Prince Albert and King Allard, having raced back to Castle Albreton as fast as they could, arrived at the broken wall in a short three days. The horses leapt over the break in the wall and landed in tandem before they dashed to the castle itself, skidding to a halt before the mote. King Allard sang the magic word in a baritone and the lily pads mushed together, forming a safe passage across. Swift and King Allard’s mare stayed at the edge of the mote and didn’t cross to the other side where the castle gate swung open magically at King Allard’s presence.

Jasmine was nowhere to be found. Prince Albert searched every corridor, every room, every nook and cranny of the castle that he could think of, but nothing even remotely lead him to a clue as to where Jasmine had gone. That is, until Mythos emerged from one of the darker corners of the castle and took Prince Albert by the arm. King Allard had gone off to search a different wing of the castle and the prince, in his haste, had almost run right past Mythos, his heavy boots stomping against the hard, stone floor. But she had been there ready to grab him as he dashed by.

The prince whirled around at Mythos’ surprisingly tight grip. “Mythos? What is it? Do you know where Jasmine is?”

Mythos looked at Prince Albert with pained, wet eyes. She mouthed something.

Prince Albert had never been very good at lip-reading but Mythos’ expression meant something was wrong. Taking Mythos gently by the shoulders, Prince Albert asked in a much less frantic manner, “You don’t have to talk. You need only point me in the right direction.”

Mythos’ lips scrunched up. Then she covered her face, dropped to her knees and wept.

Prince Albert had never seen her like this. Worried, he knelt in front of her and gripped her shoulder, “Mythos, what happened? Are you hurt?”

She mouthed something else, voiceless. In all the years she had been in Castle Albreton, Prince Albert had never witnessed Mythos being anything but calm and collected. She was a strong woman, a good friend, wise and kind. It pained the prince to see her like this. He wanted—no; he needed—to help her. For the first time ever, he found himself wishing that Mythos could speak. Up until now, gestures had sufficed for whatever she needed and nothing ever seemed to truly upset her. But now, with Mythos crying silently, her head resting against his shoulder as she shook with grief, Prince Albert yearned to know how to help, how to ease whatever pain she was going through. For the smallest moment, all thoughts of finding Jasmine vanished from him.

Mythos broke away from the prince, wiped her eyes and plucked the quill out of the belt he wore to keep his chainmail tunic in place. She pointed to the dry edge of the quill.

“I don’t have any ink,” said Prince Albert, “Fragmaroginog hasn’t replenished my supply—” The prince stood abruptly. His concern for Mythos molded into unrivaled hate for the wizard. Facing Mythos with fire in his eyes, he said in a tone so flat it could never be mistaken for a question, “Where is Fragmaroginog.”

That was good enough for Mythos. She took Prince Albert by the hand and yanked him towards the depths of the Castle Labyrinth, dropping the quill carelessly onto the floor where it would lay forgotten. The prince lurched forward, not expecting her to take such a forceful measure; but soon he was running beside her, farther and farther into the dark belly of the castle. They made haste, guided only by the candlesticks lighting the corridors and the electric sound of clashing magic that rebounded up ahead.

They came upon a golden door. Mahogany vines swirled about its surface, glowing starlight blue in the darkness, brightening the rest of the door’s metallic shimmer. Two phoenix statues next to the door’s frame leered at Mythos and the prince as if they had spirits of their own. Mythos had led him to the Hall of Truth. The prince had never seen it in person before, though he had heard his father speak of it when he was young; The Hall of Truth was the setting of many tales passed down through the generations of the castle, and sometimes, a character in itself.

But Prince Albert had no time to dwell on those memories. A snip of magic sizzled out of the door and went sparkling down the hall behind them. It was followed by a horse’s scream. Grabbing hold of the handles, the prince tugged as hard as he could on the door, but it would not budge. Another bang resounded. Giant hoof beats clattered. Mythos shoved the prince, taking the second handle. Together, they heaved with all their might. A flash of blinding light and ink spilled out from the other side of the doorway. Sliding in the muck, the prince and Mythos nodded to each other and gave one final heave.

The door spread open.

Fragmaroginog hopped to the threshold as a pool of ink slid across the floor, remolding into the great winged horse with a slurping sound in the corner farthest from the door. The prince, having never before seen Enkaiein, staggered one step back, but Mythos trudged through the receding ink to embrace the tip of Enkaiein’s folded wing. She had not seen the toad bound past her and out the door, but Prince Albert had.

“Not so fast!” Regaining his composure in the blink of an eye, he circled in front of Fragmaroginog and drew his sword. “What have you done with Jasmine? Tell me, Vermin!” He demanded; the sharp tip of his sword squished against Fragmaroginog’s back, ready to pierce down at the mere flick of Prince Albert’s wrist.

Enkaiein and Mythos observed from their corner, Enkaiein’s wing folded over Mythos protectively while she braced her hand against his slippery, liquid chest and mouthed something that was directed at Fragmaroginog. There was wrath in her eyes.

At this, Fragmaroginog laughed. Croaking in his words, he said, “You are a fool, prince, to think a sword is capable of striking down a wizard.”

The prince brought down his blade, “Enough filth from your wretched mouth!” His sword sliced through empty air. The toad had vanished, leaving naught but the remnants of a guttural chuckle in its wake. Scribbled in black ink where Fragmaroginog had been were the words to Prince Albert’s nape.

The prince could have sworn he heard Salina’s scream as the world went black.

Mythos rushed to Prince Albert as he fell, arriving too late to catch him. Landing with a crumpling thud, he lie there unconscious, blood staining his yellow-blonde hair and the back of his scalp as Mythos crouched over him. Tears formed in her eyes.

Fragmaroginog was hopping away, nonchalant as ever.

Just before the toad reached the door, Enkaiein swooped down, intent on trampling him, but Enkaiein’s form failed him. As Fragmaroginog’s slimy, amphibian skin emanated a brown light, Enkaiein liquefied and splattered onto the floor, not one splash of ink touching the toad. And Enkaiein may have been quick to reform into the great winged horse, but that didn’t change the fact that he could never reach Fragmaroginog due to the spell.

While Enkaiein subjected Fragmaroginog to his unrelenting hoof-stomps, useless as they may have been, Mythos took up Prince Albert’s sword. It scraped along the floor as she lifted it. She gripped the hilt tight then ran into the fray, swinging wildly, stabbing at anything that resembled a toad in the dim light.

Fragmaroginog croaked and laughed, dodging every swing Mythos pitched in his direction. Eventually though, Fragmaroginog was herded against the wall. His skin sizzled at the touch of the blue vines on the wall, which crawled all the way up to the high ceiling of the room. Face still streaked with tears, Mythos pointed the blade at Fragmaroginog’s tiny, disgusting body.

Then she took a breath and plunged it into him, relishing in the squelching sound that he made as he was punctured. Admiring the toad corpse still stuck to the end of Prince Albert’s sword, Mythos raised her chin and clenched her teeth behind her lips, scrutinizing the blood and organs dripping down the blade.

“He is not dead,” Enkaiein said.

Mythos snapped out of her murderous trance, looking to Enkaiein who stood there, once more a great beast with seamless folded wings and inky, dripping hooves. They were in the Hall of Truth. He hadn’t lied. Mythos ripped the toad off of the sword by holding one of its feet and wrenching the blade in the opposite direction. A third of the carcass flung to the floor. She hurled the rest of it at the wall and watched it sizzle against the spellbound vines, turning ashen as it slipped downwards.

Then Mythos dropped the sword, where it clanked against the stone floor next to the dismembered brown toad and its strewn, pinkish insides. Enkaiein backed out of her way, making room as she ran back to the prince and knelt over him. She graced her fingers on the back of his head where the blood was already drying in his hair.

He twitched, startling Mythos so much that she tumbled back onto her rear. She had thought him dead. “Albert,” she said breathlessly, leaning towards the prince, but he didn’t move again.

Enkaiein said, “He will survive. He is strong in many ways.” Enkaiein had fully solidified and was no longer running at his contours or dripping ink out of the tips of his wings. With his renewed appearance, he towered majestically over Mythos and Prince Albert, dipping his long neck to see the wound.

“I know how strong he is,” Mythos said, wiping the side of her face and her eyes, “I fell in love with him for his strength.” Clearing her throat and the crack from her voice, she continued, “But he still needs to be treated. Can you help me get him to the White Room?” Although her inflection did not falter, her face pleaded.

Enkaiein melted, pooled under Prince Albert and then remolded himself so that the prince was lying mounted on his back, arms draping in front of Enkaiein’s wings and legs anchored between large, ink-made feathers. “Of course, Princess Salina,” said Enkaiein, “I do so gladly.”

As it turned out, King Allard was jogging around the corner when Mythos and Enkaiein exited the corridor from the Hall of Truth. The castle maze had led him there. His first instinct, upon seeing Enkaiein carrying Prince Albert, was to assume Fragmaroginog had changed shape and charge the beast, sword raised.

Mythos got in the way and King Allard braced himself to a stop. “Handmaid!” the King yelled, “Get out of my way!” He glared at her and in the candle light Mythos saw the desperate anger in his eyes.

She bowed before King Allard, unable to explain herself, mute in the face of any denizen of Kingdom Albreton thanks to Fragmaroginog. She thought his spell would fade when she sliced him in two, but it had not. King Allard’s perception of Mythos was still skewed, just like it had been since Fragmaroginog first found out Salina knew his secret and cast this spell on her.

Even if he wasn’t truly dead, Mythos was glad she ripped his body to pieces.

Luckily, Enkaiein was not bound by the same spell. He dipped his neck towards the King and said, “King Allard, I wish no harm on you or your kingdom. Mythos asked me to carry your son to the infirmary. May I proceed?”

Even with the great horse’s voice so loud that it boomed like a wave rushing over him, King Allard could not deny the nobility of the creature before him, nor its honesty. The King lowered his blade and commanded Mythos rise to her feet, which she did, promptly. “Very well,” said King Allard, “It appears there is much to discuss. I will accompany you, Winged Beast.”

Enkaiein said in a throaty horse’s nicker, “I am named Enkaiein, King Allard.” There was humor in his tone, as if the noise he had made as a precursor to his statement had been his version of a hearty chuckle. Mythos picked up on this, but the King remained even in his determined strides through the halls of the castle. Enkaiein followed, so large that he frightened any working servants out of sight. The servants, once they were a good distance from Enkaiein, proceeded to gossip over what the King was doing with such a frightening thing and why the resident mute seemed so impassive about the affair.

Mythos did not miss gossip. She had always thought of it as pointless tedium. If there was one positive thing about no longer being recognized as Princess Salina though, it was that she heard everything the servants talked about in closed quarters. She no longer was excluded from hearing their real opinions of the royalty. Because she was mute, they also assumed her deaf. Either that or they knew she couldn’t rat them out, being unable to speak.

It’s amazing what people are willing to reveal when they know you cannot repeat their words. Princess Salina had not been the first to discover Fragmaroginog’s betrayal.

Before long, with the three’s brisk pace, they reached the White Room. Enkaiein was tall enough that he needed to duck down to get through the doorway without Prince Albert being knocked off his back. The King whisked past Enkaiein as he dipped down, easing Prince Albert onto one of the beds with Mythos’ aide.

“Tell me everything,” King Allard commanded, his eyes fixed on Enkaiein’s pitch black muzzle.

“Of course,” Enkaiein said, obliging completely.

Mythos treated the prince’s injury as Enkaiein made his way to the center of the room, stretching his wings out to full span as he began recounting the events that led him to be trapped inside the Hall of Truth, and Fragmaroginog’s involvement in it all. Behind him, in the distance through the windows, past the mote, across the white-grassed plains and above the Icy Mountains, dragons were circling each other. Either fighting or dancing, the dragons were, but none present in the White Room took notice, for they were far enough away to be mere specs on the horizon and Enkaiein’s tale was revealing plenty to keep them occupied.

The King looked upon Mythos with refreshed eyes, shocked. “You?” He asked.

She nodded, pressing gauze against Prince Albert’s head. Her lips were flat. She imagined Fragmaroginog’s body fragmented against the Hall of Truth’s stone floor, oozing toad blood. That brightened her demeanor and loosened her jaw, if only slightly. She wished she could speak. If she could speak she could curse.

King Allard cupped his beard in hand, trying to think of when Mythos had come into Castle Albreton’s service. No matter how hard he concentrated, he could not think of where she had come from or when. Every time he thought he could capture the information in his mind, it eluded him. But he had no reason to doubt that Mythos was Princess Salina, even if her likeness had changed considerably. Enkaiein’s words were undeniable truth. Beasts so ancient were not capable of lies, nor had they any use for them.

Which pegged the question: How many perceptions had Fragmaroginog altered?