Zack wanders the dark hallways, searching for the secret meeting he’s prohibited from attending. He knows not to interfere, but his growing concerns regarding Kipling and Bellavere need answers. Correspondence from the kingdom is nonexistent. There is no information getting in or out and that isolation worries him. If he can’t get a report on the status of the monarchy then how can he plan to protect Moira and the palace.

Not to mention, an unsettling new thought bubbles into his consciousness. If Dragon Haven had actual dragons, then where are they now? Lex can’t hide anymore; he won’t be ignored either. He notices Theo standing wearily on guard outside the conference room and decides to try his luck. The soldier stifles a small yawn before jerking to attention as he approaches.

“Sir!” the young man salutes.

“At ease Theo,” he hides a smile, the boy’s zeal, despite the hour, is contagious. “Is the General still in there?”

“I’m not supposed to say sir.”

“Is there any chance you’ll let me in?”

“No sir, no one is to enter sir,” he glances at his boots, “orders from the General.”

“Did the General say anything about not sitting on that bench?”

“No, I don’t think so...”

“Then I’ll wait over here,” he makes himself as comfortable as he can on the hardwood seat. “How’s Bridget?”

“She’s fine sir,” he blushes, “her mother is visiting this week…she doesn’t like me much.”

“A strapping young soldier like you? I don’t believe it,” he grins, glancing at Theo's armour hanging over his wiry frame.

“Apparently, an old suitor of Bridget’s has a better horse. And a cottage on the coast…”

“Well, has he won first place in the mounted joust as many times as you?” Theo shakes his head. “Then go home and tell that old lady her daughter is dating a champion and your horse earns its metal.”

“What about the cottage sir? Any way I can get a promotion?”

“You? No. But maybe that horse of yours, clearly, he does the grunt of the work.” The door handle clicks open and ushers in the familiar sombre atmosphere as the lords exit. They ignore Theo but Lex smiles as he dismisses him for the night. He notices the exhaustion drawn on his face, “dare I ask?”

“I thought it would never end,” he motions for Zack to follow, “how is Her Highness?”

“She’s adjusting, sir” he lies. Moira’s silence worsens with Eclipse’s two-week absence. Fragments of the woman he met shimmers in Sara’s presence but vanishes when she’s alone. “I’m hoping Lady Rose improves her mood.”

“Yes, she brings a certain zest to the palace. Although we relocated her dragon to the mountains after the curtains caught fire.”

“General, may I ask a question?” But Lex sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“I know what you’re about to ask. I wish I had more to tell you, but I don’t. It’s the same roundabout discussion every other day. Every time I set forth my concerns it dissolves into ‘more important matters’”.

“Remo gets closer to Alexanderia with each day. What is more important than that?”

“To quote his Majesty ‘There’s no confirmation Alexanderia is the target and speculation isn't enough to ready our forces.’ And there is a part of me that hesitates to sacrifice our men—or you—on a whim. But to answer your question Allan is preoccupied with this royal ball and Lord Beckham is still trying to get the fleet to set sail for the colony while arguing with Lord Richard about money.”

“So, a party and a settlers is their concern?” Lex shrugs in response, the situation is even more ridiculous than he imagined.

“We can’t afford another surprise attack;” he clenches his sword’s hilt. No one was prepared last time. Everyone he knew either turned on his family or died. And it’s happening again. “I don’t think I—”

“What happened to your parents and Susan isn’t the result of your weakness. You were a child before, but you are a man— a soldier— now. If Remo returns the outcome will be different.”

“Because the gate is taller?” it’s a half-hearted joke wrapped in bitterness.

“Because we are wiser, marked by hatred’s fury, and we as a nation won’t stand for it.”

“I want to believe you Uncle, but the truth is we have a king afraid of conflict, a court who would rather invest in trade than defence, a powerful Mage slipping from reality, an aged general, and a Captain who possesses a cursed sword.”

“You forgot to mention the child with a dragon and a whistle,” Lex laughs.

“Uncle, I’m serious.”

“So am I, my boy! Alexanderia’s strength arises from the misfits who rally to fight for a unified purpose. A new age is beginning, this battle won’t be won by us, but by you.”

“What if Moira doesn’t fight?” Lex acts like she’s the solution, but his comment pulls the smile from his uncle’s face. “You’re placing your eggs in one basket. And you’re not the gambling type.”

“Why do I get the impression you rather she relinquishes her title and walk through the gate.”

“It’s not like that,”

“Then what?”

“I doubt she’s happy here.” Something changed in her and it’ll destroy her before Kipling can. The corners of Lex’s lips curl but fall as he sets his jaw.

“We each have our role to play, Her Highness will find hers, and you must continue yours.”

“What do you expect me to do? Babysit a woman who doesn’t want me around? I’m more than that.”

Lex draws in a long-exhausted sigh, one that sets in place a heavy burden for those who hear it. It’s in the flickering flames of the candles that show the wrinkles carved into his forehead. The dark circles under his eyes from restless nights. The blotches of dry skin under his beard. His next words don’t come lightly, they’re pained and Zack knows these orders come with a cost.

“You aren’t a babysitter nephew, you are a man of the sword and right now, I want you to prune the poppies.” The coded message hits his chest like a hammer. The hallway blurs as a sigh escapes Lex’s lips. “I won’t pretend anymore, I place my duty over politics, and act without the king’s command. Go to the garden, prune the poppies, they’ll bloom red.” He disappears into his quarters abandoning him to harbour the weight of the words alone.

Growing up at Lex’s country cottage, he spent afternoons with his nanny in the garden. Most don’t know but the famous general had quite the green thumb. He had a rainbow collection of poppies, that Zack pruned in his uncle’s absence. One afternoon, his uncle told him a story, one he never told another soul. He said one spring the poppies didn’t want to bloom. He tried everything; but nothing.

Late into the season, they slowly began to bloom; every bed but one. On the day he was to return to the palace he awoke to the entire bed of blood red poppies, stretching to the sky. He left relieved that his flowers finally persevered. But shortly after his return, Kipling and Braun attacked. To Lex his dear little poppies were an omen. And tonight, they are his marching orders. Fear crushes his chest as he scours the palace for his only solace. Finding Chris flirting with a brunette in the servant quarters, he pulls the thief from the doorway.

“Goodbye sweet temptress!” he calls to the girl, who giggles before slipping into her bedroom.

“Seriously? Waitresses, officer’s wives, why not royalty while you’re at it.”

“Just working my way up,” he smiles from ear to ear.

“Listen lover boy, something came up and I need to talk to you.”

“Is it related to a secret meeting (I’m not supposed to know about) and if you tell me one or both of us will hang?”

“Possibly,”

“Perhaps we’ll discuss this somewhere else.”

“Who’s going to hear us at this hour?”

“In my profession, the second rule you learn is the walls have ears,”

“What’s the first?”

“Don’t get caught.” Chris navigates the dark corridors and leads him to a place he refers to as ‘his office.’ Stopping at a dusty forgotten door in a wing Zack rarely frequents, he whispers, “voila!”

“It’s locked,” he wiggles the door handle, “don’t tell me you have a key to the palace doors.”

“My shiny friend, I got keys to everywhere,” he pulls a leather wallet from his jacket, and picks the lock in an uncomfortably short amount of time. “Shall we?” he lights candles as he maneuvers through the darkness. Heavy sheets drape over forgotten furniture and stand lifeless against the walls in the shadow of the candlelight. Ancient cushions pile in the centre of the space but he presents it like it’s a squatter’s paradise before busying himself at a makeshift table made of books.

“Do I want to know what you do here?”

“I think.” He presents a bottle of wine and two mismatched teacups, “just think.”

“But you have your own room, with actual chairs.”

“Thinking is business, and the bedroom isn’t for business,” he winks. “Now, what’s so serious that you had to seek me out?”

“Lex and I have codewords we use when we send correspondence or speak in mixed company.”

“The honourable Sir Dawson, keeping secrets—scandalous.”

“Can you be serious for once?” Chris places a finger to his lips. “The point is the General gave me orders to ensure the divisions are ready for war.”

“That can’t happen. The king is a Mage; he won’t agree to that.”

“Oh, you’re a Mage expert now?”

“I’m curious about them, so I did research.”

“In the library?”

“Yes, Zack, the library. Apparently, Mage law forbids them from acting as aggressors. He’s allowed to order the army to defend Alexanderia. Anything more he needs approval from the Mage Council. Since there’s no proof Bellavere is attacking to sway their decision, I assume, your uncle is acting without the king’s approval.”

“It’s a precaution.”

“In case we’re attacked or when Allan agrees with him? Either way you cut it; this is treason.”

“Lex loves this kingdom; he isn’t a traitor.”

“Acting against the desires of the crown is treason. General Braun thought he was helping the kingdom, but history remembers him as a monster. How is your uncle any different?”

“Lex doesn’t want to hurt anyone!”

“But sending the army and you, for that matter, won’t cause casualties?”

“It’s a precaution.”

“If you follow his orders, you’re committing treason too.”

“It’s not treason. I’m not like Braun or Kipling. I won’t go against the king.”

“Does Moira know?”

“No, no one knows. And it’ll stay that way.”

“Why are you telling me? You need to tell her,”

“I can’t.”

“Telling the heir to the throne is out of the question but a philandering thief is fine?”

“You don’t understand. She’s not like she was before. It’s best to keep her out of it.”

“I never had to keep so many secrets in Lollardum as I do here,” giving a faint smile, “I don’t like this Zack, you’re just a kid.”

“I’m a knight.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m a soldier, I’m trained to fight…to kill.”

“There’s a difference between tournaments and battle.” Chris sips his drink, “yes, your sword is impressive but in the heat of the moment can it differentiate between friend or foe?”

“Would you rather I sit here and drink away my life like you? I’m not a guy on a horse who slays dragons to get the princess in the tower. I’m real and I may die for my country. I accept the world I live in, do you?”

“You slay your dragons and I’ll slay mine.”

Regret darkens his friend’s face and the once sparkling eyes dim; regarding him as if he’s already a corpse. He isn’t dead. Or a traitor. But he can’t ignore the looming threat. Kipling will slaughter his unprepared men. He may take the palace. Kill Allan, Moira, and Sara. Lex said it himself; the king is too busy with a party to prepare for an attack.

But does that mean Allan is ignoring intelligence and pretending the threat isn’t there? Or is there any intelligence to force Lex’s hand. Or maybe his poppies are late bloomers again and he’s reverting to superstition? Either way Chris is right, Lex is rogue. What ever Allan’s reasons are for not taking a threat seriously is unclear. And his uncle’s orders are dangerous, treasonous, and deadly. But what other option is there?

The night crawls by as he stalks the halls. Sleep rejects his advances, leaving him with nightmares and sweat soaked sheets. A voice haunts the darkness, threats of danger and pain; hot breath at the back of his neck. He’s lost count how many times he’s walked this wing, but this is the first time he’s heard another person.

Turning the corner, he spies Moira talking to Catherine, the palace Head Cook. To his surprise Moira motions him over. Catherine tucks a stray grey hair behind her ear when she sees him. He’s never known her to fidget but she smooths out the apron over her plump stomach.

“Captain,” Moira’s quiet voice draws his attention, “it’s the kitchen, there’s a situation that may need your discretion.”

Four great hearths line the stone wall, however only the first two are lit. Long prep tables stretch the length of the space. Opposite the fires are shelves containing every jar, pot, and bag of ingredient he can imagine. Knives, spoons, forks, and item’s he doesn’t know the words for, sprawl over the tables like soldiers in formation.

Dawn is approaching, teasing the tall windows but with all the candles lit, the room is still dark. The aromas of spices and smoke tickle his nose, and his stomach grumbles, remembering the cook’s hearty porridge from yesterday morning.

It seems the group of kitchen maids in charge of the fires huddle between the second and third. They whisper and giggle over something on the floor. The cook clears her throat, startling the girls who turn to meet Catherine's disapproving glare.

They curtsey, mumbling ‘Your Highness’ and step aside; revealing Chris, head hung to his chest, lounging against a pile of logs with his feet inches from the dying fire. He exchanges looks with Moira before she approaches the sunken form.

“Moira! Fancy meeting you in a swanky place like this!” he slurs, tossing his head. He stumbles to stand but collapses against the logs. The thick bitter smell of liquor escapes his pores.

“You girls are dismissed.” She motions for the ladies to the door. He hiccups, trying to wave goodbye but his hand slumps to his side. “How long has he been here?”

“Not sure Your Highness. I didn't notice him until the girls got distracted.” She eyes the empty whiskey bottles and his bruised knuckles. “He's a bother Your Highness, always flirting with the girls; leading them to believe he’ll fulfil their fantasies. He’s a distraction, to say the least.”

She directs the last comment to him, her eyes scolding him like a child with her tone alone. It’s all fun and games until someone ends up drunk on the kitchen floor. Once again, he’s the one cleaning his friend’s mess. A groan escapes Chris’s busted lips as he slides further over the soot-stained stones.

“We will take care of this, Catherine. Thank you for your patience. Tend to your girls and tasks, the Captain here will make sure he stays out of your hair from now on.” Once Catherine leaves, Moira turns to their friend, slouching her shoulders.

“Chris,” she sighs, “I don’t need this right now.”

“Why the long face Angel?”

“You have some nerve.” She leans against the table and grips the edge. “This isn't some hovel in Lollardum, you need to behave.”

“I got sumtha to tell ya,” he slurs, “hush, you're pretty but you gotta not talk for a minute, I heard from— what do you call him? Sunny!” he laughs in her ear, “Sunny told me there’s a— a war coming!” She looks to him, but his words fail him. Chris had one job, not to tell her but he couldn’t be bothered to keep the one secret he needs kept. “Don’t believe me ask sunny there!”

“Do you mean Sunshine?”

“That's the guy!” he points at her like she won the grand prize.

“Listen carefully,” she holds his face ensuring his eyes focus on her, “did you tell anyone else?”

“No,”

“Good.” She sends him a sideline glance, and he knows this isn’t the end of the conversation. But it’ll have to wait.

“We need to get him out of here before Catherine feeds him to the pigs.”

“I'll scout ahead, and you carry him to his room.”

“They didn't teach you this in etiquette class, did they?”

“You'll be surprised what I learned abroad,”

“Check his pockets for his key.”

“They’re empty.”

“Figures,” he grunts, adjusting Chris’s weight on his back, “we’ll take him to my quarters.”