It was precisely 3 o’clock in the afternoon— which would have been a very nice afternoon in any other day of the year, except on this particular day which saw a nasty explosion in the Royal Garden and an attempt at kidnapping the second Prince of Triciella right from under the noses of his own Royal guard. So no, it wasn’t that nice of an afternoon after all.

“So let me get this straight…” Began the first princess of Triciella, “That man— Gail, took my brother away while you weren’t looking, and you do not even know where?”

They were walking towards the western edge of the garden, and Shawn and beginning to get more tired of the young Lady’s questioning than the actual task at hand. He did not dare divulge too much information in front of the others, and had been as vague as possible in his answers— but the Princess was simply too perceptive.

“Yes”, he said at last, looking straight ahead and trying not to cringe at how appalling his answer sounded. Shawn was aware of his position— he had been made aware of it from the moment he became the official bodyguard of Prince Emmanuel— if anything were to happen to the second prince, it would be his head on the chopping block. Shawn was perfectly fine with that. Chopping blocks were tamer, in his opinion, than having to grow up on the streets with nary a penny to his name, and nothing but the ragged clothes on his back and a sister who wobbled with every three steps she took. Chopping blocks ended your suffering far more quickly, than having to starve for days and not even knowing if you’d be alive to see the next day or the day after that.

Shawn did not mind chopping blocks as much as he minded not being able to protect Emmanuel. He was quite taken with the young Prince— though he would deny his fond affections until his dying breath, had anyone asked— and nobody really liked to ask Shawn anything in particular.

“Where do you suppose that Gail fellow could have taken his Highness?” The cheery voice of Zack Matthews interrupted his musings. Shawn rubbed his chin thoughtfully. They were almost at the outskirts of the Royal Garden. From here, the main entrance of the inner Palace courtyard lied close to the South-west, which would have been the source of great comfort to Shawn if her Royal Highness Eleanor was not doggedly determined to hunt down her little brother instead of returning to safety like a sensible person.

Alas, nobody liked to remind the Royal family about the common senses which were supposed to be— uh, common.

It was at times like this Shawn wished that Sir Rylbert were here.

That man had a way with words that Shawn did not, and sometimes it made things (like dealing with stressed and pissed off members of the Royal family with a potentially kidnapped sibling, or two) much easier in the hindsight. If Sir Rylbert were, he’d have been able to allay the Princess’s worries with a reassuring smile and a list of all the possible ways that the kidnapper cannot possibly have escaped the Palace walls, and masterfully dodge the insistent line of questioning about bodyguard duties and whatnot. But Sir Rylbert was not here, and Shawn had the personality of a surly bullfrog, so he silently strode forward while Princess Eleanor kept yelling profanities at him.

At least she had the sense not yell them out too loud.

The group arrived at a small clearing in the far end of the Royal Garden. From here, three paths spread out in from of them. The first one was well-trodden and led to south-westwards pentise— all the way to the inner courtyard. The second path was narrow, flanked with azaleas and white-rose bushes on either side. It disappeared around a thicket of thorns in the right hand side, where the Red Tower loomed in the distance. The third path, sitting innocently in the middle, was the most troublesome of all— for it led a straight road down towards the Castor tower— one of the twin towers flanking the Vespera—the second gatehouse of the Royal Palace. Summarily, it was a road that led you outside.

Shawn wanted to pick the first one. It was no surprise— the first order of thing for him was to ensure Prince Emmanuel’s safety, and he couldn’t get on into that task until he had ensured Princess Eleanor’s safety, and the Princess’s safety lied with her being inside the inner-courtyard of the Palace with other, more capable Imperial Guards who were not directly saddled with Prince Emmauel’s safety like Shawn was.

The Princess’s close aide, Zack Matthews, wanted to pick the second one, which led straight back to the Ice Pavilion. No surprises there either. He liked maximum chaos and minimum possibilities which would make others’ lives easier, as long as he was allowed to watch the chaos unfold from a safe distance. A gut feeling told him that something interesting was going on in the deepest part of the Garden, and he wanted to be on the front row for the show.

First Princess Eleanor opened her mouth first, surprising all the other four people.

“Let’s head out towards Vespera.” She said, looking Shawn straight in the eye as if daring him to interrupt her. “Anyone attempting to kidnap Emmanuel would undoubtedly try slipping past the barbican of the North-western Gatehouse. If that is the case, one of the Sentries of the barbican must be in cahoots with the kidnappers. We must sniff them out before it comes to that.”

Truth to be told, Shawn had been mulling over the same idea for a while now, but the fact that the Princess of all people had beat him to it was surprising. Princess Eleanor was unexpectedly shrewd beneath that bubbly, cheery demeanour— and it made one wonder how she could have been related to the airhead that was the second prince Emmanuel. As if he could his mind, Zack Mathews exchanged a fleeting glance with Shawn, smirking triumphantly. He looked almost proud.

Shawn thought that 1) it was reasonable; and 2) he was outnumbered and outranked anyway. So there was no need to raise another fuss and invoke the Princess’s ire again.

No one thought to ask the two poor guards what they wanted, and that was that.

----------------------------------------------

Nobody had told Holfried Kimbley— otherwise known as Mister Kimbley, or Surly Holly, or that pug-faced man, or that annoying Kim-something guard who must not be invited to my party— depending on who was speaking— that his trip to the Royal Palace would end in such a disaster. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had almost jumped five feet in the air when the explosion rocked the entire Royal Palace. It was only Nero’s steady assurance which had managed to calm his nerves. It was a rare occasion when Kimbley was thankful for the man’s presence.

Said man Nero was now pacing back-and-forth in front of the Lapis Tower— one of the two guard towers flanking Aurora- the great North-Eastern gatehouse of the Royal Palace, where Lady Joanna had entered into the Palace few hours ago. Sentries milled about in groups of twos and fours with clanking armours and gleaming spears. They exuded a calm professionalism that would inspire envy in a more mentally sane person, but currently Kimbley did not look and did not care.

He was going insane.

“Mister Kimbley.” Began Nero with great solemnity, “I want you to take a horse and go around towards the second entranceway— the gatehouse on the north-western side of the Palace.”

Kimbley’s affections for Nero immediately dived back to the rock bottom.

“Mister Nero, it would seem that you are overestimating my abilities.” The man wringed his hands, trying to sound what he thought was diplomatic. “I am but a mere watch-guard of the Winsten manor. With the commotion inside the Palace, I doubt that I would be allowed inside, if not arrested on the spot. Surely, milady Joanna would be much safer inside the Palace with the Royal Guards?”

Nero flashed a crooked smile like he anticipated the resistance, and fished out a bronze medallion from his cloak. He snatched Kimbley’s palm and slammed it into there before the latter could even process the action. “Your badge bearing the crest of Winsten House should spare you from undue suspicions, at the very least.” He said. “However, take this with you and show it to anyone who still blocks your way. Be careful to use it only when required, though.”

Kimbley pocketed the medallion hesitatingly, ignoring the urge to throw it back to Nero’s face. But Nero was stronger and scarier, and Kimbley just wanted to go home and drink some booze— preferably with all his bones intact. In a desperate last-ditch attempt, he blurted out a childish complaint. “But I don’t know the directions to the second entranceway! I don’t know anyone inside the Palace!”

“That’s alright.” Said Nero with the patience of a Saint, and gave him the elaborate details of his destination. “When you enter, look for Sir Rylbert Hawkins. He is the Captain of the first division of the Royal Army. He should be able to aid you, Mister Kimbley.”

Kimbley nodded mutely, resigning himself to the job that he did not sign up for.

-----------------------------

For all his years of training and painstaking preparations to infiltrate the Royal Palace of Triciella, no one had prepared Gail to tackle ceramic plates in a battle. Not from a maid— mind you, and certainly not when it was smashed square in your face.

Gail saw stars swimming behind his eyes and instantly began to black out. This cannot not be happening, a distant voice said in his mind. We were so, so close, another voice chimed in. Gail winced. You failed in your mission, a third voice sneered, sounding disturbingly like the pissed off voice of his superior.

He staggered in his steps and attempted to dodge the maid’s flurry of punches, which was ridiculous because a maid should not know how throw punches like these. The man barely evaded a right hook which Perry sent his way. His foot faltered with a misstep, and Perry took the opportunity to side-kick him straight into the ground.

Gail went sprawling face-first in the dirt. “Shit— !” he began, wide eyed as Perry all but sprinted towards him with eyes blazing in single-minded intention to kill. Gail could only look on at the horrific sight, frozen in fear— even his nightmares were made of tamer stuff than this maid.

A giant battle axe swung down right between him and the advancing woman, effectively blocking her assault in the nick of time. Perry jumped back from the offending weapon like a nimble-footed rabbit, twisting to see her new enemy. She hadn’t detected his presence at all. It was a lithe, tan-skinned man with long silver earrings and a nasty smile on his face. He was regarding Perry with unabashed curiosity.

There was a pregnant pause in the clearing.

And then Gail yelled “Finally!”, half delirious and half out sheer relief. “Where the devil had you been?! The plan was to spread out and cover all the places equally! Did you plan to leaving all the fighting to us?! That wasn’t what we agreed upon!”

The smiling man smiled wider, which would have looked handsome on any other man, but not on him. Joe peered at his face while Niel helped her to her feet. That face screamed bad news to everyone involved.

“You have some nerve to order me around, lying in the dirt so pathetically like that, Mister Gail.” The new intruder spoke softly, as if talking to a child. His smile never reached his eyes, which were narrowed into half-moon crescents. “Not only did your lot failed to bring the Prince back to the designated spot, you were also unable to lure away Shawn Wicksman. That man is now scouring the Royal Garden in search of his Prince, like a bloodhound. It’s a small mercy that he has the Princess at his side— he cannot recklessly work alone for now.”

Emmanuel jerked his face up at the mention of his sister. Up till this point, he was running purely on adrenaline, but now his heart began hammering with worry.

“Shut your mouth, Amer.” Gail hissed as he tried scrambling up on his unsteady feet. “You are talking about Shawn the Wicked. It was not our job to hold back that man. It was your job! It was the sole reason we hired you sodding mercenaries with all that gold! You ought to keep your mouth shut and do your damned jobs!”

Perry cocked her head at the exchange, mentally filtering out every useless word except the bare essential. So the bodyguard was already on his way. He was saddled with the Princess’s safety, which meant they would most likely try to reach the inner courtyard by now. It was troublesome, but it seemed that there were mercenaries involved. If they were all as dangerous and undetectable as this axe-man, then it would indeed be a hassle to exit the Palace unnoticed.

‘But then again’, Perry thought indifferently, ‘All this information from this man might very well be a load of horseshit to throw us off our track.’ She didn’t feel like believing a single thing he said. It was all very bothersome, the maid decided. All she had to do was pummel him into the ground, anyway.

Amer turned to look at Perry. “Why, hello there.” His smile took a razor-sharp edge. “I was wondering what was holding these weaklings up, and lo— it turns out to be a maid!”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Perry drab voice indicated how sorry she was, and Gail bristled. Whether it was because he was called a weakling, or because Perry still didn’t see them as a threat— was truly up for debate.

Amer picked up his battle axe from the ground like it weighed nothing. “I will take the maid. She is too much for you, Mister Gail” He said, smile still fixated on his face. “You handle the second Prince. I trust you can do that, at the very least. Or are you going to be taken down by a little girl this time, hmm?”

That snapped the last thread of patience in Gail’s head.

“SHUT UP!!” The man snarled, and sprung to his feet. His head still bled from the previous injury— blood trickling down and soaking his collar, but his face looked absolutely murderous. It was the stuff you’d see in the climax of a movie which cannot decide if it wants to be a gore or a horror, and it was enough of a warning for Niel and Joe to get the fuck out of there. Perry dashed forward to halt Gail in his tracks, but the battle axe swung back down hard in her path.

“It is just you and me, my dear.” Amer purred in his slimy voice, and Perry decided then and there that this man was going to be more trouble than she thought. This was no mere mercenary; it was a war veteran. She could see it in his guarded stance and knowing eyes. This man was experienced in the battlefield, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

Perry sighed. Lady Joanna would have to wait.

Lady Joanna, on the other hand, did not wait. One glance at Gail told her that he was running purely on instincts this time. Try as he might to appear strong, the head injury had taken a toll on him. He was too angry to think properly, Joe realized, as Gail grunted and swung his heavy fists around dangerously like a drunkard.

‘I will only slow down Niel.’ Was her instant thought. She had nothing on her except a pointy silver fork, the last bit of cutlery Perry had swiped from the Ice Pavilion. It was a split-second decision— Joe mustered all the strength she could in her right hand and forcefully pushed herself away from the Prince, just as Gail came barrelling into him like a bull.

Emmanuel flashed her look of pure horror and betrayal as Joe staggered to the other side. Just as she had expected— Gail absolutely paid her no heed. He’d finally got his hands on the second Prince again, and he wasn’t about to let his target escape a second time. Oh no, he won’t. In a murderous fury, he punched the Prince in his solar plexus. The boy wheezed in pain, stumbling over gracelessly into the ground.

“Get away from me, you scoundrel!” Emmanuel was screaming. “You think that you can drag me around and get away with it?!” He promptly got a punch to his face in response. Gail was no longer in a mood to play nice— he looked like he was ready to break every bone in Emmanuel’s body if it meant getting him away from the Palace.

The boy struggled to stand upright, his head howling in pain. Every part of his body hurt like someone had run several horse carriages over him. He glanced around helplessly. Perry was busy fending off Amer’s attacks, and Shawn was nowhere in sight. Gail had pinned him into the ground a second time, but now Emmanuel was too exhausted to even struggle. His arms felt sluggish and his mind almost threatened to black out.

“Don’t die.” A voice said in his head, so sharp and clear that it shot through his consciousness like a flaming arrow. The prince jerked up in Gail’s stranglehold, eyes snapping open in shock. The voice was disturbingly familiar.

“Niel!” someone shouted in the vicinity, and immediately a body slammed into them with full-force. It all happened in an instant— Gail’s arms went slack around Emmanuel’s neck, his eyes going deathly still. A guttural cry slipped past his lips. Emmanuel could only look up in disbelief as Joey— bloody and bruised and broken Joey with her wild hair and wild eyes— panted above them like a wounded animal. The sling had fallen off, and in her deathly grip was the sharp silver fork which was now buried deep into Gail’s neck.

It almost felt like a déjà vu. If there was something that Emmanuel had learnt today, it was that turning your back to Joey was a colossal mistake in a fight.

The man above him let out a strangled howl, and a mouthful of blood splattered on Emmanuel’s white shirt. It was a sound that stopped Perry and Amer dead in their tracks.

Gail’s trembling arm released his grip on Emmanuel’s neck and reached back to claw at Joey’s hand. There was still some struggle left in him, the Prince realized. It was almost frightening how absolutely detached he felt in that instant— as he saw the man dying above him. Emmanuel splayed his hands in the grass and found an unexpected weapon within his reach. It was a long, broken piece of the ceramic that Perry had smashed unceremoniously into Gail’s face. For now, it was more than enough.

The boy Prince closed his eyes and plunged the shard straight into Gail’s stomach.

Gail heaved. His body pitched forward over Emmanuel, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. In a split-second moment—when he opened his eyes and met Joey’s wide amber ones— Emmanuel wrenched the shard away with all his strength, only to violently thrust it back inside. Blood gushed around his fingers and pooled into the grass.

It was the final nail in the coffin. Gail made not a single sound as his struggling body went slack, rolling off the prince in a heap of dead limbs and lifeless eyes.

He did not get up again.