Armor. He hated armor and chainmail. Even when he was forced to be a page at the King's Academy when really, he wanted to be in the Scribery full-time, he hated how heavy it was, how cold it was, and how it made his body sweat in places he never knew could sweat. But as a Royal, soon to head through a crowd of possibly drunk worshipers of human sacrifice, he must be able to defend himself if necessary.

He yanked the thin metal lining around his neck that felt to choke him and quickly rebuttoned the top of his shirt. The vest on top of the shirt made the chainmail grind against the thin undergarment and his skin. He knew once he'd taken everything off, a rash would be left behind.

In wide strides he made his way through the palace's main hallways allowing needed officials, servants, and guards to see him so someone can give a report to the King that he was following the summons. At the same time, he calmly searched for Hasana and Orlan who seemed to have vanished in thin air.

He readjusted the belt around his thin waist holding a sword he hadn't worn or used since he received it three years ago for his fifteenth birthday and his personal dismissal from the Academy and into Scribery. Once dressed in the traditional greens, gold, and silver, he had stared at himself in a mirror and had to admit, he looked powerful and important, but in his reality, he was the total opposite.

Descending into the Grand Foyer of the palace where most of the residence were gathering, he received unwanted scolds. He asked a few servants if they'd seen Hasana or Orlan and they all were clueless. Gris even asked two guards who once were a part of his escort, and they didn't know but said they'd be on the lookout.

Then he unwantedly crossed paths with the Commander with Princess Relana clinging to an arm. Eron Shadar unmistakably looked powerful and important in his Commander's suit and for a second Gris' heart skipped in both anger, fear, and terrifying admiration.

"Prince Grisonce," he said strong and firm, but Gris could hear his mockery.

"Commander Eron," he said then nodded to his escort. "Princess Relana."

"You actually look handsome without all the slave gunk over your face and clothing," Relana said.

Gris forced a kind smile to the seventeen-year-old who'd been pampered and nurtured her entire noble life. She looked pretty in her green dazzled dress and long curly locks.

"Thank you, Relana," he said.

"Do we not look presentable?" she said big blue eyes wide and seeking unnecessary recognition.

Of course, they both looked amazing. He wanted to roll his eyes. "You two look great."

Relana smiled joyously and glanced up at Eron as if she needed him to smile back. The Fiisen only narrowed his crimson red eyes at Gris. Gris couldn't help but smile noticing how the Crown was trying to push them two together for the past year. He didn't need the slaves to tell him about how every woman thought Eron was handsome and how he'd sleep with anyone who'd feed his ego. A sense of pity came over Gris though, realizing Eron hadn't changed since their time at the Academy.

"Are you ready for the Sacred Sacrifice?" Relana said with a sneaky grin, glancing at Eron as they were sharing minds to further torture him.

"I am, Relana."

"Good. Hopefully, you'd learn a huge lesson from this night," she said.

"And what lesson would that be?"

"If you want to continue being Fair, you shouldn't get personal with the slaves," she said. "It only brings disappointment."

"I see," Gris said. She would be perfect for Eron. "Well, I hope you two learn a huge lesson as well."

Relana's eyebrows raised. "And what would that be?"

Gris gave a real smile and peered at Eron who had the expression of someone prepared to rip his head off.

"That we all are one defect away from being Strange," he said making sure to say it slow and carefully so a stutter wouldn't ruin the depth of the statement.

Instantly, Relana's smile froze as her eyes widened in horror. Eron grunted and his free hand clenched.

Gris gave another nod. "You two enjoy the parade. Blessed be the Divines."

The Princess' cheeks reddened as she clung onto Eron as if she'd faint from the reality of his statement. Chuckling within, Gris slipped away feeling the Fiisen's eyes burning his back and decided to see Limp before going to his own carriage for the parade.

"How is he?" he whispered to Lady Liana exiting the curtained area of the guard still in a coma.

"Who? Limp or Royce?"

"Uh...both?" Gris said forgetting he was supposed to be monitoring the soldier too.

"Royce hasn't woken yet," she said. "Joras and Rosney did surgery on his head earlier. Apparently, his brain had begun to swell."

"They did a p-pressure release and didn't summon me?"

"Gris. You aren't the only one in this kingdom who knows head surgery."

"He has no family. At-at least someone should've been there out of support."

Liana gave an impatient and tiresome sigh and led the way to Limp's area. "Well, once he's woken then I'll make sure to tell him how much you've checked on him. As if he'd care."

Gris frowned and followed her into Limp's curtained area. At some point, Joras and his nurses had turned Limp to his side and propped him on large pillows. He was covered almost from head to toe with a blanket. And when Gris went to sit at his side, he felt the manservant shivering uncontrollably.

He gasped feeling rage sprout within his soul. "He's not drugged."

The nurse shifted feet and appeared guilty. "You know the Law concerning Strange in this infirmary."

"Go and get Joras. Now!" he barked so loud Liana near jumped off the floor. She bopped her head and scurried off in pure fright.

"Oh gods have mercy," he said pulling the comforter and tucking it around Limp's hot body. Thick sweat poured from his paled skin. His nose ran wild, and tears streamed from his closed red eyes.

"Limp, I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"I'm fine," he heard Limp whisper. His eyes peeled open into slits that pained Gris to the core.

"I'm so sorry," he said too many times to count.

Limp freed a trembling hand and grabbed him about the head. "You are a good boy. No need to apologize for doing what is right," he said in low pants.

"We should not be treating people like this," he said wiping an escaped tear. "We are better than this."

The curtain reopened and Liana appeared with a speechless Joras. Gris popped up from the chair and charged at the Master of Medicine. He grabbed him by the collar and yanked him close.

"Why isn't he medicated?"

Joras trembled and tensed in fear. "Th-the Law-."

"To hell with the bloody Laws. He is under my dime, under my-my watch, under my royal watch. You give him everything he needs," he shouted into the man's face.

"Okay. Okay, Your Highness."

Gris' teeth shattered as he tried to break through his stutter, but his eyes continued to glare sharp and dangerous.

"I ssss-wwwear if he-he dies under your watch," Gris said equally trembling.

"He will not die. I will make sure of it," Joras said eyes wide and sweat forming along his temples.

"You best be sure, you f-fool or you w-will not see another day," he said then snapped. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes. Yes. Your Highness. I do," Joras cringed. Gris shoved him away.

"Give him something now!"

Joras quickly opened his aid bag with various types of medications and herbs and prepared a needle. Gris panted and tapped the hilt of his sword impatiently. When the needle was filled, he snatched it from the man and checked it.

"I'll do it myself," he said and with great loving care he injected Limp with what he needed for the pain.

"Get him amberia tea and some to chew," he ordered.

"I'll get hot water," Liana said and dashed away.

"Properly care for his wounds," he said and felt Limp tug his sleeve. He sat back down and brushed the man's loose hair from his forehead. "I'm here Limp. I'm not g-going anywhere. Forget the Ceremony. For-forget the birthright. I've already prayed for Mageia."

"No. Go. Go," Limp said.

"I can't leave you like this," he said.

"I'll be fine, son," he panted, weak eyes closing and opening.

"What am I to do, Limp?" he said. "Everyth-thing feels like it's f-falling apart, but I don't know w-why. It's like. It's like I-I'm a curse and everything I touch it crumbles."

Limp began to grunt and shift and took hold of his head and brought him close.

"You are no curse, Gris," he said with forced strength. "You are a blessing and one day the gods will reveal it to you. Go, for the girl and the Sacreds. Pray for them. Pray for us all. Don't worry about me. I love you..." he said and drifted off to sleep.

Gris swallowed a sob and felt as if his best friend had given up his last breath. But he hadn't and it both relieved and troubled him. He stood and remembered Joras and cut him his dark glare and heard thunder rumble above.

Joras seemed to stiffen into a statue, eyes wide with uncertainty. He gave him the needle and without a single word to the man he forced his feet to leave.

He did not stop until he entered the front courtyard of the palace's north wing. His servants and slaves designated to stay behind at the palace stood around the courtyard in their best attires waiting to serve whoever calls upon them. Knights, soldiers, and guards stood or sat horseback in their designated spots by carriages.

"Where's mines?" he said to an escort of the King and Queen who gestured to an open-top carriage three spots behind.

Prince Gideon arrived with his escorts and a pretty noblewoman as a companion. They stopped at the carriage directly behind the King and Queen's and Gris didn't have enough energy to be upset. He was still trying to settle down from the incident in the Infirmary and the fact no one came to him concerning Hasana and Orlan. They both were nowhere in sight.

The very thought petrified him. A horn blew somewhere at the front of the convoy where the councilmen, judges, officials, and nobles sat in their carriages waiting to ride. The convoy was so long, it disappeared beyond the gates of the courtyard and already Gris could hear the cheering voices of onlookers gathering at the head of the King's Road.

Relana climbed into her carriage with Eron's assistance as he passed, and he shook his head wishing to explode. Everyone and everything were bothering him. When he finally climbed into his carriage and somehow locked eyes with Eron still standing beside his carriage. He was smirking at him. But it was something eerie about his smirk that sent chills up Gris' spine.

Oh no! What if he has Hasana?

If he had Hasana, it meant she had to have given him the location of where to deliver Mageia's letter. Panic conquered him, replacing his anger and annoyance until he spotted Dargany. Out of mockery or jest, the Commander had placed him in the outer protection on foot without his horse. Gris could feel the shame of the position, supposedly given to a guard, and knew the soldier wished he was on his horse in his proper place.

Gris knew he was the last person he'd want to see or speak to, but Gris needed him.

Once Eron was settled in his carriage with Relana and her noble girlfriend, and his back was to him he turned for the soldier.

"Dargany," he said starting out in a slight whisper only to rise higher until the man gave a sigh of annoyance. He glanced at Gris who gestured for him to approach, but instead of obeying he slyly glanced at the Commander.

"Come here," he said.

The soldier puffed out his bottom lip and approached with confidence to avoid suspicion.

"Speak quickly."

"I need you to do something for me," he said down to him.

"No. No more favors," he grumbled. "I've faced too much ridicule already on your behalf."

"I apologize, but I n-need you for one l-last thing. That's all."

"No," he said a bit too loud. Two soldiers on horseback looked in their direction. "Your Highness, I respect you and all. I do, but I have my own head to protect."

"I understand. But I need you to w-warn someone about something."

"Have you not noticed what tonight is?"

"I do, but you have the a-ability to leave the convoy. R-right?"

Dargany appeared stumped and finally said. "Maybe but still. I can't do this favor for you."

Gris could tell the man was curious about what he wanted him to do. He was a smart soldier, but he literally protected Gris for many years, at the Academy and outside it. They've had hundreds of conversations and bold incidents that would've had them both executed if anyone heard about them. If he wasn't so afraid of Eron, Gris knew he'd be just as close a friend as Limp.

The second horn blew and the royal carriages beyond the gates began to move forward.

"Dargany. I need you. I need you right now, please."

"It can't wait," he said.

"No," he said.

After a minute or two, the soldier gave an irritated sigh. "Okay what is it, but I cannot guarantee anything?"

"Go to the Arynliit Bakery on Grinner Street in-,"

"Arynliit? Ser Trekon?"

"Yes. Please go to him and tell him his family is in danger and needs to leave."

"Why are they in danger?" Dargany said concern filtering his face.

"It deals with Mageia," he said in a lower tone.

Dargany's face lit up. "Oh no. Not her again," he said.

The King and Queen's carriage began to move and Dargany slowly peeled away.

He shook his head hard. "No. I'm not doing it."

"Dargany! Dargany, please. They're in danger," he said but the soldier was already returning to his spot.

Gris cursed and punched the seat. Then his carriage rumbled to life and the two royally dressed horses pulled him forward. Gris scolded and knew for sure he had failed Mageia. He wanted to scream. He had allowed time to slide pass him on this matter. If his head wasn't swarming in hundreds of directions, he would've sent warning to the honored former knight a head of time.

"Gods I'm such an idiot," he said massaging his head and ruining Mira's miraculous hairstyle.

As his carriage cleared the royal gates, cheers and singing arose and before within minutes it consumed him on both sides. He slid into the seat and trembled into a deep prayer. He had one thing to do for Mageia Unknown. To deliver a letter to her family or at least to warn them. Now, he would fail her three times in one day.

"Holy Rasaal, you must truly be disappointed in me," he muttered and gave his ears over to the merciless cheering and the thundering laughter of the gods.