I'm in hell.

The answer was that Celia died and went to hell. There was no other conclusion that made sense. And what made it worse was that if she made the wrong move, she would die.

Again.

Likely painfully.

She wished Irene could tag along. Or even Rain. Or for his namesake to wash away the entire festival.

Drench us all so I don't have to go through with this.

A deep breath, she signaled Anne.

Together they stepped forward. Lecil to Astor and Anne to Raiden. Offering hands to their respective dates.

Astor's number went up a percent as he kissed her hand. Duke Raiden did the same to Anne, but Lecil could feel the tightened atmosphere.

Astor looked straight into Lecil's eyes, confident.

"Princess, I am honored for the chance to attend the festivities together. Shall we adjourn to the carriage? I assume Duke Raiden and Princess Anne also wish to leave post-haste."

Lecil didn't have to look around to feel the eyes on her. It was unfortunate, but things couldn't be left this way if she wanted things to go well with both parties.

"And I am honored to join you. However..."

The pause caused Astor's eyes to falter.

"This is a double-date. That's why I prepared a separate carriage."

With a turn of her head, she signaled the palace carriage to roll around. Grander than the Dukes' while thankfully being less flashy. It held the most room on the inside, ample enough to provide distance between parties.

Astor stared, slightly off-balance, but he quickly recovered.

"If that is what you wish, princess. I see no reason to deny it. We can always split off later."

That last comment was directed at Raiden. Luckily, it slid off his shoulder. Anne was a different matter entirely.

Anne's eyes screamed, 'Let us ride alone'.

Lecil eyed back, 'Trust me. You don't want to do that'.

Anne's eyes somehow performed a "tch" without the use of a tongue. Smiling broadly, Anne locked arms with Raiden.

"I see no problem. Do you, Duke?"

"Call me Raiden. Or Klein. Duke is confusing when there are two of us."

As Raiden signaled his carriage driver to dispose of the roses, Anne's ears grew hotter. Lecil tried to catch her eyes and communicate that calling him by name wasn't what was, but Anne was already lost in la-la-land.

Lecil waved to Kly and Tristan as she got in the carriage with everyone else. They hadn't shared any words, but guessing from Tristan's folded arms and Kly's posture, something was different with them. The worst part was that she would have to wait to return to figure out what.

=

Spacious. Soft cushions. A few refreshments; crackers and cheese. Lecil was eating away her anxiety. Then, remembering it was a festival, she stopped shoveling food into her mouth and decided to address the carriage. Clearing her throat.

"Excuse me. I assume everyone has questions for me, but fore that, please let me say..."

All eyes were on her. Angry. Amused. Intrigued.

She wiped the crumbs from her mouth. Then spoke in a rush, almost too fast to catch up.

"These are the best crackers and cheese I have ever sampled in my entire life. The cheese is cooled and fresh, and these crackers! Mmmm! So good. Here try. Try!"

"Sister. I don't-"

"Try."

It was the same tone as before, but everyone heard something different. The energy in the word was that of demonic insistence.

Coerced. No one wanted to stand out the way Lecil was currently. They all jumped on the bandwagon and partook in the small delights. Raiden cheered up, savoring the crackers. He claimed they reminded him of his days on the front lines with barely any travel rations, launching into a long-winded war story. Princess Anne was entirely entranced.

Astor spoke solely to Lecil about the ins and outs of cheese, its history, the business aspect, and how it paired with different wines.

Lecil truly enjoyed the history lesson and compared it to her own knowledge of fermented cheeses, the niche culture of blue cheese, and all its byproducts. Astor was so enamored with the amount of abstract fondue knowledge that he stopped speaking about the several wineries he owned across the country, fully engaged. Learning something new, he pulled out a pen and started taking notes.

Each couple was equally absorbed in their own conversations. Raiden and Anne found the cheese business incredibly dull and not fascinating, choosing to revel in tales of gallantry and war. Lecil and Astor were similarly disgusted with the constant cruelty and barbarism of battle and conflict.

The trip passed like that. The entire hour. Gone. Pleasantly. And all it took were snacks.

The royal driver smiled to himself, knowing he filled his shoes that evening, oblivious to his role in the climbing numbers.

=

The quartet was dropped off just outside the range of the festivities. Bright yellow and orange lights, all the shops were open. Criers drew attention to games and food stalls. Children ran and played. The scent of a thousand delicacies wafted through the air, mixing into the most wonderful aroma.

Lecil thanked the driver and told him he could park the carriage somewhere and enjoy himself. She didn't know if he would actually do that instead of waiting, but being polite to the man who might have saved the entire evening was the least she could do. Maybe paying more attention to the other staff would be helpful. Irene was the only person she really trusted, but others might be willing to join her side.

"It's so vibrant! I hardly know what to do first."

Anne's senses were overstimulated. So many things occurring all at once in a condensed setting. There was no inane bickering like when the King held his court. There was no shadowed conflicts or high strung emotions like on a ballroom floor. No subtly. Everything was loud. Boisterous. Real.

Walking into the crowd, she saw true and unfiltered joy.

In a way, it was more priceless than all her family heirlooms. More valuable than the national treasure that hung from Duke Klein Raiden's waist.

Thinking about it. Anne had an unexpected epiphany.

Lecil was unaware of her sister's inner thoughts, but when she glanced at the space above Anne's head, her eyes boggled. The counter spun like a slot machine.

Anne - 30%

"Sister? Anne? Are you okay? What just happened? Tell me!"

Anne snapped out of whatever trance she'd been in. Beaming. It surprised the entire group when Anne threw her arms around Lecil. Squeezing, nearly picking up her elder sister.

"Lecil! Thank you. Thank you, Thank you! This is so amazing! I never thought... I-I didn't think that all this could be the answer."

Putting her sister down. Anne fixed Lecil's hair, ignoring her own.

"People! It's the people. That is the answer! I didn't think it would be so simple after so long. Come on! Lets go already. Lets go, lets go, letsgoletsgoletsgo!"

Anne pulled a baffled Lecil by the arm, dragging her into the crowd.

The whole time, the Dukes were ignored.

Astor coming up with theories and conspiracies as to what exactly was going on. And while smoke was coming out of his ears, Raiden chose action.

He laughed.

Startled, Astor cursed.

"Is this deserving of laughter? They ran off without us. Her words must mean something, something hidden; perhaps they are plotting something."

Raiden smacked Astor's shoulder playfully, nearly knocking over the short man.

"They are! They're going to have fun, as should we. Screw back on your head so we can catch up."

Seething inside, Astor begrudgingly followed the lumbering giant. Raiden's tall form cleared a path through the crowd.

Astor would find a way to get back at Raiden. It was his fault. He must have put Anne up to this. To separate Lecil from him and make his entire plan for the night go awry. The over-muscled man was smarter than he looked. He probably had Jerome help in this scheme of his. If only Astor could piece together what the goal was, he could-

"Oof."

Astor rubbed his nose. Running into Raiden's back was like running into a boulder.

Klein's head turned over his shoulder, peering down at Astor with the largest shit-eating grin.

"Hey, Astor."

Nine parts furious and one part perturbed, Astor questioned with an expletive.

"What!"

"Fly."

Before Astor could object, he was already flying through the air. He didn't scream.

Flailing like a fish out of water or a human falling out of the sky, he passed over the heads of Lecil and Anne, who looked up and pointed. Getting ahold of himself, he twisted a ring on his finger.

Suddenly, he halted in mid-air. Righting himself to a standing position, he floated down to the ground gently, as if he were riding an invisible elevator—the product of being rich and carrying many magical items.

The people around him stared in awe or parted willingly. Astor appeared fine and gentlemanly, but his demeanor exuded killing intent.

Duke Raiden was already standing in front of him. Looming over.

Both of them faced off, neither backing down. A crowd quickly formed a circle. Lecil and Anne found their way to the edge, momentarily worried.

"Klein Raiden. I challenge you to a duel."

Gasps.

"I accept."

More gasps.

The stare-off continued, on a knife's edge.

Both Duke's held their hands out. A small object was placed in each.

Beanbags.

A very nervous game master backed away.

"Best of three?"

"Scared you'll lose so soon?"

"Hardly. I just wanted to give you a fighting chance."

"I'll have you in tears."

"You'll be groveling at my feet."

The crowd stayed silent as both dukes, the epitome of their kingdom in terms of status, wealth, and power, competed furiously in the most intense game of beanbag toss in history.

=

"And here is your prize, Young Master."

Bellavarn glanced down at the large stuffed animal with confusion.

"I didn't win your game, so why are you giving me the prize?"

The game master stuttered.

"I just thought... That, of course, you would win. Just because the score says otherwise doesn't mean you aren't victorious. You are a future Duke, after all!"

Bellavarn wasn't overly upset at losing. There were other games he was more accustomed to and better at. Losing wasn't the problem. The fact that this man wanted to forcibly make him a winner was.

It soured the mood.

"Rewards should be given to those who deserve them. I didn't win, and I won't take what I haven't earned. Keep it until someone manages to win it fair and square."

"But Young Master Sallow!"

Bellavarn didn't dignify a response. He waved a hand, walking back to a few group members. Young Ness looked like she wanted the large overstuffed toy. Wilson saw this and puffed up, determined.

It would be all well and good if Wilson won. Even if it ended in a loss, it showed his effort.

That game master might have had good intentions, or maybe he wanted to repay Bellavarn for something. Or to show his support for the rising young duke.

On the other side of the coin, there may have been a hope to earn favor by bribing him. Bellavarn might have even surmised the toy was a listening device or a weapon if it wasn't for the people surrounding him.

His family.

They distracted his mind. The guards kept him safe. The staff shooed away those who viewed him in an ill light, vetting most of the stalls. His friends dragged him around, joking, laughing, and partying. Today was a day to let loose and have fun. And all of them were all determined to keep it that way.

=

"And you said you saw Bellavarn Sallow leave our sister's room?"

"Yes, Prince Kly."

Kly's grip tightened on his armchair. Tristan cursed and threw his glass.

"That insect dares lay a hand on the royal family! I knew there was something wrong with her neck. So it was Sallow after all! I knew she would never try to commit-"

"Tristan."

The words halted before he spoke them aloud. Rumors of a princess harming herself would ruin the royal family. Best to focus on the scum who attacked royalty.

"This is a serious accusation. Do you have proof?"

The maid spoke in a monotone; only the tiniest of tremors in her voice could be heard.

"Yes. This rope. He had his guard dispose of it."

She produced the evidence, placing it on the table. It was frayed near the cut section. Kly examined it closer, noticing specks of dried blood. Waving an artifact over it, it lit up, confirming the presence of spilled royal blood.

Kly sat back. Drained. The implications painted pictures he'd rather not see. Tristan, now with confirmation of the deed, had to ask.

"Why was this not brought to our attention immediately? You've allowed a traitor to the crown to remain at large for months. Why?"

The maid shivered under the intense gaze—voice breaking.

"I didn't... I mean, I was..."

"Spit it out!"

"Yes, Prince! I was threatened not to reveal it until tonight."

"By who? The Sallow kid?"

"By the King."

Kly was up. Astonished. Tristan's constant scowl collapsed, dread-filled. The prince's looked to one another, expressions mirrored. The implications drowned them in questions. Was it all this part of King Lionel's plot? Why now? Why would their ruthless father allow the maid to live at all?

Then they understood.

Oh... They understood.

The timing. Why the maid lived. The Dukes.

It all made sense.

Tristan waved his arm, but his strength wasn't in it.

"You may leave."

"Yes, Prince."

Irene didn't stay, shutting the door and leaving the princely brothers to their musings.