Chris admires the cleanliness of Alexanderia; the wells and water pumps are free of debris; alleys aren’t overflowing with broken and discarded furniture. Even the soldiers smile more, but then again, he travels with Zack who garners a salute and a greeting every now and then. He can see why his friends like a place like this. People are at ease, for the most part, and there isn’t a feeling of the whole place burning down at any moment. What is it like waking up every morning and feeling excitement for a new day?

But he knows the kingdom has her own secrets; nothing is squeaky clean. Its this truth that gnaws at him as he walks beside Zack. Saying goodbye to Sara, leaving her there, isn’t sitting well. He can’t place a finger on it, but the way the child looked told him there’s more to the story. Whether she knows it or is purposely leaving it out.

“You alright, you seem a bit down,” Zack asks.

“Yeah, I dunno, I guess I just miss the kid.”

“You’ve known her for what, a day?”

“She grew on me.” He shrugs, “plus, something’s up with her aunt.”

“Lady Sherwood? I know she’s not exactly motherly…”

“A grave is more inviting,”

“What I’m saying is, she’s different yes, but I doubt there’s anything sinister. Theo mainly deals with her though.

“Deals with her, why?”

“When her husband passed, she became a bit of a recluse. Her old social circles don’t want to associate with her, which is why I think she’s lonely. Every so often she waves down a patrol officer to make reports. Mainly she’s upset at the neighbourhood kids. They play tag and run too close to her prized gardens. Oh, then there’s the disturbances when she makes a scene claiming the butcher is over charging her maid. Theo is the only one still with patience to take the report.”

“She’s a peach,”

“She’s particular and set in her ways, but like I said, Sara will be fine.”

“You’re a bit too trusting,”

“That’s a bit harsh, considering you grew up in the place with the most untrustworthy people in the world.”

“Ouch,” he smirks, as a soldier waves Zack over for a short chat. He turns to Moira but she’s too distracted looking at the palace through the iron bars to pay him any attention. The palace leaves him with a sense of awe and elegance. Lively fountains churn along the carriageway to the palace. Vibrant flowerbeds lay across flat pavestones. There’s a sense of wide space, something Lollardum never has enough of. The palace itself is tall as it is long with bright windows. Its as red as the ruby he saw from the Gate. He can get use to a place like this.

“Remember, best behaviour,” Zack whispers as they climb the steps. He dismisses the knight’s concern with his hand and looks back at the other two who pause at the base of the stone steps.

“You two look like you’re going to a funeral. Who died?” he jokes. But the creaking doors drown out she answer.

Excitement boils as he, for the first time in his life, enters a palace as a guest. Shafts of midafternoon sunshine peer through the high windows casting shadows across the pink marble space. Past the cherry blossom-coloured pillars, he spies a lone royal painting of the king. Under it, sits the gold throne left abandoned on a dais. A low angry chatter hums from the lords standing in a gaggle beside the throne. Eclipse’s tail flicks against his leg as he moves closer to Zack. Moira’s body curls inwards as she tries to hide in a vacant space. A question pauses on his lips as a balding overweight lord addresses a slim man with a beaked nose wearing violet robes.

“Lord Richard requests another advance,”

“Again?” The slim man barks, “Lord Richard already exhausted his first-year budget. His ships are still at the dock!”

“Yes, my lord Beckham,” he answers. "He claims he requires additional funding for weapons to protect colonists from savage natives.”

“General,” Lord Beckham says through gritted teeth turning to Zack’s uncle who hovers off to the side. “Have our scouts located any natives on the island, savage or otherwise?”

“Not to my knowledge, my lord,” but Lex pauses mid sentence, finally noticing the group. His tunic medals clink with his swaying gait, as he meets them in the centre of the room. “Welcome back Captain.” He repays Zack’s salute, “everything in Lollardum is settled?”

“Yes sir. But I must request an audience with the king. We have a situation.”

Lex approaches him, studying his patched dusty clothes. Standing before his friend’s uncle in person, wipes every prepared lie from his mind. His palm sweats as his unpreparedness betrays him. But Lex moves to Moira without any interrogation. Her face is pale, and she clenches her jaw as she tries to refrain from fidgeting under his glare. The lords’ bickering quiets as they study Stone’s next move. As if answering his silent question; she nods, causing a smile to grow. He kneels before her, startling Zack to copy him. The Lords follow; everyone except Lord Beckham, whose glare makes his skin crawl.

“Thank you General,” her voice taking a formal tone. But he notices the faint blush on her face, “as The Captain explained, there is a situation. Please take me to my father.”

“At once Your Highness.”

A smile curls on his lips; he calculated the infinite possibilities of tantalizing secrets she keeps but an heir to a throne is beyond his imagination. She quietly follows Lex; both she and Eclipse are subdued, unsure, and tense. Their relationship changes before his eyes; not only a mentor and his Mage but an advisor to a future queen. He probably groomed her since childhood, preparing her for her future. There’s a slight tremble in her hand; is she afraid? Up until now, she seemed unstoppable in every way. Lex leads them to a pair of heavy oak doors; he enters leaving the group in the hallway.

“May I introduce, Her Royal Highness,” his voice booms, “Moira Alexis Avalon and His Lordship, Eclipse Orbit.”

~~*~~

She steps into her father’s study with bated breath. The bookcases, the curtains, and even the carpet depicting wolves hunting a unicorn remain trapped in time. The smell of ink, paper and firewood recall happier memories. Bedtime stories and jumping from chair to couch while he worked. Her father, buried behind stacks of papers, is thinner than she remembers. Grey strands streak his thick ebony hair and moustache. Years of fighting with courtiers turns his once expressive face into a wrinkled stagnant canvas. However, his eyes maintain an ounce of their fiery ambition.

“Moira, my dear, is it you?” His trembling hands pull her into a loving embrace. She clings desperately around him; in the moment it feels like home. “When your letters stopped, I searched for you.”

“I’m sorry father,” her guilt eats at her; she didn’t tell him she would stop writing. One day she thought of telling him something but never bothered. Then the next inkling to include him in something faded before she managed to get parchment. The truth is she stopped pretending they had anything in common. That he had an interest in her life. Deep down they both know the truth, the only thing he wants is her to return. Her freedom means nothing to him.

“It is of no consequence; you are home now.” He kisses her cheek; his smile broadens as he holds her at arm’s length, “you are the picture of your mother. Did you inherit anything from me?”

“Your stubbornness, Your Majesty.”

“Ah, Eclipse, dearest of friends,” he pets his head as the rest enter the room. “Captain Dawson, I am glad you survived Lollardum in one piece.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, it worked itself out,” sending a sideways glance to Chris.

“You accomplished an impossible feat, Captain. Bringing my daughter home is not an easy task. I trust she behaved accordingly.”

“Trust me, Your Majesty,” Chris grins, “it was a pleasant distraction.”

“Have we met, Master…?”

“Chris O’Connell, father, he is a friend of Captain Dawson. A lord from Lollardum.”

“A Lord?”

“We befell minor hardships on the way,” Zack adds to the lie.

“That’s Lollardum for ya— they’ll take everything, even the shirt off your back!”

“Well, perhaps, we can ensure Lord O’Connell is suitably reimbursed for his troubles,” Allan nods to Eclipse.

“Yes, Your Majesty, I will ensure he receives what he is allotted.”

“Father, I must speak with you, it’s related to my sudden return.”

“You vanished without a word; you had me worried sick. I received reports of your reckless endangerment from Lex’s associates. At this point I am under the impression you had your fill of the world and found your senses to return. Am I wrong? Moira, answer me.” A storm churns inside her, the waves build under his glare.

This isn’t about you…

“Margaret has gone mad,” her words spill out, “Bellavere’s army is readying for battle and—”

“Yes?”

“Father, Remo Kipling is alive. I saw him.” He steps backwards as if a cannon ball hit his chest. Shaking his head, he retreats to his desk behind the towering papers.

“I suspected something was amiss,” He mumbles smoothing down his hair. “Freidrich’s unexpected disappearance caught my attention. And we know about Dragon Haven; Margaret lacks subtleness, to say the least.”

“Didn’t you hear me? Remo Kipling has returned. Now he’s working for her.”

“Kipling is subservient to none,” he rubs his scratchy beard, “she will learn that cruel lesson soon enough.”

“Father, what if he—”

“You are safe here, nothing in these walls will hurt you.”

“People are going to die.”

“That is enough,” he squeezes the bridge of his nose, “Alexanderia and those residing within her Gate are my only concern.”

“You can’t dismiss this, he’s probably on his way here now!”

“General, perhaps let the servants know we will need rooms prepared.”

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” he bows, shuffling the others into the hallway.

“Apparently, you lost your manners in your absence.”

“You know he’ll attack us again—”

“Stop!” his fist slams against the desk, startling her backwards. “If you desire to discuss your vacation, I will oblige but I will not entertain this topic any further. Now if there is nothing more, I will let you get settled as I arrange new tutors for you.”

“The Academy has satisfied my education requirements…”

“The Academy claims to prepare you in the Mage Arts, but they failed to prepare you to succeed me.” Her stomach tightens like a hangman’s knot. His disappointment goes unsaid; he still pretends she’s a different daughter, one whose loyalty is unconditional.

“I’m not staying.” His eyes portray the fiery judgement only he can muster; causing her words to stick in her throat, “our report to you concludes our business in Alexanderia.”

“I am through with pandering to you! After the incident with the Academy, I agreed to allow you to continue training under Eclipse. But now it is time to put childish whims behind you and take life seriously— to behave like the royalty you are!”

“Or what? You’ll lock me away until I concede?”

“Do not argue with me!” He bellows, then runs his fingers through his hair. “This is your home, not a prison,” folding his hands calmly, “it is your choice, however, if you exit the Gate, it will be for the last time.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you desire to live as a Mage of the world, you will do so without me or my name. Consider your title, privileges, and inheritance revoked. Any attempt to enter Alexanderia results in imprisonment.” A part of her, the spiteful bitter part, wants to resign from the golden future he expects her to live. But then; you promised. Returning for Sara is impossible while locked in the dungeons or in exile. Eclipse’s comforting paw grazes her leg. “Well, my daughter what have you?”

“You win father. I will stay.”

Lingering in the empty throne room, she recalls memories of hide and seek and tag with her father. Her imagination created a forest of the marble pillars and an ocean in the garden’s fountains. Her father even encouraged her, but the Treason changed him; he sacrificed his tenderness for strict surveillance. As the sun vanishes behind a cloud, casting the room in grey, she remembers why she hates solitude. It reminds her of broken promises and a world of “next time I’ll be there.” General Stone’s cautious footsteps sound behind her and he regards her with a sympathetic smile. She focuses on the unicorn’s head engraved in the throne’s headrest; a symbol of the Mage’s rule overall. Above hangs a portrait of her father which replaces the family portrait with her and her mother.

“The Lords replaced it, Your Highness,” he answers solemnly, “they argued the family portrait resembled a bleak past, instead, this was commissioned to invoke your father’s courage and power.”

“Did he protest?” But Lex didn’t answer; a frown tugs at the corner of her mouth. Running her hands over the cool gold arms, stroking the velvet, she perceives the objects of a life she wants to ignore. “How is he, Lex, honestly?”

“Your mother’s passing changed him,” he whispers, “he did his best for you, and for us. But I fear he senses an end is near.”

“What kind of end?”

“Not sure; he remains silent on the matter. But he rekindled his urgency for your return; for you to stay. That’s all I know, Your Highness.”

“You know more than you are willing to share,” she smiles, “your loyalty to him is steadfast and reassuring.” After all, if Lex is still by his side, then there must be some redeemable quality in her father.

Like her father’s study, her quarters remain stuck in time. The tiny ornaments scatter every surface, the curtains, the shoes she outgrew, it all reminds her of arguing with her father. Opening the wardrobe, she finds the gorgeous dresses he bought her; compensation for a guilty conscience. The lavish space is foreign. After all, she only lived here during summer holiday. The Academy was almost home. But even that was taken from her.

“Enjoying the comforts of a real bed?” Eclipse muses entering the private quarters. “It is liberating having a title again.”

“Lord Orbit,” she smirks, “sure beats— Getthatfilthythingouttahere.”

“Peasants, if only they knew.”

“A Grand Advisor to the Crown.”

“Speaking of which, I spoke with your father. He inquired about your progress in your training and academics.”

“Why bother, I’m sure the Academy spelt it quite clearly in their letter.”

“Regardless of what they say, you earned your rank. To deny you because—”

“I saw the letter. They labelled me a ‘disturbance’ saying I was incapable of ‘following direction' and failed to 'uphold the standard.' To add insult to injury: despite my ‘academic achievement’ I ‘failed to merit the rank’. I am ‘unworthy to remain enrolled.’” All the hard work, the dedication, and obedience, worthless. Gripping a pillow from her bed; she throws it across the room. It hits the wall with a thud then crumbles to the floor. “He doesn’t get an opinion on the matter; he sided with them.”