It had been two years since Oris fled her castle, defeated and in the company of the one man who swore never to leave her side; a week and five days since Hermes had finally announced her death to the world and officially crowned himself emperor.

Much had changed in the time since her escape, yet in a way life had still moved on without her.

Her people had not been made slaves, she had seen that as she and Rodholf made the journey to what was once Heibey. There were no longer any wars, and extra soldiers patrolled the borders of the former states, enforcing peace.

If she closed her eyes to the occasional soldier at the inn dressed in white and black armor—New World colors—Oris was teleported to a time before she discovered she was royalty. A time when no one cared whether she chose to sit straight or slouch, or stay out with the village boys or not.

With a chuckle loosening her lips, she twirled the twig in her hand, her mind slowly drifting to other worrying things. Like why it had taken so much time for Hermes to acknowledge his claim on Orse when she was sure that her sister had lost her life that day two years ago.

Deep down she feared that he had seen through the ruse and was secretly searching for her.

And maybe now he has given up?

At first there were rumors that the man had fallen in love with the Queen of Orse and could not bear to kill her just to establish his authority. Oris didn't dare let the hope that had began to sprout blossom into anything and managed to squash it just in time to get hold of the next piece of news.

Hermes was looking to gather the world's most beautiful women in his harem before he crowned himself as the world's overlord.

"And I suppose he has done that," Oris muttered to herself and threw the twig into the pile of hay behind her before getting off the ground and patting the dust off her clothes.

"What are you doing, boy?" a gruff voice snapped, and Oris resisted the urge to just walk away because at the moment the man was her boss.

"Yes sir?" She spun on her heel to face him, first taking in the uncombed, straw-colored hair that sat above his head like the flame on a torch, then the turquoise iris of his only functioning eye before her gaze settled on the ever-present scowl on his lips.

What a keeper.

"Are you trying to mess with the tribute? Are you trying to get us all killed?"

This wasn't the first time Oris had wondered why Hermes asked for such random things as a tribute instead of actual gold and silver, or even harvests. It wasn't the first time she wondered where he was getting the funds to run his empire or the first time she was getting this lecture either.

She had also kicked sand into a tribute of clay last year but that had been on purpose.

"It's just because I took pity on you that you even have this job. You know fully well that no one is looking to raise an orphan. . ."

Here, Oris tuned out the rest of the conversation, quite sure that she could pretend to be remorseful later on. She didn't know if Old Man Ducan just had a terrible memory or if he actually forgot that she and Rodholf paid three silvers a day for accommodation at his inn, and paid him one gold piece to let them work on his land.

"Sorry Sir, it won't happen again," she cut in after fifteen breaths then looked at the ground, taking the time to count the yellow food grains surrounding her boots as the man continued raging.

It was times like these that took her down memory lane, back to when she and Rodholf had spent their afternoons playing in grassfields and rolling down hills when they had been too tired to walk back home. Back when she called Rodholf, Bren, because that had been his name before they had stood in front of the castle gates and he decided on the permanent use of his family name as a means of severing their familiarity.

Before she had turned sixteen and her sister's mind had collapsed, she had been an average peasant girl who loved an average peasant boy who could do a trick or two with a sword. She had been the unlucky twin, sent out of the palace in order to prevent in-fighting among royals when it was time for succession and she would have stayed a peasant if her perfect sister hadn't suddenly become less perfect.

"Are you listening, boy?"

"Yes, yes. I'll go clean the stables right away," Oris said and started walking away, only half-sure that that was actually her task. She didn't mind the chores, being a royal had its their perks-being alive was currently not one of them.

When she got the stables, she ran her hand over her topknot and realized that she had already spent the morning cleaning it.

She let out a sigh and hung her head, knowing that she couldn't just walk out the door with the old man still on the prowl.

Might as well tend to the horses, she thought, then started doing just that. The fact that her shifts were split between here and the inn meant that she was privy to all sorts of information. It turned out that what men had on their horses was just as surprising as what they spilt when they'd had too much ale to drink.

Humming a tune she had learnt as a child from her adoptive mother, Oris began her chore by running her brush through the mane of her regulars, occasionally stroking them as she fed them from whichever batch of hay they preferred. She also checked on the saddles and stirrups to ensure that they hadn't been tampered with.

It wasn't necessary but she knew from experience that the best way to kill a man was to get his horse—and she didn't need a bounty pinned on her head. Yet.

"Now, now, what do we have here?" she whispered to herself as her fingers brushed against something in the satchel of one of the saddles she had just finished tightening.

It was a piece of paper, nearly torn at the creases from being folded and read too many times.

It was a summoning by the court that read:

All vassals of the New World's fiefdoms are to present their most beautiful women to the king. Any delay will result in the death of the feudal lord. Any form of deception will result in the death of the ruling family, and the presentation of a woman that is not the most beautiful in the realm will result in the wiping out of the fiefdom.

Oris narrowed her eyes at the paper, having half the mind to ball it up and toss it into the feeding trough. Who does he think he is? Treating women as objects to collect.

In the end she could only swallow her indignation, knowing there was nothing she could do about it. Who could stop Hermes from amassing beauties? And who would dare disobey?

Having a daughter sent to the royal palace meant an upgrade in status even if said daughter wasn't favored in the end. And having a favored subject in the emperor's bed meant that one more feudal lord could rest easy knowing that he wouldn't be targeted anytime soon.

"It's a win-win," she said absentmindedly, speaking to the stallion that held her gaze. "I wonder if your master has a nice daughter he's willing to sell off."

"What was that, boy?"

The voice made Oris jump, but not enough that she'd startle the horse. She wasn't that skittish.

Immediately, she adopted a look of innocence despite the fact that she hadn't yet turned to face the speaker. "This notice fell out of the saddle. Pretty strange that the emperor is still collecting women."

For a moment, the silence dragged on, too awkward to be anything but filled with suspicion.

Oris felt her heart hammer against her chest and tightened her fingers around the reigns, all the while still acting as though she was tending to the horse.

She knew that Old Man Ducan had suspected her a handful of times, and she was quite sure that he didn't quite believe that she was who she claimed she to be, but the money was usually enough to keep him complacent. Usually.

"It's not everyday you see an orphan who knows how to read high class script," a new voice chimed in, prompting her to turn her head towards the entrance of the stable.

She saw two burly men making their way towards her. And with her path of escape blocked off by the horse beside her, she could only face them head on.

"What? What are you doing?" She tried to sound tougher than she felt. In reality, she could feel cold sweat rolling down her back. Even her hands were getting damp with perspiration.

She had to admit to herself that this was partly her fault. She had had a feeling that one day Old Man Ducan would seek profits elsewhere, and she was stupid for letting down her guard the moment Rodholf stopped hovering over her like a mother hen.

"My brother will not let you off." She tried to intimidate them but her voice was just as weak. She knew that the words carried little to no weight.

Rodholf wasn't here. He had ridden off to the border Heibey once shared with Sucahm to recruit fighters for Orse's revival. And the fact that there were more soldiers stationed at the borders meant that most petty crimes within the states went unnoticed and unreported.

The innkeeper was obviously taking advantage of all these factors working together to finally do away with her.

One of the men grabbed her roughly by the chin and held her face to the light. "A pretty thing," he turned to Ducan, "you weren't lying."

"Under all that manure and sawdust is a pretty face, enough to fetch a pretty coin in the underground markets," the old man said provocatively then rubbed his palms together. "If you don't want her, someone else will."

Oris narrowed her eyes at Ducan, not one bit deterred by the size of the men surrounding her. "You dirty swine," she spat. So, he had known all along.

"And you can see she has a mouth on her," he added with a crooked grin.

A small sack of coins fell into his waiting hands soon after and he licked his lips, feeling the weight on his palm for a moment before sliding it into his shift.

"One more thing," he started again, already hobbling out of the stable, "her brother is the avenging type."

"Former knight, by the looks of it. So be on your ten toes." He cackled then crossed the road of gravel that separated the stable from the inn.

Now, without anything to distract them, both men set their gazes on her.

Oris stared back, more curious as to why they had paid so much for a commoner girl than in the mood to escape.

She had been a queen who hadn't once lifted a finger to do menial work, yes. But long before that she had been a daughter raised by a declining warrior family.

She didn't need a knight in white armor coming to her rescue, and knocking the two brutes down wasn't exactly the issue.

What made things challenging was the fact that she needed to somehow escape the stables then hide away.

After her first attack, the element of surprise would be lost. And as much as Oris believed in the strength of a woman, she had no confidence in winning a fight against two men then hiding from them in an open field.

So all she could do now was wait for an opportunity to leave without the risk of breaking any of her precious childbearing bones.

And maybe, if she was lucky, she'd run into Rodholf on the way.

~