Chapter 26: Flight or Flight

Dawn. The beginning of all things, that which heralds the new. Arcane’s sealed eyes meet the rising sun in the east, her back to the camps of the Black Prince and the preparations of the town below. The night she passed in silent vigil is over, a last recompense for what is to come. Now, all things would soon begin. Yet she sat alone, unmoving.

First light roused the nobles from a sleepless night, soldiers from a lengthy watch. Shaking themselves to dismiss the fatigue that gripped them, they pretended to go through their morning ablutions as any other day. Yet trembling paws dropped tattered rags, greasy oils emerged from beneath shivering skin, proved this to be a lie. Again and again they wiped their bodies clean, and again and again their fear undid that effort.

Soldiers gave it up as a bad job first. Donning crude fur armor and stone weapons, they went through a few practice exercises to calm their shaking arms and ready their tired muscles. Despite the heat, they shivered in the dawn winds, feeling them to be ominous for some reason. Hunters and merchants began to sense danger, the change in the soldiers atmosphere obvious to those trained to observe the world around them. Quickly, they too were infected, and failed to hide it from the mothers and children, wives and siblings who made up the remainder of the citizenry.

The streets woke up after the elfbeasts, though much quieter and more subdued than normal. Black robed figures entered from the forest, suspiciously hidden faces and atmosphere enhancing the feeling of a calm before a storm. The forest remained silent, the sky still clear, but everyone knew there was a cloud over the capitol today.

Below her, Arcane sensed Annabelle going to her father’s side, furious he had declined to return to his own room but understanding of his plight. The king hid his worry for the girl, meeting eyes with ministers and soldiers who gave him calm nods in return. Jasmina joined the princess, as well as other female elfbeasts who took her away from the king and to the study where an air of normalcy fooled no one. Coleus met with Deadridge in dark passageways, posting soldiers along routes from the throne to the exterior, hidden escapes that had been sealed for years. Soldiers stood at attention, watchful vigilance to gain half a second’s warning, to know what was to come and react in time. Cultivators of the sixth and seventh tier were assigned as well, along the outer perimeter of the castle.

The Rose Kingdom was as ready as it was going to be.

Outside the gates, another force readied its own blades for the day. The Black Prince trained in the morning light, surrounded by black robed Faceless covered with lines of black oil. He took up a metal sword, an artifact of the Boreal Nation, and tested its swing and temper. Satisfied, he nodded and conversed with powerful cultivators who made marks on maps and reports throughout the night. Their voices were raised; plans refined. There was tension and uncertainty, yes; but they knew that they were the ones who dictated the timing of the assault, that they had the right to decide when and if battle would occur.

The Prince swung himself up atop a horse, Faceless falling into line behind him. His voice called through the forest, cheers following his words. A speech, perhaps, was given; Arcane chose not to listen. Inspired by their lord, driven by motivations of glory and conquest, they set out. The forest dared not stand in their way; their passage unhindered. Filled with thoughts of glory and triumph, they marched tirelessly through the trees.

Arcane waited still, atop the tallest tower overlooking the world. Silently, with head bowed, she watched as the world turned and history was made.

Black robed figures stealthily undid the guarding perimeter, distorting it with well timed distractions and attacks. The horse riding prince walked through the outer limits of the city unchallenged, greeted by the bowed heads of his retainers. He marched on, while half his followers peeled away to open battle with the soldiers who only now managed to react. Captains shouted orders; stone met stone, wood met wood. A splash of crimson added to the morning light; raised screams broke the silence.

Surrounded, the town was assailed by black robed squads of five or six, coming from every direction with intent to kill, prepared to slaughter. Warning bells rang, explosive sounds shattering the illusion of peace. The castle guards tensed their grips on their weapons, unable to go forth and battle the invaders. Yet one by one they discarded that duty, charging forth into the fight. Generals, including Deadridge, tried to prevent it; they failed. The order and discipline that held the troops together was broken by the impaled figures of children thrown at the gates by the Boreal army, the ever growing screams at the slaughter.

A critical eye noted that this was the intent. A slaughter was not the goal; just enough blood was shed to cause maximum panic and confusion. Careful orchestration of engagements kept the Black Prince’s path clear, allowed him to continue to the castle to claim the only head that mattered. Civilians were not allowed to flee outwards, but pressed inwards to strain the resources of the castle and its guardians.

The Faceless started fires, burning flames rising from the outer edge of town. Trapping friend and foe alike, they confined the battlefield at the cost of their own lives, the oil marked on their skin igniting to burn them alive, their corpses turning into even more to feed the blaze.

Cultivators entered the engagement at last, enhanced force and waves of pressure throwing countless normal troops away. Yet quickly they were countered, precisely neutralized by the Boreal’s own so they could not hinder the attack. Sometimes, one of the Rose Kingdom’s would get free to smash a squad of invaders; other times a Boreal cultivator would penetrate their line to deal a blow to the castle itself.

The nobles within began to move. Many headed for the fight, adding their strength to that of the outer defenders. Others holed themselves up with sacks of coin and food, prepared to bargain for their lives with whoever won.

Arcane’s perception turned on Annabelle, surrounded by noble ladies blazing with cultivation power. She stormed out the front gate, crushing two of the enemies and driving the attackers back. Yet others, seventh tier like her but far more experienced, moved to constrain that success, worked to draw her away from the castle gates and clear the path. Hot headed and violent, Annabelle succumbed to the temptation and left the castle gates open for several minutes.

The Black Prince waited for that gap, his eyes on the Princess’s gallant figure, scornful and lusting. With an opening secured, he sent his forces through and followed himself, leaving several behind to delay pursuit. Memorizing the corridors of the stone palace, he marched through the ancient building. Every step added to its history, every butchered maid or slaughtered noble another mark in the memory it recorded.

A force of guards attempted to halt him, shouting for glory or to banish fear, yet they were torn apart without even a chance to react. The Prince sneered, scoffing at the pitiful attempts of lesser beings to halt his advance. Traps, whether concealed arrows or false floors, were crushed by sheer strength and speed. Faceless spread out ahead of him, breaking the castle walls and demonstrating their intent to conquer by force at whatever cost. However, they were not able to proceed without any difficulty, forced to halt and gather themselves under constant attacks as the battle raged on.

A break in the fighting was taken by both sides. The king alone sat unmoving, even as his generals fled the castle and moved to take command of their troops. An attempt was launched to reclaim the gates; it failed, allowing the Boreal forces to reinforce it and gather themselves for a renewed assault. The constant fighting died down, cultivators falling back under the noon sun to recover their strength while soldiers on both sides breathed in relief, sheltering wherever they could. The Rose army regathered itself in the surrounding rubble, along with several strong points in the castle. The Boreal forces stymied the fire in the outskirts and allowed the civilians to flee, no longer having a use for them or their corpses. Wailing, weeping, screaming sounds still echoed throughout the town, along with the cracking of dying embers and crash of falling buildings.

There were still no clouds in the sky, but smoke and ash covered the city in a veil of darkness. Looking up at the darkened sky while eating what they could, soldiers huddled together and waited for the command to fight again, hoping it would never come. Leaders on both sides poured over plans, adapting to the situation. Each sought to outthink the others, to obtain that slight edge which promised victory instead of defeat. Yet they, too, looked up at the dark sky with dread while restoring their strength as best they could.

The temporary peace ended all too soon. The black prince, impatient at being forced to wait, marched ahead of his forces and broke through the Rose Kingdom’s defensive line by himself. Soldiers fled every which way, thrown into chaos by his strength. The metal sword reaped many lives, tearing away countless souls and leaving blood flowing like rivers in his wake. Stained crimson, it still glinted in the dying torchlight as its bearer carried it through the dying palace.

Outside, Annabelle was made aware of the Black Prince’s march towards her father and led the charge to reclaim the gate. A great struggle ensued, cultivators from both sides throwing all their strength into either hindering or helping her. Other forces from the Rose kingdom peeled away, sent to prepare rendezvous points for the coming retreat. Generals agreed that the kingdom was lost; many tried to force the Princess to flee, yet she refused to so much as listen and pushed into the castle herself. Some generals tried to pursue her; Deadridge led the remainder in retreating prematurely. Moving to one of the escape tunnels, he readied himself for what was to come next, allowing the Boreal forces to claim victory while plundering the falling city.

Arcane raised her head towards the ascendant sun. Her closed eyes felt its warmth, saw its light through the thin lids that covered them. Smiling, she waited for what was to come, focusing entirely on the throne room directly below her.

The king sat on his throne, waiting while listening to the sounds of battle drawing ever closer. Before too long, they fell silent; only the slight whisper of patient footsteps echoed in the stone halls. Closing his eyes, the king straightened his back and prepared to greet the one who came to kill him.

“Greetings, Your Majesty.” An arrogant voice sneered from the door as it was thrown aside, revealing a black suited elfbeast glowing with power.

The king nodded without a change in expression. “And same to you, your highness. I would ask why you returned so quickly, but I believe I would have my answer if I merely opened my ears a bit.”

“Quick tongued as always, you old fool.” The Prince smirked back. “So, your answer then?”

“You already have it, do you not?” The King asked, tilting his head in feigned puzzlement. “Or has the question changed since we last spoke.”

“The question? No, of course not.” The Black Prince returned angrily. “But, the circumstances in which it was asked have undergone a bit of an… shall we say, upheaval since then. I was wondering if you were smart enough to realize it.”

“I see, I see…” the king nodded back. “I honestly can’t understand you children; in my day we courted with flowers and presents. Fires and blood… those do not make for a pleasant relationship, I think.”

“You senile idiot.” The Prince spat. “Courting? Relationships? I care nothing for those things. What I want, I take. That’s the way of the world.”

The King pushed himself up, towering over the prince. Looking down on him, he shook his greying head and flattened his ears. “If you truly believe that, then you are worse than I thought, you grass eating cow.”

“Grass eating? Me?” The black ears flattened themselves against his skull as the Black Prince narrowed his eyes. “You are the grass eater, incompetent king. The predator takes what he wants; it is the slave who waits for permission.”

The King growled back, not to be outdone by the Prince’s insults. “Even predators have enough wisdom not to kill all their prey. You, on the other paw, do not; like a mindless grazer that starves after clearing the field.”

“All the prey in this world belongs to me. Any who do not understand that don’t understand the law of the jungle. Like the tiger, I kill any who dare stand against me.”

“I pity the poor tiger for being compared to you. At least he is honest; at least he has honor. Where is yours?”

“Honor? Where is honor in the jungle? Where is righteousness? Only in survival, only in victory. Winning is my honor, triumph my justice. History will remember my glory; what of you, coward king? How will you be remembered? If, of course, you even are.”

“Those who rely on history to grant them valor have none. But I know you don’t understand that.”

“What about you, then? Yesterday you hid your weakness somehow; did you force that slut daughter of yours to fake it for you?” The Black Prince suddenly changed the question, breaking off the insults and snapping his fangs in anger.

The king sat in silence, unresponsive. The Black prince grinned at the verbal victory and raised his paw. “Ah, well. Not like it matters; once you’re dead I can drag that treasure from your corpse and use it myself.”

“Try it if you can, kid.” The rose king replied, forcing himself past his weakness and lighting up with the power of an eighth tier cultivator.

The two lunged at each other, and it was settled in a single blow. Coughing blood from shattered lungs, the Rose king fell back into the throne while the Black Prince wiped off his coat to remove the blood spattered onto it. A single thunderous roar shook the castle, then nothing.

“You were even weaker than I expected, old fool.” The Prince sneered at his fallen foe.

“... ack… You… haven’t won… yet.” The king coughed, trying to push himself to his feet.

The Prince shook his head in disdain. “No, it’s already over. Now, to go find your daughter and capture her. My soldiers are quite skilled; I think I can break her mind in a month. I want you to imagine it, the horrible torture she will undergo as she is defiled by all sorts of monstrous elfbeasts. That daughter you protected so long passed along as some kind of toy for the amusement of common men who took part in the burning of your kingdom. Well, it will be mine soon, of course. I’ll have one of my men kill her, then execute him after an appropriate amount of theatrics. How long do you think I should be in mourning? Personally, I think a few minutes is appropriate for a cheap whore like her, but I guess I should pretend like I care. Blazes know I don’t want a rebellion so soon after taking over… though that might be fun in its own right. Hey, say something, old fool. You claimed this wasn’t over yet!”

The Black prince cursed irritably, kicking the prone form of the Rose king, but there was no response. The king had expired, his body crumpled and broken on the throne he had held so long. Clicking his tongue, the Black Prince shook his head and kicked the body out of the way.

“Ah, well. Just when I wanted you to last a little longer so you could suffer in death, you go and die on me. I’ll permit it, though. A last act of defiance by an old enemy.” Running his paws over the throne, the Black Prince sighed in happiness. “Ah, an Eastern throne… after so long, you can’t imagine how this feels. Just a bit longer, though… I’ll do this right, then you will be mine. I’ll force this world into unity, no matter what it costs.”

At that moment a crashing sound came from the door at the far end, a pair of faceless cultivators sent flying into the throne room. The Black Prince looked up and cursed. “What are you Blazing idiots doing here? I told you not to disturb me, idiots!”

The Faceless did not rise, having been knocked unconscious by the blow. The dust cleared out of the door to reveal a panting Annabelle, glaring towards the throne before seeing her father’s body. Her face fell, a mask of grief and horror, as the Black Prince started laughing.

“Oh, of all the blazing luck! Here I am planning to search every hole you could have hidden yourself in and then you just up and deliver yourself to me like that. I guess I am divinely favored, right?”

“You…” Annabelle shook with rage, grief draining away as she caught sight of the laughing prince on her father’s throne. “You… How dare you! Get out of Papa’s throne, you murderer!” She screamed, leaping towards the throne with a bloody stone sword clasped in her paw.

The Prince kept laughing, but stood up anyway. “Hahah… perfect! Come on, then! Show me what you’ve got!”

He opened his arms with the metal sword held out to the right as if waiting to hug her. Yet before either could close the distance, a cyan colored blur shattered the ceiling and sent the throne room into a collapse.

“Blazes!” The Prince screamed as he dodged the falling stone.

“AAAAAAAA!!!!” Annabelle screamed as she raced straight into it, before she was slammed into the floor by the blur that started the whole mess.

Wordlessly, Arcane grabbed the Rose Princess and shattered the floor with her glass sword, throwing both of them below the throne room and into the corridors of the shaking castle. She did so several more times, plunging deeper and deeper into the stone building until they were even below the ground. As the last hole above them was sealed by rubble, she released the princess and lit a torch with a flint piece.

Annabelle collapsed once she was released, watching Arcane light the fire with a blank look in her eyes. A few minutes later Arcane had illuminated their surroundings and was looking down at the red haired elfbeast, her face expressionless and eyeless as always.

“Why?” Annabelle mumbled at last, looking at the girl in front of her.

“Why what?” Arcane asked back, holding the torch out to the other girl.

Annabelle took it, but remained collapsed against the wall. “Why… didn’t you save him? You could have; I know you could. You saved me… you made it seem so easy. Why didn’t you?”

Arcane simply remained silent, waiting. Soon enough, Annabelle couldn’t take it and jumped to her feet, face filled with fury and rage.

“You… Tell me! Why!? Why did I deserve to live, and he didn’t? Why did you just stand aside and let him die! Why didn’t you kill the prince yesterday, why didn’t you do anything to stop this! So many people died, so many lives lost, so much suffering, all because you didn’t do anything! I told you what he was like, you knew what kind of elfbeast he was, and yet you did nothing! Nothing at all to help anyone! Why did you even save me!? You obviously don’t care about any of us! You emotionless freak! Go back to where you came from! You’re not my friend! Papa was right… Papa… Papa… why…” After her rant Annabelle broke down into tears, collapsing against the wall and holding the trembling torch like it was the only thing she treasured in the world. “Why did he have to die?”

Arcane pulled the Rose princess to her feet, still silent. She set off down the tunnel, flickering torchlight on her back, while the despondent elfbeast girl trailed along behind her as if by instinct.

In silence they walked along, through twisting tunnels Annabelle didn’t recognize and Arcane knew had not been used for longer than the Rose Kingdom claimed to exist. They went deeper and deeper into the earth, before rising again only to descend some more. The faint torchlight was the only thing that gave them light, its flickering flame like a spark of hope in the endless darkness.

“Where are we?” Annabelle asked after several hours, though she did not speak directly towards Arcane.

“A ruined labyrinth. The Rose Palace was built on top of it, from what I can tell.” Arcane answered, ignoring the barely veiled antagonism.

“Why are we going this way?” Annabelle asked, again to no one.

“To avoid battle, this is the most secure route.” Arcane paused and brushed her hand over a set of carvings on the side, briefly inspecting them and turning to one of the forks in the path. “It should let us out near one of the rendezvous.”

“... I’d prefer to fight, honestly.” Annabelle muttered under her breath.

Arcane shook her head but didn’t respond, inspecting the ceiling in a circular room they had just entered.

Finding a depression, she jumped and punched the roof, causing the room to tremble and a circular hole to open in the ceiling. Pulling a rope from her pouches, she tossed it up after tying a knot and yanked a few times until it caught on something. Climbing up, she held a hand out through the hole so Annabelle could toss the torch up to her and follow after. The elfbeast girl did so, eventually.

“You seem to know this place pretty well.” She growled. “Would have been nice to tell the rest of us.”

“There are methods of mapping a place out, but they require one to actually reach it. I didn’t think collapsing half the castle would be appreciated before the attack started.” Arcane replied, pushing open a decrepit stone door and returning the torch to Annabelle.

“... Whatever.” Annabelle replied, ignoring Arcane again.

They walked through more stone hallways, going up several flights of stairs and eventually reclaiming the height they lost. Arcane finally stopped at a blank piece of wall and stared at it before unsheathing Obscurus and cutting through the stone. Annabelle watched in silence, uncaring.

Soon she broke through, and the two stepped out into an old mine. Several elfbeasts exclaimed in surprise as the two of them appeared, especially Annabelle. Yet they remained quiet and subdued, turning back to gathering supplies. A few soldiers saw them and saluted, one running off while the rest approached.

“Your majesty, it is good to see you safe.” the lead soldier said quietly when he was in range. “We feared the worst when the palace collapsed.”

“...” Annabelle did not reply, staring at the elfbeast around her and finally nodding after a cough from the soldier.

After a few more minutes of silence he nodded and saluted again. “Your majesty, if you would follow me?” He asked, and Annabelle merely nodded. Turning sharply, although with traces of exhaustion and wounds, he started marching through the cave with Annabelle and Arcane following behind, his soldiers resuming their vigil over the citizens who had evacuated here.

“... pursuers. We won’t last long this close; if she doesn’t appear soon we have to abandon any chance of her escape and flee.” an elderly noble elfbeast was saying to Deadridge as they approached a crude command station, filled with nobles and high ranking soldiers.

“I know, but if the princess is lost we’re already defeated.” Deadridge replied angrily.

“You refused to go after her. If she is lost, you will be the one responsible, Deadridge.” The noble growled, baring his claws before sheathing them quickly. “I will not have more deaths on my conscience because you couldn’t accept that.”

“My agents were sent after her; they will have more success than any number of soldiers.” Deadridge glared back, ears flattening.

“There’s no way any agent, no matter how skilled, survived…” The noble started to say.

“My lord, general!” The lead soldier called once they were close enough. “Her majesty has returned!”

Everyone at the table turned to see the approaching squad, especially Annabelle at the center. Sighs of relief echoed in every direction, as maps were folded up and the nobles started to move.

“Your highness, it’s good to see you alive.” Deadridge said with a bow. Turning to her right, he bowed into empty space before seeing Arcane on her left and smiling wryly. He mouthed ‘well done’ in her direction as she faded from perception again.

“... Papa’s dead.” Annabelle mumbled, staggering over to the table and collapsing onto one of the chairs set around it. “Papa’s dead, Deadridge… that monster killed him.”

“... Then you are our queen, your majesty.” Deadridge replied, placing a paw over his chest and kneeling. The surrounding nobles followed suit, before straightening and continuing to prepare. “There is not much time, I fear. This place will be found soon; we intend to withdraw to the Shrouded Peaks further east. The Black Prince will not be so quick to pursue us there, we think.”

“It doesn’t matter any more.” Annabelle replied, hanging her head. “Papa’s dead… it’s over.”

“Begging your pardon, majesty, but it’s not over.” the noble who had been arguing with Deadridge replied, with a worried glance at the princess. “We cannot fight the Black Prince, but we can flee. And given time, he will be forced to withdraw from the Rose kingdom and stand trial before the entire east for his crimes. We just need to survive until we can gather allies, then we will strike back.”

“Why? Where were our allies when he attacked us? Nobody’s going to help.” Annabelle replied despondently.

Arcane walked over to Deadridge, who was staring at Annabelle in concern. “Withdraw. She needs time to process her grief; you must get it to her. Do not bother waiting for her command; go.”

“Who are you to order us?” the noble demanded, hearing her instructions to Deadridge.

“It doesn’t matter.” Deadridge cut him off, nodding at Arcane. “She’s right; we need to leave. Lord Chrysanth, gather the people. We head for the Shrouded peaks in half an hour.”

The noble looked at him for a long time, then nodded. Turning to Arcane, he shook his head. “I don’t like listening to foreigners, and I’m not doing this for you. I just happen to agree with Lord Deadridge that this is the right thing to do.”

Arcane looked at him with her closed eyes until he flinched and looked away. “I know. It does not matter.”

“Then we are understood. Good.” the noble snapped, stalking away to gather the nobles and get the elfbeasts moving.

Once they were left alone Arcane looked at Annabelle again and waited. She seemed unwilling to do anything other than wallow in despair, so Arcane simply kicked her out of the chair and rolled her out of the cave. Annabelle jumped to her feet, furious at the treatment, but Arcane simply walked past her without looking back.

“Coming?” She asked as she walked towards the elfbeast procession.

“... Fine.” Annabelle replied, running to rejoin the rest and falling into line.

They walked through the forest, guarded by the lack of beasts and the soldiers delaying the Boreal forces in the distance. They joined another crowd after half an hour, exhausted nobles and soldiers forming a new perimeter while they continued the march. Arcane watched them struggle on, carrying belongings and children, tired and filled with despair, yet driven by the slight hope that remained to them.

Annabelle regained a bit of vigor, and marched through the group towards the leaders. She found Deadridge and the Lord Chrysanth near the front, organizing their forces and ordering soldiers about.

“Your Majesty, please rest.” the lord said when she approached. “We will get everyone to the mountains safely; you don’t need to strain yourself.”

“... Then I will leave it to you, Lord Chrysanth.” Annabelle said tiredly, walking next to them. “I don’t care any more.”

“Please don’t say that, your majesty.” Deadridge pleaded, glancing around nervously. “We still need you.”

“... I understand.” She said with a sigh.

“... I hope so, your majesty.” Deadridge responded, looking at her suspiciously.

“Deadridge, I’m not going to break without you watching me like that.” Annabelle said irately. “I’m sad that my father died, yes, but more than that I’m angry.”

“... angry, your majesty?” the lord asked.

“Yes, angry. Absolutely furious that anyone dared attack our kingdom, kill our people, and then murder my father.” Annabelle explained, her eyes empty and blank. “I want to kill something, I want to fight. Deadridge, Lord Chrysanth; where are the soldiers hindering pursuit. I want to join them.”

The two exchanged nervous glances, then started making excuses on top of each other.

“Your majesty, that would be most unwise…”

“It might prove a distraction instead of a help…”

“... we can do more good by gathering allies first…”

“... we need to focus on protecting our people…”

“... revenge won’t make you feel better…”

““We need to flee before we can think of fighting.””

They finished making their arguments, but Annabelle was unmoved. “I’m queen now, right? Then gather my soldiers, Lady Jasmina and the rest. I will take them with me to fight the enemy.”

“Your majesty…” Deadridge cried, his eyes shifting as if to hide something.

“... Your majesty, have you not heard?” Lord Chrysanth asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Have I not heard what?” Annabelle demanded, staring at both of them.

“... Lady Jasmina, and the rest of your forces, were killed in battle trying to escape the city. They were trapped by a group of faceless and gave their lives to help the citizens flee.” the lord said, shaking his head sadly. “Else we would not be in as bad a position as we are now.”

Annabelle was struck dumb, stopping in the middle of the march and falling further and further behind. Her eyes seemed to empty of all light as she leaned on Arcane, who caught her with her shoulder and waited alongside her.

“Jasmina… and the rest… all my friends… everyone I could trust…” She muttered, without a trace of life or hope. “How can I go on without them?”

Arcane flinched slightly and reached over to stroke the red hair on her shoulder, whispering under her breath. “Don’t think about it. For now, sleep. In time, you will wake… Once the flight is over, I will make it all up to you.”

Magic surged, undetected by any elfbeast, and Annabelle collapsed into a dreamless sleep. Arcane gently picked her up, carrying her in the march of elfbeasts without being seen by anyone. Slipping through the crowd, she returned to where Deadridge and Chrysanth were looking for the princess and deposited the sleeping body on a rolling cart, allowing the two to see them and relax. Arcane took a seat next to the sleeping girl, her own closed eyes allowing her to feign sleep as she waited for their flight to end.