Kestrel

Lord Kenton Fisher did not have time to wait. This was not due to his own lack of forbearance, for he was known to be a genuinely gentle fellow. Rather, it was caused instead by his present circumstances, the details of which he did not care to explain to his fellow nobles. He liked to consider himself a quiet and contemplative sort, not prone to outbursts of anger or frustration. Today, however, he found himself in an abnormally foul mood. Climbing from the back of a motorised hansom cab, he looked upon the soaking cobblestone street that was presently dotted with puddles. Navigating such conditions while remaining dry would be a tricky affair.

    Lord Fisher stepped onto the pavement, away from the pooling flood of precipitation. He pulled his top hat down, attempting to shield himself from the buffeting and ceaselessly rainy weather. His heavy overcoat and capelet would keep his body dry for the amount of time he would spend in those unfavourable conditions outside the hansom. Lord Fisher hastened on his way towards the unmarked brick building ahead. One of his servants, close on his heels, rushed forward and opened the door for him, for which he nodded a polite thanks and hurried his steps inside to escape the rain.

    Once inside, the nobleman was surprised by what greeted him—nothing. A bare, empty room with no discernible features apart from a wide pane of glass flush with the floor which led down into only darkness below but matched in size the skylight in the ceiling above. Kenton looked about, hoping to spot something out of the ordinary he could approach, but none came. He turned to set off, but the door was closed and locked behind him. Frustrated, Kenton started to reach into his coat for his portable wirephone before being interrupted by the creaking of an unseen door somewhere ahead. Light from beyond the threshold spilt out into the dark room, and Lord Fisher shielded his eyes from the sudden and unexpected illumination. "Morven?" he called into the light.

    "Fit like, your lordship," the small yet familiar voice of Edwin Morven said back in typical Abershire greeting. The old man stomped into the room, his hand on the doorknob as he entered. He was of average height for a man, stooped a bit in his old age. Wisps of white hair flew from his pate, and spectacles rested well past the position on his nose that would seem reasonable. He looked genuinely pleased to see Kenton. "Please, come inside," he said graciously with a thick Scotian brogue.

    "Enough with the 'your lordship' business," Lord Fisher said kindly. "Kenton shall do—we've known each other long enough, my friend." His walking stick clacked on the stone floor as he approached the now open door and stepped through, finding himself in a chamber that opened to a spiralling staircase, one leading up and the other going down.

    "Aye, my lord," Morven said as he led the way.

    Kenton sighed, falling into step behind the old man who made his way down the stairs with abnormal quickness for one of his age. His spryness did not surprise Kenton in the least, for he was by now accustomed to the old man's agility—Edwin Morven was one of Alba's most well-known archemists and inventors, after all.

    Kenton gripped his polished walking cane as he descended the stairs. Despite being a man of only forty-eight seasons, he found walking for long periods difficult and trying on his body. It was depressing being forced to consider one's own mortality, but there was nothing else to be done for it. He was young in the mind, trapped in the body of an aged man. What wonders could he accomplish if he could turn the clock back another twenty seasons?

    As they pressed on down the stairwell, the air began to noticeably cool. This was the first occasion Kenton had to visit with Morven since their arrangement to work together. Apart from being a founding member of the Archemists' Guild, Edwin was a genius inventor who had moved technology forward countless decades.

    Electric lamps dotted the walls as the light from above faded. Kenton could hear a strange dripping sound as his cane clicked noisily on the floor, preferring not to think about what it might be.

    "I reckon I shall invest in a lift for this place," Kenton said under his breath.

    Finally, after several minutes of walking, they emerged into an underground chamber of prodigious size. Despite knowing ahead of time what he would see, it still overwhelmed Kenton as he entered the space and looked about with curiosity to see that which his money had paid for.

    "Furnishings are much finer than any of my previous labs," Morven said as he moved to a table nearby, taking a seat and putting on his work coat, adjusting his specs. "Please, take a seat. I'll be wi' ye soon."

    On the advice of his friend, Kenton strode through the lab, taking it all in. Inventions of all kinds, items he could not even begin to name, were scattered on every available flat surface. The room extended many feet in each direction, with more chambers still leading off the main area. Flickering light illuminated the darker corners, emanating from flasks of all sizes. Sealed containers and devices ranged from two-hand firearms to small one-hand revolvers. Kenton reached up and pulled a palm-sized object with a small barrel facing out. Almost as soon as it was in his hand, a gout of flames poured from the nozzle and singed the stone ceiling.

    "Careful wi' that," Morven called from his workbench. "You'll licht the place on fire, mate."

    "Aye, I see that," Lord Fisher said, placing the weapon back where he'd found it. Perhaps it was best not to touch anything else without someone to explain the function of each curio ahead of time. He found a hearth nearby with a roaring fire, cooking pot, and plush armchairs facing towards the warmth. Kenton removed his top hat, gloves, and overcoat and hung his accoutrements on a wall peg mounted into one of the many wooden support beams that were scattered seemingly at random throughout the room.

    Choosing to retain the gun belt on his waist, Kenton sat awkwardly in the leftmost chair facing the roaring fire. He sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders in a way he found hard to describe. His kind—the birth nobles of Albion—generally shied away from involving themselves in political affairs, though that was not Kenton's style. He was comfortable with his heavy involvement in local city matters, though he had ambitions to extend his reach outside Alba and to the wider world. The kingdom of Engla was by far the largest in the world and ruled by a queen. He'd never met her in person before, but it was said that she was a kind monarch who truly had the interests of the people in mind—at least on the surface. Kenton was unsure of her true motivations.

    In the end, if she was indeed someone who did good things for her people, what did it matter why she did it? A good deed was a good deed in his mind. The true measure of a person was their action, not thought.

    Kenton felt his stomach growl. It was now late into the evening, well past supper time. Feeling a bit peckish, he leaned forward towards the hanging pot in the fireplace and reached for the ladle. As he opened the pot, a snarling sound emitted, followed by some ferocious creature lashing out to take a bite from his hand. Kenton pulled back before the monster could take a chunk out of his finger. "Morven, what the bloody fuck is that?" he asked, indicating the pot.

    "Ach, apologies, your lordship, that'll be my hepplewhopper; he'll get ye if you're nae quick. Should have warned ye afore ye sat doon."

    Kenton had never heard of a hepplewhopper before—indeed, he was wholly uncertain that it was a real animal. Perhaps Morven was going a bit mad in his isolation. In order to be one of the most prolific inventors in the world, you likely had to be a wee bit barmy. The noises of the mechanical oddities and unknown inventions that threw lights on the walls as green electric pulses ran along exposed wires made Kenton feel somewhat uncomfortable. He was not a superstitious or religious man in any major sense—religion being almost non-existent in Avalon as a whole—but he was still unsure of the great technological leaps Morven had practically single-handedly helped to usher in across the entire city.

    Looking to his left, Kenton could see the water dripping steadily from his capelet and overcoat onto the stone floor of the basement laboratory. The light from the fire flickered ominously, reflecting off the puddle. Kenton lost himself for a moment before he heard Edwin calling for him.

    "Fancy a cuppa?" he asked.

    "Please, that would be lovely," Kenton replied. Despite now living in Alba, Kenton was from Engla's capital city of Mercia, and his accent was a received pronunciation from his time being educated in the south of the grand city. Most regarded it as rather posh when compared to Morven's thick Scotian brogue. In truth, Morven was a far smarter man than Kenton could ever hope to be by his estimation. The inventor was old but still as sharp as he'd been in his younger seasons.

    After some time, Morven trundled over and placed the cup in Kenton's hands. The nobleman took it gratefully, sipping on it with gusto. "A fine piece," Kenton said with satisfaction.

    "That's a cup of tea, not a sandwich," Morven said, laughing heartily. "Stick wi' your Mercia slang."

    "Aye," Kenton replied, amused. He sat for a while, once again losing himself in the fire as he sipped his tea slowly. The minutes seemed to pass by with excruciating slowness. Eventually, Morven called out for Kenton to join him at the table. Limping across the room, the nobleman rejoined his friend.

    "We're almost there," Morven said, "but I caution ye, Lord Fisher, it's nae ready yet. We cannae begin trials until I'm sure of the lack of negative side effects."

    Kenton examined the device, which resembled a syringe with extra parts glued on. "How much longer?" he asked, resisting the urge to pick it up and turn it over in his hands. He was a sensory man, and the sense of touch was important—it helped him explore the world. Based on what he had done with the flamethrower, he thought caution was the better path to take. "A guess, anyway, Morven?"

    Shaking his head in dismay, Morven said, "Barring another breakthrough, at least a season. Perhaps two." He seemed hesitant to finish his sentence, knowing what it could mean for Kenton. Despite his age, Morven retained the softness and caring of his youth—he knew what it meant to be desperate to achieve something great.

    Kenton sighed. "Understood, my friend. What we do here could hold the balance of the entire world at stake. Please, call me if anything changes." He turned to the hook on the support beam and collected his coat, hat, and gloves, slipping them on as he turned to go. "Is there anything I can do to help speed it along?"

    "Pray, yer lordship. I don't know if it will work, aye, but it's our only hope now."

    Kenton left without another word.

    As he returned to the surface and climbed into his motorised hansom, Lord Fisher sat back on the soft, plush seat as his driver closed the solid wooden door behind him. Instantly, the sounds of the storm outside quieted despite the driving rains pounding on the roof of the cab. Kenton looked out of the window as the vehicle pulled away from the kerb and merged back onto the roadway.

The moon had risen higher in the sky. The rains were coming harder still, soaking everything they could reach. It was well after midnight, well after the time any sensible person would long be in bed. The figure had been awakened, turned loose in a city thirsting for his influence. He was as familiar with the city as any who had spent their whole life there. The rooftops were his chair and the streets his courtroom. From that perch, he judged all those who passed below.

    The Figure stalked his prey, wearing only a light tunic with leather bracers, tight pants and a long black cloak which partially obscured his face. He would have to pass along the message that he'd require more lest they wanted his identity revealed to the entire city next time he struck.

    His prey walked the streets, unprotected and vulnerable. Few frequented the streets at this late hour, though his quarry walked alone on the sparsely populated boulevard. He kept pace with his prey, jumping from rooftop to rooftop in a dance that kept him above his prey's line of sight while ensuring he could track his target with relative ease.

    His was a game of patience.

    Once the target—whose name he couldn't entirely recall—rounded an alleyway corner, the Figure struck. He leapt from high above, descending from the sky like a wraith from legends of old, lashing out at his target. He knocked the man back, cracking his skull on the cobblestone wall. "Fuck!" the man exclaimed, holding a hand to his bloody head. "Who the fuck are—"

    His question was cut off as the Figure's fist connected with the man's jaw. He punched the stunned man repeatedly, beating him to the ground. His quarry began to crawl away from him, trying to escape, barely able to speak or cry out for help. A crowd had begun to form, spilling from a nearby building—he'd missed the windows facing this alley, some nameless tavern was now expelling its occupants onto the rain-soaked streets. Some onlookers seemed to be drunkenly cheering, while others cried out in alarm at the display.

    "Stop it! I say, stop it this instant!" a man called from the crowd.

    The Figure ignored him. His prey was a bloody mess now, snivelling and begging for his life on the sidewalk. The Figure reached down, dragging him toward that same wall he'd cracked his head against before slamming him onto the bloodied bricks.

    "Please," the man said weakly. "Don't kill me," he choked through mouthfuls of blood. "I have a—"

    The Figure withdrew a dagger from his belt, slashed it across the man's throat and watched as the body slumped to the ground. He dropped the corpse, then turned to see the onlookers, as if he was just noticing them for the first time. The rainwater puddles around the target began to turn red as rivulets of blood swirled into the standing water. The Figure cleaned his weapon on his prey's jacket before sheathing it and turning to stare at the now-silent people watching him.

    "What have you done?" one man asked. He was the same man from before. "You killed him!"

    "This is your first warning," the Figure said to the shocked crowd before him. "It will not be your last. Kestrel is coming for the rot that infects this country! Be you noble, royal, or collaborator, know that your days are numbered!"

    The gathered people erupted into a mix of angry shouting and confused cheering as the Figure vanished from sight. He watched for a time from above. Constables responded, gathering around the body, calling for medical services. "It was a crazed hooded man, he just came out of nowhere and killed this poor fellow," the witnesses said. One of the inspectors looked to where he had vanished and found nothing—for he was the blade with which the city would be cut free, and blades were something to be sheathed from sight when not in use.

The kingdom of Engla extended in all directions as far as the eye could see from Miralla Aberdeen's perch, situated on a high plateau overlooking the Eastland Forest of her home city, Mercia. As the capital, the city was a hub of trade, fishing and hunting. Engla was a massive country, and together with the neighbouring lands of Adélard in the far southwest, Iorne to the south and Scotia to the north, these countries made up the continent of Albion, otherwise known as the Commonrealm Empire, of which Mira's mother was the queen.

    Without a shadow of a doubt, Princess Mira wanted to leave it all behind forever. It wasn't the pretty gowns or the balls or the dancing or any of that. Mira loved to dress in fancy clothes and put on make-up, but she also loved to fight, to explore the Eastlands on her own after ditching her personal guards, and to generally cause trouble for her poor mother. At least, that was how Queen Isobella Aberdeen put it.

    Mira saw herself another way. Now nearing her eighteenth season, she was second in waiting for the throne, essentially guaranteeing that she would never become queen given that any children her older sister may have would jump the line and sit on the throne before her. She was fine with this, but as a result saw no reason for her to continue living in the castle, being waited on hand and foot. She'd be turned into a proper Mercian princess, sitting about and waiting to die.

    She'd always wanted to leave the capital and see the world beyond it. In all her time, she had never gone past the borders of the Eastlands save for a few summers in Castle Parterre in Scotia when she was young—a situation she hoped to soon rectify.

    The wind rustled her long, loose auburn hair as she sat up in the saddle of her chestnut mare, Aech. She took in a deep breath, the smell of gooseberries flooding her senses as her chest rose with the action. Letting it out slowly, the familiar scent left her, and she felt the tension leave her body. The outdoors made her wish she could take off in a random direction and never look back. She knew the thought was foolish—her mother would never allow it. Despite it being her right to conduct her Runabout now she was of age, the queen forbade Mira or her siblings from ever leaving the Eastlands.

    For her younger brother, Prince Lewis, this wasn't a struggle as he was only four seasons old now. For Mira, young and eager to explore the world, this command had been a constant source of friction between her and the queen. Mira's desire to get out and see the world clashed with her mother's vision of a unified family living together in one place. Perhaps they would never see eye-to-eye.

    For most young persons, the Runabout was a time of self-discovery when a person could leave their hometown and explore anywhere in the world they wanted. This period began around seventeen, but Mira was now deep in her seventeenth season, meaning she was late in commencement. This was, of course, entirely her mother's doing. If it had been up to Mira, she would have been gone long ago. When the cook's son had left on his Runabout last season, Mira practically burned from within with anger and jealousy.

    Mira was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of hooves clopping across the dirt and stones somewhere behind her. She turned her horse and watched as her older sister—by a mere three seasons—Ilyana came striding up. Mira watched her approach. Ilya was always so collected, so calm and full of purpose. It annoyed Mira to no end. Just once, she wanted to wipe that smug sense of serenity from her face.

    "Greetings, sister," Mira said, trying to hide the sarcasm in her voice. The effort felt immediately pointless as her true feelings shone through in her tone as clearly as the sun's rays on a cloudless day. "How was your walk this morning?"

    "This was no walk, Mira, as you well know," Ilya said huffily. Her hair was pale, practically white. Her golden eyes caught the light—the colour of all firstborn nobility in Mercia. Her gaze bored into Mira's violet ones, displeasure etched across her features. "I'm here to babysit you in case you decide to go off on some fool's errand."

    Mira's attitude turned even more sour. She spun in her saddle as they both began the long journey back to their home, Castle Aberdeen. "And if someone did try to harm me, what would you do, Ilya?"

    Ilya rolled her eyes and looked away.

    "No, I mean it," pressed Mira. "Tell me exactly what you would do to protect us should a fellow wishing to cause me harm burst from the forest with a sword in hand."

    "At the moment," Ilya said, turning back, "I'd let him have at you, honestly. They could carry you away, and I'd tell Mother we'd just have to start over again with a new little sister. Hopefully, this one is far less of a prat!" Ilya whipped at her reins, and her horse moved into a quicker trot, not quite a gallop yet. "Perhaps if someone took you prisoner, they'd bring you back after realising how annoying you are."

    Mira's face was one of shock and astonishment. "How dare you speak to me that way! I shall order Captain Jaycen to have your head for that!"

    "You are quite the jester, sister," Ilya said as she whipped the reins again and broke into a full gallop. "Race me back to the castle?"

    "Are you having a laugh?" Mira asked, eyes wide. "Prissy, perfect Ilya wants to break one of Mother's biggest, most important rules? I never thought I'd see it!"

    Wind whipping through their long hair, the girls shot off side-by-side, laughing as they tried to outpace one another. Eight hooves thundered along the paved cobblestone roads, flicking dirt and dust into the air as they rode by. A flock of birds soared past overhead, startled by the noise created by the two princesses.

    Together, they passed through a village that knew both girls well. An older woman who was stretching leather on a rack waved, and the sprogs ran after them, laughing and shouting and whooping with joy, trying to give chase on their little legs. "Good morning, children!" Mira called as they rode past. She did not slow down as she passed them, however, trusting them to get out of the way. A chicken was almost trod on, but Ilya managed to dodge it in time, weaving out of its path. The horse nearly bucked in protest, but Ilya got it back in line as their race pressed on.

    As they cleared the small, nameless village, Mira looked up, watching as the castle grew larger in the distance. They were still a good three or four miles out, though both the girls were in good spirits. Their earlier fight already forgotten, they laughed and jeered at one another as they rode together.

    Just as they rounded a bend in the trees, Ilya's eyes went wide as they almost collided headfirst with a merchant cart coming from the other direction. She screamed and yanked the reins hard, causing her horse to veer wildly. "Woah, Winston!" Ilya called out, her voice gone astray amongst the horse's panicked whinnies. The merchant looked helpless as the princess shot by him, clearly in distress.

    Mira bent low and whipped Aech's reins. Winston was still spooked, turning into the wooded foliage surrounding the path. Ilya was fully out of control now, not fit to calm Winston down. She began to panic, unsure what to do next.

    Suddenly, the girls found themselves joined by a third, armoured rider, who pulled up alongside them and reached over to yank Ilya from her horse and plop her down in front of him on his own leather saddle. "Woah, Balder, woah," the man said, slowing his own mount down. Mira came up a moment later, out of breath from driving her horse so hard. "Uncle Jaycen!" she exclaimed. "You've arrived just in time."

    "It seems I did," Jaycen said, transferring Ilya over to Mira's horse. "Are you both okay? What spooked your horse?" he asked with earnest concern.

    Mira considered for a moment, knowing he would inform their mother of what they had done should they tell him the truth. "Well, we were coming around the corner, and this cart merchant was going the other way and almost collided with us. Winston got quite a scare and just took off. We're lucky you were nearby."

    "A merchant?" Jaycen said, looking back in the direction from which they'd come. "Perhaps I shall put him to the sword for almost killing the firstborn and heir to the throne?" A wide grin broke across his face.

    "I don't believe that will be necessary," Mira said, smiling back at her uncle.

    "I'm glad you both find this so funny," Ilya said haughtily. "I was almost killed due to his—"

    Mira cocked an eyebrow at her sister.

    Ilya met her eye and paused awkwardly. "Aye, well, we will let it go just this once, I suppose."

    "Excellent," Captain Jaycen said, eyeing both girls with suspicion. Mira got the feeling he knew deep down they weren't being truthful with him. Even if he did, he obviously wouldn't pursue the matter any further. The Captain of the Queen's Guard had more important things to attend to, it seemed. "You two behave yourselves and return to the castle soon. It's almost time for your lessons. I'll send a rider to retrieve Winston in short order."

    "Aye, Uncle," the princesses said in unison.

    He gave them a sharp nod, smiled warmly at them, then turned and rode off.

    Now on the same horse, Mira and Ilya were a little squashed together. Mira turned Aech around, and they slowly began to trot back to the cobblestone path. "You think he'll tell Mother about this?" Ilya asked.

    "We nearly died, and you're worried if we'll be punished for it?" Mira said, amused. "No, I don't think so, sister. Besides, we're both grown now—we can do as we please, can't we?"

    "We no longer have to go to school, but Mother still assigns us lessons each day," Ilya said with annoyance in her voice.

    "I thought you'd love your higher education," Mira teased. "Bookworm that you are."

    "Shut up," Ilya shot back.

    Some hushed unknown voices came from off the path just up ahead. "Shush," Mira said warningly. "What's that?"

    "Someone skulking about in the forest off the path?" Ilya said. "Probably just some hunters."

    "No," Mira said. "Why would they be so close to the road? Do hunters stray near main thoroughfares? Do they sound like anyone we know?"

    "I guess not," Ilya admitted. "What do we care? Let's go back to the castle as we were instructed, sister."

    "Where's the fun in that?" Mira asked, hopping off Aech and attaching her reins to a nearby branch. "Stay, girl," Mira said, crouch-walking farther into the woods and away from the cobblestone path.

    "Mira, we need to go back to the castle," Ilya hissed. "Mother is waiting for us."

    Ignoring her sister's pleas, Mira pushed on, wanting to see who was speaking and why it was a voice she didn't recognise.

    "If we're both murdered, I'll be so cross with you," Ilya said between gritted teeth as she followed her younger sister.

    They pushed through the underbrush and found themselves overlooking a camp at the edge of a clearing. Hiding in some bushes, the girls had a high vantage point. If they remained silent, the people below would never see them. Mira had never seen anyone like these men before—dressed in odd clothing with tunics, belts and vests, armed with swords and guns. Mira had heard of the new percussion cap firearms but had never seen one in person before as they were still quite rare in Avalon.

    "What are they doing here?" Mira whispered.

    "Let's go before we get ourselves killed or worse," Ilya snapped back.

    "What's worse than death?" Mira asked. "I think they're bandits. We have bandits in the Eastland Forest. Uncle Jaycen would want to know."

    "Good," Ilya said, clearly glad for a common point of agreement. "Let's get back to the castle and tell him so he can handle this."

    "Fine, fine," Mira replied. She took note of the surrounding trees and landmarks so she could send Jaycen back later to route them. "Let's go." Wordlessly, the sisters hastened back to Aech and headed for Castle Aberdeen, where their mother was waiting for them, a disapproving frown on her face.

"Where have you been, Mira?" Queen Isobella Aberdeen's voice boomed out as the girls approached the gate. One of the guards on the wall motioned for the portcullis blocking their way to be opened. Situated between two high walls on either side, the arched gateway was lined with moss or lichen on every inch, with intricate patterns carved into the surrounding stone. As the latticed metal grille ground creakily into motion and began rising into the air, Mira and Ilya entered on their horse, clacking across the paved stone walkway. Once inside, the gate came down behind them.

    The Queen Mother looked every inch the formidable woman they knew she was. Known across the realm as Isobella the Arcadian due to her long reign of peace and prosperity throughout the Commonrealm, Queen Bella was tall and slender, graceful in every movement. Her hair was brown like Mira's—Ilya took after her father's snowy white hair—and tied back in a neat bun with nary a single strand out of place. She was statuesque as she stood watching them, hands folded and waiting for the princess to answer for herself.

    "Mother," Mira said as they drew closer, "Ilya was out with me, you know. See her here, on my horse?"

    "Speaking of which," Bella said, her tone changing to one of sharp disapproval, "where is Winston? Or have you lost him in addition to your sense of time?"

    Mira waited for her older sister to speak up, but the taller girl sat ramrod straight, not speaking a word. Sighing, Mira pressed on as she climbed from Aech's back and allowed one of the young stable hands to lead her away. Mira eyed him for a moment as he led the horse back to its pen.

    "Foolish girl," Queen Bella snapped, noticing what Mira was doing. "Get back in the castle."

    "Mother," Mira said with the same tone from before, "I'm grown. You can't stop me from looking at boys." She considered it for a moment. "Or girls."

    "Stop this at once," Bella hissed. "I'll not have it within my walls. Listen to me now, you shall marry a royal, like yourself. You'll settle down and have a brood of sprogs who will, in turn, marry into royal families just like their mother and everyone in their family line before them. Is that understood, Miralla? You are a royal, it's time you started acting like it. What you do in the privacy of your bedchamber is not my concern, but in public—"

    Rolling her eyes and mocking her mother's talking with a hand movement, Mira quickened her pace and accelerated ahead.

    "You're both late for lessons," Bella called after them.

    "I'm seventeen, I should be done with school by now," Mira shouted back. As she and her sister rounded a corner, her mother's shouts of annoyance were left behind. Mira let a faint smile play across her lips as she and Ilya walked towards the classrooms.

    "Why must you antagonise her like that?" Ilya asked as they gathered their parchment, ink, and quills from a storage locker in the wall nearby on their way to their lessons. They slung their shoulder bags and headed for class. "It's unseemly to do so in front of the staff."

    "I don't do it on purpose, Ilya." Mira thought her eyes would roll right out of her head this time. "I just can't help myself. She can be a right knob at times."

    "Mira!" Ilya exclaimed. "That mouth of yours, my word. It's no wonder Mother sent me out into the forest with you. If you talked this way with those bandits, they'd have us murdered for hurling imprecations right to their faces."

    Considering this, Mira frowned. "They wouldn't dare attack a princess. Besides, Uncle Jaycen would never let us out of his sight long enough for anyone to try anything funny. Can you imagine what he'd do if he rode into a camp where they had us held hostage? He'd gut them all before they could even protest!"

    "He is a fine swordsman," Ilya agreed, "but that's no reason to push your luck, Mira. Sooner or later, you'll get yourself into mischief, and Uncle won't be able to bail you out."

    "Pfff, don't be stupid, sister," Mira said as they opened the door and hastened into their lessons. Luckily, it was a private class, and the teacher had been waiting patiently for them. She smiled sweetly as they shut the door behind them.

    "Good morning, girls," Professor Merri Averill said with warmth in her voice. Her hair was as fire-red as the crackling hearth nearby, and her piercing green eyes followed them as they crossed the room and took their seats. She made no mention of them being an hour late—to her, it made no difference. She was paid handsomely by the Queen Mother's estate regardless of if her two students showed up to class. The responsibility to ensure they were in their lessons fell to their Uncle Jaycen as Captain of the Queen's Guard, anyway.

    "Good morning, professor," Ilya said in her usual polite manner.

    "Good morning," Mira echoed. Her mind was already wandering, tuning out their lessons as she did almost every day. Professor Averill hailed from one of the most prestigious universities in all of Avalon—Imperial College Mercia—and was world-renowned for her expertise on a wide variety of subjects. It was this skill and knowledge that had led the Queen Mother to seek her out and offer a generous stipend, extensively large living quarters, and use of the Commonrealm's massive estate in order to fund her personal research when she was not tutoring the princesses during their two-hour morning sessions.

    The arrangement was quite favourable for everyone. Professor Averill could conduct her research as well as hold a prestigious position within the Royal Court. She would never again be found wanting financially, though teaching Mira could be somewhat of a challenge.

    "Is there something bothering you, Princess?" Averill asked. As their instructor, she had been encouraged to teach them in subjects that would make them worldly and knowledgeable about society at large. However, if they wished to pursue their own subjects, they were free to request those as well. The only thing the Queen had expressly forbidden was anything that involved the Scotian capital city of Alba.

    "I fancy learning about Alba," Princess Mira said immediately.

    Ilya sighed deeply. "Are you having us on, Mira? The one subject Mother forbade us to speak of? That's what you want to know about?"

    Mira turned to her sister, fire in her violet eyes. "Doesn't it make you even the least bit suspicious that the thing Mother isn't keen on us speaking about is another city? A random city over four-hundred miles away in another country? Doesn't that sound unusual to you?"

    Ilya paused to consider this. "Well, of course it's unusual. Mother is an unusual woman, but she has her reasons."

    "And what are they?" Mira shot back. "What reason could she possibly have?"

    "I'm not sure I like where this line of questioning is going," Professor Averill said, eyes narrowed. She walked to a flickering wall sconce and turned up the oil flow, brightening the room. "Perhaps we should table this for another time?"

    "You've been there, haven't you, professor?" Mira asked. "You've been to Alba."

    Professor Averill sighed, blowing air between her perfectly white teeth. "Aye, I have." She seemed conflicted between being honest with the princesses and protecting her job. Before long, the professor came to the most sensible conclusion—she could provide Mira just enough information to keep her happy while not delving too far into a topic the Queen Mother had specifically told them not to talk about. "What of it?"

    "Well, we wish to hear more about it. What's it like?" Mira asked.

    "There's no 'we' here, professor," Ilya said, shooting Mira a rude look. "This is entirely her doing; let me out of it."

    Professor Averill sighed again. "Princess Mira, you know I'm forbidden from speaking of Alba. If your mother ever finds out—"

    "What is she so fearful of? Does she think if I learn more about it, I'll go running off there?"

    Ilya and Averill exchanged glances.

    "My word, that's it, isn't it? Mother thinks something in Alba is so fascinating that the moment I learn of its existence, I'll fly the coop!"

    "Not one thing," Averill said softly. "The entire city itself."

    "What are you on about?" Ilya asked. Mira could tell she was becoming curious now. Defying the Queen Mother went against her entire nature, but as a girl fond of education, Mira knew she was also interested on an intellectual level.

    "Fine," Averill exclaimed loudly. "If it gets you to let me alone! Alba used to be a normal city like any other, unremarkable in almost every way, apart from the beautiful vistas that can be seen outside the city. Around thirty seasons ago or so, a fellow named Edwin Morven invented something that changed everything."

    Mira's eyes looked as if they would burst wholeheartedly from her skull. "What was it?" she exclaimed.

    "A way to harness steam," Averill said simply.

    "Steam?" Mira asked, feeling somewhat let down.

    "Aye, steam," Averill said. "For you see, it was a simple invention but one that pushed technology in Alba forwards by decades. He created a steam engine—a way to perform work utilising steam as the working fluid."

    "Work?" Ilya asked.

    "Mechanical work," Averill said. "In a physics sense. A transfer of energy that moves an object over a distance by an external force. For example, if you throw a ball through the air, you're performing mechanical work on that ball."

    "Aye, I remember this from our lessons," Mira said, eyes practically sparkling with delight at where this conversation was heading. "Then what happened?"

    "A veritable explosion of new technology in Alba," Averill continued. "A full-on revolution, girls, the invention of countless new systems. Their hansoms are motorised by steam engines; they don't need horses at all. Locomotives, all powered by steam. All coming from Alba. Mercia still lives in the past, girls, the Stone Age in comparison to Alba. They can summon hot water from their taps at will, no need for a fuel source in the tub. Water pumps for indoor plumbing, steamboats, the list is endless. Clockwork machines that work on steam, weights, and gears. Alba is a magickal place. I truly cannot wait to return someday."

    Mira considered everything the professor had just told them. Her mind was racing, considering the implications. She could've sworn this was the first time she'd seen the professor truly excited about anything. Averill sounded like she wanted to jump on her horse and ride for Alba immediately—Mira would be right behind her.

    "You mustn't tell your mother, Mira," Averill said, catching sight of the look on the princess's face. "She'll know what I have done at once if you do."

    Mira agreed, promising her silence to avoid getting Averill into trouble. The balance of the lesson passed in relative normality, but Mira wasn't listening to a single word of it. Alba was the only thing she could think about. Soon, she would depart Mercia and go there to see the wonders for herself.

As the girls left Professor Averill's class, Ilya could tell Miralla was already thinking about and actually looking forward to their next lesson. After two hours in the classroom, it was time for a quick meal and then sparring practice.

    Mira gobbled up her turkey sandwich and vegetable crisps and then practically ran for the training grounds. Ilyana was far slower in finishing her meal, taking her time to painstakingly savour every bite. When she was finished, she wiped her mouth with the graceful decorum expected of one in her position. She placed her cloth napkin onto the plate and slowly stood, pulling her shoulder bag on and walking through the stone halls of the beautiful castle.

    Ilya knew it was by the grace of her family's wealth and fortune that she was able to live in such opulence. Mira and Lewis seemed to take it for granted but Ilya was older and wiser now, a real adult in the real world. She was above these childish games that her two younger siblings always played. To be fair, Lewis was only four, so he got a pass. Mira, on the other hand, was still as childish as the day she was born.

    Her white hair pulled back into an immaculate high ponytail, Ilya collected her things and swept out of the room, her long flowing blue dress pristine as always. It was decorated with small imprints of the Aberdeen family crest—an intricate knot surrounding a stag. She often wished their crest had involved dragons, but having been extinct for at least three hundred seasons, if not longer, dragons were seldom used in modern day family crests. They were still regarded as symbols of strength, honour and prosperity. Though the historians of the time had done their best, the historical records on dragons and their part in The Unending War with the elves was sparse. Of all the peoples from ancient times, only humans remained to pick up the broken pieces of the story.

    Ilya crossed out of the hall and into the training grounds which were located in the central courtyard. The castle had several open areas within its walls, though this was by far the largest as it contained the armoury, training grounds, the stable and doors to the medical ward which was manned by Head Nurse Lorri Baltram and her staff of caregivers. Perhaps the greatest shortcoming of the training grounds being so near the stables was the overwhelming stench of shit coming from the southern corner. Ilya turned up her nose as she exited the castle and stepped onto the battlements.

    She was unsurprised to see that Mira already engaged in mock combat with one of the young stable hands. Strictly speaking, the penalty for raising a sword against a royal would be beheading, but Uncle Jaycen would likely make an exception to lopping off the boy's head since they were using practice swords. Ilya laughed to herself at her own joke—she could be witty, too, if she fancied.

    As though the thought of their uncle conjured him from the aether itself, Ilya spotted him at the edge of the marked sparring area. He was still clad head-to-toe in his metal armour, ever the majestic and strikingly heroic Guard Captain. The point of his wide sword had been driven into the dirt while he stood with his hands on the ruby pommel, watching Mira with an intense gaze. Ilya finished her trek across the battlements and descended the stairs one at a time, still full of the same grace with which she'd eaten. She took her time, ensuring she never tripped or stumbled, unlike Mira who often took the quick way to the ground.

    Trying to remain inconspicuous as always, Ilya took a seat in the stands that faced the sparring area and said nothing to any of the passersby who were watching the spectacle. Mira sent the stableboy packing as she whipped the wooden sword along his backside. "Next time, send a real man to fight me!" she crowed. "Who's next?"

    Captain Jaycen surreptitiously withdrew his sword from the ground to signify an end to the bout, otherwise maintaining a neutral expression.

    Ilya rolled her eyes. Foolish child, always wanting to show off to anyone willing to watch.

    "Perhaps you, sister!" Mira called up to her.

    Everyone turned to look at her. Ilya ignored them, reaching into her bag and withdrawing a weathered old tome. "Perhaps another time," she said flatly as she cracked the book open, beginning to read.

    "I'll give it a go then," a masculine voice called out. All heads swivelled again to face one of Uncle Jaycen's soldiers who was stepping up into the sparring area. His cloak swished as he walked, sword at his side.

    "Hold on, there," Jaycen said, holding up his hand.

    "Let him come," Mira protested, eyeing her new competition with delight. Finally, a real challenge.

    "I don't think that's such a capital notion," Jaycen said, looking at his niece with concern. "He's one of my Guard, he'll wipe the floor with you."

    "I'm young, not blind, Uncle," Mira said confidently. She went over to the weapons table and laid down the wooden sword, exchanging it for a real one. Giving it a few practice swings, she twirled it in her hand and faced the guard.

    "Mathias, if you hurt her," Captain Jaycen warned.

    "Hurt me?" Mira echoed. "You wound me with your words, Uncle. As if he could best me."

    Captain Jaycen considered it for a few more moments. Ilya looked up to see what he would do. Finally, Jaycen nodded. "If you nick a single hair on her head, I'll have your hands in my trophy room, Guardsman," Jaycen said firmly.

    Mathias smiled, shaking his head to clear his long hair away, his eyes not leaving Mira's sword. He reached up and unbuttoned his cloak, passing it off to one of his compatriots. Then, he swiftly drew his sword, accompanied by the sharp note of a well-oiled blade.

    "Just you and me, Princess," Mathias said, smiling.

    They waited, watching one another with bated breath as Jaycen raised his sword. He glanced at both combatants, then drove his sword into the ground. "Begin!" he shouted.

    The area was utterly silent as Mathias took his first swing. The sword came about, slow as molasses. Ilya watched as Mira blocked it with ease, redirecting it away from her body with a clanging sound that shook her teeth. She was genuinely surprised, having no notion her sister had progressed this far with her training.

    "Come on, give it your all!" Mira taunted the soldier.

    "Are you taking the piss? I'll have you on your back in a moment," Mathias said as he swung again.

    Mira blocked the attack perfectly, throwing Mathias off his balance. "Shall you now?" She came in for a strike at his throat, but he dodged out of the way. "Is that a promise?"

    Ilya rolled her eyes again. Mira was such a sprog sometimes.

    "Come on, Princess, you're boring me!" Mathias said, striking straight and true. Mira again spun out of the way, but the blade caught the band holding her hair back, slicing it in half. As it fell away, Mira's long brown hair came free, blowing in the light breeze. "Ser Mathias, you must take me out to supper first before this kind of thing," she said, laughing.

    "That's a deal," Mathias said without missing a beat.

    Mira dodged around another swipe and brought her own sword forward, nicking the knight's shoulder strap. This caused the breastplate to fall away, leaving Mathias with only his shirt on. "It's getting rather hot out here, anyway," he said, pulling it off.

    Mira stopped for a moment, watching him. "You think to distract me, Ser Mathias?" she asked playfully.

    Coming in for another strike, Mathias grinned as their swords clashed and they drew close together. "You have your flexibility and I have my strength. It seems we're evenly matched." They pulled apart, swiped a few more times as their steel clashed together, then came together once more. "Perhaps you'd like to join me in my quarters later?"

    "Or perhaps you can come to mine," Mira said, smiling at him. "I can show you my flexibility and you can show me your strength."

    "What's all this then?" a booming voice suddenly asked. All the onlookers immediately went about their business, Mira and Mathias pulled apart and Captain Jaycen lifted his sword to hurry over to his sister-in-law. "What is the meaning of this?" Queen Isobella demanded again. Her eyes were like cold fury.

    Mathias retrieved his shirt and breastplate and hastened off.

    "You said you wanted me to marry a man, Mother, you made that part very clear," Mira said, looking up at her mother in defiance.

    "A nobleman, Mira, not one of my knights. Why must you constantly do this, defy me at every chance you get? Do you take pleasure in causing me stress?"

    "If I'm such a burden to you, perhaps it's time for me to take my leave," Mira shouted.

    "Now, Mira," Jaycen began.

    "Shut up!" Queen Bella and Mira said in unison.

    Ilya stood from her place on the stands and walked down, joining them at the edge of the sparring ring. "We can try and try, Mother, but some children just don't know their place. They're going to be a constant source of embarrassment."

    "At least I'm not a massive prat like you!" Mira screamed. "I was having a bit of fun, Mother. I know you have no idea what that's like with that giant stick rammed up your—"

    Queen Bella raised her hand and struck Mira hard across the face, causing the young princess to stumble back, holding a hand to her cheek. Hot tears sprang into her eyes, and she threw the sword to the ground, sprinting away into the castle.

    "Mira..." Bella began.

    "Leave me alone!" Mira shouted back, slamming the door closed behind her.

    "Well, that went well," Ilya said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

    "Enough out of you," Queen Bella said, rounding on her elder daughter. "Why must you always antagonise your sister, Ilya?"

    "You slapped her across the face," Ilya pointed out. "Besides, she was acting like a right git, wasn't she?"

    "To your chambers," Queen Bella said quietly.

    "What have I done?" Ilya protested.

    "Now!" Bella barked, her voice cracking with emotion.

    Ilya sulked away from the yard without another word, though she slowed her step in a thinly-veiled attempt to listen in on her mother's exchange with the captain.

    Captain Jaycen started to follow after Ilya but was stopped short by Bella's clipped words. "Jaycen, what was that? You let Mira spar with a guard? What the fuck were you thinking?" she hissed quietly.

    "I'm sorry, Bella—"Jaycen began.

    "That's Queen Mother to you," the queen said, stomping off back to the castle after her daughters.

    Captain Aberdeen let out a long sigh, hearing the sound of distant thunder somewhere above their heads. "Shit," he said under his breath. "Not your finest moment, Jaycen."

Queen Isobella knew she would have to overcome her anger before she tried speaking with either of her daughters. They were both surely furious with her now after what transpired in the courtyard. She wasn't sure she could blame either of them. Mira definitely took after her mother's temper, and Ilya had obviously inherited her father's cool, calm demeanour. If only he were still around to help—things had been so much easier before Leo had died.

    King Leo Aberdeen was an unmatched presence, a calm and kindly fellow who thought of everyone else before himself—hence his well-known nickname "The Brightheart," said to be taken from one of his supposed ancestors. Perhaps that was why he was almost universally beloved by subjects of the Commonrealm. When he put on a party or ball, it was for the common people. Nobles were generally not invited unless they had given a large donation that would, of course, go to the citizens and was not added to the Crown's purse. Leo had been raised in poverty, unlike many kings that came before him.

    The Aberdeen family came into power only recently, at the turn of the last century, during a brutal and bloody civil war which had threatened to tear the entire Commonrealm in four. In the end, Engla emerged as the victor. As the old adage said, "to the victor go the spoils." Despite having almost ended up with a Scotian ruler, Leo's father served as the King's Steward for many seasons. When King Wyatt Aurelia passed, he broke with tradition and named his Steward his successor, eschewing thousands of seasons of tradition dating back to the beginning of the empires of men at the end of the Old Age, when Avalon—known then as Esteria—was ruled by elves and dracons. From their ashes had emerged the Commonrealm Empire.

    With that, the throne had passed from House Aurelia to House Aberdeen. Despite being born and raised poor, Leo was a noble at the time of his ascendance due to service to the Crown, but not a royal, so the move had been the first in recorded history to turn a member of the nobility to one of the royalty, considered a class above. No one knew why King Wyatt had done this but there had been many witnesses to hear the proclamation on the king's deathbed. His will was done, and power moved from one family to another. Since then, Leo Aberdeen had taken to the task with enthusiasm, not lusting for power but instead using the Crown's vast resources to help the people they served. As a result, there had been over twenty seasons of peace in the Commonrealm.

    Then, King Leo became ill. A mere few weeks later, he was gone forever.

    As was tradition, his widowed wife would take over as Queen Mother until Leo's named heir and first-born daughter, Ilyana, turned twenty-one. In the Old Age, before the rule of humans, children used to take the crown if their fathers passed on before they were of age, but now that was purely a foolish notion of the past. Children did not have the capacity for leadership in the same way an adult did, and it was insanity to pretend otherwise.

    Sometimes, Queen Isobella wondered if she had the leadership gene at all. Unlike her husband, she was quick to anger and had a fierce temper. However, she kept on the late king's programs of assistance for the common people to great effect. Bella was now almost as loved of a ruler as her husband had been, in her own way. She didn't know that she always deserved such praise, but she was happy for it, nonetheless.

    Bella had been grateful for her husband when he was still alive. King Leo Aberdeen was an unmatched presence, a calm and kindly fellow who thought of everyone else before himself. Perhaps that was why he was such a beloved king by nearly every one of his subjects in the Commonrealm. When he put on a party or ball—

    The queen shook her head. Her thoughts were just going around and around in circles now. She tried her best to clear it but sometimes the fog would not leave her. She hurried her pace off in the direction of the bedchambers, wanting to speak with Mira first. She knocked lightly on the door, waiting to hear a reply from within.

Mira's bedchamber was wide and spacious, with enough room for four or five people to sleep comfortably alongside one another. An oversized bed sat in the centre against the wall furthest from the door. On another wall hung a homemade target covered in arrows and a few sword stabs for good measure, along with chests of drawers for clothes and giant wardrobes for dresses to hang. She had a vanity with candles mounted on either side of the reflective mirror, and a black leather chair seated before it. Another wide table held her amateur archemist set—emphasis on "amateur." It was presently bubbling away, the potion forgotten and overdone, ready to be poured in the rubbish. A small fire crackled in the hearth.

    Entering her bedchamber red-faced with tears running down her face, Mira slammed the door closed behind her, startling one of the guards posted outside. She ran across the room and jumped in bed, still trying to fight away her emotions. How did Ilya manage it, how was she so calm and collected all the bloody time? Was it an act, or was she truly just that way? Did she have to work at it? Mira felt so overcome with her emotions almost all the time, it was a genuine struggle just to wake up each morning.

    "What in Rebirth does she know?" Mira said aloud to herself. She buried her face in her luxurious pillows and cried silently, trying her hardest to stop. If Ilya was here, she would call Mira a sprog and make fun of her. Mira turned and snatched the bow from her bedside table, nocking an arrow from the nearby quiver. She spun and with barely a glance fired it at the straw-filled target on the wall. The arrow embedded in the centre with perfect precision. Mira hurled the bow across the room, hearing it clatter against the stone wall and fall to the floor out of sight. She lay back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

    Mira felt herself finally begin to calm down. Why did being a princess have to be so damn hard for her when for most being waited on every day would be a blessing? The people in the realm would no doubt kill to be in her position, but she longed to escape from it more and more with each passing day. What was wrong with her?

    She got up from the bed, changing from her school clothes into her afternoon attire—fitted trousers, belt and boots, elbow length blue overshirt, brown gloves and her royal purple capelet which signified her status as a royal. She pulled the hood up and hastened for the window shutters, unlatching the lock and grabbing a long, slender dagger from the table. Slipping this into her boot, she started to climb out onto the roof but was stopped when a knock came at the door. Mira hesitated, holding her breath for a moment while she waited.

    After a few seconds, the knock came again. Her mother's voice was muffled but it was obviously her. "Mira, can I please come in, dear? It's your mum."

    Mira could see right through this. Queen Bella only used "mum" when she was trying to get Mira to calm down. How very unroyal of her. Hesitating a moment, Mira finally replied, "I'm knackered, Mother, I'd like to go to sleep." The wind blew through the open window as she waited for a response.

    "Please, Mira," Bella finally said, pleading now. "Let's talk this through."

    "We've nothing to talk about," Mira said firmly.

    "I only wish to make amends," Bella said. "Give me five minutes."

    Mira eventually acquiesced, closing the window shutters and redoing the latch. She removed the dagger from her boot and placed it on the desk where she'd initially fetched it. Crossing the room, Mira unlocked her bedchamber door and opened it, allowing her mother to enter. As Bella came in and quietly closed the door behind her, Mira took a seat on her bed and faced the Queen, an unreadable expression on her face.

    "What is it, Mother?" Mira asked after Bella stood in silence for several seconds.

    "I—" Bella began. Mira could see she was clearly considering her words, unsure of what to say or do next. "I'm sorry for what happened out there in the courtyard. That was...unbecoming of us as a family," she said finally.

    "You mean it was unbecoming of you," Mira said angrily. "I was doing what I was supposed to be doing."

    Bella looked as if she was about to argue but said nothing. The flickering from the brick fireplace played across her face, illuminating half of her face and leaving the other in gloomy darkness. Mira didn't look away, wanting her mother to know how she truly felt.

    "I'm sorry for what I did," Bella said.

    Mira felt some of the anger leave her body. It was almost a physical sensation and she relaxed a touch. She took in a long, deep breath, pretending she could smell the gooseberries from the Eastlands. They were sweet and delicious on a hot summer's day though they would soon be picked clean as autumn was almost upon them. The thought of the fruit calmed her as it always did, for it meant freedom. Being away from the castle was her first thought when she awoke each morning and her last thought as she went to sleep each night. More than anything, she couldn't stop thinking about Alba.

    "It's okay, Mother," Mira said finally. "I said some unkind things. I've been feeling unwell lately and I—"

    "Unwell?" Queen Bella echoed, coming closer and looking Mira over. "What's wrong, Mira?"

    Mira hesitated, not wanting to give up the game just yet. Her mother was already well aware of how much Mira wished to set off and explore the Eastlands and beyond, but what she didn't know was that Mira had already snuck out more times than she could count. She was a nimble climber, a skilled markswoman with a bow and an expert with a sword. Buildings in Mercia were quite close together, meaning she could run and jump across the roofs, her capelet and cloak blowing in the wind as she went.

    "Just a little nauseated is all," Mira said, returning to sit on the bed.

    "It's that...demon inside you," Queen Bella said, not fit to stop herself.

    Mira's eyes lit up like fire. "I like women, Mother. There's nothing wrong with that."

    "I caught you in your bedchambers with a woman four seasons your senior. If you want to do these vile things, please do them away from my castle!"

    "Fine!" Mira screamed, jumping to her feet. Things had once again escalated quickly, spinning out of hand more rapidly than she could stop them. Her heart was thudding in her chest once more, and she was overcome with a flight or fight response. She fought down the urge to slap her mother across the face for her words.

    "How dare you speak to me that way," Bella shouted.

    "It's my home, too, Mother!" Mira bellowed back. "Or at least, I thought it was!"

    Just then, the door to her bedchambers burst open and Prince Lewis came rushing in. Completely oblivious to the anger both of them were feeling, Lewis threw himself against Mira's leg, grasping her tightly. "Please, Mira, I would miss you if you were gone. Don't leave, ever!"

    Her anger melted away at the sight of her wonderfully kind younger brother, Mira knelt and held Lewis close. "I won't leave you, Lewis," she cooed.

    Queen Bella turned and stalked away without another word. 

Awakened in the middle of the night by the unmistakable click-clack of clay roof tiles, Ilyana frowned in her bed as the now all-too-familiar sound greeted her once again. In the wing of the castle which contained their bedchambers, lower to the ground than the rest of the imposing spires, it was easy for a restless teenager to flee her bed and scurry off into the night. In this case, Ilya wasn't sure if Mira knew Ilya could see and hear her leaving most nights or if she simply didn't care.

    Either way, Ilya threw back the down comforter and padded across the cold floor to the window, which she unlatched and opened just as a shadowy figure sped past. "Mira!" Ilya hissed into the nighttime darkness in a vain attempt to stop her sister's departure. "Get back here, now! You'll get yourself killed!"

    Ilya yelped in surprise when Mira suddenly reappeared on the awning above, swinging down into view, dagger in hand. "How did you do that?" Ilya asked, genuinely curious from a scientific perspective. She could have sworn she saw Mira's back fleeing only moments before—yet, here she was.

"Magick," Mira said mischievously, grinning. Her cloak flapped in the high winds and her face was covered by the hood which was pulled over her head.

    Frowning with clear disdain, Ilya tried to reach for her sister and pull her back into the bedchamber. "Get back in here, Mira, you'll catch your death of cold, mark my words."

    "Run and tell Mother if you like, Ilya," the rebel princess said coldly. "I know that'll be what you're wanting to do the moment I'm gone. I don't care anymore. I'm leaving and there's nothing you can do about it!" Mira turned and fled into the night. Within moments, she had vanished.

    Ilya let out a swear she was glad her mother wasn't close enough to hear. Then, she closed and latched the shutters and sat down on her bed. A swirl of emotions went through her mind immediately—as annoying as stupid as Mira was, they were still sisters. And, above all, she was a royal. Out alone in the city by herself at night. Ilya was no soldier, she would likely put Mira in more danger just from her mere presence.

    Knowing this was not the first time Mira had taken flight from her bedchambers in the middle of the night, Ilya figured this one time the girl could take care of herself. Her mind made up, she climbed back under the covers and within moments was fast asleep.

Sun dawned bright the following morning, illuminating Ilya's bedchamber with a light she often found comforting. For Mira, waking up was a struggle but for Ilya, she was often awake, bed made and dressed for the day before her handmaidens came to rouse her from slumber. It had become such a common occurrence they no longer bothered. As the door to her bedchamber opened, Ilya turned as her handmaiden—Elise—walked in, fiery red hair tied into a tight bun as was typical of the castle staff.

    "I've always fancied red hair, you know," Ilya said as Elise entered. "Such a lovely colour."

    "Indeed, miss," Elise said with a smile. They had often talked of this in the past, chatting amiably as friends always do. Elise was only a few seasons Ilya's junior and this close age proximity had made them comfortable together. Castle staff were paid well for their efforts, treated fairly and given ample time off to be with friends and family or attend to their lives outside of their service to the Crown. In addition, they were provided with private living quarters for unmarried staff or larger quarters for those with a spouse or even larger still for those with children. Working in Castle Aberdeen was highly sought after, meaning they had no shortage of staff and low turnover rates, for which all the Aberdeen children were thankful. Some of the handmaidens had been around longer than they had been alive and came to be more like family than staff.

    The two laughed together as Ilya sat at her vanity and Elise began to braid her hair to get ready for the day. Ilya was perfectly capable of doing it on her own but as she needed no other services, it bought them a slow-paced morning together. Today was the monthly Royal Court meeting, meaning Professor Averill, who also sat on the Court, would be unavailable for lessons. Ilya was expected to attend Court with her mother and learn how to be a Queen. On the schedule for today was a series of meetings with fledgling businesses that the Queen could choose to invest her own coin in.

    "Are you ready for Court?" Elise asked kindly, continuing her work leisurely.

    "Oh, aye," Ilya said, putting a new coat of paint on her dulled nails. She tilted her head as she worked but suddenly remembered Elise was working on her braids. "Sorry," she said sheepishly.

    "Pay it no mind, miss," Elise said. "I hear your sister has been into a spot of trouble lately?" She giggled.

     "Don't even get me going," Ilya said, rolling her eyes. "Mira is always getting into trouble, isn't she? It'll be a wonder if she manages to survive the next season without being killed by someone she mouthed off to."

    Elise laughed again. "But you'll be there to save her, won't you, miss?"

    "I can only hope," Ilya said.

    Only moments later, Elise indicated she was finished with her task and Ilya quickly shook her hands, helping the polish dry. Her white hair pulled back in an intricately braided tail, Ilya grabbed her shimmering blue cloak, throwing it over her shoulders. It was improper to attend the Royal Court without a dress and cloak. Also, the throne room was quite cold.

    "Wish me luck," Ilya said, dashing out the door.

     It was the work of only a few moments to arrive at the rear entrance to the throne room. Ilya pushed her way inside, expecting a room mostly empty but slowly filling up as local businessmen and women arrived to show their ideas and locals came to watch. However, what she found nearly startled her. The room was almost entirely full, with citizens from Mercia and beyond packed into nearly every empty space. The Queen Mother sat at her throne, an ornate gold and white chair that was extraordinarily uncomfortable to sit on, flanked by Captain Jaycen and the remainder of Her Majesty's Honour Guard, her personal protectors appointed by Uncle Jaycen himself from among the ranks of the Queen's Guard.

    Her heart hammered in her chest as she crossed the dais and took her place in the vacated king's chair at her mother's left. Unfortunately, it was also extremely uncomfortable.

    "Where have you been, child?" Queen Bella hissed as everyone watched Ilya take her seat.

    "We don't start for another half hour, Mother," Ilya replied in a whisper.

    "Someone decided to start early today then," Bella said, clearly annoyed. They sat back and once more gave their attention to the fellow on the floor. He was tall with red hair almost the colour of Elise's. Lean and muscular, he cut a fine figure in his grey suit and cap. It looked as if he was just finishing his spiel.

    "Sorry for the interruption, Benjamin," Queen Bella said apologetically. "Please, press on."

    "No trouble at all, Your Grace," the one called Benjamin said, continuing. "It's lovely to see your daughter again, it has been some time." He gave a short bow toward Ilyana and cleared his throat before continuing. "In conclusion, I wanted to say that Holmes Banking is pleased for the opportunity. We look forward to a long and fruitful relationship."

    "Well," Queen Bella said, sounding pleased for the first time in a long time, "if these debit accounts are everything you say they are, they shall make handling the finances much simpler. Hopefully, you don't run my chamberlain out of a job." She laughed as she looked over at the chamberlain who looked less than pleased at the thought. "Thank you, Ben, my staff shall see you out. Please send in the next associate."

    As Ben bowed deep and backed away to depart, Ilya turned to her mother and whispered, "Who was that?"

    "Benjamin Holmes, dear. A powerful banker from Scotia, here to offer us very agreeable services. As he said, it will save the Crown a fortune."

    "Where from in Scotia?" Ilya asked innocently, almost knowing the answer before her mother said it.

    "Alba, of course. But I won't hold that against him," Queen Bella said with a wry smile.

    There was a loud cough for attention. All eyes turned. "Now presenting, Lord Kenton Fisher and Lady Erin Shaw," the Master of the Ceremonies announced for all to hear.

    Ilya heard him before she saw him. The click of a cane accompanied the footsteps of a tall man with ragged features. He had thick mutton chops which framed his face, a massive overcoat under a thick cloak, a black top hat and, as expected, a walking cane. He was still dripping wet from the rain outside and the water pooled around him as he entered.

    Behind Lord Fisher came another, a woman this time. She was much shorter than Kenton and appeared to be several seasons younger, wearing a beautiful black dress which came down to her knees, a black belt and furred gloves. The collar of the dress had matching black and silver fur which covered her neck against the mild autumn cold. Ilya wondered if perhaps this second woman—presumably Erin Shaw—was from Adélard, as Mercia winters could be merciless in comparison to the relative comfort of the more southern realms. Maybe she was not accustomed to Mercian weather. Erin's hair was dark brown, tied back as was the custom during Royal Court. She wore a black headband to hold her hair back and a jewelled choker about her neck.

    Lastly, a third unidentified man came trundling behind the two, pulling behind him a wheeled flat cart on which stood something covered by a thick, dark blanket. The shape underneath was vaguely humanoid but she couldn't be certain. The trio stopped in the middle of the throne room and wasted no time getting to business.

    "Your Grace," Kenton said, eyeing the Queen with a bow. He turned to the princess. "Your Royal Highness," Kenton continued, bowing to Princess Ilya now. "What I have to show you requires no introduction at all. It will simply speak for itself." He nodded to the man who promptly whipped away the blanket, revealing a humanoid figure underneath that caused the entire Court to gasp in surprise.

    What stood on the flat cart resembled a human in shape and form but in almost nothing else. It was nearly entirely white, with clearly defined metallic joints and points of articulation. It wore no clothing at all but was not anatomically accurate in the lower regions as far as Ilya could tell. At the bottom of its mouth, the thing's face was split in several places presumably to allow vocalisations, though again, Ilya couldn't be sure.

    "What in the world is it?" Queen Bella asked with curiosity and not disdain.

    "What you see before you is the world's first clockwork automaton. It works entirely from an internal mechanism powered by a dial built into its back. With a full rotation, it can run for approximately one hour before needing another. The mechanism can be rotated a total of twelve times at once to allow for maximum usability and enjoyment."

    Queen Bella's mouth was hung open. She quickly snapped it closed. "But what can it do?"

    "Do?" Kenton asked. "Anything you wish, Your Grace." He moved over to the automaton and gave the crank a few turns.

    Instantly, the automat sprung to life, its eyes opening as it looked directly at the thrones before it. "My name is Joules," the automaton said. "Please, how may I assist you?"

    The Court gasped as a collective, taken by surprise at the machine's sudden burst of life.

    Kenton gestured for quiet before continuing. "Fully versed in household chores," Kenton went on, "but also skilled in combat. Fire resistant, almost impervious to damage by any conventional means. They make impeccable bodyguards, cooks and housekeepers." Kenton beamed at them, very proud of his newest invention.

    "Marvellous," Queen Bella said, "simply wonderful. When can we get one here?"

    "That's the best part, Your Grace. Joules is a gift for you, no strings attached. Use it for a few weeks and then I shall return for your decision. If—"

    "No need, no need," the Queen said sharply. "Please consult my chamberlain, he will see to the finances. Name your price."

    "Thank you, Your Grace." Kenton turned to Ilya. "Your Highness."

    "Know, Lord Fisher, if you're misleading me, I shall send Captain Jaycen for you. Is that clear?"

    Kenton hesitated and then finally smiled. "No worries at all, Your Grace. I guarantee you'll be most pleased."

    Ilya smiled as Kenton, Erin and the man turned to leave. Just as they departed, she saw Mira slip out the main entrance to the throne room, her purple royal capelet unmistakable amongst the crowd. So, she had returned from her overnight adventure, after all. Unfortunately, Ilya realised, Mira now knew a man from Alba was in the castle and presumably soon to be on his way back home.

     The chatter remained long after Lord Fisher had departed. The Court was excited and restless, eager to see more of this magical machine woman. Joules was quickly carted away by several of the Queen's Guard, leaving the crowd to finally murmur themselves into silence as the call for the next presenter rang out. "Now presenting, Erick Smith!"

As she fled the Royal Court and throne room, Mira knew her sister had seen her—she didn't much care. There was little any of them could do to stop her now—she was already forming her soon-to-be-executed plan. Mira was now of age, even though she was a princess it was still her right to go on her Runabout, the Queen's will be damned. However, she knew as well that simply picking up and leaving wouldn't be an option. She could go to the fellow, Benjamin Holmes, and beg him to take her back to Alba but she doubted he was in the business of helping out fleeing princesses.

    Besides, if her uncle caught them, they would be in big trouble. She could offer him money to smuggle her out, but he was already a wealthy banker, what use did he have for the paltry sum she could give?

    No, she'd had to think of something else. Something cleverer. And she already had. In a state of such excitement, she could barely contain herself, Mira pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders and took off through the grounds in the direction of the stable, knowing Uncle Jaycen would be on his way there from the throne room to prepare for the day's hunt.

    Mira slunk into one of the capital's many side alleys, trying to bide her time until the captain and his guard made their way down to the stables. Instead of the royal stables Mira and her family used, the huntsman stables were outside the castle, near the western exeunt to the city. Mercia was not walled as some larger capital cities were, particularly Alba in Scotia, but all roads in and out were heavily guarded and monitored to ensure as few ruffians as possible could make their way nearer to the castle. Mercia was not inherently exclusionary to outsiders, but they generally did not allow just anyone access so close to the Queen's residence.

    As Captain of the Queen's Guard, Uncle Jaycen oversaw all hunting trips which pertained to the Crown. Today was the day the castle's royal larders would be stocked for the coming winter. Most food in Mercia was grown or hunted locally by huntsmen who worked either freelance or were employed directly by the Crown. Produce and meat, among other foodstuffs, was then either sold directly to the castle's kitchens or in the marketplace to citizens. King Leo had instituted a policy of no hunger in the Commonrealm, so any resident of the four countries within its borders would be provided with a safety net to ensure there was little starvation for the poor, especially for orphans.

    The King's generous policies meant crime was rare in the capital but not entirely eliminated. Mira gave no mind despite her vulnerable position as she ran into the alley, cloak flowing behind her. She looked back to see if she could spot anyone following her, but the walls of the buildings closed in now on either side of her. She would need to get up higher to get a better view of the castle's hunting party.

    As she ran through the alley Mira's foot caught, tossing her painfully onto the cobblestones. Her failed attempt at breaking her fall left her with two elbows smashed into the hard ground along with a torn pantleg and a stinging, scratched knee. Shocked by the sudden pain, she cast her gaze about to understand what had caused her sudden fall. She sucked in a breath as the pain came on in waves before spotting a thin cord stretched across the alley, barely visible against the sunlight but perfectly clear now that she was level with it.

    Cursing under her breath, Mira went to pick herself up. As she did, she found herself staring at a grungy-looking man who was smiling down at her with a toothy grin. "What do we have here?" he asked with a bluster in his voice that made Mira want to punch him. "Little girl wandering around in my territory?"

    Mira slowly pulled herself up and glared at the man. "Have you any notion who I am? Clearly, you do not," she said, trying to keep her voice from quavering. Fighting with one of the Royal Guardsmen in the training grounds was one thing—fighting a man who might truly want to do her harm was another matter entirely.

    "Don't know you, poppet," the man drawled as he slowly circled her. A second man joined them in the alley and eyed her like a piece of meat from nearby. "Should I?"

    "I'm Princess Mira Aberdeen," Mira said. "If you harm me, you will regret it."

    "Sure, and I'm Queen Bella herself," the man said, grinning now. If he believed her or not, it was entirely irrelevant. He clearly intended to harm her, so she'd better find a way out of here as soon as possible.

    "How about you come with us?" the man asked. "We'll show you a good time."

    "I don't think so," Mira said, trying to push past him.

    The man roughly shoved her back into his companion who grabbed her about the arms and held her fast. She struggled to get away, but his grip was firm. "You're hurting me!" she cried. "Stop!"

    "I like it when they scream," the toothy man said, reaching for her.

    "No, no, stop!" Mira pleaded, discreetly trying to reach for the stiletto in her belt.

    Then, Toothy Man's face exploded as a sword was plunged through it from behind.

    "Great Rebirth!" Mira screamed as the man's body dropped. Uncle Jaycen stood behind the fallen man, the gleaming sword with the ruby pommel in his hand, pointing at the second man.

    The second man—Eyeballs as she thought of him now—jerked her closer. She struggled but Jaycen motioned for her to be still.

    "You have three seconds to release the princess," Captain Jaycen informed the second man. "Unless you wish to die as well today," he finished coldly.

    Eyeballs seemed to consider the offer. Mira seized the moment and rammed her stiletto deep into his thigh, having withdrawn it while Uncle Jaycen had been talking. Eyeballs screamed and released Mira instantly. She withdrew her weapon and he fled, vanishing into the bowels of the city.

    Mira sprinted over to Jaycen who wrapped her in a hug and pulled her out of the alley. "Are you okay, Mira?" he asked, inspecting her as they walked. "Did he harm you?"

    "No, no," Mira said, her heart pounding in her chest. "I'm fine." She looked up at him. "Thank you, Uncle. I don't know what they would have done if you hadn't been there."

    Mira realised with horror that she had been splattered with the man's blood. Her uncle discreetly handed her a kerchief as they began to exit the alley. "Lucky I happened to be passing by on my way to the stables," Jaycen said as they walked. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Getting into a bit of trouble, were you?" he asked. "Those boys you fight in the training grounds are much different than the real world, Mira. Out here, they'll kill you as fast as look at you."

    "I know," Mira grumbled as they walked side-by-side, now surrounded by Jaycen's men on all sides. This thought brought her little comfort—those men had been nought but street ruffians, simple beggars who had likely fallen on hard times. Not only had one of them lost his life but the other would most probably be hunted down by Jaycen's men and thrown in gaol or even executed for his crimes. Queen Bella was renowned as a peaceful and just ruler, doing everything in her power to help the people of the Commonrealm, but her guards sometimes took the law into their own hands instead of waiting for a proper arrest and trial.

    Mira remembered an old philosopher Ilya had often spoken of during their times speaking together of poverty and crime in Albion. He had lived during and just after The Unending War, a man named Lycotle, said that "poverty is the father of crime." Regardless of whether or not this was true, Mira didn't often see her Mother's richer constituents stealing a loaf of bread or two. Survival was prime in Albion, even with the Crown's assistance programs in place.

    "Thank you, Uncle," Mira said sheepishly, feeling as if with her skills in combat she should have taken both men with ease. They had come so fast and taken her completely by surprise, managing to pin her arms and render her helpless as a newborn sprog. Even Lewis would have fared better in that fight.

    "Kick them in the bollocks and run," the prince often said when Mira teased him about how he'd never be able to hold his own against a real attacker.

    Mira laughed at the mental image and allowed her uncle to continue leading her away. She resisted the urge to turn back and look—she didn't want to see Jaycen's men looking for the would-be thief, for she knew in her heart that's what was happening behind them.

    "It's time for a hunt today," Captain Jaycen said proudly as they neared the western stables. "The Queen has expressed permission for you to join us if you'd like?" he asked, smiling at her.

    "I'd like to come, as well," a soft voice said from somewhere nearby.

    Mira and Jaycen turned to see Ilya approaching, her cloak pulled tight, and a dagger slipped into her belt. Beside her, the automaton gift from Lord Fisher came in lockstep, its motion relatively smooth for a creation that was entirely clockwork. "What in the world is that thing doing here?" Mira asked, her mouth hanging agape.

    "Mother has ordered that Joules be my—our—bodyguard for the time being," Ilya said softly, clearly wishing the automaton would depart and return to the castle with all haste. "This blasted thing won't leave me alone for even a moment if Mother wishes me followed," Ilya muttered under her breath.

    The desire to mock Ilya for needing a protector rose in Mira but was quickly squashed when she remembered her experience in the alley just minutes ago. If Uncle Jaycen hadn't arrived, it was likely Mira would be dead or worse. Those men surely had other plans in mind for the young and pretty princess. Mira shuddered and let her insults go.

    "That seems unwise, Your Highness," Jaycen said slowly and carefully. The men behind him were continuing to prepare for the hunt, ensuring their spears were properly sharpened, their crossbows readied, and their armour was accounted for, buckled in place to protect against any gaps. A charging boar appeared relatively harmless but if one was caught off-guard, it could be deadly.

    "Why not?" Ilya asked. Mira could tell she was trying to control her emotions but having trouble preventing them from showing through. "If Mira gets to come, why can't I? I'm the older sister, anyway!"

    "Well," Captain Jaycen said, still speaking slowly and considering his words carefully, "Mira has had far more combat practice than you and even she required my aid only moments ago. I'll take her out this time and you next time, does that sound agreeable?"

    Ilya's eyes blazed like fire, but she didn't protest, to Mira's intense surprise and relief—she didn't want her nosy sister to ruin what she had planned next. Nodding, Ilya turned on her heel and stormed back up to the castle, Joules following closely behind.

    Once they were gone Uncle Jaycen turned to Mira, visibly frustrated. "What were you doing alone in that alley? You can't just wander into every dark corner of the city and expect it to bow before you!"

    Flustered, her mind leapt for the closest passable explanation. "I was trying to get on the walls," she lied. Her face grew hot. What kind of excuse was that? she scolded herself. She was sure her uncle would see through it immediately.

    "Listen, Mira," Uncle Jaycen said after allowing himself a few moments to regain his composure. "What happened back there, if harm ever came to you, I—" he got choked up by the words, pausing before pushing through. "I'd never forgive myself. Promise me you'll never do anything so foolish ever again?"

    "Aye, Uncle," Mira said, nodding. It seemed he was far too concerned with her well-being to notice her obvious fib.

    "Capital," Jaycen said. "Let's go find some supper."

    Mira couldn't wait to get back into the forest.

Climbing up onto his horse, Captain Jaycen Aberdeen looked out at the forest beyond the western gate and allowed himself a small smile, unknown to those around him due to the helmet covering his face. Despite being a generally affable fellow, Jaycen had carefully cultivated an air of respect and authority about himself when he was on duty. His guard knew he took his role seriously and wasn't to be trifled with. His professionalism extended well beyond his own personal guards—everyone snapped to attention when he entered the room.

    The guards pulled on the ropes, causing the gates to swing open and allowing the hunting party to depart. Princess Mira was seated on her own horse next to his—not her usual mount Aech but one she'd borrowed from the stables. Jaycen squeezed his boots and flicked the reins and his mount lurched into motion, followed closely behind by the half dozen Guardsmen and twenty-eight huntsmen assigned to this job.

    As the gates closed softly behind them, Mira looked up at her uncle, eyes full of nervous but excited energy. "Where are we heading?" she asked, looking over the forest through a new lens. This time, she wasn't here as an explorer but as a hunter, ready to find her first of many prizes.

    "We need to scout the area first," Jaycen said.

    "I know these woods quite well, is that really necessary?" Mira asked, visibly deflating at his words. "Surely it's a waste of time?"

    "Preparation is never a waste of time, Mira," Jaycen replied as they trotted on their horses deeper into the forest. Mira looked sceptical but the captain smiled over at her, despite his face still being hidden from view. She could see the smile in his eyes, he hoped. "Our surroundings are just as important as the game we're hunting. If they catch us by surprise or take us unawares, it can be deadly. I've had too many huntsmen gone astray who were acting foolish or didn't prepare thoroughly. I'm not doing this to annoy you, I promise."

    Mira grumbled but finally acquiesced to the request. Together, she and Captain Jaycen dismounted and began scouting the location, marking landmarks, open areas, caves, escape routes and anything else of interest they could find on Jaycen's hand-drawn map. Their prey today would be wild boar and deer, but the party could just as easily stumble upon the far more dangerous game—bears and wildcats were known to prowl some parts of the forest. The morning should be safe from them as they were mostly nocturnal, but some were keen to hunt during the day to avoid competition among others of their kind.

    They spent the better part of the morning in this manner, continuing to gather information on their environment. Some of the Queen's Guard had set up a base camp around ten miles from the castle. As Jaycen and Mira rode into the camp, they dismounted once again and hurried their steps over to the tent which served as the main planning area. The camp was situated near a rocky outcropping that would give them protection from wildlife and brigands alike. The forests could be dangerous when travelling alone, but in a large hunting party, bandits would likely avoid them unless provoked.

    A map was spread on the table which was situated in the centre of the tent. Jaycen pointed at one spot that Mira was well familiar with. "We'll begin here, I believe the scouts spotted the herd moving through this area. The valley will be the best place to trap them. My guards already have the hunting blinds set up. Shall we go, princess?"

    Mira's face shone with excitement. "Finally," she breathed. They gathered their gear and once again struck off west into the Eastland Forest.

The rain and winds began soon after the pair left into the wilds. Jaycen's right-hand woman, Lieutenant Thayra Blasden, came up behind them as they walked for one of their prime hunting spots which had been outlined on the base camp map. "Everything well, Captain?" Thayra asked as she fell into step with her superior and his younger charge.

    "As of now, aye, Lieutenant," Jaycen replied. The frigid autumn air was beginning to take hold, meaning Jaycen was feeling the chill even through his layers. The party avoided the roads, moving deep into the denser foliage, keeping well clear of any populated areas. During all hunts, the Crown's orders were to ensure no accidental deaths occurred to citizens or anyone not involved in the hunt.

    Jaycen recalled an incident the previous season where one of the huntsmen under his command but travelling with a different party took a shot at a charging boar, completely missing his target as the beast ran him through with one of its tusks, goring him on the spot. The crossbow bolt went wide as they had strayed too close to a village, hitting an old woman who was stretching leather outside, taking her cleanly through the heart and killing her instantly. As both of the people involved had died in the accident, Queen Bella was both furious and remorseful. She offered to pay all expenses for the victim's family forever, but the damage had been done. Her orders ensured such a mishap would never happen again.

    At the time, Captain Jaycen felt partially responsible for what had happened. The hunting party was, as always, under his charge and his lapse in judgement led to the death of an innocent woman who was just going about her daily routine. In his mind, he knew he couldn't be everywhere at once or protect everyone, but the situation took its toll on him. The Queen didn't blame him, not directly, anyway. But he could tell she was resentful of him for some time after. They were lawsiblings and with the passing of Jaycen's brother, Bella and Jaycen had grown closer than ever before. Jaycen wished to never let his lawsister down again. He loved her too much for that.

    Jaycen became aware of Thayra who was still riding close to him on his left. Then, he looked to his right to find Mira. She was gone.

    "Mira?" Jaycen called, turning and expecting to find her riding close behind. She was nowhere to be seen. "Mira!" he shouted into the forest.

    "Everything okay?" Thayra asked, concern showing on her face.

    "Where's the princess?"

    Thayra looked about in alarm. "She was just here."

    "Aye, and now she's gone!" Jaycen shouted. "Mira! Mira! Where are you?" He wheeled his horse around and shot off for the main hunting group. Thayra was close at his heels, pushing her own mount to match her captain's speed. As they approached one of the larger groups of huntsmen, Jaycen shouted, "The princess is missing! Find her, now!"

    Without question, the huntsmen and Queen's Guard began fanning out into the surrounding forests, desperately searching for the missing princess. "She was just following us, she can't have gotten far."

    Over the next hour, Jaycen's men scoured the forest and everything inside it. They managed to locate Mira's horse, but there was no sign of the girl. It was as if she had vanished into thin air. The captain hastened this way and that, overturning anything and everything he could think of that would possibly uncover a clue as to Mira's whereabouts. The horse's tracks ended at the horse itself and there were no footsteps leading away.

    Dismounting, Jaycen hurried over to the borrowed horse and began to inspect the contents of the saddlebags—they were completely empty. The dagger, Mira's cloak and the capelet, all gone. In addition, the meagre food rations they had brought with them were also missing, not a single crumb left behind. Jaycen could feel his heart thudding in his chest, and he struggled to keep it under control as the men and woman of the hunt continued to search for the missing princess.

    Another hour passed and the huntsmen had turned up nothing. In groups they returned to the camp and passed along word that the princess had either escaped or had been taken, they couldn't assess which was the more likely scenario. Captain Jaycen heaved a deep sigh, still unsure how Mira had managed to give his entire group of skilled and trained hunters the slip. It seemed impossible that a mere child had eluded them. The only explanation was that she had been captured, likely by a group looking for a royal random or payout. If instead it was just a person or small group, they surely had only hours before Mira's body would be recovered when she was not fit to give her kidnappers what they wanted.

    "Lieutenant Thayra, press the search." Captain Jaycen's face was pale, the blood drained from it. "I must report back to Queen Bella and inform her that we will not rest until her daughter is found. I shall return shortly, assuming she hasn't had my head removed." He climbed back onto his horse and kicked the beast into motion, hurrying for the castle with all due haste.

    The portcullis was lifted as he drew near, allowing him passage inside. He dismounted, handed his horse to the stable hand and hastened into the castle's twisting corridors. In only a few minutes, he had reached the throne room, which was empty. "Where is Queen Bella?" Jaycen asked one of the staff.

    "Last I saw her, she was on her way to the princess' quarters to call on them. Not sure what for," the servant said, shuffling away quickly to press on in his work.

    Taking the stairs two at a time, Jaycen hurried to the sleeping quarters and burst into Mira's room. He found Queen Bella, sitting on Mira's bed, reading a note scribbled on a piece of paper. Panic was written on the captain's face but when Bella turned to him, he saw tears flowing freely.

    "Jaycen," she said, the note falling to the sheets.

    Captain Jaycen crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. "It's okay, Bella," he said softly.

    "She's gone on her Runabout," Bella whispered. "She's left the castle."

    Jaycen faltered for a moment. "What?" he finally managed to ask.

    "She left a note saying she would be ditching the hunting party and leaving the castle. She didn't say where she was going." She seemed defeated, as if she'd already accepted what was happening. "If we make a fuss of it, she may be led to harm by drawing undue attention. Not to mention, there are plenty of ruffians looking for easy sterlings through." She paused. "I believe we have to let her go." Bella finally broke down, crying quietly into Jaycen's armoured chest.

    "She'll be okay, Bella," Jaycen assured her.

    "What if she's not?" Bella asked. "What if something terrible happens?"

    "Mira can handle herself," Jaycen said, trying to convince himself as much as his queen. "You have my word."

As Uncle Jaycen hastened back to the castle presumably to tell the Queen he'd lost one of the princesses in the forest, Miralla released her breath. The camouflage magnum wore off and she reappeared, crouched in the upper reaches of a tall tree situated nearby the hunting camp. It only worked if you remained still and did your best not to move—any motion could cause the illusion the potion created to fail. Most people held their breath as well to ensure as little movement as possible.

    This was, of course, knowledge she had gained outside her studies with Professor Averill. Archemy training was generally done in a classroom, but as her studies had no archemy sessions, Mira had to take the impetus on herself and learn the art all on her own. Camouflage magnums were relatively simple but did require attention to detail as well as exacting amounts of ingredients. It was quite a tricky process but after almost an entire season of practice, Mira was positive she'd gotten the mixture and timing right. There were stronger concoctions that allowed movement while invisible but those were far more complex to create.

    Gathering archemy ingredients was yet another reason Mira was so keen to spend time exploring the forests. Most of what she needed could be gathered in the Eastlands, though for some of it she'd had to secretly raid the Royal Court's Archemy Master's personal storage. This had proven to be more difficult than she'd expected it would be, but in the end she'd gotten what she needed.

    Mira knew in her mind that if she had told the Queen Mother she fully intended to leave for Alba, she would have tried to prevent it. That wasn't an option—Mira felt as though if she didn't get away from the castle as soon as possible, she was likely to be driven completely insane. Ilya buried herself in her books away from everyone else, and this pleased their mother. Mira's favourite pastime was going into the forest and exploring, something Bella greatly disapproved of. This had put a target on her back and was a constant source of friction between them for some time now. Mira knew the healthiest thing would be to get away for a while. Perhaps in the end she would return. She knew her mother would be quite cross over her departure, but she hoped the note she'd left behind would suffice.

    The Queen's Guards were still looking for her, but Mira knew enough to be able to dodge around them. She downed another vial of the camouflage magnum and felt the effects wash over her like a cold shower. She closed her eyes and winced as the liquid went down her throat and into her stomach. As she remained still, she vanished from sight as the soldiers below pressed on with their search. Once the coast was clear, she checked her wrist. On the left one she wore a banded clockwork device called an arcalyser which tracked the archemical levels in her bloodstream. Taking more than one magnum within a short span was dangerous—this device measured her blood archemical level to ensure she remained in the safe zone.

    No one else in all of Mercia—or likely anyone outside of Alba—would have more than a passing familiarity with an arcalyser. It was a cheap one that had come with the archemy kit she'd nicked off a travelling merchant while he wasn't looking. The device was meant for low level magnums made for beginners. Mira was inexperienced in the art and science of archemy, and she would need far more training before she could effectively and reliably produce archemical magnums on her own.

    Once the coast was clear, Mira dropped from the tree branch she was waiting on and made a run for the trees ahead. As she ran, she listened intently to the sounds of the Queen's Guard nearby—it seemed that they hadn't heard the quiet drop. She was small and lithe, able to move through the forest while making little noise. She'd practiced this often around the castle's grounds, imaging this very escape for months now. Mira rounded a tree and spotted Aech up ahead, tied to a tree just beyond the next clearing.

    Mathias had been the one to leave her there. If Uncle Jaycen ever found out what Guardsman Mathias had done, he would probably have the younger man's head mounted in his room. Mira was reasonably confident no one would ever find out—at least, she hoped not for Mathias's sake. He had been quiet about it, waiting until the dead of night to sneak into the stables and free the chestnut mare under cover of darkness.

    Mira climbed onto the horse's back and patted her neck affectionately. "Good girl," she cooed. "Let's go," she said, kicking her legs. Aech sprung into motion and within minutes they were out on the road, heading in what she hoped was the direction of the northern border with Scotia. Once there, she could cross into the northern lands and head for Alba, which was somewhere along the east coast. Mira knew the trip would be a hard one, multiple weeks of hard riding. She had a pack of food and sterlings from her stash. Perhaps in a port she could charter a ship to make the effort easier. She had planned very little of this ahead of time, not for sure exactly where she was going.

    The weight of this had just now begun to sink in. Was she entirely unprepared for what awaited her? Perhaps she should have followed that man, Ben Holmes, on his way back to Alba—maybe he could have given her a lift. She assumed her mother would figure that would be the way Mira would flee and opted instead to take her own route.

    "Great Rebirth," Mira said, feeling overwhelmed. The road was long, and her experience was short. The fight in the alley earlier that morning had taught her she wasn't as well-prepared as she thought. Though excellent with a sword and bow, Mira had little real combat experience. In the real world, people didn't pull their punches. They killed you, if given half the chance. Mira shuddered at the thought. Perhaps this had been a mistake?

    Without warning, Mira felt herself ripped from Aech's saddle and thrown to the ground. She had no idea how long she'd been riding—it felt like hours but could have been only minutes. Something had been pulled across the road, a rope or wire? As she lay on her back on the dirt road, Mira couldn't help but feel like maybe she was cursed. This was the second time in one day she had been tripped by something put across her path. It was starting to feel intentional now. From her training with Uncle Jaycen, Mira knew how to handle privation, but this was starting to get ridiculous.

    Before she could get up and seek out her horse, however, a masked man was looming over her with a group of his friends, pointing a sword in her face. "Up you come, little miss," he said, grabbing her roughly by the arms. She still felt the bruises from when the street ruffians had grabbed her earlier today, so she winced in pain from being dealt with this way.

    "How dare you!" Mira screamed, wriggling to break away. "Unhand me!"

    "Time for you to shut up now," the leader told her. She couldn't see his mouth, but she assumed he was smiling under that mask.

    Mira managed to pull one arm free and grabbed for her dagger. The man behind her saw what she was doing and tried to avoid the attack he now knew was coming but Mira was too fast. She slashed him across the arm with her stiletto, drawing blood. He stumbled back to avoid another attack, but Mira twisted and plunged the dagger into his shoulder, causing her attacker to scream out in pain.

    "Shut up, you fucking wanker," the leader barked. "Someone shut him up!"

    Another of the brigands shoved a sword through the screaming man's throat. He shut up.

    As the corpse fell to the ground, one of the other men approached from what had appeared to be a scouting patrol. "Grab her!" the leader said, and the men complied, surprising Mira from behind while she was in shock from the blatant display of violence against one of their own. They gripped her tightly so she couldn't wiggle free this time. "If she stabs another of us, the one who let her do it shall answer to me."

    The newcomer was puffing, clearly winded after a long run. "Harlowe," the scout said, "we've got company up ahead. The Queen's Guard is closing in, we gotta move now."

    The leader, presumably this Harlowe fellow, frowned. "Handle it. Pack up and head out. If Captain Jaycen finds us, he'll wish to know where we found the girl."

    "Leave off a tick," one of the outlaws said. "I know her! That's Princess Mira, from the castle. I seen her and her sister wandering around the forest the other day."

    Harlowe grinned. "Princess?" he said, turning to look at Mira. He pulled his mask down and confirmed Mira's worst fears—unfortunately, he looked exceptionally happy at this new turn of events. "Tie her up, gag her so she can't rightly scream out for help. We're going to go meet this Jaycen of the Queen's Guard and ransom this little poppet back to him for every shilling in the Crown's vault. Got it?" he asked everyone.

    They all nodded happily.

    Mira found herself bound and gagged, as promised. Someone threw a bag over her head, plunging her into darkness. She fought the urge to puke as the sick would have nowhere to go with the gag in her mouth. She tried not to struggle, knowing that would only piss them off even more. However, she found a small bit of comfort in the fact that they would hand deliver her to Uncle Jaycen who would rescue her and kill them all. These outlaws thought they would be receiving a payday but instead they would be getting dead.

    "Hold on," one of the men said. Mira could barely make out the words, but she strained to hear over the chatter of the other bandits. "What if we present the girl to this man and he just takes her and kills us all? How do we know for sure he ain't gonna kill us the second he has her back?"

    "He's the Captain of the Guard," Harlowe's voice said. "He ain't gonna kill us in cold blood."

    There were a few moments of thought as the second man considered this. "But my mate told me he murdered a man in an alley earlier this morning just fer threatening someone. He seems right violent. What if he pretends to be all nice and then—?"

    "Quit your whining," another man said.

    But Harlowe suddenly spoke up. "He has a point, lads." Harlowe seemed to consider this for another long while. Finally, he said, "Right, scrap that plan. We'll take her back with us and send a messenger later to negotiate the princess's release, assuming they don't murder us all while we sleep, of course. Magnus, Parker, let's go!"

    Cold dread suddenly poured over Mira's head like an ice-cold pitcher of water. Not only were they taking her away from the castle, it was likely no one would ever find them. These men were probably going to think she was too much trouble and just kill her as soon as—

    "Put the girl down," a new voice said.

    "Who the fuck is that?" a man asked.

    "Who the fuck are you?" Harlowe agreed.

    Mira strained to hear but she couldn't make out what was happening. There was a collective gasp from the men, and they appeared to reconsider their position. Suddenly, Mira started as a sound like a crack of lightning echoed through the small camp. The men screamed, running for their lives as the sound boomed again. She felt herself tossed unceremoniously to the ground as the men fled in panic.

    "Run!" someone screamed.

    "What the fuck is that thing?" another shouted.

    As the voices of the outlaws faded away into the distance, Mira could hear footsteps drawing closer and closer. She squirmed, trying to free herself but it was hopeless—they had bound her tightly. She felt something slice through her bonds and someone pulled the hood from her head. She looked up into the eyes of the person who had rescued her and gasped at who it was.