The curtain was hung to give those wishing to say farewell to Lady Beatha’s empty casket some privacy. It stretched across what was normally the Duke’s banquet hall, and blocked off a quarter of the entire room. The space behind the rich burgundy velvet curtain was empty aside from the oak casket, and the only entrance aside from the curtain, was a single wrought iron servants door in the back left hand corner of the room.

The casket lay on a table covered in a white silk tablecloth, its lid closed, and a wreath of red and white roses laying across its glossy surface.

The room was silent, and the smell of the fresh varnish on the casket stung Sean O’Farrell’s nose. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, and waited for the servants to bring in the portrait with the gilded frame he had commissioned for the funeral.

A strange restriction in Sean’s throat and a gnawing sensation in his gut, seemed to tell him it was only proper that he say some words of farewell to his betrothed, but his feet remained stuck to the spot, staring at the curtain.

“Going to pay your respects, or keep waiting for an excuse not to?”

Sean whirled around and gaped openly at Bertha Brady.

Her deep blue eyes locked with Sean’s, and for a moment she worried that the pains she felt in her chest was more than just a result of seeing her childhood love.

When her breathing slowly returned to normal, and she was certain she wasn’t blushing like an idiot teenage girl, she dared herself to speak.

“What have you done Sean?” Her voice came out a whisper, as he searched her face, then her garb with his stare.

She wore a dusty and worn coat the color of sand, and under that she wore a simple black dress that had only a few uncharacteristic wrinkles.

“Did you walk here?” Sean asked instead of addressing her question.

“I did. I’m finding that my joints are feeling much better now that I live a less robust lifestyle.” She replied, a frown still etching her face.

Sean nodded, his expression ashen.

“How did she die?” Bertha’s voice carried a tremor of barely controlled emotion as she gazed at Sean.

“She… was mistreated by a Southern Captain whom was endeavoring to return her to me, which lead to her death.”

Bertha’s eyes widened, and Sean saw the unmistakable anger rise in her.

“That isn’t the full story though, is it?” She asked tightly.

“The information is politically sensitive, and cannot be shared.” He retorted stiffly.

Bertha glared as a result of his answer, then shook her head.

“I didn’t think I’d have so many regrets at this point of my life. Yet here we are.” Bertha breezed past Sean, pushed apart the slits of the curtain, and stepped towards the coffin.

Her hands clasped respectfully in front of herself, Bertha spoke, not caring that Sean could hear every word she said.

“Lady Agnes Beatha, you were one of the most dignified Ladies I have ever had the privilege of serving. You met adversity with the grace of a Queen, and rose above it better than women twice your age could. When you knew you were outnumbered, I believe you made the right decision in fleeing. I hope you have found peace in wherever it is you have journeyed to.” Bertha gave a deep curtsy of respect, then turned and exited the curtain.

She was startled to see Sean looking mortified, and a man whom there was no mistaking- was Lady Agnes Beatha’s father.

His green eyes were dark, and his face was an unreadable mask as he bowed his head gracefully to her.

“I thank you for your kind words for my daughter.” Bertha curtsied hastily, and when her knees wobbled, the man’s firm but gentle grasp caught her elbow.

“It is nothing my Lord. I was the Head of Maids when your daughter first arrived here.” She kept her head bowed respectfully.

“I am truly sorry for your loss. Your daughter was uncannily kind to those whom served her, a trait that I greatly admired.”

Bertha risked a glance at the stony expression on Lady Agnes’ father’s face, and was perturbed at his seamless mask.

“I am pleased to hear this.” The Lord then turned to Sean.

“The portrait of Lady Agnes has arrived. If the servants would like to come and say their respects now, the Southern King is due within the hour.” He informed his host.

Sean nodded, then cast one last strained look at the curtain, before sliding his gaze unseeingly over Lord Beatha before turning to the doors, and leaving the room.

Bertha regained her balance, and curtsied once more, while Archie gave a shallow bow, and gestured for her to leave before him.

The trio left the room, completely unaware that while they thought they were parting from a room that had nothing but benches, a curtain and an empty casket. They were in fact leaving a room that had a certain Lady hidden in an unsealed casket- whom was very much so alive.

*

The Southern Prince rolled his eyes as his father lectured him for the hundredth time on his code of conduct given the delicate nature of the scenario.

To be quite honest, a little chaotic war only sounded like more fun to Prince Raphael.

He kept those thoughts to himself however, as the carriage finally halted in front of Sean O’Farrell’s Keep.

The door opened and revealed a line of servants and guards standing in perfect placements all the way up to the Keep’s massive doors.

Prince Rafael stepped from the carriage and regarded Duke Sean O’Farrell, the North King, the North Prince, the North Prince’s betrothed- Lady Maude, and then…

The Prince’s eyes rested on a bowed head of auburn curls.

“Lady Beatha!” Sean’s eyes jerked upwards startled until he realized the Southern Prince was addressing Agnes’ mother.

Farrah rose, the corners of her eyes strained. Her husband straightened, and despite his relatively unreadable expression, his right eyebrow twitched at the familiar tone the Prince took with his wife.

“Why, I haven’t seen you in a fortnight! Sadly both occasions seem to include a great deal of tragedy.” He bowed his head to her, his eyes twinkling with malice, and his smile toying.

The Prince then turned his expression to Lord Beatha, knowing he was committing deep insult to the Northern royalty by ignoring them.

How could he pass up the opportunity to watch someone squirm though?

“Lord Beatha, please do not let what happened to your daughter weigh too heavily on you. Times are tough, and perhaps her finding peace at a young age allowed her to experience the best of life without the heartache.”

While Farrah’s husband didn’t outwardly attack the Prince, there was a flash in his eyes that made the Prince smile.

Finally, Raphael turned his attention to the North King and Prince, knowing that his father had to be ready to throttle him waiting in the carriage for him to make his introductions, before etiquette dictated that he set foot on the North King’s ground.

“King Aidan, always a pleasure to visit these rustic parts. Prince Arthur, it has been far too long! I heard you had your own misadventure recently, it seems this year is determined to distribute as much grief as possible.”

The Prince didn’t laugh outwardly at the dark anger on the Prince’s face, but he did rejoice inside.

When Rafael turned his gaze back to the crown King to soak in the last of his triumph however, his face froze.

The King was staring at him with a small smile on his face, and was studying him quite closely.

“Is something amusing your Majesty?” He asked lightly clasping his hands behind his back.

“Nothing of great important Rafael, I just am surprised that you could get a sunburn here in the North. Perhaps the winds are simply chilling your face more than usual. It might be best to warm yourself indoors.” The King gestured gracefully down the lined walkway, and it was the Prince’s turn to burn with hatred and embarrassment.

Without a word, he turned on his heeled buckled shoe, and strode down the laneway, not even bothering to wait for his father whom now stepped out of the carriage, and was already glowering at his son’s back.

Everyone curtsied and bowed again.

Aidan however remained standing.

He proffered his hand, and the Southern King took it in a firm grip. He leaned in so that only the two of them might hear, and whispered.

“My son is a foolish young man, please excuse him.” When the Southern King attempted to pull his hand free Aidan tightened his hold.

“Prince or not, your son will not be leaving here without facing some consequences. I would be very careful if I were you.” Aidan’s voice was light, and yet it sent the South King’s vast stomach roiling.

The 2 finally parted, and the 2 Kings waited as their guards, and the North Prince guided the precession into the Keep.

*

“The diary isn’t in his chambers, or in his vault in the dungeons. The guards will wake up I would say in the next 2 hours, so I recommend we hurry. I need to get to Aggie to help her.”

Jed’s voice echoed in the Minkies Queen’s head as he passed by her with his face turned down carrying a jug of water.

The 2 were fully disguised as waiting staff, and in the flurry of the day’s activities and visiting courtiers, they went unnoticed by the household staff.

The Queen kept her eyes cast down as she continued on her path to one of the guest chambers with fluffy starched towels in her hands.

Keeping her face bowed, as she recalled Aggie’s description of Sean O’Farrell. They needed to search for the journal on his person.

Entering the chamber to her right, the Queen ushered towards the dresser in the back right corner of the room, and laid the towels beside the washbowl. As she turned around however, the door burst open, and in stormed a woman with auburn hair piled high up on her head wearing a black silk gown with a raised back collar and a dangerously plunging neckline.

Behind her came a man dressed entirely in black, and whom the Queen didn’t need to guess the identity of.

“What?! What is so damn important you had to drag me away like that?” Farrah snapped as her husband slammed the door behind him.

The Queen shrunk back into the shadows, attempting to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

“A fortnight ago, where was it you said you were when our daughter died?” Archibald’s icy tone made Farrah’s back go rigid. She turned from her husband, her eyes cast downwards, but the Queen had seen the panic flit across her face.

“I told you already. I was visiting Duchess Elizabeth O’Donnell. She has the most marvelous morning room with windows that overlook-”

“Mind telling me why the Southern Prince seems to recall seeing you a fortnight ago? At the same time Aggie died?”

“He must have been mistaken I-”

“Were you there, Farrah?” The trembling in Archie’s voice was filled with pain, and anger, his face both white and green as he stared at his wife’s back.

She clenched her fists at her sides.

Through her Magick, the Queen could feel the woman’s rapid heartbeat, and suddenly the Minkies woman had a dawning suspicion about the depth of Aggie’s suffering.

When Lady Agnes Beatha’s mother remained silent, her husband continued.

“Did you watch her die? Did you see it happen, and do nothing? You came home days later. You never said a word, even when the message came.”

Farrah’s eyes bulged, and her lips trembled.

Archie grabbed her arm, and spun her around.

“Look at me! This is nothing like you cuckolding me, Farrah. You are going to tell me the truth now!”

Still holding her arm in a death grip, Archie gave her a quick shake when she didn’t speak.

“Ouch! Enough Archie! You didn’t see what she had become! You weren’t there! She was a horrid creature by then. I watched her brutally beat a Beast Awares more than 3 times her size. A dirty thing with a crazed look in her eyes… She wasn’t our daughter anymore. She stabbed a man to death, and I saw her before she did it! She was completely calm before it happened- I heard she even cut up the First Mate so badly that he died shortly thereafter and-”

“Did she see you?” Aggie’s father was visibly shaking.

When there was no reply, he shook her again.

“Ow! Stop that! So what if she did? It doesn’t matter!”

The look of horror on Archie’s face mirrored the Queen’s own.

“What… did she say to you?” His voice was hoarse.

“Nothing! Truly she said nothing- now let go of me!”

“Did she call for you?! Did you even respond? Did you even try to save her?!” Archie’s hand tightened on Farrah’s arm until she yelped again.

“There was nothing to save!” Farrah hissed before kicking him in the shin, forcing him to drop her arm and step back.

Archie stared at her with horror and disgust, and before he could lose himself again, he turned and fled the room, slamming the door behind him.

Farrah’s hands were clenched at her sides as she breathed rapidly staring after her husband, when the cold edge of a knife appeared at her throat.

She froze.

“W-Who’s there?” She whispered tears filling her eyes.

“A mother. Not that you know what that means apparently.”

Farrah never saw the woman behind her, and all she would be able to clearly remember after the exchange, would be the blinding pain from her womb before crumpling to the ground.

*

All the guests had arrived; all the refreshments had been set. One of the most impressive royal attendance from both Kingdoms waited lined up in the hallway outside of the banquet hall waiting for Lady Agnes Beatha’s parents to lead the precession, followed by Duke Sean O’Farrell, then the North King and Southern Prince, followed by the Southern King and Queen with their son.

It was time for Lady Beatha’s funeral.

There was a delay however, as a servant rushed to Lord Archibald Beatha’s side, and whispered something hastily. While the servant seemed gravely concerned and distressed, the Lord did not. He whispered something shortly, then turned to Sean O’Farrell.

“Lady Farrah has fallen ill. We will continue without her.” His tone rigid and dismissive of any arguing, earned a dark look from the North King- which was rudely ignored by the Lord.

Archibald Beatha lead the precession with his head held high, and tears glistening in his eyes as he thrust open the banquet doors. He made it to the curtain, then turned and stared at the courtiers filing in as they took their places along the wooden benches that had been brought in.

The cold rainy day outside brought in a horrendous draft into the hall, and many of the Ladies had their hands turn white in the chill, as though death itself presided in the room, waiting.

A loud gasp at the back of the room made Archie frown as his gaze sought out and landed on Duke O’Sullivan, whom was gaping at the painting of Aggie.

In it, she wore a soft pale green gown and gazed up at the artist, her bright eyes shining, and her pale face looking translucent.

A vision of youthful innocence and beauty.

“That girl is Agnes Beatha?!” Duke O’Sullivan burst out, the Servicer at his side looking equally disturbed.

“That girl is Lady Agnes Beatha, O’Sullivan. If you could kindly take a seat we might-” The North King’s chastising tone was interrupted by another commotion however, as a large Beast Awares parted the sea of courtiers dressed in black, pulling behind him an exotic looking man with short choppy jet-black hair, and broad toned shoulders that set the standard for the rest of him. He was tied by the hands and neck, and wore a white tunic, a black vest with matching trousers and boots.

Archie stared at the spectacle with a frown; the interruptions during his daughter’s funeral were becoming gravely insulting.

“Tork! By the Gods what-”

“I apologize for the poor timing, your Majesty. I wanted to bring this bounty in as hastily as possible. This here is the Servicer of the late Lady Beatha. The last man to see Lady Agnes alive.”

“I knew it!” Duke O’Sullivan was up out of his seat in an instance. Every eye turned to him, including Arlen’s, and when he laid eyes on the long curly wig and the protruding gut, it took great restraint for him to keep his expression complacent.

“Duke O’Sullivan, this is not the time for-”

“This is the man, and that woman,” he gestured to the painting of Aggie.

“-Are the ones that attacked my carriage and stole my horses!”

There was an explosion of whispering and gasps in the room, and Arlen calmly turned his face towards the North King whom was frowning. He then looked at a man he knew instantly to be Aggie’s father. Archie stared at Arlen with a mixture of shock and curiosity, his face unwaveringly intense.

Arlen felt his heart skip a beat.

They hadn’t anticipated her parents coming to the funeral.

Aggie had described her father as a man whom valued work over all else, and her mother as a sinfully social woman whom lived for parties.

The Southern King spoke first.

“Whom else can confirm this account?”

“My Servicer! He saw… well he didn’t see who knocked him out, but he saw the Lady!”

The North King stepped forward frowning, and addressed the Duke.

“When was this occurrence?”

“It was on my journey here! To her funeral!” He declared dramatically, his voice booming throughout the room.

No one could remain still, and Arlen let out a slow breath. This was getting out of hand quickly.

“OY! I’d rather everyone not move around too much with this Servicer here.” Tork shouted over the noise.

Everyone immediately stilled, and all eyes swiveled to Arlen whom was already staring at the ceiling readying himself for the barrage of questions.

“I have never seen a Servicer so… relaxed.” The North King’s cool tone made Arlen lower his gaze to the same green eyes as Aggie’s, and for some reason, the reminder of her made him feel a small surge of courage, and brought a smile to his face- which made the King look all the more disturbed.

“My King, please remember that he is the deviated Servicer. He is the reason why others of our kind of have been summoned to return. It is why I will be leaving along with Servicer Vera, and the Servicer’s escorting Master Bushi to the Ruling Family at the end of the week.” Ekon stepped from the shadows, his gaze attempting to pierce Arlen’s calm exterior.

The North King stepped closer to Arlen until he was only a few feet away from him.

In the span of a few months, the Servicer with jet-black hair and unique brown eyes, had transformed his physique from that of a scholar to a warriors. While he still was a few inches shorter than himself, Aidan had no doubt he would have trouble overpowering him.

“Servicer Arlen, you were the last person to see Lady Beatha alive. Did she survive her ordeal aboard Captain Murphy’s boat? If so, why is she not with you?”

Arlen smiled wider, but this time, it didn’t reach his eyes. He cast a look over his shoulder at Duke O’Sullivan, then back at the Southern Prince whom looked frozen in fear.

“Lady Beatha died in my arms that day. I believe the Duke O’Sullivan may be feeling some measure of guilt however, and is placing my dead Mistress amongst the living as a result.” The King raised his hand to silence the Duke whom had begun spluttering his outrage.

“Why would the Duke be feeling guilty?” The King asked his voice hard.

“Because he was there the day Lady Beatha died. In fact… I suspect he may have even witnessed and bet on her fighting the night before her death.”

The room grew several degrees chillier.

“Why do you smile while telling us these things?” The King questioned with his hands clenched in fists behind his back.

“I feel I am serving my Mistress justice by bringing to light the corrupt and malicious actions of the Southern court.”

“It is your word against all of the Southern royalty!” Prince Raphael barked, his eyes darting around the room at particular courtiers.

“This might be the best time for me to report where I found the Servicer.” Tork cleared his throat awkwardly.

The North King turned to look at the bounty hunter whom had shifted further away from the Servicer.

“Speak.”

“I had guessed that he would want to attend the Lady’s funeral… and so tracked him to the North King’s Settlement where I found him… placing Lady Beatha’s corpse in the coffin that was delivered here today. I had to chase him a bit which is why I’m a little late.”

Every eye in the room turned towards the curtain that veiled the coffin.

The North King’s face paled.

After a few gestures, the North King, South King, the Princes, Sean O’Farrell and Lord Beatha disappeared behind the curtain.

Once they surrounded the coffin, Archie nodded to the North King. First they removed the wreath from the top, and upon inspection found that the lid didn’t have any nails sealing it shut.

The Princes stepped forward, and lifted the lid off carefully.

The reek of death filled their nostrils, and everyone except the North King and Sean O’Farrell gagged.

Yet once everyone managed to straighten, they all saw the decaying corpse of a sandy haired woman, wrapped in a white sheet, with her eyes closed peacefully.

“My daughter.” Archie choked as he dropped to his knees and sobbed.

The North King only paused to gently touch Lord Beatha’s shoulder before he exited the veiled area to address numerous pale faces waiting with unyielding curiosity.

“The Lady Beatha has been laid to rest.” The King then moved his gaze to the pale Duke O’Sullivan.

“Is it true you carry guilt at finding yourself present for the death of Lady Beatha?”

“I-I feel no guilt! She had debased herself! She was a cretin… fleeing from her betrothed- She is the criminal!” He snapped his face growing red as a number of disgusted faces turned to face him.

“I see. Well thank you for admitting you were present at the Southern Prince’s palace.”

The Duke’s eyes bulged.

“I admitted no such thing!”

“Then where is it you witnessed her death?”

The Duke clamped his mouth shut, and seated himself in time for the South King and Prince to emerge from behind the curtain with Sean O’Farrell, the North Prince, and Lord Archibald following shortly after.

“You will pack and leave my Keep immediately your Majesties.” Sean O’Farrell addressed the royals with a growl.

The South King let out a noise of outrage and the Prince let out a short laugh.

“I would prepare your people for war.” The North King announced without turning to address them respectfully.

“Now see here-” The King started, but the Prince cut him off.

“WILL YOU STOP SMILING YOU REPUGNANT IDIOT?” The South Prince exploded as he addressed Arlen’s cheeky grin, which remained unchanged on his face.

The North King straightened his shoulders when he addressed the Servicer.

“Servicer Arlen, you are to give myself, the North Prince, and Sean O’Farrell your account of everything that has happened immediately in-”

“No.”

Everyone turned to stare at Lord Beatha whose red eyes leveled the entire room.

“Politics… Politics is what forced my daughter from this keep, and I will not allow it to diminish her funeral. My daughter died horribly, in great pain, and without any shred of dignity. This injustice came from her being used as a pawn by everyone here. No one leaves this room until we give her the respect she deserves.”

In all his life, Prince Arthur had never seen his father look chastened, yet the North King blushed and lowered his gaze at the man’s words.

“You are right Lord Beatha. We will complete the funeral before questioning the Servicer. Guards, please escort the Servicer to the cell.”

The only courtier members not in attendance of the Lady’s funeral from then on was the South King, Queen, Prince, and Duke O’Sullivan with his Servicer.

No one was aware that the coffin lid was being opened once again, or that Lady Agnes Beatha was about to ensure that the consequences the North King had mentioned, would begin within the hour.