouse with wings under his bed.

He had a few sheaths of paper and an enchanted pen that never ran out of ink in his room. “I think I will write a memoir,” he said to the attending maidservant that evening. “Could you bring me more papers please?”

“Of course, wait here.” She left to fulfil his request.

Adrian wasted no time. He took his pen and began scribbling. The thoughts in his head were like a flood - and Adrian poured it out onto the paper. He wrote about his feelings for Dixie, his apprehension for her safety, his undying love for her, his aching longing for her. Frankly, the letter was a mess, but it was a heartfelt mess.

The maid came back with a stack of papers. Adrian stopped her before she could come further. “No, no, no. Those papers are white. I am accustomed to using brown paper. Go back and bring me brown papers.”

The maid curtsied and left once again. And Adrian proceeded to write some more. This time he wrote about less abstract things. Like how everyone was talking about war, that Marshal Bluewater had left the day before last with the Royal Army of fifty thousand. He wrote about what the Redfields had told him on the ramparts, he wrote about his empty talk with Sancho. Why was he writing all this? Because he could. Because he needed an outlet.

He rolled the paper into a scroll. He reached beneath the bed and pulled out the bat. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel any bones beneath the soft flesh. It was an odd sensation.

“Here,” he put the paper into the thing’s feet, which clasped around the paper. “Take it to your master - to Dixie Blackstone.” He opened the window and launched the bat into the air. The creature spread its dark wings in the dark night and flapped away to Adrian’s lover.

He took a clean sheet of paper and held it over a candle. The maid walked into him burning the paper on his desk. “I didn’t like that opening,” he explained. “I’d like to start over.”