Fantasia - IC

Leyna Greenfield

~ ~ ~ Three thousand years after the War of the Wizards ~ ~ ~

Leyna Greenfield held her sword close to her chest, and she could clearly make out her reflection in the truesilver blade. The young warrior had short blond hair and fair skin, though what truly separated her apart from the rest were her blood-red eyes. Her curious condition could not be explained by the local clerics, so Leyna decided that she would set out on her own to figure out what fate had in store for her. For years she had trained with the best knights in the region, and she had even come to surpass most of them.

After donning a specially made suit of armor, Leyna equipped her families sword and set out on the road with her beautiful white horse, Winter. The proud beast was almost as much a curiosity of nature as Leyna was, as pure-white horses were extremely rare in the world, and nearly all of those were considered untameable.

The Summer season had ended not more than a few weeks back, and while the air was still warm there were subtle reminders in nature that Autumn was well on its way. The leaves on the trees had mostly turned to gold, orange and red, though some still managed to retain a greenish appearance.

Leyna didn't mind the changes. In fact... she much preferred the fall season.

The first village that Leyna came across was the small town of Wild Oaks, far south of Wildecrest, where she rested for a day and then resupplied. Not wanting to attract too much attention to herself, the young warrior kept a travelers cloak wrapped around her body, though her sword she always kept within reach.

If it was one thing she had learned... it was that one could never be too careful, even in the safest of havens.

With no real goal in mind, Leyna was back on the road. The first inkling of adventure came after Leyna had been traveling for a few days, and she heard the sound of a skirmish not far down the road. Urging her mount towards the action, Leyna discovered that a small band of marauding Orcs had attacked a human caravan, and the traveling merchants had taken up arms in their own defense.

After drawing her weapon, Leyna charged into the fray. Although the Orcs outnumbered her, they stood little chance against such an experienced and well-armed fighter. Five lay dead within the first minute, and a sixth she dispatched by separating his head from the rest of his body. The rest fled wildly into the wilderness. Once the caravan was safe and the wounded taken care of, Leyna agreed to escort them to the capital city of Wildecrest, where a lavish festival was apparently taking place to celebrate five hundred years of "peace". The caravan continued on down the road, with Leyna keeping watch from a distance. If anyone were to attack the caravan... she'd know.

Emilia, Princess of Wildecrest

The sun had gone down below the horizon, and night was fast approaching. Emilia Wildecrest walked out onto the balcony just outside her private bedroom, and a sudden emptiness came over her. Her father had confirmed her suspicions (and those of everyone else) that she would wed to Prince Alexander of Rome. Emilia had only met the prince once or twice before, and she would have been lying if she had said that she wasn't attracted to him, but she knew that the entire arrangement was done for political reasons.

It was for that reason alone that she felt... used.

Betrayed, even.

After the announcement Emilia had gone to her mother for advice on the matter, but the Queen only reinforced the arguments already made by the king, leaving Emilia with more doubt than before.

She loved and respected her fathers wishes... even understood what he was trying to accomplish... but that didn't help quiet the uneasiness in her heart. She wanted to find love her own way, and not have it forced upon her.

"You'll be certain to come down with an illness if you continue to stand outside in the cold wearing only that."

Emilia turned around and saw the Lady Carrowind standing under the doorway, her arms folded over her chest. The proud noblewoman, and personal adviser to the king, slowly walked over to where Emilia was standing and took a moment to look out over the town.

"I just needed some fresh air."

"What's really troubling you?" Aveline asked, though she knew full well what the answer was.

Emilia sighed.

"My father... the entire idea of marrying someone I'm not even in love with..."

"Your father is only doing what's best for you."

"So I've been told. But this isn't what's best for me."

"The festivities don't start for another week. You could always arrange to meet the prince prior to the wedding."

"My father would never approve of that..."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Aveline said with a smile. "Let me talk to him. Perhaps I could convince him to let you go meet with the Prince Alexander."

Emilia turned to walk back towards her room.

"You'd do that?"

Aveline nodded and smiled warmly at the young princess. Emilia finally brightened up a little, and the hollow feeling began to dissipate. She was finally starting to see why her father enjoyed keeping the Lady Carrowind at his side.

The road had been a long one. It was unremarkable otherwise. Wildecrest was a true vision of prosperity on the horizon, a castle of bright stone shining against the Autumn sun. In the fields before its walls he could see smaller homesteads, peasants of all walks toiling in the fields. They were ants on a distant horizon, communal in their movements and the darkness of their shape. There were more in sight than in all of Wyldevern's entire. Drake could not remember his last visit to the heart of the Emerald Kingdom.

He was certain it had not carried the significance of this one.

In truth he had not wished to come. It had been Drake's desire to remain with the company of men to whom the safety of his castle had been charged. They were hard men, shadows in the wood and bane to the orcs whom roamed the darkened trees within. It had been his wish to linger behind. Of his father's sons he was the youngest, and therefore the lesser in rights. By all accounts it should have been Drayven to go, heir to his father's lands and soon to be Lord of Wyldevern. In festivals past it had been the eldest that came, a Prince of true bearing. Drake would have been greatly content had that been the case again. And yet it was not.

Drayven had married, fallen inlove and claimed his bride at the foot of the woods. She had been a peasant, of course, a plague to which Drake's family had caught themselves. Their family's holdings were sparse, represented the untamed frontier at the very boundaries of the Emerald Kingdom. They stood against Orcish raids and isolation alone and prospered little. They shared their wealth with their people and so grew no richer for their efforts. They had become undesirable to the noble families and so, in time, they had married down to preserve their line.

And so, in the eyes of the King's Court, they had become unpure.

It had made them almost entirely unfit for marriage by the more powerful and prosperous families. Families, Drake believed, had grown decadent and sloppy in their years of peace. His brothers had found wives, beautiful girls who regardless of birth were true Wyldevern women all and both capable and beautiful. They had found love, true love, and married happily into it. So he hoped to do the same, away from the pomp and circumstance that was Wildecrest's halls. A palace of nobles and lavishness that made him feel foreign, unwanted, unwelcome.

But his father had made it clear that he was to go, for the Wyldevern's never turned their back upon the throne. They suffered the scorn of the Nobles without complaint, cared nothing for riches, and remembered the sacrifices the Old Kings had made for the sake of the Emerald Kingdom. And so Drake had agreed, took his finest horse Rusher and a packhorse for his things and made his way.

Here now, upon the road, they loomed to the city entire.

"Easy now, old friend." He said into the flicking ear of his companion.

The horse, a spotted grey animal who stood tall and swift, gave a great shake of his dark-maned head and snorted his understanding. Rusher had pushed on without complaint, suffering an absence of carrots and proper oats and gained them over a week for his diligence. Drake could feel the animal was tired and leaned forward, laying his coarsely stubbled cheek to the animal's broad throat.

"You will have your carrots, just go easy now. I'll not have you pull lame when we are so close. You've done well."

The horse tensed abruptly beneath him, drew suddenly taller. It's nostrils flared. Drake recognized the animal's alertness for what it was and drew his bow, nocking an arrow swiftly and searching the woods.

The orcs burst from the under brush and a sprint, fleeing something or someone as though driven by the demons that had spawned them. Drake loosed an arrow at one, a stocky thing wearing rotting chainmail that was far too large for its runtish form. The shaft buried half-way deep in its eye and it crumpled forward, rolling, until it came to a rest upon the road a few yards ahead. The others did not even turn, but ran on, leaving their fallen where they lay.

Drake felt hatred curl into his heart like flames. It was a fire that he had felt many times before, a hatred for the beasts and their cowardly ways. He drew again, loosed an arrow into the back of one. It lay whimpering in the road, legs unable to to move. The young Prince took another in the neck, and another under the arm. Two more fell before they escaped the range of his bow. They had not fled him, not at all. They had simply passed him by on their way to whatever hole they would call home.

He dismounted, aware that if this was Wyldevern lands he would have rode on. To stop when Orcs were afoot at home was unwise to the point of suicide. Here, however, he took the chance to retrieve his arrows. The one who had been spine shot was still whimpering upon the road when he pulled the shaft from it, wiping the steel of its head dry upon the creature's shoddy leggings.

"What were you running from?" He asked.

"Leave us be, pinky!" It whined.

Drake did not have time for this. He drew the Leaf Blade from its place at his shoulder, steel ringing free. The orc cowered, its dead legs lifeless beneath it.

"Cruel pinky! Cruel, Cruel pinky!" It hissed. "We was running from the girl! The girl with the sword! She killed Garthag! Cut 'is 'ead from 'is shoulders! We was just gonna take the wagons. Not 'arm the pinkies!"

Drake watched its face, his own grim and terrible. The hatred in the pale cast of his eyes had provoked the animal to speak and provoked the lie at the end. They would have butchered the caravan's men and women and eaten them. So it was with Orcs. The lie did not take, however, from the truth of his statement. And he'd give to the Orc a better death than it deserved.

Silent, Drake finished it. The Leaf Blade was swift in dispatching the horrible thing, snuffing out its life with only the whispered "ssssnnnnckkk!" of it's blade parting flesh and bone. He cleaned it before sheathing it once more, moving to claim his mount and push Rusher on.

They had come from the woods on fresh legs and had not been running long, and the caravan was slow. Drake moved on the road, intent on overtaking it before they reached Wildecrest. Perhaps they would have oats for his horses and more than bacon to share. Drake himself was hungry and tired of the bread that remained from his stores. He'd not hunted in four days.

It was not long before the caravan was before him, and shorter still that he approached it. The men atop their wagons were weary and untrusting. There was no woman that he could see at first.

"Hail." He called. And at once they settled, more trusting now that he had spoken.

An Autumn breeze came and pushed his dark hair back, cooling him. Rusher inhaled deeply of it, drank the sweetness of the air and seemed more spirited for it. The pack horse that trailed them was lazy in its movements, tired and at its end. They would all rest soon. There was not more of this road to go and less of it, now, that they would not travel it alone.

"You'll be riding with us?"

"At a distance," Leyna said, noting the look of concern on the merchants face. "But I won't be far off. Just enough to avoid suspicion. If anyone approaches the caravan, I'll know."

Once the preparations had been made, Leyna and her horse rode off the path and towards a stretch of woods that ran parallel to the road. The trees afforded her some secrecy, but not enough to cloud her vision. It was from this position that she espied a single rider approaching the caravan, though he did not seem intent on pillaging it. He traveled on a proud horse, but also carried with him an additional beast, this one laden with personal belongings. The men riding with the wagons were far more alert now than they had been prior to the attack, and they regarded the rider with suspicion.

The more Leyna watched him, the more intrigued she became. If he wanted to attack the merchants... why bring the extra mount with him to the raid? Any sensible thief would have traveled on the fastest horse and left the packhorse to be retrieved later once the danger of being caught had passed.

With curiosity in tow, Leyna urged Winter forward, and she came up to the side of the rider, keeping a little bit of distance between them. The traveler seemed a little bit weathered, as if he had been riding for days without rest, but she knew that not everything could be taken at face value. Tired... but certainly capable of handling himself under any circumstance. He had dark hair and a rough but very handsome face. Had their first meeting been under more amicable terms, Leyna would probably have found him attractive.

"This merchant caravan is under my protection. If you wish to do ill upon it, you'll have to deal with me first," Leyna stated boldly, her gauntleted hand wrapped around the hilt of her sword which seemed to shine even under the low-light of the descending sun.

On the horizon the sun was falling, casting its great blush of crimson and violet along the crest of the western mountains. It backlit the trees in vermillion, turning them to dark shadows that briefly stretched along the road. It snaked its way through these small woods like a dusty serpent. The shaggy needle trees were fine cover for an ambush, Drake thought. And in his mind he could imagine the Orcs as they poured from beyond them, snarling and spitting on their way to the wagon. The woman slid from them with far greater grace. Her mount a beauty so rare he’d not recalled one in his lifetime. White horses were something men remembered and Drake would remember this one always. It was nearly as tall as his own and equally proud. She guided it with skilled compressions of her armor-clad thighs and the subtle suggestions that horses came to learn.

“I travel to Wildecrest and would not trouble you, or they, with banditry.” He assured her, lifting the slate grey of his eyes to her own.

He could imagine how to the orcs she was terrifying. Beauty, of any kind, was a foreign and painful thing to the orc-kin. He watched as her fingers crept from the hilt of her blade, reluctant it seemed, to trust in his word for what it was. In that Drake did not spite her. He could not. There was a few days worth of stubble on his face and he had the tall, wild look that the men in his family carried. Savagely handsome, said the women of Emerald Kingdom, but savage all the same. He wore leathers fine in construction but worn, time-aged. It was his meticulous care that had kept them from becoming rags and turned them instead to deceptively faded masterworks. They were covered by the tightly knit wool of his cloak.

He knew his dress was strange and foreign to those of the inner Kingdom, allowed her to scrutinize him with her stare. There was no harm in it, no offense that he would take.

For a long while they rode on in silence, the merchants looking between them. He could feel their questions, suspicions. Travellers themselves, they’d a weary suspicion in them. It was unfocused, unrefined. It lacked the intelligent precision of the woman now riding some feet beside him. He could feel her eyes crawling over him, sharp and appraising.

“Have you any tobacco?” He asked one of the wagon riders, pulling his horse beside him.

The man nodded, and leaned into the wagon. He produced a brick in paper. It was more than Drake needed, more than he’d meant to spend. “Five pieces.” The man said.

Five? In Wyldevern it would have been fifty, or sixty pieces. Easily more than ten times that in worth. Drake hurried to hand the pieces over, his hands accepting the brick. He sliced into it while riding and managed to roll a cigarette, offering it to the woman.

“What is your name?” He asked, aware for the first time she’d stayed close to his side and that her hand had strayed back to the hilt of her sword.

“I travel to Wildecrest and would not trouble you, or they, with banditry.”

"Good, then," she said simply.

Leyna felt her grip relax a little on her sword, though she did not release her hold entirely. His words seemed honest, and that carried a bit of weight with the young warrior. Her crimson eyes remained focused on the traveler for a few moments, but after a while she finally allowed herself to move on. Her gut had initially told her that he wasn't interested in causing trouble, and his calm demeanor seemed to only confirm her suspicions.

As they rode in silence together, Leyna continued to look Drake up and down, taking in every little detail. He wasn't her enemy, but that didn't mean she could relax. She still had the Orcs to worry about... and the off chance that her intuition was somehow misguiding her. After a while, however, the traveler seemed to grow somewhat comfortable with their situation, and he even went so far as to ask one of the merchants for some items of personal interest.

Tobacco...

After the deal had been made and coins exchanged, Drake offered some of it to Leyna, though she shook her head in refusal.

"I don't smoke," Leyna said. Tobacco was something that she honestly... didn't care to indulge herself in.

If anything it helped her save a few coins, something that she wasn't in excess of.

"My name's Leyna Greenfield. I'm from a small village a few days ride south of here. If you don't mind my asking, what business do you have in the capital? Are you planning on attending the festival?"

"I am." He said, unable to feign happiness at the fact.

The tobacco was fresh, something that he'd never known in his short life. The smell was so much sharper, sweeter, than the leaf they'd in Wyldevern. And when he lit it it smoldered slow, gradually taking a cherry at its tip. He was aware for a brief moment his lips had gone dry, and he wet them with a pass of his tongue before tucking the cigarette into place and taking a thick pull.

The smoke rolled sweet from him, billowed from his nostrils in twin slate streams. All at once a heady hum ran through him, sharpening the senses briefly to almost feral quality. This was Drake's vice, the one afforded to him. He drank it up in a rare moment of indulgence and found that, abruptly, he was soothed to speak to the woman beside him.

"It is good to meet you, Leyna Greenfield. My name is Drake." She'd ask more if he did not turn the conversation, and so he did. It was effortless.

"You gave the yrcin quite a fright, Lady Greenfield. They ran past me, hardly paid me mind at all. Are raiding parties frequent so close to the Kingdom's heart?"

The question hung in the air while the dusk hung on, clung desperately to the mountains before slowly beginning to yield to darkness and the moon to the east. It rose up, an alabaster play on the sun, visible through darkened clouds and flanked on all sides by the brilliant stars that lined Autumn's sky. He saw the Spinner's Wheel, the Baker's Cup, and a few other constellations to which many in the Inner Kingdom had lost their appreciation for. So it was, his father had told him, that time and peace had brought to the Emerald Kingdom.

Drake felt that fierce pride roll up through him, the palpable taste of the archaic ways in which his people still governed themselves. His father, as his grandfather had, kept to the ways of old and the strict means to which they had come. Relics, the Nobles said. Unstylishly stubborn people, the Wyldevern's. Uncommonly and intolerably arrogant as well. He was glad of it, now. Glad of it as he looked onto the great village of Wildecrest and saw its soft light on the horizon.

Let them scorn him, he thought. Let them curse us for old and foolish.

The yrcin knew to fear them, knew it well. And he imagined in time they'd find their use to the King once more.

Leyna recognized the lack of interest in Drake's voice, but she was somewhat apathetic as to why. His reasons for not wanting to go were his own, though she had supposed that anyone visiting Wildecrest had come to participate in the festivities. Leyna herself had never gone to the capital city before, having never really left the safety of her own village (save for the few times she managed to sneak out of her fathers house and explore the woods and fields).

"The Orcs are simply cowards," Leyna said. "You show one ounce of strength and they scatter like leaves in the wind. I did have the element of surprise, though, and I think that cutting the head off from their leader probably gave them reason enough to flee."

"Are raiding parties frequent so close to the Kingdom's heart?"

"To be honest I wouldn't know," Leyna continued. "This is the furthest north that I've traveled. From what I've learned these sorts of things don't happen all too often. Their attacks seem to be random at best."

"They only attack the caravans out of desperation," one of the merchants said, having apparently followed their conversation.

"But you're not carrying anything of value," Leyna noted.

"Maybe not to you."

The merchant caravan rolled on, and the gates leading into Wildecrest drew closer and closer. Soon they were well within reach of the guard towers, and from her mount Leyna could see the soldiers patrolling and keeping a close watch on the surrounding countryside. If anything were to approach the city… they’d know. Passing through the gates, Leyna continued to watch the guards as they walked along the walls, for they made the soldiers stationed in her village seem like children with wooden swords.

These were men of war.

“Thank you for escorting us to the city safely,” one of the merchants said after the caravan stopped near the marketplace. Leyna turned towards him and smiled.

“You are most welcome,” the young warrior said.

"Ili, take care of this for me, please."

The young woman's hand reached out absently from the work she was already doing, the other still holding to the spoon stirring the large pot resting upon the fire. She glanced into the bowl handed to her, making a face at the mess that rested inside; leftover parts from her father's work on the boar that her brothers had brought down earlier that day.

She still had to smile over the story he told others on the way they came upon the youngest of their family, her smirk coming from the reference. Youngest... Ha. A young woman, lost and alone on the forest, her clothing torn and tattered as she sobbed along the path's edge. Haden was the first to deem her a lost soul, Quinten insisting that she at least be given shelter for the evening... and Father refusing to let her leave them once she took a place in their kitchen. It seemed that Ili's arrival brought along luck for the whole tavern. She had her moments of odd behavior, but they had come to handle it as best they could.

"Icky." Ili dropped the spoon onto the counter, a disgusted look still on her face as she headed out the back door of the tavern, dumping the deep red contents out along the side of the path. "Better!," She exclaimed with a grin, only to pause in her return trip back inside.

Haden was on his way home, a content smirk on his face as he lugged water buckets toward her. "Ili! Come give me a hand with this!," He called, stumbling a bit with the heavy load.

He asked, she did. The bowl was deposited on the stair, the lithe girl going to her brother's side and easily plucking one bucket from his grip- then the other. A laugh rang out behind them, one of the guards of the city shaking his head as he watched them. "You seem so weak compared to her, Haden!," he taunted. "Perhaps Ili should fetch everything from now on and leave YOU to the duties of the kitchen!"

"Stop showing off, Ili...," Haden growled under his breath, glaring up at her as he ran a hand over his aching back. He knew what she truly was; an accidental slip on her part a few months back. There had been something wrong with the river outside of the city walls; an algae to the water that left it unsafe to drink. She couldn't let that happen... She had to fix it. So she did.

And Haden saw her.
She told him everything, tears down her face as he simply stared at her. A fairie, alive and well, living in his own home... He simply called her a miracle, and promised to keep her secret. The only one who seemed to have that problem now was Ili herself.

"Sorry." She stooped forward suddenly, acting as if the water was far too heavy for her. "Take it, take it!," She howled out, thrusting one of the buckets back at him. "Too heavy, too heavy!"

The sheer enormity of Wildecrest stole the words from Drake, left him to abandon his stoic manner in the wake of genuine awe. It touched through him like lightning and left him boyish, staring up as they passed beneath the massive gates to admire the tiered city's massive white spire and the swooping, elegant architecture at work. His senses reeled, overwhelmed by the dizzying size of it all. The crowd was a parade of silks and linens, tremendously bright and pure colors flicking back and forth while the din of countless thousands rose up to briefly drown his thoughts away. He could smell foods both foreign to him and familiar, sweet breads and meats on display at the various stalls stretching through the massive market square. Men and women drew by, speaking in elegant turns of cultured language. Prosperity lay everywhere, happiness and decadence evident at every turn.

The contrast to his own people was sharp and clearly defined.

Rusher did not spook, but he snorted sharply. A toss of his thick mane emphasized that the horse felt discomfort amidst the crowd. It was time that he rode on, if only to get Rusher and Patsy both a deserved rest amidst the lavish confines of the higher-tier livery. Turning, he found that Lyenna was suddenly taken up by the bustle of the market as well. He reached, lightly touching the crook of her slender arm with his strong hand.

She jolted, hand to sword again.

"I go, Leyna. It was good to ride with you. Perhaps I will see you at the festival." He offered, exchanging their parting as he regained his manners.

She smiled finally, relaxed it seemed. He left her with one of his own before riding on.

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

"Sir?" The guard spoke up as Drake approached.

"Drake, son of Albrin, of Wyldvern." He answered.

"Did you stable your animals?"

"Yes." And he had in the King's Livery, pleased that the ostler there had seen to rubbing his tired horses down right away before feeding them. "And I am humbled by the King's generosity. I would see him if it is no trouble."

The guard nodded simply, his platemail clattering lightly with his movements.

"You've been expected, but he is detained presently. I can show you to your quarters if it would please you, and will make him aware of your arrival. He'll summons you."

Drake considered this, if only to nod, before following the soldier onward. They flanked past the Royal Tower and Keep, home to the King of Emerald Kingdom and his massive estate. Long ago the Wyldvern's had lost the honor of staying within the King's manor, relegated instead to a guest house. They had suffered what the other families considered an indignity with no words of concern or protest, only quiet appreciation. It was the Wyldvern way, fealty with love. Not malcontent. Never malcontent.

The Guest house was a stone cottage set aside from the manor house and servant quarters alike, flanked by the gardens and hedge rows that lay to the east of the King's home. It was quaint, offering a sitting room, bedroom, and small kitchen only. The furnishings were comfortable but not opulent. In truth, Drake was taken by it upon arriving. There was no hesitation to make himself home, setting out his things and changing from his armors. He had his lone servant fetch a bath, learning the girl's name was Tressa. She was a pretty peasant thing and finally, after urgings, compromised by calling him Master Drake rather than by title alone.

After she'd shaved him he'd taken his privacy, lounging nude upon the fur-draped chair in his sitting room with book in hand. The poetry rent beautiful images of the country side and the nobility of its people, painted portraits with words that Drake himself had never found manners to use. He read, recited the verses, and drifted through the surreal thoughts that came with his slow, steady awakening to his arrival here.

Outside it was growing quiet. The sun lay visible in his window, falling towards the horizon and the dark blush of dusk steadily as an hour, then two, slid past before sleep finally claimed him. The great wear of the road finally overcoming him.

"Perhaps I will see you at the festival."

"Perhaps," Leyna said quietly as Drake rode off, and when he was no longer in sight she turned her mount in an entirely different direction, heading off towards a separate part of the market and becoming lost in the throng of people that crowded the streets. Moving slowly, Leyna was afforded the opportunity to take in her surroundings, and what she saw of the White City thoroughly impressed her. Amazed her. Everywhere she looked she was reminded of how beautiful the city was, and its citizens were no less remarkable.

When the streets became far too crowded for her to ride, Leyna dismounted and guided her horse towards a more open area. There were still a few merchant stands open for business, and even as natural lighting became scarce torches were lit to provide them with some much-needed light. The array of goods being peddled away simply astounded the young warrior, and passing by one particular table she saw lamps and trinkets and sparkling jewels of all sorts of shapes and colors and sizes (whether they were real or not Leyna didn’t bother asking, though she liked to think that they were).

Leyna paused for a moment near a rather magnificent water fountain in the center of the market square. The ornate structure prominently featured four beautiful stallions spouting crystal-clear water from their open mouths into the pool below, and there were at least a few hundred copper pieces resting towards the bottom.

Winter took advantage of their momentary respite by drinking some of the cool water, and Leyna sat down on the edge of the fountain, closing her tired red eyes.

"I'll give you five thousand gold pieces."

"I beg your pardon?" Leyna looked up to see someone standing in front of her. It took her a moment to realize that he was the same merchant that had been standing behind the table with all the “rare” items.

"Five thousand."

"Five thousand for what?"

"For your horse," the merchant said, his hand moving gently up and down the side of Winter's neck. Leyna saw that quite a few of his fingers were covered in beautiful, gem-encrusted rings, and even the clothes that he wore seemed to sparkle. "Remarkable... not seen nothing like it in all my days. Where did you find such a rare creature?"

"He isn't for sale."

"You would turn down my offer? With a thousand pieces you could live comfortably for the rest of your life."

"Then a life of hardship I must endure," Leyna said respectfully.

"Six thousand," the merchant offered up eagerly, even more desperate than before to obtain the horse for himself. Leyna, however, wouldn’t sell Winter for all the riches in the world, especially not to some spoiled dealer right off the streets. She placed a hand on the hilt of her sword, but made no move to draw it out of its scabbard. Her silent gesture was not lost on the merchant, and with one last look at the horse he walked back to his booth, shaking his head along the way.

It was dark by the time Leyna found a place to stay at, a small inn by the name of the Pouncing Cat. Not surprisingly the inn was teeming with patrons, many of whom were weary travelers that had come only for the grand celebration. Using some of the pieces she had earned escorting the merchant caravan to the city, Leyna paid for a small room and fell asleep shortly thereafter.

~ ~ ~

As nightfall crept over the Emerald Kingdom, Aveline Carrowind retreated to the privacy of her quarters within the keep, though she was far from being alone. In the darkness of her room she discerned the forms of two tall men, each one cloaked and with their hoods drawn up over their faces. Neither said a word when she entered, and while most women would have been frightened to death at such an eerie encounter, Aveline couldn’t help but smile. She had been expecting them.

She had… requested their presence tonight.

“I have a job for you.”

“What would you have us do?”

“You are to kidnap Princess Emilia before she is to rendezvous with Prince Alexander in Rome.”

“And our payment?”

“You will receive half now, half when the job is finished,” Aveline said firmly as she pulled out a pouch of coins from a hidden cabinet in the room, and then lightly tossed the bag towards one of the hooded men. “Do not disappoint me.”

Emilia, Princess of Wildecrest

After her informal conference with the Lady Aveline, Emilia retreated to the privacy of her chambers, and readied herself for bed. She slipped out of her evening dress and let her brown hair slip down past her shoulders to the small of her back. From her wardrobe she retrieved a comfortable satin charmeuse robe with long sleeves and delicate tones of regal blue. The light sleepwear covered her youthful body gracefully, revealing only a subtle hint of her breasts that lay underneath.

Emilia retired to her bed, and sleep soon overtook her. Before she fell into darkness, however, she played in her mind the events of the past few weeks, most especially the brief conversations she had with her father concerning her future lord and husband.

~ ~ ~
Early afternoon, the next day

Emilia walked into the throne room, immediately capturing the attention of everyone within. Even Lady Carrowind could not deny how visually stunning the eldest daughter of King Julius Wildecrest was. She wore a somewhat plain but elegant white dress, and its rather classic design simply conformed to her body without being too clingy. It followed the curve of her body around to her open back, and on her head she wore a beautiful sapphire and diamond tiara.

"Emilia," King Julius said with a pleasant smile as his daughter approached the throne. He rose from his chair and held out his arms. "Even the most radiant spring flower pales in comparison to your beauty," he added before gently kissing her on the cheek.

Lady Aveline Carrowind remained silent.

"Come," Julius gestured towards an empty chair beside his. "Sit with me a while."

Emilia took her place at her fathers side while the rest of their honored guests resumed their own private conversations.

"I have a favor to ask of you, father" Emilia said respectfully after a moment.

"Mmm? And what would that be?"

"I would like… to go to Rome. If I am to-- ”

“Lady Carrowind has already informed me of your desire to meet with Prince Alexander. We will discuss the conditions of your departure later. But first, there are other matters to which I must attend."

A handful of guards were dispatched to summon the other guests in the castle, including Drake of Wyldvern, though his quarters actually lay outside the manor. Many, if not all, of the other Houses viewed the entire Wyldvern line with contempt and vicious scorn, considering them little more than glorified peasants with their lands far to the North.

He'd never cared much for mornings. Even as a boy Drake had been the latest sleeper amongst his father's sons, oft late to all lessons and events to which the young Princes had been held. It had taken many applications of his father's notoriously firm hand before he'd bent to an awareness of sloth. All the same, though he'd made a conscious effort to rouse himself when the sun had first imposed itself in the guest house through the windows that lay along its walls, he was only half dressed and entirely unfed when the Knights arrived to summon him.

The court was a lavish and otherwise refined place. It was, by reputation, a place where all rivalries and quarrels were to be put aside less they be settled before the King. And yet, despite this, the scorn saved for the Wyldvern Family had always found the halls a bit chilly. A few families decades ago had suggested their endless tolerance and unwillingness to quarrel with the other families, along with their unfailing loyalty toward the throne, had only contributed to their relegation as social pariahs. Regardless, as was the way of the Wyldvern, the only answer was to hold to the old ways more resolutely.

In this, despite his youth, Drake was utterly intent on succeeding.

He had dressed himself in grey linen pants and simple boots, his belt was unadorned and featured a sturdy, wooden buckle. The great beauty of the craft in which his attire was made would go lost, he assumed, on those draped in silks and finer fabrics and chased more headily in true silver and gold. Yet, as all knew, the Wyldvern's were not wealthy and so his attire was crisply formal and utterly practical. His shirt was a hunter green, the color of the dark pines within the woods that he called home. The lone jewel he wore was a pair of cufflinks featuring simple, square-cut emeralds in respect to the throne. The blade that was sheathed at his hip was carried in a ceremonial position and lacked the great aesthetic finery that the other nobles had featured on the hilts and scabbards of their own blades.

Drake entered the courts with a crisp stride, his chin lofted with both purpose and regality. It was a grimly noble effort, washed in the quiet confidence and dignity of his people. He knew, regardless, that already eyes were turning towards him with scorn. His dark skin and hair, the tremendous pallor of his eyes, giving him a wild look that was unique and foreign to the gentler people of the Emerald Kingdom. The Knights left him, abandoned him soon.

It did not matter. Drake approached the throne until he stood before it, bowing. The bend of his body betrayed an almost predatory grace. His movements easy, perhaps practiced, as he straightened to address the King. The Princess was beside him, a vision to which he blinded himself just now. The urge, however, to let his eyes appraise the soft and refined cast of her face already knotting low in his belly.

"A greeting shared from my father and all of The Wyldvern, My King. We are here to wish long happiness to your family as well as continued prosperity to all those loyal to the throne."

The magnificent twin doors leading into the great hall were opened once the more esteemed guests of the king arrived, and the royal guards stepped between great pillars of stone as the lords and ladies of the realm entered. An elaborate and luxurious carpet of crimson and gold ran from the entrance to the throne itself, where King Julius and his oldest daughter remained seated. Andrew of Tibolt entered the court first, followed by Count Tristan of Foxford and his wife Sophia. Peregrine, Baron of Valecliff entered moments later, accompanied by his youngest son and daughter. From Aldford came Lord Kalyn and a few of his more glorified high commanders, their medals and ribbons of honor and valor displayed proudly on their cloaks.

Drake was last to approach the throne, and Emilia was somewhat vexed by how the other nobles viewed the youngest son of Albrin of Wyldvern. She actually found him to be the noblest of them all, and quite handsome as well, though the thoughts of her mind she kept to herself.

"A greeting shared from my father and all of The Wyldvern, My King. We are here to wish long happiness to your family as well as continued prosperity to all those loyal to the throne."

King Julius of Wildecrest nodded appreciatively at the young March Warden.

"Welcome, Drake son of Albrin," he said before rising from his seat. A large, rectangular table had been set up on one side of the great hall, and a lavish feast was prepared for those gathered in attendance. Chairs had been positioned evenly around the table, with those higher in the kings favor sitting closest to him.

“I must say, Master Drake, that I am surprised to see you here. I did not think that the Wyldvern family had grown so prosperous that they had to send you in the place of one of your brothers,” Count Tristan said, as he was seated next to the young captain.

“I hear that Drayven is married, now,” another noble said, having apparently listened in on the ‘conversation’. “And here I thought all of your lovely women were taken.”

~ ~ ~

"A tournament?"

"Yup. Starts tomorrow. You should enter."

"Don't they discourage women from entering?"

"Well... wear a really big helmet. The way you was swinging that sword earlier... best I've seen."

Leyna Greenfield smiled and raised her mug of ale up to her lips, taking a long drink before setting the frothy container back down on the shaky wooden table. She had gotten up early that morning to make sure that Winter had been properly cared for, and then took some time to go exploring. The city was enormous, and it would probably take days for Leyna to go through every sector (excluding the kings estate).

Luckily Leyna wasn't on any kind of a schedule.

"Maybe I will."

"They got jousting and sword fighting..." the man sitting across from her let out a not-so-pleasant burp, and then took another swig from his ale. "Archery too."

"I think I'll just stick to the sword competition," Leyna said before finishing off her drink. She put a coin down on the table and got up.

"Wait... where you going?"

"To find a really big helmet," Leyna said with a smile.

"Yes." He said. The sound a low rumble of consideration, a subtle and brief admission to the turning of his mind over the barbs slung at him. Pale eyes scorched the leering faces, thin lips hiding the forked tongues behind them. Drake was forced to remind himself the innate difference between the Nobility here and his family's own brand.

Sometimes we suffer the lesser of things to be the greater of them.


"We count our fortunes in the Wyldvern."

This provoked laughter. The soft, sneering kind that Drake had seldom heard in Wyldvern itself. Before him the table stretched on, beautiful Dragonwood finished by Wyldvern hands. Infact, within the King's hall, nearly all the stunning woodwork was the hand of his family's loggers and artisans. The ebon-cherry color of it was impossible to mistake as any lesser hardwood, a beautiful and remarkably sturdy material that grew only in the depths of the Wyldvern holdings. It was by any account a tremendous asset to the family. Yet, in keeping with the Elves that dwelled in those woods, they harvested very few of the mighty trees each year.

Many of the Noble families gathered around him had tried to provoke the Wyldvern's to show less restraint and profit more from the treasure of the woods. All had failed.

All of them.

"And what, Master Drake, has kept you from finding a wife amidst the maidens." The question was poised by Count Tristan once more.

"I have not found love." Drake replied.

Laughter, harder now.

"Love grows with time in a marriage, Master Drake. Of course, marriage is a matter of strengthening the family. Surely you can find a smithy's daughter of your own." Tristan's smile turned vicious.

Laughter now peeled from those around him, their delicate hands reaching for golden goblets and crystal cups to indulge in the sloth of the feast before them. Wine and meat on platters of true silver, finery that he had elsewise no measure for. Treasure, as it was, was scarce and functional within his homeland.

"Captain." He said.

"I beg your pardon?" Tristan turned to him, his laughter choking off.

"I prefer you call me Captain if we are to use titles, Count." He corrected him steadily, his pale eyes turning towards the man. Drake was calculated now, unfazed by the jokes at his expense. His posture had been nothing but crisp and proper, and the wolfish and predatory quality of his features were now fixed intently on the Count himself. "Perhaps I will be so fortunate as to find a woman, a Smithy's daughter, Count, whom shares with me the bond of love. I do not believe we disagree, after all, that marriages are best designed to strengthen the family."

"Well. -Captain-," replied the Count, leaning some to look at him with his mottled brown eyes. The Count had lean features, intelligent and beady eyes. His mustache was delicately spun over his lips. "If you agree that marriage is to strengthen a family why is that the Wyldvern sons have scorned the noble families?"

Drake smiled. He couldn't help himself. It tugged faintly at his lips and briefly softened the otherwise stoic stretch of his hardened features.

"Where we disagree, Count Tristan, is what strengthens a family. You believe it is wealth. The men of Wyldvern believe it is Love." Despite himself, then, Drake could not help but let his eyes stray to the Princess. His eyes found her own as he finished speaking. "But I assure you, the men of Wyldvern do not scorn you or any of our fellow subjects to the King. If you wish for your daughter to walk beside me so that we may be properly introduced I would consider it a great pleasure."

Tristan blanched. Drake inclined his head, as if in thanks, only to reach for his wine. Around them servants and lesser members of the Court were busy shifting, moving around them. The table was the brightest place in the great hall, flanked by sconces of Gold and True-Silver. The walls were decorated by hand-woven tapestries depicting many moments of triumph. One, more faded than the others due to its age, depicted the March Wardens great stand against the Silver-Tailed Dragon. Hundreds had died before it'd been slain. It was that battle that had first brought the Wyldvern family renown. It was after that the Captain of the March Wardens, Alexinian the First, had been given his holdings over all of Wyldvern by the Julius' long dead ancestor.

"I assure you, the men of Wyldvern do not scorn you or any of our fellow subjects to the King. If you wish for your daughter to walk beside me so that we may be properly introduced I would consider it a great pleasure."

Though Tristan found himself faced with a man of rival intelligence, if not a little bit of cheekiness, color soon returned to his face, and he reclined in his chair with a somewhat conceding smile on his face. There was fire still in the Wyldvern family, and that, he reasoned, could have its uses.

"Of course, Captain. My daughter Cassandra, I imagine, would very much like to meet with someone of your... qualities. Perhaps, if fate has much more in store for you than has been revealed, the joining of our families could strengthen our bonds, and bring peace and prosperity to these lands."

Tristan of Foxford raised his chalice up into the air as if to toast in celebration, and then drank from some of his wine before setting the empty container back down onto the table. A servant was quick to refill his glass, disappearing back against the wall once his task was finished.

Princess Emilia whispered something into her fathers ear, and then promptly rose from the table. Nearly all of the nobles, including Tristan, rose from their seat out of respect for the oldest daughter of the king, but Emilia urged them to retake their seats. She walked over to where Drake was sitting, and she delicately placed a hand on his shoulder before leaning forward so that her words were both private but audible.

"Captain, would you mind accompanying me outside for just a moment? There is something I would like to ask you."

It took him too long to realize the nature of the barbs. In the others, at least, they had been simple scorn. Tristan's wit and keen eyes betrayed far more than the man would have liked and it was only after the Count nimbly reclaimed his poise that Drake realized the man had been probing him. It was a tactic the March Wardens had seen and used many times in the field. Orcs, however, were far less tactful. Their efforts to probe involved sending disorganized attack waves at March Warden positions. Count Tristan's were neatly veiled attempts to probe Drake's patience and his wit.

He took quite note to beware the man, and his politics, during his stay.

The evil of it was that it could not be escaped while he was within Wildecrest. It was a pristine city nestled safely within the heart of the Emerald Kingdom. Raiding parties, war parties; these were not worries here. The orcs he had seen fleeing Leyna's efforts upon the road were rabble, poorly clothed and armored. The security had left the men and Nobility of the Inner Kingdom a chance to practice politics.

He was, quite clearly, in hostile territory.

Drake was glad Emilia lent him a hand, quite literally, with a spread of her slender fingers against the broad stretch of his shoulder. It was a light and casual touch, but the King's daughter had proven a potent presence for most men. Drake was not immune. The only reason he did not stammer or stare was her request and the dutiful reaction it provoked. He was, by instinct, trained to answer to the Royal Family's call. And so, with a solemn dip of his squared chin, he rose without hesitation to follow her from the Hall's bustling confines.

The white stone walls loomed tall above them, marbled statues standing silent sentinel as the pair moved together. Her gown swished faintly at her ankles as she walked at his side, her pace followed easily. He was much taller than she, his strides longer, but the Captain shortened them purposefully.

By the ways of old. That was how he had been taught. There had been no sparing of the rod. In the presence of royalty he did not speak, never overstepped his place. Instead, more naturally than some of the servants perhaps, he remained a stoic companion within the halls until she lead him to where she wished.

"I would like to enter."

The course and rather overweight man sitting behind the table where all the competitors threw in their lot looked up at the young blond and couldn't help but burst out in laughter. Several men that had remained nearby also let out a hearty laugh, but Leyna remained firm in her decision. Once all the laughter died, Reginald, as he was called by his friends,

"You? Compete in the tournament?"

"Yes. I would like to officially enter my name into the sword fighting competition," Leyna said again.

"I have a better suggestion," one of the knights nearby said as he smoothly walked over to the table, his eyes glancing up and down her body. He was rather handsome with the same rough qualities that Drake possessed, only this man was far more arrogant. "I am in need of someone to attend to my needs and those my estate. A woman of your beauty would be far better suited to a life of comfort, wouldn't you agree?"

"My only comfort is on the battlefield," Leyna said proudly, and much to the disappointment of the knight.

"The battlefield? There is no war here, my lady, only a contest of strength among men."

“So you are afraid, then?”

“Afraid?” The knight looked into her blood-red eyes, and for a moment he was… put off balance.

“Have you ever even been in a fight before?” Leyna further inquired, her hand resting delicately on the hilt of her sword. “I have fought with the very best, with Sir Henry Oswold of Fairwell. Dwilden and Hadrion of Marrowedge. Arthur of Stonemont… I am certain that they would all gladly inform you that my place in life is not in the comfort of any home.”

"You were familiar with Sir Henry?"

Leyna turned her attention towards an elderly knight that had been resting near one of the fences, his armor cut and battered from many years of war. She did not recognize his face, but she did recognize that he was once a man of great importance, of valor before youth finally gave in to old age (unwillingly, most likely).

“Yes, for a time.”

"How is he?"

"Not well. His leg is still giving him trouble."

"Still?” the old knight chuckled, but there was a hint of admiration in his laugh. “I fought alongside Henry many, many times. I remember… he had a very strong arm. Reginald, I would like to endorse this young woman in the tournament. If you have to, please write her down under my name."

Leyna beamed a smile, and Reginald nodded his head in deference to the veteran warrior.

Marissa Whitehall

Marissa tried to ignore the gleeful commotion of the festival that wafted in through the windows, disturbing the peace of the cleric Whitehall's home. She failed and was soon watching the sky and daydreaming, humming softly, her books forgotten on the large wood table until her father closed one with, for him, a bang.

She jumped and shrugged her chagrin. "Sorry Poppa, its hard to study the languages of the gods when there is so much that people are doing... If I could perhaps go spend an afternoon at the festival and get it out of my system...?" she hinted with her very best sweet smile, not even asking for permission to be out for the more wild evenings of the festival, but an afternoon, as chaste as nobility, almost.

Cleric Whitehall considered his daughter's request but shook his head. "You're a sheltered child, my dear, and precious, and you know that I can't ask any of the guards to take you out when they are busy with all the nobles who have come to the city. Its just not safe, and if I were to lose you, I don't know what I would do."

She nodded, the argument was old between them. She was born to her parents in the autumn of their lives, after many years of prayer to the gods for a child, and after her mother's death, her father had dedicated himself to her upbringing and safety, his contacts at court used to keep her as safe and sheltered as a princess while he taught her how to honor the gods.

Which should have been enough for any proper girl, reading, writing, the company and respect of learned men and nobles. But the gods had seen fit to give her a wild soul, filled with yearning and as she grew into the fullness of young womanhood she began to feel that there was something more for her. Something pulling her outside the security of her father's influence. Something in the chaos of the lower town, the markets, the slums, and maybe beyond.

She couldn't study, the words running together on the page, the incantations dry and coarse in her mind. And a prayer without heart was an insult to the gods. Her father left her to take his afternoon nap, his age beginning to wear on his strength. She slid from her chair and began the greatest act of disobedience in her young life.

She went through the clothing donations for the poor and pulled out a bright many colored cloak, the mark of a storyteller, a bard, an entertainer for money. She changed out of her simple initiate's shift and dressed in leather leggings and a broadcloth tunic, cinching the too large clothes to her body with a tooled leather belt. She captured her red gold hair into a shock of braids, weaving them with colorful ribbons and finally, opened her mother's chest and took out a beautiful lute, the old wood shining.

She climbed out a window and dropped into the alley behind their rooms, quickly heading for the low town's festival and melting into the crowd, her disguise as a wandering singer complete. She planned to set up on a corner and sing until she earned enough change to buy herself supper, then return home, but she was quickly swallowed in the mass of humanity, the riot of colors, noises and smells both heady and overwhelming.

Count Tristan, as well as many of the other nobles seated at the table, watched with curiosity (and some with envy) as the young princess requested the presence and attention of Drake Wyldvern outside in the grand hallway. Emilia was rather glad to be away from the leering eyes of the pompous nobles, even if it was for just a brief moment. She walked gracefully past the table and down towards the twin doors that were guarded over by two of the finest knights in the entire city.

"We'll only be a moment," Emilia said with a smile as the guards silently opened the doors.

Emilia passed through, and she waited on the other side for Drake. The doors closed behind them, and Emilia guided the handsome March Warden down a few corridors to ensure that their words would be kept private. Aired hallways with lofty ceilings made the estate seem a bit more open, and the pillars holding the roof were elegantly crafted and bearing many runes and other fanciful carvings. There were benches and tables in nearly every corner of the castle, and in the courtyards below many servants and other members of the court continued on with their preparations.

"This should be far enough," Emilia said, more to herself than to the man following after her.

"I watched the conversation you had with Count Tristan," Emilia said as she turned around, and a smile was one her face. "I have to say, it has been quite some time since anyone has dared speak to him that way. I rather enjoyed the contest," she added before walking over to balustrade, and the smile that had once graced her beautiful face faded away.

"As I am sure you are aware by now, my father intends that I should be wed to Prince Alexander of Rome. I must admit, the thought of marrying another for the sake of political gains… troubles me. I have seen the way you bear yourself with restraint and respect, even amongst the most cunning and ruthless of men. My father may be blinded by the likes of Count Tristan and Lord Kalyn, but I know that your devotion to our kingdom has continued on for years without question, yet without reward nor recognition for which you are so rightfully entitled. Your strength has lent me courage these past few hours, Drake Wyldvern, and for that I am most grateful. My mind is my own, as is my heart.”

Emilia looked towards the Captain of the March Wardens with a rather serious countenance.

Her mind was her own.

“I have no intention of going to Rome.”

The wilds did strange things to men. The softer talents and skills dried up while more primal ones sharpened. In the cool hall he could feel the warmth of her near him. His eyes, pale and ferocious, could see the soft color the chill brought to her cheeks and the way her eyes lifted to search his features. She smelled sweet, a perfume of some exotic make that he'd never known. The scent itself was foreign to him, but utterly pleasant. All these things, her great beauty, enough to forge a knot of want in his muscled belly. She, an essence of gentle femininity, inspired his masculine heart to beat strongly.

Drake didn't understand how he could have assisted her already, only that it was a tremendous pleasure she was saying so. He'd already realized that pleasing the Royal family assuaged the dutiful inclinations within him. But pleasing her sparked new warmth, a different sensation. It coursed through him as he looked down upon her, speaking with quiet strength in the otherwise bleak halls.

"My lady," he began. Pausing briefly when her eyes ticked from his own to his attire and then back again. She was a unique beauty. The softness of her features betrayed only by the regality within them.

"A woman's heart is her own to place where she will. Whomever finds it trusted in his care will be fortunate. What would you ask of me?"

"Maybe I should go... I don't..."

Emilia folded her arms over her chest and drooped her head a bit. She had seemed so firm in her decision not to go, but once she had said so to another person she began to have second thoughts. Emilia loved her father. To do this to him would be completely unfair, and very unwise. The entire kingdom would be in upheaval if she went missing.

"What do you suggest I do? No. This is my decision."

Emilia found herself pacing back and forth.

"I'll go to Rome. I should... I should give this a chance." she said, once again speaking more to herself than to Drake, who was a perfect gentleman the entire time she was walking around. Yet another thing that set him apart from the others.

"My father will want me to take half the army with me for protection. As safe as our Kingdom is, I don't want that sort of escort. Would you be willing to accompany me on the journey? I do not trust the other members of the court."

Emilia looked towards Drake for an answer, but out of the corner of her eye she saw one of her guards walking towards them, and he dutifully informed the princess and the young master that their presence was requested back in the throne room.

~ ~ ~

High above the hallway where Emilia and Drake Wyldvern had been "privately" talking, Aveline Carrowind remained bent over the railing, her eyes and ears following after the pair even as they left to rejoin the others.

"Perfect," she said to herself.

The hall's cold confines did well to hold their conversation. It was bleak and unforgiving, a perfect counter to the wavering means of her intentions. Drake listened, heard her soft voice echoing against the white stone. Through her he felt the great weight of responsibility and expectation, a feeling with which he could surely relate. It was a grim and ominous pit in a man's stomach, unyielding against even the blind gleam of hope.

But for Drake it was a ghost of what it was for the Princess. A sliver against the spear. She held the expectations of a Kingdom, not its smallest province. The well-being of thousands of free men and women depended upon the course she chose, not a few hundred. The very greatness of her family a weight of its own, one that he will never have need to bare.

There would be no denial to the Princess. To the Royal Family. Instead, he turned toward her. The pale cast of his eyes walking over her softly featured face, seeing the confusion etched there. Her youth, her terrible newness to this world, evident in her bright and troubled eyes.

He hardly hears their call.

"I will go. I will see you there and back safely." He said.

It was duty. It was his life's means to answer the call of the family without comment or question. And yet, something drove him. The words left him in low rumbling efforts.

Drake of Wyldvern could see the young princess. He could truly see her.

"And it will be alright, Princess. By whatever means, you will be alright."

Princess Emilia and Drake Wyldvern were escorted back into the great dining hall, where they took their respective seats and finished their afternoon meal and then went their separate ways. Count Tristan had already excused himself to attend to personal matters, and he made it well known that he intended to participate (and win) in the jousting and sword-fighting competitions, as he had done in years past.

"Perhaps, Captain," Tristan began as he walked past Drake on his way out, "you and I could meet out on the field tomorrow? 'Twould give the crowd something worth watching."

Tristan followed his wife out into the hallway, and they were later joined by Baron Peregrine and the rest of the nobility. Emilia retreated with her father and mother into a private section of the castle, where she informed them of her desire for Drake to accompany her to Rome. At first the King was against the idea, but he eventually acquiesced to her request, even going so far as to suggest that the winners of the main competitions tomorrow would also accompany her.

~ ~ ~

Leyna Greenfield began wandering around the marketplace after she had signed up for the sword-fighting competition, and she felt rather excited at the chance to prove herself in the ring. She decided that it would be better if Winter remained at the stables, as she was afraid that someone would try and hassle her over the prized horse. With her sword strapped over her shoulder, the young warrior began looking around for something to do. It was late in the afternoon, and her stomach was starting to growl.

'I wonder how Drake is doing,' Leyna thought to herself as she wandered over to a merchants table, fresh fruits and vegetables spread out generously in the baskets. She handed a few small pieces to the dealer and then picked out a delicious red apple, wiping it off with a clean cloth before biting down.