Virian woke early the next morning to a low rumbling noise. He cracked one eye open, and saw the light of the sun barely peaking around the edges of his curtained window. Much too early. So then what was—

The sound came again, off to one side of the room, if he wasn’t mistaken. Right where his sofa should be. Still a bit groggy from being rudely awakened, he sat up, reaching for his bedside table. He felt around for the firestick and candle he knew were present and struck the stick on the edge of the bronze candelabra.

The room was bathed in an uneven orange glow, and before Virian could even light the wick, all of his worries about Ivy from the day before fell away by what he saw resting atop his sofa. Though, just to be sure—and that he wasn’t dreaming—he lit the candle and swung his legs out of bed to get a closer look.

Standing over her, sure enough, he recognized without a doubt that the intruder was indeed none other than Ivy. She was curled up on only the first two cushions, her small, delicate, and peaceful form not at all reminiscent of who she really was.

Nevertheless, he smiled down at her, silently chuckling to himself when one of her little snores turned into a more audible snort. Candle in hand, he retreated back to the bed and grabbed his feather blanket, pulling it free. When he got back to Ivy, she had turned, her back now facing the edge of the sofa, and he draped it around her shoulders. She gripped it tight, unconsciously tugging it up to her neck.

With a sigh, he meandered over to one of his cabinets of alcohol and pulled out Ivy’s favorite. Or, what he assumed to be her favorite at least. He had never seen her drink anything else, but she loved the stuff a little too much. Virian eyed the etching on the bottle and shook his head. At one point he had considered ending his patronage of this particular vintage because of the cost, but when he had remembered the stupid look on her face that first night they had met, had been unable to.

Taking a seat at his table where they had shared a drink a few days prior, he decided to go at the bottle Ivy-style. The rim of the glass bottle felt cool on his lips, but the sugary wine went down warm.

He sat and drank, not sure what to do or think. The nobility was still on his ass about the Dragonfly, despite there being no recent attacks. They were out for blood, demanding the assassin be caught and made to suffer. Virian agreed on some level, but all who had been targeted he had never liked in the first place, and many he knew had been involved in unscrupulous business. He wasn’t sure how fit they were to judge the “Dragonfly.”

He watched Ivy's rhythmic breathing and took a long drink. He could end it all with what he knew, but that was just not something he could do. Not after mother. He still remembered the look on her face the last time he had seen her. She had known what he had done, but she hadn't even been angry. A resigned sadness had eclipsed her expression when the paladins had dragged her away. Virian couldn't be responsible for something like that again. Despite what the world had turned Ivy into, he would not say a word.

As for Sergeant Rose—who was clearly more than she let on—he was at even more of a loss. She was all over him worse than the nobles about Ivy. If for some reason Rose and Ivy were discovered, he had no idea what they would—or could—do to him. They might blame him, or worse, the church would deem him involved at this point. So then…what? He only had one option left. It seemed like his whole life so far had been leading up to this. To this beautiful girl sleeping on his sofa.

Before he knew it the bottle came up dry when he put it to his lips. Huh. It really did go down easy. He went to fetch another, and when he regained his seat, also realized that the sun had started to illuminate much more of the room. Across the way to the opposite wall were a pair of open green eyes, looking at him. When their gazes met, she didn’t move, but turned her attention elsewhere, anywhere but at him.

“You look comfy,” he said, then remembered a curious name she had given to his furniture, "is Brother Couch treating you well?"

“Oh, uhm,” she began, her cheeks turning a bright shade of pink, “You remember that?"

"It would be hard to forget," he said with a grin.

Ivy let out a shallow breath. "Well, he's no Mister Couch, but he’s pretty soft.”

Virian rubbed his forehead. He had probably drank too much if he was continuing this conversation, but couldn't help himself.

“Tell me more about the couch family,” he said.

“Yeah? Really?" She asked, and Virian nodded. The corners of her mouth tilted upward just a tinge. “So, I was alone for a long time. When I finally got to a place where I felt safe, Rose was always still away from home.”

She stopped, covering her mouth with one hand jutting up from the edge of the blanket. After a few moments she frowned.

"Wait, I think I already told you about Rose." Again, he nodded. "Okay, good. So I was lonely, without much else to do other than lay around. My couch became my only friend. A comfort in a world that didn't make much sense otherwise."

“I'm sorry,” Virian said, and she lifted an eyebrow at him, "you know you don't always have to be alone. Is that why you snuck in here?"

Her blush got worse, and she continued to avoid eye contact.

“Uhm…”

“I don’t mind.”

“That's...nice of you to say. It’s not like I don’t have anywhere else to go. It’s just...Ugh. I sound silly. I guess I'm just trying to avoid a couple of people. Rose I’m pretty sure is still really mad. I just can’t right now. And, the other? Well I’m mad at him. He literally stabbed me.”

Oh. Wait, what was that last part?

“Stabbed?” Virian asked.

“Oh don’t worry!” Ivy sprung up from the sofa and threw aside the blanket he had wrapped her with. “See? All good!”

Virian jumped to his feet almost as quickly. A dark red stain marred her otherwise spotless but plain white tunic above her dark breeches.

“Ivy! You’re hurt!”

“Huh?” she looked down. “Oh. Yeah that’s not good. It’s probably okay though. The healer who’s been seeing me is really good. It’s nothing, really.”

Virian had reached her by the end of her nonsense and touched the stain with his fingertips. Ivy winced and jerked back.

“Sorry,” he said, “I just—”

“Okay, so I lied. It’s pretty bad. I thought I was going to die, honestly, I—”

“Ivy, who did this to you?”

Something inside him needed to know. It needed to know so he could do something about it. Ivy must have gone on another job, yet he had heard nothing. By the look of her it hadn't gone well.

“It was an accident. Mostly my fault, really,” Ivy said, “and besides he’s the one who made sure I got fixed up. Been extra nice lately.”

Fixed up? That growing stain on her shirt didn’t exactly give Virian much confidence.

“He accidentally stabbed you?”

“I was drunk. Snuck up on a very paranoid man while he was sleeping. Dumb idea.”

“Who was this?”

Ivy scratched her head.

“This is going to sound bad, but, the same man who wanted you dead.”

He had had enough. He grabbed both her shoulders and leaned in.

“Who?!”

Ivy grimaced.

“You’re being weird. Let go of me.”

Her words knocked him out of a daze he had not know he had been in. A sudden rage had overtaken him at the thought of this unknown assailant harming her and coming after him. He shook his head and took a step back.

“I’m sorry, Ivy,” he said, “I don’t know—”

“It’s fine. Look, I’ve forgiven him. Mostly. And I can promise you that he won't come after you again. I don't think anything good will come of you two fighting. I think I’d prefer it if we could leave it at that for now."

Virian couldn't pretend he was thrilled with that, but didn't want to push her on it, either.

"I...I believe you, but I don't know how I feel about someone out there who wants me dead."

Ivy ignored him and pushed past him, eyeing the table. “Is that what I think it is?”

He stored away the information about his mystery adversary for later and smiled. Before he could even blink she was running toward the table, snatching the bottle the moment she arrived.

“Where do you get this stuff?” she asked.

Her mood at seeing the wine was infectious, Virian having no trouble keeping up with her.

“You know those are around a hundred gold coins each?”

“Huh.” She kept guzzling it down.

“That's it? ‘Huh?’”

“I was just thinking that maybe I don’t have enough money. You have anyone you want dead? You can pay me in these.”

Virian could only stare at the girl well on her way to drunkenness again. He had heard the expression of wanting to kill for something one loved, but in Ivy’s case he was pretty sure she actually meant it.

Before he could challenge her on it, however, the door to his chamber burst open revealing none other than…Sergeant Rose. Ivy was on her feet and stumbling forward to intercept the sergeant, but the older woman brushed her aside and faced Virian toe to toe.

“What did I tell you?” she asked.

“Oh here we go,” came Ivy’s voice from behind the sergeant, “did she come here and give you her rules, too?”

Sergeant Rose didn’t turn to face her when she spoke, “I suppose you think I’m strict, Ivy? Is that a joke? Is ‘don’t kill people’ that hard for you to follow?”

Ivy rolled her eyes.

“Are you innocent, Rose? Do you think I am stupid? That you have no past? I've seen your room. How many lives worth of things are in there? You could've been worse than me for all I know.”

Virian could actually agree on that. The sergeant definitely had a scary side to her. He looked past the two women to find his guardsman just beyond the open doorway and gave one a look. The man just shrugged, and then closed the doors. Why did he even bother having guards if they just let everyone in? It was probably just Sergeant Rose they deferred to, but still.

Finally, Sergeant Rose turned to face her…ward? He didn’t actually understand their relationship.

“I am trying to teach you better, Ivy. You can, and you will be better than I ever was. You,” she glanced over at Virian, “have the capability. You need to be better.”

“I don’t have to keep listening to this,” Ivy said, “everything I’ve done has made the world a better place. Has made the city better. Does that not make me better? And why do I have to be better than you? I don’t even know who you were. You don’t tell me anything!”

Virian noticed the stain on Ivy’s tunic getting visibly larger and wetter by the moment.

“Uhm—”

“Shut up,” both women said.

Okay, then. Shutting up.

“You really think you can change the world by cutting out the bad parts?” Sergeant Rose asked.

“If I cut out enough,” Ivy said.

“Then what’s left?”

“The good parts”

“The world needs to heal, not be destroyed.”

“I’ve heard all of this a thousand times, Rose.”

Virian was pretty sure the sergeant had considered cutting him out of the world just last night.

Sergeant Rose sighed.

“Then at least come with me and stop this idiocy with the prince.” She eyed the bloodstain as Virian had been doing. “Look at where your path has gotten you.”

The sergeant reached out and took Ivy’s wrist, who jerked it back out of arm’s length.

“I’m fine,” Ivy said, stumbling back, but swaying on her feet.

“Ivy,” Virian finally got a word in, “take a seat. Please."

“I’m fine!” she was not fine. Her face had lost all color. “I’m just a bit…a bit dizz—”

She fell forward, but Sergeant Rose caught her before she hit the floor. Virian was there almost as fast, but the sergeant shoved him back.

“Let me help,” he said.

“I’m taking her. This is goodbye, Prince Virian.”

“Sergeant, let me see her to a healer at least. I'm already involved anyway. If you ever cared about following my orders, let this be your last.” She glared at him. “There are several healers stationed within the palace.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Unfortunately the man who did this to her also hired the best in the city to care for her. We will continue treatment with him.”

“Okay, then we can use my carriage to get there.” Another glare. “It's pulled by the fastest horses and no one will even think about bothering us. You cannot say you have a better plan.”

Silence filled the room for several moments.

“Fine,” she said, then jerked her head in a beckoning motion, “here, take her.”

“Really?”

“You can carry her better than I, no?”

He couldn’t deny that. While the sergeant was a skilled soldier, most of Virian’s governing duties were performed by assistants and nobles, and he had a good deal of free time to swing a sword around himself. Never in actual combat, but he had worked up a fit body. What surprised him about the request was that she actually trusted him with the job.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, and took the limp Ivy from Sergeant Rose’s arms.

Ivy proved to be even lighter than he had expected, and he cradled her princess style, kicking the door to his chamber open. The guards had apparently seen it all by now, and didn’t even flinch.

“Send for my carriage. Immediately. Have it ready by the time I reach the gate. Go!”

Virian adjusted his grip on Ivy and followed the sprinting guardsman beyond the door. He moved at a brisk pace not quite jogging, but once some of the other soldiers took in the wound on Ivy’s belly, they began to form up, gathering around him.

“Your highness!” one said. “Has there been another attack?”

“Move!” Virian had to shoulder the man out of his path to continue at his current speed. It worked, for the moment, but they were still far too cramped.

With his path now partially clear, he realized that Sergeant Rose was ahead of him, leading the way.

“Make way for his highness, you fools!” she bellowed out in a harsh tone that must have carried itself through the entire palace. That did the trick. Virian sighed. Not only did she walk about the place like she owned it, but she also had more control of his soldiers than he did. But none of that mattered right now.

He took the steps down from the second floor two at a time, and then the last set of five in a final leap. He hit the landing with a thud, his knees wobbling a bit under the extra weight, but did not let that stop him. Before any of the servants got in a question about his sudden departure, he was out the door and stepping up to his awaiting carriage.

Sergeant Rose was already speaking with the driver, waving her hands in his face and then shouting. When he reached the open door, the sergeant appeared in his peripheral, slipped right in before him, and situated herself on the far side of one of the benches within. The interior wood was almost entirely covered in red velvet and cushioned for comfort. Even the walls and floor were padded, making a trip down a cobbled road somewhat tolerable.

“Set her down here,” she said, patting the empty space on her bench, “rest her head up against my leg.”

Virian did as instructed, and then took the seat across from the two women. His first thought was of jealously, wishing it could be his leg that Ivy used as a pillow, and then immediately shook his head, feeling ridiculous for it. He recalled the sergeant's animated conversation with the driver just as the carriage surged into motion.

“So, where are we headed?” he asked.

“The docks.”

“Where in the docks?”

“The Bloody Flag.”