That oversize cat has some nerve to send me back here. He helps Nicole into the ruby emblazed carriage before making himself comfortable in the soft velvet seats. Leaning his head back he avoids the window; its too risky to show his face. By now the whole District will know what happened, and his role in it. The worse part, Eclipse probably knows too.

His little trip to the Kingdom of Ancients, wasn’t for Moira. Lex wanted information. Everyone wants information. The council members probably confirmed the truth of the suspicious magical stones in Lollardum. The one Artie wore isn’t the only one making its rounds on the streets. The bastard knows how this affects me. And he sent me back anyway.

The carriage meanders through the crowded streets. What are they thinking? A philanthropist like him escorting the princess from the Holy Kingdom to the place evil goes on vacation. Moira’s delusional to agree to this. He tries to ignore the putrid smell and the tattered hags who tap on the window begging for money. She sits across from him; unable to sit still and folds and refolds her pale hands on her lap.

He doesn’t allow himself to pity her, not when she’s the source of everyone’s pity. Usually, he enjoys comforting the struggling pretty faces of the world. But something about Nicole makes crossing that threshold unsettling. Like art in a cathedral. A place where the beautiful figures are watched from the safety of the pews. Such ethereal beauty makes him feel permanently stained from the sins of the real world.

“Master O’Connell?” she observes the busy streets, “are the stories regarding Lollardum true?”

“Having regrets, princess?”

“This is my first time visiting, from what I heard though; it’s revolting.”

“If you’re going to take the word of a Mage, then Lollardum is a personal hell.” He glances at the scores of people trudging through their own dismal nightmare. “This place as no redeeming qualities. It’s purgatory for every sorrowful soul living here; if you call it living.”

“Why live here if this is the case?”

“What are you trying to ask me?”

“Moira trusts you with me; I assume you realise she doesn’t trust many people.”

“Your point?”

“My point is, I am trying to discover what you offer that my education cannot.”

“Tell me, when you meet Castellan, what do you plan to say exactly?”

“I will plead Moira’s case,” she fidgets under his gaze. “Why she requires their help and pray they embrace their humanity and do the right thing.”

“And you’ll fail,” he stifles a laugh. “Humanity, as you see it, doesn’t exist here.”

“It exists everywhere in this world, the Gods—”

“—have turned their back on us,” his words are strangely definite. “Lollardum is a welting sore, diseased, and is only capable of surviving by feeding off itself— like a fungus.”

“That’s disturbingly graphic, Master O’Connell.”

“The world is disturbed, Your Highness. Don’t preach humanity here; don’t waste your breath.”

“What is it you suggest I do?”

“If I can be blunt? The first question Castellan will ask himself when he sees you, is why this child is wasting my time. He’ll see your pretty face and dismiss your words as flippant nonsense. Then his gaze will linger,” she squirms as his eyes follow the curves of her body. “Once he’s imagined you in several unflattering positions (all of which will repulse a maiden of your caliber); he’ll ask himself the most important question… what you can do for him.”

“For him?

“All the men in that room will want something in return. We pathetic souls, who live here, don’t act for eternal glory or for the goodness of our hearts. Instead, we act for the primitive need to acquire what we’re owed.

“What do they want? Money?”

“That’s their secret, I’m afraid,” he turns to the window; already bored of the stone and soot.

“How am I supposed to know what they want?”

“I suggest you think of something, or we just wasted all this time. Not to mention the whole war situation. But no pressure or anything princess.”

“Does everyone think I will fail?”

“You’re up against unimaginable odds.”

“Then why won’t you help me? Moira sent you to assist… to offer insight.”

“No one can tell you the exact words or dance that guarantees you get what you want. You got to discover this on your own. The stakes are high, and you’re scared because for your whole life everyone else made your decisions for you. You’re left with me. And princess, I’m not the hound who wins at the final lap.”

“I think you are wrong about yourself. You—”

“Don’t bother, Your Highness. Like I said don’t waste your breath on humanity. Personally, at this point, you need more help than I do.”

“Is there something the king wants more than anything?”

“If I had to guess? My death.”

~~~*~~~

Their murmurs hum as she waits to address the formidable king in a public forum. The spectators, draped in multicolored clothes, crowd the gallery. Their innumerable accents saturate the space. She stands upon the worn floor in the center. Once again, the center of attention but, for the first time, not of their affection. Their whispering reminds her of childhood bullies who lied behind her back. King Castellan slouches, his layers of jackets and bulky jewels bunch over his large form. He leans on the armrest; his hand cupping his hairy face. The other motions for the audience to quiet and the curious whispering fades.

“What is your concern, princess?”

“Your Grace,” she curtsies, “I speak on behalf of Queen Avalon of Alexanderia. She plans to invoke the Treaty of Triad Empires. And hopes to encourage Lollardum's assistance against Bellavere's current aggression.”

“You mean your army? Your mother is engaging in war and you are begging for us to help Alexanderia?” his lips curl, “you Mage lovers are as backwards as I thought!” The room erupts in laughter and a hot blush kisses her face.

“My mother’s reign needs to end. For this to occur Alexanderia requires your assistance.”

“My dear, Alexanderia can handle herself. How about you women deal with it over tea and leave the fighting to the men.”

The crowd snickers.

“Your Majesty, our kingdoms lived in peace for years. My father strived for peace and there’s rumours she killed him. She is a plague which leaves death in her wake. Humanity is at the centre of every soul and I am asking you to find yours. Stand against my mother, stand for peace, justice, and mercy.”

“This is your first time in Lollardum is it not?”

“It is my king.”

“Well, princess, allow me to educate you. Unlike you and your religious piety we pulled ourselves from the dirt to thrive in the real world. Those pillars of religious strength are useless here. If Bellavere’s queen refuses to uphold them, then that tells me the pillars aren’t as important to your folk anymore either. Return to your kingdom, to your high towers, and stay there.”

“Your Grace, I beseech you, assist Alexanderia. If not for my principles, do it for—”

“Why?” he scowls, “why help a Mage when her race endangers my people? From where I sit this is between your mother and Avalon. I won’t waste my valuable resources. If you have nothing else to say, Your Highness, you are more than welcome to leave.” The crowd whispers her defeat as she approaches Chris, who stands near the doorway. Her mother’s insults whisper in her ears. You’ll never amount to anything. You’re useless. You won’t make it a day without me. Determination swirls inside. She isn’t the failure her mother prophesied. The sneering crowd rekindles her anger, but Chris’s disappointment ignites it.

“Your Majesty!” she storms to the throne, “you will assist Alexanderia.”

“I already told you, princess,”

“I know what you said. But if you refuse, your kingdom will fall.”

“Are you threatening me? With what army?” he and the crowd laugh.

“Alexanderia’s.” Their murmuring stops. "The Kingdom of Ancients is the strongest kingdom due to the high Mage population. Alexanderia ranks second, due to their strategic location. Followed by Lollardum because of your monopoly on weapons.”

“And Bellavere is last because you refuse to engage in conflict. You prove my point that Bellavere is no threat to Alexanderia.”

“Imagine this, Your Majesty, what do you expect will happen when Alexanderia wins?”

“Your mother loses her head,” he snickers.

“…after that. Moira Alexis Avalon is crowned queen of the second powerful kingdom of Umara. As the last descendant of an ancient Mage family, she gains an ally in the Mage Council. Hypothetically, if the anticipated queen decides to test the limits of her kingdom—as new monarchs do—what is keeping her from testing her prowess against the one closest to her? She already owns the mountains, what prevents her from owning your melting smiths? Yes, yes you will fight!” She calls over the raging crowd, “she will feel the strength of your army by the blades of your swords! But can you profess that, when Alexanderia marches to your walls, you are equipped to fight her and Bellavere and the division of Mages—the race your people commit heinous acts against.” She glances at Chris who smirks. “I assure you once Alexanderia wins against my mother, I will be more than willing to lend her my army to attack you. Are you ready to go to war with the entire continent, Your Majesty? Will your swords and shields stand against my army, Alexanderia’s and Moira’s own magic? From where I stand, I don’t see any way you can. Queen Avalon becomes unstoppable. The only question remaining is which side of the wall will you choose to stand?”

Her palms sweat as she waits on the bench as the king deliberates his options. Chris slouches with his face in his hands as he taps his foot. He’s comfortable under the gaze of both Eclipse and General Stone but unhinged in Lollardum’s castle. This flustered man beside her is far from the composed man Moira described.

“I’m sorry,” he utters through his hands, “it’s a terrible idea. I shouldn’t be here.” She pulls him to his feet as the queen and General Steele approach. A servant carries the train of the queen’s silk canary gown with black velvet trim. Her braided hair tucks under the white veil trimmed with precious crystals. Her tender face contrasts with the stern grimace of the general standing beside her. He wears a black and brown uniform with gold buttons.

“Your Majesty,” Nicole curtsies as Chris fumbles through a bow. “I was not expecting you.”

“I insisted,” she confesses, taking Nicole’s hands in hers, “I wanted to give my sympathies. I respect the values your father exemplified. Despite your mother’s choices, I know Bellavere's integrity has not wavered.”

“Thank you, your words are too kind.”

“With that said I report that His Majesty does not share my opinion. Despite your bravery, he cannot condone the Treaty.”

“Oh, please no,”

“The general and I fought for you, sadly all His Majesty will offer is half of the army. He believes with the number of weapons king Avalon purchased half his men is fair. I am sorry princess, I tried.”

“A blessing, no matter the size, is still a blessing. Thank you for your commitment to our cause.”

“All this comes with a condition. My king requires you to dissolve Bellavere’s obligation to the Treaty when you ascend the throne.”

“To ensure temporary peace today, I must sacrifice future security?”

“If you want our resources to help Alexanderia, this is the only way. Once again, I am sorry.”

“Make your decision quickly princess,” Chris whispers in her ear, “time isn’t on our side.”

“Very Well, I accept your terms.”

“I will inform His Majesty,” she smiles a regretful smile, “meet our messenger at the docks. May the Gods shine Their light on you.” The doors burst open, and within a blink two soldiers shackle iron cuffs on Chris's wrists. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Unhand him,” she pushes between the soldiers, “he is an Ambassador from Alexanderia! I demand to know the charges against him!”

“Orders from the Magistrates. He’s to answer to the inquisitor.”

“On what pretense?” Steele barks.

“Treason sir.”

“Impossible!”

“It’s okay princess” Chris grumbles, “return to Alexanderia. I’ll get it sorted out.”

“Not without you.”

“It’ll be fine. Go back, Moira needs you there.” The guards pull him through the hallway as onlooker’s gossip.

Treason?

“General...”

“At once Your Majesty.” He nods to Nicole before following the men to the prison.

“Princess, you have a ferry to catch.”

“I refuse to travel without my escort.

“I understand your loyalty, but he is right. Return to Alexanderia, Queen Avalon needs you.”

“She needs him as well, I mean…” there’s a blush creeping over her face. “He’s an important member of Her Majesty’s court.”

“Dear child,” the queen whispers, “we are advising you to flee Lollardum while you can. The reach of my husband’s army ends at our border. Your friend knows that.”

“How am I a threat to the king?”

“Leave while you can, I am unable to help you both.”

Are the Gods testing my resolve? What is going on here?

Her heels click through the castle corridors. Despite her throbbing feet she searches for any soul willing to divulge details of his fate. Ladies who would ask to join her for tea in Bellavere, snub her. Their caked-on makeup cracks on their wrinkled necks as they turn their nose in the air. They whisper and cackle as she passes them. At least the women stay; remaining in their place as if they fought tooth and nail to earn the right to occupy the space.

The men scurry like mice when their eyes meet hers. They refuse to answer, brush her off and ignore her. Like a cat in a minnow pond, she wades through the scaly creatures who press themselves to the river's edge. Their vulgarity reveals they aren’t afraid of her but of someone else. The guard, who arrested Chris, marches unhindered while she fights the throng in his wake. Elbows are unladylike but the minnow is more important. She claws past toes and skirts until she grabs his shoulder.

“Where is he?”

“Who?”

“The man you arrested earlier. The one from Alexanderia!”

“There’s no one from the capital locked in the tower.”

“Yes, there is! He’s my escort, we came here from Alexanderia!”

“Listen, the only people in the tower are thieves, murderers, and the penniless beggars who can’t pay the king’s taxes. Does that sound like your friend?”

“He’s a diplomat for Alexanderia.” His freedom depends on maintaining the lie.

“Take it up with the tower warden. I don’t make the rules, I just follow them.” He yanks his shirt from her hand and walks through another throng of people. A soldier wearing the ruby insignia waves for her attention.

“Sorry to keep you Your Highness, but your room for the night is ready if you wish to rest,”

“But the ferry?”

“I’m afraid we missed it, but we can sail tomorrow. Captain Dawson gave orders to keep close to you and Master O’Connell. I thought he was overreacting, but his instincts are rarely wrong. Something’s odd here Your Highness, I hope we can get him out soon and head home.”

“I pray for that as well.”

Her room is small, sparse, and damp and overlooks the repugnant moat. Dirt and thin bedding remind her of a cell. But she’s committed no crime. Or did she? She swore to dissolve the Treaty. It’s the only legislation keeping peace throughout the continent. With his weapons, Castellan is her greatest threat. But if she doesn’t keep her word, he’ll attack her regardless. If it’s Alexanderia he wants, maybe she’ll let him be Moira’s problem.

You’ll abandon your friend to save yourself and your pretty things? She hears her mother’s cackle. Selling out your friends for what? Jewels and clothes? Not all whores open their legs. Tears roll over her cheeks and drip onto her neck. She stares out the window where a dark tower looms. She sees the crumbling cells and rusting coarse bars. An inhuman prison where thieves, murderers, and the destitute call home. Near the middle, one window glows.

What do they want with you?