Leaving Lord Hercones and Lord Maurice by Mageia's side, Gris felt comfortable to leave.

"I need a full report," Gris heard his father demand as they stormed from the hallway of private rooms and into the infirmary.

Gris followed with Limp on his heels. And with the help of the temple soldiers standing about the infirmary, they managed to escape the growing chaos of people seeking answers.

"How long do you think it will last?" Limp said staring at the purple sky lit with stars.

"Hopefully, not long," Gris said.

They crossed the royal grounds and entered the palace through one of its hundreds of entrances. As they traveled the long and bending halls of the palace and into the empty main foyer, Limp finally digressed.

"I cannot believe this is happening," Limp said. "Everything you've said- your theory was correct. I couldn't be a prouder man to have you to serve."

"Limp you are more than just a servant to me. You are my best friend, my only friend actually."

"Gods, Gris," Limp said in great strength. He stopped, forcing Gris to also stop. He faced the man and thanked the gods again for healing him from his infliction. Yet somehow, he still had his limp. Still, it didn't matter. Gris couldn't even think about what he'd do if he lost him. But a troubled look crossed Limp's face and he tugged on his vest like Gris always did when he was nervous or anxious. Once he gathered his emotions, he looked at him and sighed. "Forgive me."

"For what?"

"For not truly believing in your theory and in your studies," he said, "in you."

Gris shook his head. "No need for that. You had your reasons. You wanted to protect me. I understand."

"Yes, yes. I wanted to protect you like I'm supposed to..." he said and trailed off unable to continue, mouth undecided on whether to stay open or close.

Gris couldn't help but smile and embraced his friend. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I appreciate everything you do for me. And never forget that."

Limp cleared his throat and sniffled. When Gris released him, he turned away and wiped his face as if he didn't want him to see him in distress. Then Limp's eyes hardened, and Gris followed his gaze to the large portraits of the royal family hanging along the main hall's entrance. He assumed he was looking at his portrait from three years ago, but noticed his interest was in the King's.

"You're going to be a fine king one day," he said voice dipping dark and dangerous. The hairs along Gris' arms erected sensing something wasn't right. But he couldn't pinpoint it.

"I hope so," was all he could say. Limp seemed to stand taller and faced Gris with an unreadable expression. Something mixed between assurance and hatred.

"Come, I haven't seen a single servant since we entered," Limp said. "Something's amidst and it's not good. I can feel it."

As if he'd transformed into a new person, the manservant took the lead towards the Kitchens. Even there it felt as if everyone had vanished in thin air. They went to the Mess Hall built underground of the Slave Quarters and the clatter of voices and the thick stench of tension greeted them.

"Here he comes," someone shouted as they passed through the crowd standing in the hallway.

"What is going on here?" Gris said.

As he entered the Mess Hall, big enough to fit at least fifty people, he near lost his heart. Never in his years of being Master of Slaves did he summon his entire palace staff for a joint meeting. It was always in smaller groups or with the overseers. Seventy-seven people considered Strange under the Ardanian Laws managed to fit themselves in the Hall. Servants and slaves alike stepped out the way to create a narrow path to the table everyone was surrounding.

Kresto, one of his overseers of the North Wing, stood on the table with the other overseers surrounding it. He gestured for him to join him, and Gris did, feeling sweat already coating his forehead.

"What is going on?" he said as people began to shush one another.

"Some are confused, upset, and some are joyous for being healed of their sicknesses and wish for an appeal. And worst of all everyone refuse to return to work until they receive answers about tonight," Kresto said unconsciously rubbing the scar that trailed from his brow down to the side of his neck. A nasty scar from his younger days of illegal sword fights.

"Great," Gris said scratching his head. "I'm still trying to process it."

"Well, be quick about it," he said. "I cannot tell you how long we have before the residence let alone the King himself wonder where his workers have disappeared. I managed to send Tarkel to weave suspicions from the Commander and Vela for the queen and princess, but it will not restrain suspicion for long."

"I see. Thank you Kresto," he said.

Then the voices fell into a muffle and when Gris looked to see why, all eyes were staring at Limp, revived from his bloody punishment. The manservant shifted awkwardly and gave him a "hurry up" expression.

Gris did a quick breather and faced everyone. Seeing his full attentiveness, the remaining voices were shushed.

"I know why you are here," Gris said. "You want answers, but I cannot give you any right now."

"Why's that?" Anobas shouted, a middle-aged slave with a noticeable hunched back.

"I am still trying to grasp it myself," he said. "Plus, the King wants to send an official announcement and report."

"Announcement about what?" Anobas scolded. "I hope it has to do with freeing most of us."

Gris held up a hand for silence as conversations rose again.

"I cannot guarantee anything, but I will – and I promise – I will speak to the King about all of you that were healed for appeals."

"Your stutter is gone, master," Malana said, a West Wing maid known to enjoy serving Eron. Happy murmurings rose for a second.

Gris couldn't help but smile. "Yes. It's gone. And as you can see Limp too was healed. But you must be patient while I seek answers on your behalf."

"Master! Your Highness," Shana shouted, a young woman with an illness that caused her skin to appear red, cracked, and dry. But now looking at her clearly, Gris could see her skin was fair like a newborn baby and even her eyes held a defiant spark. "Most of us had seen the sky move and change to purple. The earth quaked beneath our feet and the winds purified us. Is it true the Purple Thief resurrected from the flames of the sacrifice?"

Silence faltered as they waited for Gris to think of a decent response only to see he couldn't lie to these people. They had never mistreated or judged him, and he made sure to return the respect.

"You all know I would do anything for any of you," he said. "I cannot lie to you. So, the truth is, yes, she did resurrect."

"I knew it was true," Anobas said joyously as everyone responded the same.

"But again, I do not have all the answers nor know what to do at this point but ask all of you to return to work."

The sound of disappointment was heartbreaking, but Gris knew any minute everyone could be punished for disappearing, let alone gathering in such a way.

"You believed the Purple Thief known as Mageia Unknown was the Fairest," Wistaal said. Gris' gut churned. Not only was this man academically intelligent, but he was also known for nurturing secret views about the Book of Legends and causing disruption when he'd preach about it in the streets. How and why, he was transferred from the Runes to work in the palace? Gris never found time to find out.

"Well," Gris said but the man continued as he expected.

"We all heard of how her sentence was changed to tonight's Sacred Sacrifice, a change never done in over fifty years," he said. "You spoke your theory. You spoke it true! It has been centuries since the gods responded to any sacrifice until this girl with purple eyes was sacrificed. Purple just like the ancient amethyst of Fairlaana."

"Wistaal, you cannot speak that-,"

"I don't care. I shall speak my mind," he said as if he already acquired his priestly or professor garbs. "They – not the Laws – the Royals claim we all are Strange because we are sick or deformed. They declared the Purple Thief was Strange too. But after tonight we've seen with our own eyes how the gods accepted her blood and her screams."

"Wistaal," he said but the man continued and had everyone's ear.

"This only means one thing. We are not Strange. We are the Fair ones."

Everyone cheered as if this meant they all were to be freed. Gris felt a new tension gripping his heart and lungs and glanced at Limp for assistance. But he caught a slight smirk on his face that screamed he agreed.

"She has died to set us free," Wistaal bellowed.

Gris demanded for their attention and when he got it, he thought he'd faint. "We must remember what roof we stand under-,"

"We are free," someone shouted in the crowd stirring a new ruckus. Some of the younger men and women sneered at each other, bopping their heads, and already believing they were free.

"Everyone, please! You must stop and listen to me. Allow me a chance to-,"

"The gods have spoken," Anobas screamed amid the chaos of voices.

Gris rubbed his sweaty hands against his pants and realized he was still wearing his ceremonial garment. He didn't know what to do and silently pleaded to Limp for help. Any minute, he could witness the entire palace staff quit as if they had the lawful right to do so.

Limp approached the table and he knelt. "What should I do?"

"I don't know," he said. "But we need to regain control."

"The last thing I want is to make them upset," Gris said. "And I don't want anyone to get hurt."

Limp then took hold of his arm and gripped it sternly. He glared up into his eyes. "Be a king, Your Highness."

"What?"

"I said, be. A. King," he said with conviction. He released him and turned away, leaving Gris shivering in his boots.

Oh, Gods help me.

He stood straight and tall and took in almost every face, now smiling with joy or smirking with intent to rebel or defy orders.

What would father do? He thought but knew that King would have insulted them and ordered them back to work like they were not human under threat of death.

What would Lord Hercones do? What would Limp do? What would I do to keep the peace?

Then the answer spewed back at him. Keep the peace.

He went to the center of the table and stood straight and tall. He held up his hand and placed the other on the sword of his hilt. He waited, patiently, until everyone began shushing and the voices muffled back to silence. Gris lowered his hand and gave them a kind smile.

"Words cannot describe the joy I feel in this room," he said strong and thankful to have no stutter. "You all know who you are and I'm glad you did not allow the state of your circumstance to discourage you otherwise. Never let anyone steal your faith and your hope, and that is not what I wish or intend to do. As I tried to say before, we must be mindful of the roof we stand under. Our conversation will not heed lightly to some, so I suggest you keep it amongst yourselves for the time being. Allow me, to be your mouthpiece for just a little while because I do not want any of you – any of you to not see your freedom due to premature resistance."

As he spoke, he saw heads nodding and shoulders and faces relax, but Wistaal scrunched his nose and crossed his arms.

"What happened tonight will be remembered until the end of time," he continued. "So please, I ask of you, to be patient. Against our wishes, I know, we must return to our duties or to our chambers and I promise I will make it a priority to seek appeals."

"And what if the King says no, Your Highness," Shana said almost in pure sorrow.

Gris frowned but realized a marvelous thing and smirked. "Do not worry. I doubt you aren't the only ones in the entire kingdom let alone the realm reconsidering their position on what they see is Fair and Strange."

Now having control over the room, he made sure to implement dire instructions. "Now for those still working, please wear your uniforms. Those on the day staff, please stay within the walls of the Slave Quarters. I do not want you to be attacked or arrested for roaming the royal grounds. Seek your overseers for guidance or answers. And I will go and work on my promise."

"Your Highness," someone shouted from the entryway.

Immediately, Gris could hear and feel the tension and anger resurfacing as a soldier fully entered. Everyone shuffled out of his way as the soldier openly scolded everyone. Another soldier entered and blocked the door, eyes scanning suspiciously over the number of people in the room.

"What do you want?" Gris said.

"What is going on here?" the blonde soldier said.

"A meeting, obviously," Gris said throat beginning to knot.

The soldier didn't appear convinced as he scrutinized the staff with blue eyes so bright and sharp, they appeared fake and unnatural. He came to a stop beside Limp and gave the manservant a chilly smile. "It better be such. Their absence has been noticed by the King and the Commander. Everyone needs to return to work, now."

Anobas snorted out loud and the soldier raised his chin and placed a hand on his hilt. This seemed to make a few people stir with both anger and fear.

Gris knew he had to make these men leave. "I was just about to send them on their way. No need to bother yourself."

"It has been ordered by the King and issued by the Commander for double security in the Slave Quarters," the soldier said giving a taunting smirk that triggered murmurings and cursing.

"What for? They were only worried and needed reassuring after what happened tonight," Gris said. "They're about to return to work."

"That's not the problem," he said.

"Then what is the problem?"

"There has been reports of riots brewing about the kingdom," he said, and Gris gasped realizing the grinning soldier was giving this classified information out of taunt and mockery to stir confusion.

Gris growled and jumped from the table to approach the snooty soldier as every word he had said to the staff unraveled. He searched for the soldier's surname and badge that presented his rank and position that should've been somewhere on his breastplate but found none.

"Have you lost your mind, soldier, saying something like that in here?"

"I don't care," he said loud and proud with amusement. Gris wanted to punch his grin off his face. "If the Strange dare cause a fit, we security could finally use our swords for once."

Gris gave the man his dangerous glare, but it didn't intimidate the power-hungry soldier. He smiled the more and said in a matter-a-fact tone, "Oh yeah and you've been summoned by your father."