There is a saying in the duchy of Denedry, that the king must be beautiful because the queen must be ugly. While this saying appears unkind and unfounded, as there have been many beautiful queens in the history of the Kingdom of Fegrin, it is certainly true that no one from the Duke of Denedry’s family had ever married into royalty, and Veralisse Rochester was not interested in becoming the first.
The story goes that Veralisse Rochester, youngest child and only daughter of the current Duke, his Grace Frederick Rochester, caught a demon at the tender age of 8, and presented it as a gift at his Majesty the King’s birthday party, to the horror of her mother, her father, and all six of her older brothers. The wicked demon cast a spell upon his Majesty, who then immediately declared that Veralisse would marry his eldest son, the Crown Prince Remrin, to the horror of Veralisse, her father, and all six of her older brothers. This is, as with many stories, partly clouded by fiction, as the demon in question was neither smart nor skilled with magic and saying it bewitched a bloodline specifically known to be resistant to demon magic would be like suggesting a rabbit succeeded in breaching the royal defenses, but the rumors persisted. The other rumors surrounded the fact that this childhood engagement then proceeded to stretch on and on and on. While many different versions of explanation were whispered through the kingdom, the citizens of Denedry knew their lady best, and most agreed solemnly that the marriage had not yet happened because Lady Veralisse had done everything in her power to delay it. More’s the pity for the kingdom, they’d say, as by the age of sixteen, Veralisse Rochester was the most accomplished demon hunter in Denedry and if she put her mind to it, she would be anything but an ugly queen.
When Veralisse was dressed properly, standing in the corner of a ballroom with an elegant fan in her gloved hand, she almost looked decent. She did not, however, look like the fiance of the crown prince of Fegrin. She was tall, with a sturdy frame and calloused hands, and held her body with confidence but not elegance, looking more like she wanted to start a fight than hold a pretty little fan. Her skin was ever-so-slightly weatherworn, there was a smattering of freckles across her nose, and her almost-curly brown hair never seemed fully tame, no matter what she did with it. And all of that left aside the most important detail about her face that made her the most unsuitable noble in the country to marry the crown prince – her eyes. One of the reasons that a daughter of the Duke of Denedry had never been chosen to marry into the royal family, or marry the heirs of any other noble family for that matter, was because the duchy of Denedry had been rewarded many years ago to a man of dubious character who may or may not have been half-demon. He, as with a number of people descended from powerful demons, was in possession of red eyes, and despite generations of the Rochesters marrying Fegrin nobility, those red eyes had somehow managed to be passed down to every single one of Frederick’s children.
Veralisse wore those red eyes like a sword, brandishing them at anyone who dared to approach her. Though the Rochesters were a common enough fixture that the color of their eyes alone didn’t cause much alarm, Veralisse was not known for being the most obliging of those Rochesters, and the various glares she had spent sixteen years perfecting convinced most to give her a wide berth.
A pretty brunette a few years older than Veralisse approached her, and her head snapped up to reveal her best stink eye before she realized who it was. The girl seemed unfazed. “If you’re hiding a demon in your sleeves again, you’d best give it up now. The prince is determined to dance with you today. I heard him talking about it with the Marquess of Kittley. Better to risk disgrace than have him purify it in front of you.” The girl was her cousin on her mother’s side, Saera Metten, the daughter of the Earl of Crossberry, and new wife of the Viscount Metten.
“I only did that once.” Veralisse protested, calmly but protectively snapping open her fan to cover her face, expression returning to a neutral one. “And it served its purpose.”
“Ah yes, the abolishment of the dreaded billowing sleeves. I still say you were lucky you didn’t get caught.” Saera said, snapping open her own fan so that the two of them looked like a proper pair of noble ladies, instead of a pair of troublemakers known for their tendency to go hunting for every manner of dangerous beast.
“Luck had nothing to do with it.” She responded smugly, before continuing, “What do you mean determined to dance with me today, though?”
Saera rolled her eyes subtly. “What, you didn’t think he’d want to spend some time with you after you avoided him for an entire month and then sent a letter directly to his Majesty requesting the dissolution of your engagement?”
Vera snapped her fan shut and in a rather unladylike gesture, jabbed it at her cousin’s side. Saera side-stepped without so much as a blink to acknowledge the attack. “I told you that in confidence.” Vera hissed, opening her fan again and giving it a little flutter in front of her face.
“And there is no one paying us any attention to make you feel your confidence had been betrayed.” Saera said, blithely. “Except that I heard his Royal Highness the crown prince mention the letter to your very appalled mother in quite serious tones before they noticed my presence. So it seems you’ve been given away by the king himself. Did he reply, by the way?”
Vera pursed her lips behind her fan. “He sent a note. Not a letter, you understand, a note tied to a little bird with a silver ribbon. With so little space, you wonder how his Majesty might word a formal missive either accepting or denying my request.” Vera cleared her throat, and in her best impression of the king’s voice, recalled aloud, “‘Of course not, my dear. I look forward to welcoming you into our family.'”
Saera’s eyes widened for half a second, then peals of laughter burst forth, attracting a few wayward glances. “How very like his Majesty!” She said after she’d caught her breath. “It’s hardly a surprise, he does so adore you.”
Veralisse gave a tiny gasp of betrayal that would have been a shriek if she hadn’t wanted not to draw attention to herself. “You told me he might have accepted it because he likes me so.”
“That does not mean I’m wrong.” Saera said smugly, refusing to admit defeat. “The problem is what I thought the solution was. You are too well-loved.” She nodded her head to the side, “It seems by the prince as well.” The man in question was heading in their direction, and while his expression was neutral, polite, and princely as ever, Veralisse could tell from a hint of tensed body language that he was anything but pleased with her.
“Does that look like the stride of someone who loves me, cousin?” Veralisse asked, tone bland.
Saera sighed and tutted, “You still don’t understand the heart of the man who has been by your side, pining after you since childhood. Until now, he’s ignored all of the annulment requests you’ve slipped into your letters, but if his father had taken yours seriously, he might have lost you as his fiance. After eight years of hope, to risk having it ripped away, of course he’s devastated.” She finished with a dramatic sigh as a flourish.
Veralisse wanted to retort something clever to that fanciful nonsense, but the prince was now close enough to participate in their conversation. “Stunning insight, Viscountess Matten. If only my darling, beloved, foolish fiance had your wit and grace.” He said, wryly.
“Perhaps you mistook your choice of fiance, then, your Royal Highness.” Veralisse said, voice still bland, very determinedly not looking at the crown prince. Most people didn’t look away from the crown prince. Even as a child, he had been beautiful. His features were refined, but strong. He had a commanding gaze and a clear voice, and moved with grace and elegance. She had never seen him trip or drop a teacup, and she had once heard that he looked like he was dancing during his sword fighting lessons. But from the first time she’d met him, Veralisse hadn’t been able to look him in the eyes. As a member of the royal family, the Sevailles, Remrin had the brilliant silver hair and eyes indicating that he had inherited the royal ability to purify demons, but the color wasn’t what bothered Veralisse. There was something about the way he looked at people, an intentness that almost felt malicious. She noticed it even when he was looking at others, but when he turned it on her, it was all she could do not to try and hit him.
“If only, my dearest Lisse, if only.” He responded, and held out his hand. She glared at it from behind her fan for a moment, wondering yet again why he tortured her with dancing, but eventually took it, as she always did.
The prince swept her into the dance. It was not a romantic dance, more a polite one, but he deftly guided her across the floor, holding her securely as if she were a delicate lady. Never mind the fact that she was his height, if not a smidge taller, and liable to step on his feet because she had never really gotten used to being led by another. After years of this painful ritual, they had both silently agreed to ignore when she stepped on his feet or jerked in the wrong direction. As they moved, he spoke. Neither of them were out of breath, something as small as a dance providing little exercise for the two of them, but since it required a little concentration for Veralisse, the prince had seemed to find dancing a good time for conversation. Particularly when he wanted her just a little off-guard.
“My father informed me that you sent him a letter asking that he invalidate our betrothal. He told me that he denied it, assuming it was some lover’s spat, and instructed me to treat you better. Tell me. Have I been mistreating you in some way?” His question sounded genuine, though there was a tinge of frustration to it.
“No.” She said, concentrating on her feet and struggling to add some qualifier to that statement.
“Then do you fancy another?” He persisted, not giving her time to gather her thoughts.
“Like whom?” She asked with a scoff, “My best friend is a demon and I am better received on the battlefield than in a ballroom such as this.”
His response was quick. “A man beneath your station, then. A knight you have fought beside, perhaps.”
She did laugh, then. “It seems his Royal Highness has been reading the same romantic drivel my cousin has taken up. Such men are brothers-in-arms, nothing more.”
There was a small pause, and Veralisse was momentarily grateful for the reprieve, then in a quieter voice, the prince asked, “The demon you call friend, then.”
Veralisse looked up, mouth agape, and outright tripped over his foot, almost careening them both into another couple, if the prince hadn’t been quick enough to divert their momentum. The dance was slightly derailed, though, and it took them a little time to return to a steady rhythm. When her balance was restored and she was certain no one was looking at them again, she hissed, “How could you suggest such a thing, my Lord,” accidentally using the wrong title in her distress. “Nobility consorting with a demon in such a way.”
“You have not denied it.” He pointed out, “And no one would be any the wiser if you did marry a demon, so long as he posed simply as a commoner, which by your accounts, he does.”
Veralisse quietly cried, “I have no need to justify myself to you! If I were the daughter of a nobler house, maybe, or of a political faction in the government, but I am a Rochester of Denedry. It is you who must justify your choice of bride, something both you and his Majesty have failed to do since our engagement.”
“His Majesty justifying his decision? A bold demand.” He said, voice still quiet, as if considering the idea, or as if considering having her executed for the idea.
She shifted uncomfortably, but pressed her point. “Why not? There are many more eligible nobles who would provide a valuable alliance.”
He raised one silver eyebrow. “And you do not believe it fruitful for the royal family to have ties with the Duke tasked with protecting our westernmost border?”
“You mock me, your Royal Highness.” She said, stiffly.
“I would not dream of it.” His tone was so grave, that she could not help but begrudgingly believe him. “Why do you see my statement as mockery?”
She stepped on his foot intentionally, just once. He didn’t seem to notice. “That is the dominion of the princesses, as you well know. Fegrin could never risk demon blood tainting the blood of the royal family.” Veralisse huffed. She shouldn’t have to explain such a thing to the man himself. In Veralisse’s opinion, the royal ability was better described as a mass extermination than a purification. Any member of the royal family with the silver hair and eyes could simply will it, and any demons within a certain vicinity of themselves would crumble into a powder in a flash of light. It was this ability that had led to the founding of the country in the first place, and allowed human civilization in general to flourish with the threat from the demon kingdom held at bay. But it had the unfortunate peculiarity of only being able to be passed from the male line, so if so much as a single generation failed to produce even one silver-haired, silver-eyed boy, the entire country would likely fall into chaos. A silver-haired, red-eyed heir with Rochester blood would be a disaster.
“What nonsense.” He said, brushing off centuries of tradition like so much dust off his shoe. She stepped on his foot again, accidentally this time. “The alleged demon ancestry of the Rochester’s has never been proved. And even if it were true, do you really think the power of the royal family so frail that the blood of a duke could destroy it?” His voice was arrogant to her ears, and she met his eyes momentarily to note a bored ferocity in his expression. How all things must have always worked in his favor, spoiled princeling that he was.
Still, she pressed her lips together and took a moment, holding the treasonous suggestion that that was precisely what she thought in her mouth. After a breath, she deflected, “Regardless, that does not explain why you both have been so insistent on this marriage.”
“I have not been insistent on the marriage.” He corrected. His voice was calm and neutral, instead of smug, and that somehow just made her want to hit him more. “I have simply been insistent on the engagement. Until such time as you give me cause to break it.”
“Is not my constant refusal cause enough?” Veralisse asked with a terse smile.
He sighed and she felt his grip on her hand tighten slightly. “Veralisse, can we not at least be amiable? Is it too much to wish to know my fiance, and she know me in turn, before being summarily dismissed as a prospect altogether?”
Veralisse gave an angry scoff, and if she had been dancing with anyone other than the crown prince himself, she would have let go and stepped away from him. All the same, her voice raised a bit louder than was polite. “I am under no obligation to come to know you better, nor to spare such efforts for any other man who would wish to capture my fancy. I may be a noble lady, but my father accepts my will when it comes to who I associate with and what I choose to do. Should I wile away my time flattering anyone who expresses an interest in my affairs? I am a warrior, your Royal Highness, before I am the daughter of the Duke. To humor such worthless pursuits that I might make myself more agreeable to polite company would be to lower myself.”
For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Veralisse found her anger cooling as the silence stretched on, and thought perhaps she should apologize for speaking to him so rudely, not that she thought she was wrong. The dance ended, and as the crown prince escorted her back to the floor, she opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it. “You’re right.” He said, truly sounding like he meant it. He smiled then, just a bit. “As you often are. You are so lucky as to have your first obligation be to yourself, and I would not rob you of it.” He took a step back, but held on to her hand, lips curling into a slightly mischievous smile as he brought that hand up for a kiss. “But I beg you would forgive me to remain your betrothed just a little longer.” He didn’t let her object, letting go of her hand and vanishing back into the crowd like a ghost.
Veralisse stood there for a moment, still but not calm, and then she spun on her heels and stormed to the entrance.
“Where are you going?” Saera asked in surprise, catching her arm as she passed and keeping pace with her.
“The villa. Where else would I be going?” Vera snapped. The villa where their family stayed whenever they were in the capitol. A residence owned by a branch of their family, descended from her great great uncle.
“And leave your family here without the carriage?” Saera asked skeptically. Veralisse had never been a huge fan of these sorts of parties, but she never left early either for the sake of her parents. And they knew it.
“My feet work perfectly well, you know.” Vera said, still not sparing a glance for Saera.
Saera stopped, grabbing onto Veralisse’s arm and forcing her to stop as well. The look on her face would have been funny under other circumstances. “What did you and his Royal Highness talk about?”
Veralisse’s red eyes bored into her cousin’s face, expression fierce, but otherwise unreadable. “What do we ever talk about? Our engagement, of course.”
Her cousin lifted a hand, pressing a finger to Veralisse’s cheek. “But would your usual disagreement upset you so? Come, come. Tell me what he said.”
Vera simply brushed her hand off, and said, “It doesn’t matter what he said. I need to see Deacon.”
Saera jerked backwards, eyes first widening in surprise, then narrowing into an uncharacteristically grim expression. “Really, you know just what to say to make me want to murder your fiance. Go on, then. Your prince awaits. I can take care of the official one for today.”
Veralisse rolled her eyes. “So long as you keep your casual threats of treason to yourself from now on.”
She was halfway out the door before she could hear Saera could mutter, “Since when have I ever kept my mouth shut just because I was told to.” And that was certainly true.
Veralisse ignored the guards at the gate. She ignored the footmen near their coaches, curiously peering at her and wondering why she was not calling for her own. She ignored the peasants looking at her askance as she dashed through the streets in her obvious ballgown, simple though it was compared to the attire of other ladies. Once she arrived at the villa, she ignored the confused guards and the startled maid cleaning the front entrance. There was only one person whose presence she felt like acknowledging right now – the person who she had come to the capitol to see in the first place.
She burst into her room and with one hand scooped up the sheathed sword waiting against her dresser, never breaking her stride as she headed straight for the balcony. Her room was on the second floor, and her dress wasn’t meant for foolish stunts, but that didn’t stop Veralisse from launching herself over the railing, frills and all. She held the sword in both hands stretched out in front of her, and caught it on the branch of a tree outside her room, using it to break her fall momentarily, before dropping down to the ground with a great whump and the loud rustling of skirts. The first time she had attempted this jump, she had caught herself on the branch with her hands, and of course scraped nearly all the skin from her palms. She had been picking splinters out of her hands for a week after that, so now she used her sword instead.
Veralisse had stayed in this particular room every time she had come to the capitol since she was 8. She had initially been relegated to that room as a punishment for running off, because it was small, surrounded by thick trees that gave it poor light, and was planted in a corner of the building that would make it difficult for her to slip through guards. She had come to love it, though, as going over the balcony was the fastest way to a bit of wilderness on the property, a once-splendid part of the garden, clearly neglected years ago. In order to get to it, one had to shove through dense thickets of trees, branches clawing for a strand of hair or a piece of one’s clothes. It had been common enough for Veralisse to come out badly scratched and with ripped clothing she had to mend herself, but it was worth it. The isolation of the abandoned garden made it the perfect place to do… certain things she wasn’t supposed to.
She shoved her way through the last of the trees, and a broad smile spread across her face. It was late enough now that the overrun garden was awash with moonlight, the cold white glow illuminating the broken, mossy stone and stripping the overgrown flowers of their colors. It was beautiful, but that was not why Veralisse loved it here. Something black the size of a head slammed into Veralisse’s stomach and she let out an oof, catching the creature, but dropping her sword in the process. The thing was undeniably horrifying. Black, leathery skin stretched over a roughly spherical, lumpy mass of a body, with six stubby, footless appendages on one side and wings on the other. The wings were short, but not chubby. They looked more like horns, clearly outlined bones barely connected by the thinnest film of skin. And on what would have to be described as the front were four bulging orbs, spaced in a perfect square on its “face,” two on top and two on bottom. They were a malevolent, sickly yellow and covered in fluid, looking almost more like balls of pus than the thing’s eyes. But worst of all was the mouth smack in between the two sets of eyes, lips so wide that they almost seemed to stretch past where the creature’s ears should have been. That mouth was blood red, parted slightly to reveal double rows of razor-sharp teeth, a gruesome smile no one wanted to see, and this was without it opening its mouth to reveal five other rows inside the first, and an apparently tongueless red chasm that could open so wide the creature seemed to split in half with the motion.
Veralisse laughed and bounced the thing in her hands. As terrifying as it looked, this minor demon was a common fixture in Denedry, a carnivorous pest that ate anything with flesh. Denedry being not only the westernmost border of Fegrin, but also the westernmost border of the known human world, swarms of these blight vultures and other minor demons would often make their ways down from the Death’s Teeth mountain range that marked the beginning of official demon territory. Even as a child, Veralisse had never shown the slightest fear at the sight of even swarms of these horrifying beasts, and now she could crush one to death with one hand, and scare off a small horde by simply shouting. She wasn’t about to do that with this one, though. She was the one who had released it here, after all.
It made a nasty rumble that was its version of a purr, and then opened its nightmare of a mouth to say, “Lleeeeessse.”
The word seemed to echo in the garden a million times, accompanied by a sinister rustling of every piece of foliage present. It soon became apparent that neither of these things had anything to do with the garden itself. A variety of small, minor demons came bursting from the shrubs and flowers. A black flying eel of a creature known for laying its eggs in people’s ears, a fuzzy rodent-like monster that could open its mouth wide enough to swallow a deer whole, something that looked like a large butterfly but spat streams of venom that turned its victims into soup, a bird with eyes ringing its head that liked to mimic the screams of children to lure its prey over cliffs, and more. They were of many different shapes, but they all shared a few traits. They were all minor demons with barely any magic. They were all in the possession of some level of basic intelligence. And they were all horrifying to look at and known to kill human beings. This did not bother Veralisse in the slightest, as their most defining common trait was their love for and loyalty to Veralisse.
They crowded around Veralisse, excitedly repeating the only part of her name they could pronounce. “Lisse! Lisse!” She laughed again and hugged each one in its turn. Usually she brought some kind of game for them as treats, but today all she had was her dress and her sword. She began ripping the dress to shreds, peeling the gloves from her fingers, removing the cumbersome sleeves, and several layers of the poofy skirt. Her ballroom slippers came flying off, and her well-arranged hair was pulled back and retied into a more practical ponytail. The demons, unused to her coming to them in this apparel, crowded curiously around the discarded pieces of clothing, a couple snatching bits and carrying them off to their nests.
When she was done, she opened her mouth, but spoke in the language of the demons, the sounds full of harsh clattering, lacking anything that required the lips to close. “Where is Deacon?” It sounded more like, “Teekin etleheigen.” “Has he been visiting and feeding you?”
Deacon’s name caused a little shudder of activity among the demons, a couple making discontented grumbles. The eel creature answered, though. “He come big sheep. Not come today.” He seemed displeased. She didn’t think much of it, since the demons frequently had that reaction towards Deacon, but the eel surprised her by adding, “Not happy. Bring sheep, stay, crush head and sigh.”
“Huh.” Veralisse didn’t know what to make of that. The demons didn’t usually notice that sort of emotional behavior. Frankly, neither did she. It was one of the reasons she got along with these minor demons so well. She supposed she’d have to ask him when she saw him. Well, he always came to see her the night after balls, because he knew she’d attend them, at least to see him. She supposed she was a bit early to come back, as opposed to him being late. Grinning, she shoved back wayward strands of hair and said, “Alright, why don’t we hunt for some wood rats, then!”
Veralisse played with the demons until they were all exhausted, hunting around the thick garden for all manner of creatures. They came up empty, as most creatures had long since left the area, but they wore themselves out and snapped at each other, as demons do when they’re excited, and by the time they were done, Veralisse found herself lying in the grass, panting from exertion and breathless from laughter. She looked up at the moon, and frowned. When she’d arrived, it hadn’t been that long since the moon had risen. Now, it was heading on its downward path. It had been hours. Her family had almost certainly returned by now, and were likely wondering where she was. Deacon was well and truly late, now. She grabbed a demon that looked like a dust bunny, and plopped it on her face. Maybe the ear wyrm was right, and he’d been upset about something lately. She wished he’d given her some way to send him letters, but it wasn’t his fault he wandered from place to place and couldn’t give her an address. He’d never missed a meeting before, but if she could send him letters, at least she would know if something had happened.
She stayed that way until the other demons began to poke at her and nuzzle her, a couple going back to their nests, tuckered out for the night. She ignored them, closing her eyes, but after a while found a particularly persistent nudge against her toe. “What do you want?” She asked grumpily in demon speak.
“The chance to see the face of my beautiful lady.” A male voice said in the Fegrin tongue.
Veralisse bolted upright, pulling the fluffy demon off her face. Her red eyes widened and her expression brightened momentarily, near shouting with delight, “Deacon!”
Deacon was of average height and build, with brown hair and brown eyes and a forgettably plain face. Most people would not have given him a second glance, much less determined he was a demon. But the first time Veralisse had laid eyes on him, she had noticed the swirl of demonic illusion magic around him, telling her that he was hiding his true form. She had never been able to coax him into showing her his true form or his other demonic abilities, but his humanoid form and intelligence, combined with the fear he inspired in all the minor demons she’d introduced him to, told her that he was powerful, maybe even of the race of demon kings. He was dressed in rough, but clean clothes, with a floppy and worn cap covering some of his face, but she’d never seen him without a sword strapped to his hip, his one apparent item of expense.
She frowned at him, remembering that she was annoyed with him. “You’re late.”
He smiled at her gently and offered his hand to help pull her up. “Yes I am. Forgive me, I was busy, and didn’t realize how late it was getting.”
“Busy doing what?” Veralisse asked, tone a mockery of suspicion, while a mischievous smile returned to her face.
He grinned back. “Making friends.”
“The sort of friends you’d be happy to introduce me to?” She asked, slyly.
He laughed. “Happy to? Perhaps not. But at least no ladies that could compare to you.”
Veralisse laughed back and shook her head. He’d never told her directly what he did, but from what she could deduce, Deacon was quite the intelligence-gatherer, and had many an unsavory friend. She sighed happily for a moment, then threw her arms around his shoulders. “It’s good to see you.”
He gave a very different sort of sigh, and gently hugged her back. The way he wrapped his arms around her was unusual. There was always a sort of softness to him, but he never held her like this – slowly as if she might run away if he hurried, gently as if she might shatter if he held her too tightly, firmly as if he never wanted to let her go.
She drew back from him to search his face, and found some resistance, his fingers clinging to her back slightly. She broke free anyways. “Is something wrong?”
He looked surprised, as if his own unusual behavior was a mystery to him. “Why would you think so?”
“The demons told me you’ve been acting strange. I believe the exact phrase was crushing your head and sighing.”
“The demons noticed?”
“That was what caught my eye about it.” She said, drily. “So? Is there something wrong?”
His response was an immediate and disconcertingly neutral smile, but he did not speak right away. It was a technique she’d come to recognize as a noble’s way of stalling when they were making a decision. She had noticed her peers doing it only after realizing Deacon did it, and as ever questions arose as to who had taught him noble etiquette, and why they had chosen a demon posing as a peasant to teach it to.
She narrowed her eyes at him, and he caught her expression and immediately relaxed, smile widening into a genuine, if slightly mischievous one. “Would you believe me if I told you it was because I missed you?”
Veralisse hurtled backwards and grabbed her sword from the ground, but the motion was playful. With an exaggerated air of righteous fury, she said, “After constantly refusing to visit me in Denedry? Hah, I would not be so much a fool. You must be mocking me!” She drew her sword. “For this capital offense, sir, my blade demands blood.”
He drew his own, but was full-on laughing, now. “You leave me no choice, but to defend myself.” He said through laughs, and immediately betrayed his words by jumping forward to meet her swing.
The clash of metal rang out heavily in the silence of the garden. The minor demons still around were whipped into a bit of a frenzy, scuttling out of the way with various shrieking noises, some fear, some excitement and bloodlust. Some of the ones that had been asleep peeked their heads out to watch, while others ignored the commotion as a common occurrence. Veralisse and Deacon were both wielding long and rather heavy swords made to kill in a few swings, but instead of trying to decide the fight by aiming for each other’s bodies, they playfully swung at each other’s weapons. This was a kind of dance Veralisse had no problem carrying out. Not once did she look down at her own feet, or make a misstep. No one was leading this dance, the two of them almost perfectly in sync as they pushed each other back and forth. One moment, Veralisse was bearing down at Deacon, the next, he’d dashed past her, and his sword was flying by her shoulder. Her movements were straightforward and forceful, his were graceful and light. Both were unafraid to use their strength and speed against one another, instinctively trusting that the other could hold their own.
His sword clashed against hers, the two of them locked momentarily in a battle of strength, and Deacon laughed. “Are you well, Lisse? It is rare that you struggle against a simple swing like this one.” But his words were undermined slightly by his own heaving chest.
“Hah!” She cried, through her own panting breaths. “Can’t a demon recognize when he’s being shown pity? By a woman in half a dress, no less!” Swords still locked, she twisted her blade flat, causing Deacon’s sword to bounce against it with a screech of metal, and braced one hand on the flat of her blade to bodily shove Deacon backwards. A lesser man would have lost his balance and fallen. Deacon just danced back to regain his balance, and followed that momentum to make a quick spin, slashing at her chest and forcing her to dodge back.
As much as she refused to admit it, though, Veralisse was tired. She hadn’t been at the ball for a very long time, but her conversation with the prince was weighing on her mind, and she’d tussled with the demons a fair sight longer and more vigorously than usual while she’d been waiting for Deacon to arrive. It didn’t take her long for her to kick at Deacon’s legs to let him know she was done, and flop onto the ground, sweat soaking through the remnants of her dress. He wasn’t one to be knocked over, but Deacon joined her willingly, letting out a long sigh as he laid back in the grass, actually bothering to sheath his sword first before placing it gently next to him.
Veralisse closed her eyes, simply relishing the biting cold of the night as her heart began to slow back to normal. Her hands were splayed out on either side of her, hilt of her naked sword loosely resting in the hand farther from Deacon. After a bit, she started a little, feeling a soft touch on her left hand. Her eyes fluttered open, and she turned her head to see him propped up on one elbow, softly brushing a thumb across her palm.
“You’re hurt.” He said, quietly.
She had cut her hand when she’d shoved him backwards with her sword earlier. She snatched her hand away from him. “A small scratch.” She declared, confidently. “Besides, an injury to my hand might convince certain proper gentlemen to refrain from asking to dance at the next ball.”
He gave a short, but slightly humorless laugh. “You really dislike dancing so much.” It was half a question.
Veralisse grumbled a bit to herself as she thought. “It feels like something I ought to be good at, but I always find myself frustrated to find the outcome quite the opposite.” She smiled at him with a sincere fondness, “I only attend the season in the capitol to see you, anyways. What pleasure could there be in dancing with another man?”
“Ah, but are you not certain I am not a man at all?” He asked, with a slight twinkle in his eye.
“Quite right.” Her voice was mockingly pompous. “What pleasure could a woman in love with a demon derive in dancing with any man, then?”
He laughed and lay back down. “I always think you quite mad to admit you love me when you think I’m a demon. Even if we are in private.”
She shrugged. “Demon ancestry is common enough in Denedry, it must not have been so uncommon for demons and humans to marry before the demons were driven back to their lands.” There was a brief silence, and then Veralisse flatly said, “My fiance asked me today.” From the corner of her eye she could tell he was looking at her curiously. “If I fancied you, as he’d say. I knew it was a mistake to tell him about you. In a normal man, I’d suspect the question to be out of jealousy, but he just seemed… to be looking for something, I don’t know what. An excuse to dishonor me, maybe? But I cannot see any reason for that, when I’ve given him every excuse to break our engagement and he has always ignored me.”
“So you did not tell him, then?”
She scoffed at the sky. “And have him demand your execution? If only I had so few wits about me. Then perhaps I would also be foolish enough to elope with you, and we’d have a few years of bliss before probably being hunted down by my father himself.”
“I see.” He said, shortly. His voice sounded heavy. “I wish you would not try to protect me from the crown prince. He is your fiance, after all. Perhaps if you told him the truth, he would finally let you free of your engagement.”
“I have told him the truth. Many times. I have no desire to marry a man I do not love, whether or not I love another, and I am not fit to be queen. You are barely a part of it.”
“Does that mean you wouldn’t marry me either, even if you could, if it made you queen?”
Her red eyes were shining with her displeasure. “You know I dislike such talk, Deacon. I may not wish to marry the prince, but I am a loyal citizen of Fegrin. It is my home, and the Sevailles my royals. I would no sooner abandon it than I would betray my king and crown prince. Sometimes I feel as though you would draw your sword against them if I told you I would forgive you for it, no matter that they could kill you in an instant. Even if you survived, I would never forgive you for such a thing. Nor would I be willing to leave if you were the crown prince of a foreign country. Defending Denedry is all I have ever wanted in my life.”
There was a long silence, then Deacon sat up. “It is late. I should return.”
Veralisse abruptly followed suit, grabbing his arm before he could stand. “That does not mean I would stop loving you, though. If you were a foreign prince, no, even if you were a traitor, I don’t think I could stop loving you.” She speared him with her red eyes. “So, I still want to know. You have to tell me truth the day my engagement is dissolved. Just as you promised.”
The shadows on his face cast by the pale moonlight made it difficult to see his expression, but she thought she saw hurt in his eyes. “I made that promise as a child, and while I intend to honor it, I can only look on it with regret. Every passing day, I pray more fervently that you remain ignorant of who and what I am.”
Veralisse’s grip tightened on his arm. “Can’t you hear me? I love you. That will not change, no matter who you turn out to be.”
He shook his hand free. “If only, my dearest Lisse. If only.”
She froze, and he took the opportunity to stand up and head to the edge of the garden. “The prince said that exact thing to me today.” She said, softly.
It seemed he heard her, for he turned his head to look at her, just long enough to say, “I know.”
Veralisse was invited to tea three days later. In truth, she’d been invited as soon as they’d arrived in town, but the invitations were always received and accepted by her mother, who told her on the day of, because she knew that if it were up to Veralisse, she would refuse every invitation. Being the crown prince’s fiance, she was invited to many tea parties, some simply to be polite, but most to bully her into giving up her seat as future queen. When she was little, she had once attempted to tell the other girls that she didn’t want to be crown prince’s fiance, but that had only made them hate her more, the few who had heard loudly proclaiming that she was an arrogant, rude girl who didn’t respect the crown prince.
This particular invitation had come from a Lady Camilla Terrece, a young, quiet woman, who had debuted only 5 years and almost immediately gotten married to a baron. Her husband was almost twenty years older than her, and she was the daughter of a knight, her only real advantage being her soft temperament and pretty face. She had invited Veralisse to tea a few times since, but Veralisse had always been of the impression that she was invited only because other people had pressured the poor lady into doing so under the guise of being her friend. While Baroness Terrece was older than her, Veralisse couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her. She was so clearly out of her depth in high society, just struggling to be accepted with nothing more than a baron’s influence to back the low status of her birth. She had none of the noble education her peers had been raised with, nor sufficient wit and confidence to make up for that lack of education, so easy to manipulate that no one had even bothered bullying her.
It was this sense of pity that had Veralisse consenting to wear her best dress and attend the little gathering with no fuss. With a more unpleasant hostess, she’d sometimes brought her sword or other accoutrements. Just to spook them a little. When she arrived, she was ushered into an elegant, open-air pavilion with a nice round table stacked high with sandwiches, pastries, and sweets. There was a cart with a piping hot pot of tea on it in one corner, and as Veralisse was directed to sit, a beautiful porcelain cup was placed in front of her. She stared at it morosely, watching patterns of steam rise from the hot, slightly reddish liquid.
“Thank you for coming, Lady Veralisse.” Baroness Terrece said, not meeting her in the eyes.
Veralisse nodded politely and boredly said, “Not at all, Lady Terrece. Rather, thank you for your invitation.” She also curtsied at the other ladies present. The party currently consisted of Lady Diana Remphrey, the daughter of another duke, and Lady Jillian Marwhen, the Marchioness of Illweather. In the eyes of society, the three of them outranked their host by miles.
“We are still waiting for a few others, so please feel free to relax.” The baroness said, brushing back a bit of her pale brown, curly hair. Veralisse wanted to ask what they were supposed to do other than relax once the others arrived, since it wasn’t like tea involved much activity, but she supposed the baroness had a point. Once everyone arrived, the chatter would begin in earnest, and she definitely wouldn’t be able to relax then.
Lady Diana Remphrey had apparently no interest in letting her relax. “My dear Lady Veralisse, I’m so glad you could make it today. I heard you left the king’s ball early the other day after dancing with the crown prince, looking a terrible fright and determined to go home on foot. I was quite concerned you were feeling ill.”
Veralisse stared straight into the other lady’s eyes, still looking vaguely bored. “My family and I arrived in town only that day, and I was already feeling quite faint from the exertion of the journey. After my dance with the prince, I was in dire need of some rest and returned to the villa after informing my cousin. But I was so loathe to rob my family of the carriage on their first night of the season. I felt no one could begrudge me a little walk for the sake of my beloved brothers and parents. A little rest was all I required to feel the full extent of my health again, thank you for your concern, Lady Diana.” She spoke dismissively.
Lady Diana’s face twisted in discontent. Veralisse’s strong constitution was common knowledge, but she was unable to accuse her directly of lying. Instead, she said, “I am glad to hear it. I knew it must be so. I told Lady Illweather myself our strong Lady Veralisse was not one to be laid low by illness or distress long, if at all. For it to have been fatigue, though. Did his Highness treat you so poorly during your dance?”
“Certainly not.” Veralisse responded directly, expertly hiding the desire to yawn and put her head on the table to escape this dull conversation. “His Highness is the most accomplished of dancers. It is my lack of skill that laid me low. The demons from Death’s Teeth have been a bit enthusiastic this year, and I’ve been quite busy helping fortify the border, I hardly had any time to practice my dancing.”
The other lady stiffened slightly, as one year Veralisse had brought a demon’s head to a soiree she had hosted to make this exact point. It had been a small one and dried, and Veralisse had excused it as a present, claiming that it was good luck to have a dried demon’s head hanging in one’s bedroom to ward off sickness, and that she’d beheaded this demon herself with Lady Diana’s health in mind. No one had been able to say anything with her “considerate” reason, but Lady Diana had turned quite green, and a few of her guests had downright fainted. Veralisse had intentionally picked one of the more humanoid ones, after all, and dried it with the tongue hanging out. Saera had had to excuse herself to a resting room because of a “coughing fit,” and almost suffocated on laughter all the way home.
Lady Diana rallied herself admirably, simply saying, “My, Lady Veralisse, after so many years, to still require practice. Your father ought to have fired your childhood dance teachers without recommendation.”
“Perhaps he did.” Was all Veralisse said, taking a sip of her tea, and hoping it would end there.
“Does Lady Veralisse require dancing lessons?” Came a faux-concerned voice from outside the table. All four ladies turned to watch Lady Selenia Didgery, daughter of the Baron Didgery, delicately lift her skirts and go up the stairs in half a curtsey. Like Lady Terrece, she was pretty and appeared docile, but there was a very good reason Veralisse didn’t feel the least bit sorry for her.
The girl sat without greeting their host, and beckoned the servants to serve her tea, despite the fact that they weren’t her servants. “It would be a most poor display if the crown prince and his fiance could not dance properly when his foreign guests arrive.” A new topic of gossip. At least it wasn’t primarily about her this time.
“The prince has foreign guests this year?” The baroness asked, sipping her tea and not objecting to another person ordering her servants about. It was not uncommon for foreign royalty or officials to come for diplomatic reasons, under the official excuse of being guests of one of the prince or princesses, usually the crown prince. They rarely stayed the entire season. It normally would have been one of the responsibilities of the crown prince’s fiance to host and welcome them, but Veralisse had always staunchly asserted that her responsibilities to Denedry came first, and she had no interest in play-acting crown princess. In the presence of her father and his Majesty the king, the crown prince had simply told her he would be happy to play-act crown princess for her, and the matter had never been brought up again. That was a matter between the two of them, though, so Veralisse kept quiet about the fact that she knew nothing about them.
Lady Selenia’s enthusiasm helped, anyways. “Yes, it’s a delegation from Halagred.” She said, with barely concealed excitement. “Two princes and one princess.” There were gasps around the table, and even Veralisse couldn’t stop an eyebrow raising in momentary surprise. Only the Marchioness of Illweather nodded knowingly. Halagred was the largest human kingdom on the continent, extremely wealthy for its innovations despite consisting mostly of an inhospitable desert and a massive range of mountains. From what Veralisse had heard, the people of Halagred were landlocked, and believed in neither magic nor the sea. Denedry being essentially a slightly fat isthmus, with the demon world on one side, and the human world on the other, this outlook seemed preposterous to her, but she had never had the chance to test this rumor, as she had never spoken to someone from Halagred before. They had an ambassador in place, but the two countries were not close by nor required anything of each other, and therefore had never seen fit to have much in the way of political relations. The king of Halagred had never, in his lifetime or the lifetime of his father or grandfather, sent any of the royal children to Fegrin, much less three.
Veralisse said nothing, and no one asked her. Anytime she’d been asked anything about foreign guests, she’d simply said that it was not her place to speak of it. Lady Selenia went on, though. “I overheard my father talking about it with the Earl of Gilferren this morning as I was about to leave. I think he said the 3rd prince, the 2nd princess, and the 7th prince.” She leaned forward a bit. “Don’t you suppose this could be a good thing? Supposing one of princes marries Princess Aquilet. Halagred’s prosperity may become Fegrin’s.”
“Don’t be foolish.” Veralisse said, coldly, “What would we want with Halagred? With their wars and their faithless kings and succession battles. An alliance with Halagred, particularly with the wrong prince or princess, may put Fegrin in a very unfavorable position if our involvement becomes expected. We seek an acquaintance’s relation with Halagred, nothing more.”
“Just so.” The marchioness said, haughtily. “The third prince and the second princess, you know, are cousins, and neither of them the children of the queen.” There was a moment of confusion around the table, before she clarified. “They are both children of the king, yes, but their mothers are sisters, and both of them peasants from a tribe in the mountains. In fact, most of the king’s children are from some concubine or other, so it is not much wonder Halagred has wars for succession.” Veralisse frowned a little, having never heard of a concubine system in Halagred, but she’d always focused on the more war-like aspect of Halagred’s history and culture, so she supposed she woud not know everything. “He has twelve children, and you might wonder why he sent those three to us. The 5th prince – not the 7th, my dear – is apparently one of the children of the queen, though quite wild indeed, but the first two are said to be wise beyond their years, the 3rd prince known for his quiet manners and excellent swordsmanship, the 2nd princess even going so far as earning the nickname ‘Wisdom’s Princess’ from her people. And they’ve traversed through many countries to get to us. What do you suppose he means by it?”
The others seemed a bit confused, but Veralisse understood immediately. As expected from a marchioness on their eastern border, to be thinking about the implications of these sorts of foreign affairs. It could mean nothing, of course, that the king of Halagred was sending what appeared to be three of his most favored children to the last frontier of the civilized world, passing through many other countries to do so. Halagred may simply be trying to foster goodwill with others simply for the sake of goodwill. On the other hand, it could mean that the king of Halagred was preparing for a full-blown continental war, sending three of his most astute, but possibly still expendable children to scope out the fortifications and current social orders of all of the countries from Halagred to the western border.
“What do you suppose he means by what?” Lady Ella Hemford, Countess of Clarwind said, almost flouncing her way up onto the pavilion. Veralisse had forgotten they were still waiting for people. “It’s not as though the king could be sending a secret declaration of war through his children. Just because the princes and princess are coming doesn’t mean anything is expected of us, now is there?”
The marchioness pursed her lips slightly, but picked up her teacup for a drink, instead of arguing the point. And since no objection was being raised, the countess laughingly said, “And it’s not as though the king would ever consent to marry Princess Aquilet to a prince of a foreign country.” Veralisse had to bite back a sigh, since the countess had clearly missed that bit of the conversation with the timing of her arrival. “Don’t you think it’ll be a bit of a wonder if she gets married at all? I once heard the crown prince say he wouldn’t let her marry anyone he didn’t approve of.” She gave a little giggle, as if the king and crown prince’s famous overprotectiveness was something to laugh about. There was of course, the more important reason that princesses of Fegrin had never really needed to marry into foreign countries, since Fegrin’s position as defenders against the demon kingdom allowed it extraordinary freedom from outside influences, but it was too much to expect the frivolous countess to understand that, even if Veralisse had attempted to explain it to her.
And then the countess stunned everyone at the table by saying, “I can imagine the princess from Halagred marrying Prince Remrin, though. But then that would be Halagred marrying into our royal family, and nobody could object to that. Halagred has princesses to spare.”
Everyone stared at her, even Veralisse, who wouldn’t have really minded if the crown prince decided to dump her for a foreign princess. The baroness gave a shrill laugh, and began chattering about the particular tea she’d had made for today, and even as much as Lady Diana Remphrey liked torturing Veralisse, she jumped on the subject with just as much shaky enthusiasm, though more composure. Two more ladies arrived not long after, apparently unaware of the commotion, and talk did not turn back to Halagred for the rest of the afternoon.
Veralisse continued to think about it, though. So when her mother called her into her study the next day and told her she’d received a letter from the crown prince, asking for a private meeting, she surprised them both by saying yes.
The prince arrived exactly on time the next morning with his personal aide in tow, not long after breakfast, and was ushered inside to a parlor, where Veralisse was already waiting, dressed in her comfortable clothes, plain brown pants, a white shirt, and leather boots, her unruly hair tied up in a plain pony tail. Her mother had long since stopped trying to get her to dress presentably when it was just the two of them. Her legs were crossed in front of her, and she leaned back in the perfect middle of the couch, arms across her chest.
The two of them sat in perfect silence while tea was brought and poured, sugar and flower’s milk laid before them. It wasn’t until the household servants left that either of them spoke a word, but the two of them sat staring at each other, neither backing down. Harsh, disapproving red eyes opposing cold, calculating silver. When at last the servants were gone, Remrin took a sip of his tea just to be polite, and leaned forward a little, intent gaze fully trained on her, but did not speak. Veralisse forced herself not to look away.
“So your highness wished to meet with me.” She asked coldly, ignoring the prince’s aide.
“I wish to meet with you often, but it is rare my lady agrees. Could I know the secret to my success this time? I was told you agreed before you even heard that it was a matter of some urgency. Or does your mother exaggerate?” He seemed to be smiling a little, but he always seemed to be smiling a little.
Veralisse narrowed her eyes at him in a deeply unfriendly manner, then took her own sip of tea to have an excuse to look away. “My mother does not deserve your discourtesy, your highness. Unless you have some reason to suggest she has ever been anything less than completely honest with you.”
His smile dropped a little, as did his tone. “Forgive me. That was not what I meant to suggest. It is only that I could hardly believe myself to hear that you relished the opportunity to meet with me. I have forgotten my manners in my haste to understand this change.”
“Be not alarmed that my opinion of you or our engagement has at all changed, your highness.” She continued to use the tea as an excuse to pay more attention to her cup. “I suspect our reasons are much the same.” Veralisse’s eyes flashed up to check his reaction, “It is true then, that envoys are arriving from Halagred, of all places.”
As ever, his reaction was disappointingly calm, even pleasant. “It is true. And you are correct to assume that is the main reason I have asked for this meeting, though not the only one. It seems word is spreading quickly, if it has already reached your ears. Before I approach my business, I assume you have questions.”
“Astute as ever.” Veralisse said, putting her cup down. It was not a compliment. “I would, of course, first like to confirm who is coming, and what I ought to expect from them. And secondly, I would like to know your opinion on the reason for their coming.”
“Very well.” He said, simply. “A small body of soldiers is accompanying three children of the Sun of the Desert, his Majesty King Errevet of Halagred to Fegrin. They are his majesty’s 4th child and 3rd son, Prince Isviel of the Tellerem, his majesty’s 5th child and 2nd daughter, Princess Alwe of the Tellerem, and his majesty’s 7th child and 5th son, third child of his honor, Heir Prince Eillum of the Queen.”
Veralisse stared at him, trying to take in everything he’d just spouted at her, but he went on blithely as if he had not just showered her with various titles and references she knew nothing about. “All three of them are said to be beautiful as the desert sunrise, and favored among the king’s children. Prince Isviel, they say, is as lightning that sets fire to the world, Princess Alwe a very oasis of wisdom, and his high honor Prince Eillum ferocious as a sandstorm.”
One of Veralisse’s eyebrows lifted. “Quite a lot of desert references.”
His expression was slightly indulgent. “That is how it was framed in the letter to my father requesting we host them. In a land of such extremes, it is little wonder to me that grand metaphor is used often. Exaggerated as the language might be, our emissary in Halagred seems to agree with the assessment. The three of them are, indeed, his favorite children, Prince Isviel for his reputation as a man with a sharp sword and a sharper mind, Princess Alwe for her enduring wisdom, and Prince Eillum for his bold spirit. He suggests, however, that Prince Isviel and Princess Alwe are not personally favored at all, and have been sent to protect Prince Eillum, who is being sent away that he might not be caught up in a war brewing on Halagred’s eastern border.”
“War?” Veralisse smirked a little. “What country would be stupid enough to make war with Halagred?”
“I suppose war is a bit of a strong word in this case.” Remrin corrected with an easy shrug. “The small Eastern kingdom of Gryer is directly attacking their border for the jewel-rich Tellerem mountains. And far from foolish, it seems they are winning.”
Veralisse gave a small laugh of disbelief. “A small country like that successfully invading a mountain range. Amazing. Who is it leading-“
She glanced up in time to see the crown prince staring at her with a sort of venom in his eyes. She didn’t understand it, but it got her to change the subject immediately. “So with the princess and one of the princes being from Tellerem-” She began.
“And Prince Eillum being the hot-headed second of the only two legitimate sons the king has, the first leading the battle in the east to prove himself-” Remrin added for her.
“You believe his Majesty’s intentions are personal, and not indicative of any devious international politics.” She nodded in exaggerated motions for added emphasis, “That his only other legitimate son have a good reason to be kept out of the fray if anything happens to his first. That his two most skilled children be sent to ensure the protection of that son, and perhaps even that those two children be kept far from the temptation to meddle in an attempt to defend the land of their mothers.” She surmised.
Remrin smiled at her. “So you have heard that Prince Isviel and Princess Alwe are cousins.”
“Yes. So I was right to believe the mountain tribe their mothers come from is in the very same mountains whose rule is being disputed now?” Veralisse smiled. She could handle this with the prince. Not a social conversation, with him pulling the secrets from her head while keeping his in a silver cage, but a spar of a conversation with the facts building together into a picture.
“I value this, you know.” The prince said, startling her slightly.
“What?” She asked.
“Our talks. Your insight. You would make a fine queen, Veralisse, as I have told you before.” He laced his fingers in front of him, watching her appreciatively, almost fondly.
“And this is what I hate about you.” She responded in like kind. “That you seem impervious to my words, but privy to my thoughts.” His eyebrows raised, but Veralisse could not tell if it was surprise on his face or amusement. “As I have told you before, I have no interest in becoming queen, no matter what you believe my qualifications to be.”
There was a small puff of breath from him that could have been a laugh or a sigh, but his fond smile never changed. “Can you really not believe that I wish to marry you out of personal regard?” His voice was mild, despite the bite of his words. “I have never asked you to act as my crown princess or future queen, nor help me with anything, much less abandon your responsibilities and joys as protector of your land, but you refuse to even consider the possibility of marrying me, of allowing me the barest possibility of wooing you properly. What frightens you?” His head tilted ever so slightly to the side as he watched her.
Veralisse stood abruptly, and began pacing the room, tension quivering in the set of every muscle. “I am not frightened.” She said, harshly, refusing to look at him again. “But the king must be beautiful because the queen must be ugly. You are the fool to think otherwise.”
“What does that even mean?” Remrin asked with a short laugh.
Veralisse turned and speared him with a serious look. “It means that there must be balance. It means that even if you would wish to, you cannot take on the responsibilities of both king and queen. And if I allow you to, you will one day force me to choose between Denedry and you. Even now, maybe.” She eyed him. “What did you come here to ask me for, your royal highness?”
He was silent for a moment, but his smile was almost apologetic as he raised his hands in defeat. “As you say, I have come to ask you if you will cooperate with me as my fiance. I do not believe Halagred intends us harm, but this is the first foreign princess to have been sent to us. I could not deny her entry when the king’s intentions became clear-“
Veralisse interrupted him, “You have been denying entry to foreign princesses?”
Remrin waved her objection aside, “Of course. At least as my formal guest. Why did you think princesses have never been hosted as my guest? With the arrival of Princess Alwe, however, I must ask you for once to do your duties as my fiance, put up a front that for this year at least, we are united. This means we will have to attend functions together, with you properly dressed. You will have to host parties, introduce yourself to the delegation from Halagred as my fiance, dance the first dance together at royal balls. You will not have to do much more than that, but I know it is more than I have asked you for before. I have excused it thus far as my doting upon you, but the state of our engagement does not need to be further clouded by a rumor of my abandoning you to marry a foreign princess. Whether we wed or not, that is our business, no one else’s.”
She watched him for a while, then nodded. It was their business, no matter how it ended up. That was the one thing they had always agreed on. “And the other matter?”
“This.” He waved at the table. “Since you have to play my fiance for a season, I am taking the opportunity I have been given. Meet with me, Veralisse. One season is all I will ask for. Just for this year, while you are in town, let us really be engaged. Let us have more conversations like this one. Let us get to know each other. At the very least, I should like to become your friend, if I cannot become your love.”
She scowled at him, placing a hand on a decorative table with a lamp on it. “I do not understand why you insist on bringing love into our engagement. What do you know of me to even suggest you love me, much less that I might come to love you?”
He laughed, “Oh, I know more about you than you might think, my dear, sweet Lisse. Why do you think I asked you for the name of a reliable source of information, all those years ago? Granted, I did not expect the enthusiastic answer to be that of a demon hiding in this city.”
Veralisse scoffed at him. “And has Deacon told you anything of use about me?”
His smile was just a bit wider than usual. “Do you imagine he would? But I have learned enough from the two of you, I believe, to say I do know your character, Lisse. At least enough to admire you, and maybe even enough to love you.” He stood and approached her, and always, she refused to let him intimidate her into backing away, though she wanted to. She allowed him to kiss her on the forehead, before he stepped away. “Shall I see you again soon?”
The silver-haired prince walked to the door without waiting for her answer, but she did answer before he could escape the parlor. “As you wish, your highness. At the very least so I may understand what it is you think you know about me, and my love.” She thought she saw a little smile on his lips before he and his manservant disappeared around the doorway, but he always seemed to be smiling a little. It didn’t mean much.
“Veralisse! Vera, come down right this second.” Her mother’s voice came ringing up the halls to her room, breaking the peace of the morning only a week after her meeting with the prince. Veralisse was sitting on the balcony of her room, thinking again about what Deacon had said to her that night. He hadn’t come to see her since, and she wasn’t certain she would know what to ask even if he had. She’d known, of course, that Deacon always seemed to have his pulse on the movements of society, and he’d hinted to her before that he’d attended some balls in disguise, but why deliberately use a phrase the crown prince had? She’d never questioned before why the prince had asked her for an independent intelligence-gatherer she might know, all those years ago. But with his suggestion that he was still actively speaking with Deacon, she wondered now if the two of them might not be planning something. But what?
She was so deep in her thoughts, mapping out the possibilities, that she didn’t at first hear her mother’s screaming, and so was wholly unprepared for the duchess herself to come bursting into her room, all in a flutter.
The Duchess of Denedry was the third daughter of a baron, and her family would not have at all been considered on par with a dukedom, but the Rochesters had always used their slightly outcast status to be free to marry whomever they wished, and Lady Emera was, after all, every bit the beauty Veralisse wasn’t, soft brown hair that fell in perfect waves, upturned brown eyes a shade that might be described as golden, features that were elegant but not delicate. That wasn’t why she’d married into their family, however. No, the reason why Veralisse’s demon-hunting father had fallen for her on first sight and proceeded to enthusiastically have seven children with her, had much more to do with her accidentally punching him in the face on their first meeting and breaking his nose. Veralisse had, in fact, taken after her mother’s unusual height and strength, and every time Lady Emera bemoaned Vera’s wild behavior, the duke had simply smiled and said their daughter must of course, take after the mother… to many threats of a repeat performance of their first meeting.
Still, she was a proper aristocrat, unlike the rest of them, and she actually did care very much about the engagement between her daughter and the crown prince.
“Vera, didn’t you hear me?” Lady Emera asked crossly, marching forward and taking her daughter by the ear.
“Ow, mother. What is it?” Veralisse asked, prying her mother’s fingers from her ear.
“What is it?! The crown prince has sent a gift!” She said, anxiously. “It appears to be a dress, and has come with an invitation to a small, private ball tonight hosted for the royal guests who are arriving earlier than expected.”
Veralisse stared at her. No one had said anything about her having to meet the royals from Halagred so soon. She’d been a bit busy with other invitations from various ladies, but her impression had been that they were not slated to arrive for another month.
Her mother jabbered on. “What did you and the prince talk about? He hasn’t sent you a gift for years-” more precisely he hadn’t sent her a gift unless it was her birthday since she had told him at age 11 that she had no need for his charity or affection “- you cannot be thinking to refuse it, can you?” Her mother looked anxious.
Veralisse stood and brushed herself off, “No, mother. His royal highness and I have agreed to be properly engaged while the representatives from Halagred are in town. I am sure the dress was only sent on the anticipation that I would not have anything suitably matched to the crown prince on such short notice.”
Her mother still seemed unsettled. “Well however it is, you must come down at once to open it and be properly prepared. We’ve barely any time.” It was still morning. A ball wouldn’t happen until suppertime at least. But there was no stopping Emera Rochester when she got like this, and rather than being dragged by the ear again, Veralisse sighed and consented to come down to the parlor and receive her gift within the sight of her mother.
Vera had always found that the more decorations a dress held, the more uncomfortable it was to actually wear, and so had gone about year after year wearing her mother down on the types of dresses she wore, removing frills here and laces there so that her dresses were only ever acceptably formal and never quite fashionable. And her mother being sensible of the cost of wealthy dresses, as the daughter of a baron who had never entirely gotten ahead of his creditors, had begrudgingly accepted the modest style and colors of their clothes. When Vera opened the box that had been sent to her and pulled out the dress Remrin had sent her, both of them gaped.
The thing was an absolute monstrosity of a dress, made almost entirely out of a vivid red silk to match her eyes, but was also covered in a layer of white chiffon elaborately embroidered all over with silver thread and gathered into bunches to give the skirt a sort of swooping archway style. The layer of chiffon also hung past the red silk meant to cover her shoulders to lightly fall against her upper arms, and the neckline swooped downwards to a point, on which there was a small hook. The skirts were several layers thicker than anything she had ever worn in her life, though thankfully did not come with a hoop, and the whole thing had come with matching, silver-embroidered red slippers, elbow-length gloves made entirely of shimmering silver silk, and a necklace that instead of a pendant consisted of a latticework of chains to cover her throat and the bony part of her chest, which would have been otherwise exposed by the dress’s design.
A small note had been secured to the box under a ribbon, and Veralisse picked it up to read it, feeling rather uncharitable towards its author at the moment. It read:
“My dear Veralisse,
The dress enclosed is meant for the gathering tonight. It would do me a great service if you would wear it, as my own clothes have been designed to match. I apologize I had not time to discuss the matter of design with you personally, and will not be so presumptuous as to prepare a dress on your behalf in the future. You may have noticed a small hook on the neck of the dress. I hope you will not consider me too bold to have made arrangements to accommodate the clasp for your engagement brooch.
I look forward to seeing you and your family tonight.
Signed,
His Royal Highness Remrin Sevaille, first son of his Majesty King Stephen Andelweed, and crown prince of Fegrin, future flower of the realm against demons.”
Below his signature was stamped his personal royal seal in silver ink, a symbol that was not meant to be disrespected, but that didn’t stop Veralisse from crushing the letter in her hand and throwing it into the wastebin.
“What did he say, dear?” Her mother asked, still clearly a little shell-shocked by the audacity of the dress.
“The hook in front is meant for my engagement brooch.” She replied a little stiffly. “And he shall be wearing something to match tonight. Do you know where my brooch is, mother?”
The item in question was a large, silver pin, on which had been carefully etched the crown prince’s personal insignia, an image of the flower that would one day be used to represent his rule as king. Only one existed in the entire country, and it had been made on the day that he was born, to be possessed by his future bride. It was only meant to be given once the entire matter had been settled, so Veralisse had given it to her mother for safekeeping, on the assumption that she would one day return it to him when he finally gave up on their engagement.
“Of course I do.” Her mother snapped. “Do you imagine I’d let such a thing float about the house like a wayward puppy? I shall go fetch it at once.” She picked up her skirts and left the room immediately.
Veralisse picked up the dress and held it up in front of her, noting with some dissatisfaction that the thing was heavier than a sword, and would make a prodigious amount of noise every time she moved.
“Vera? What was mother screaming about? I saw her running out of here like a seedwyrm being carried by a storm.” Veralisse shoved the dress onto the table and whipped around to see her fourth older brother just having opened the door, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
All six of her older brothers looked about the same, with Vera’s unkempt dark brown hair and red eyes. Like her, they were on the taller side, and noticeably muscular, with calloused hands and weatherworn skin, but on a man, all of this was attractive, and they had quite a few fans among the unattached young ladies. Her fourth brother Edgar was one of the more slender ones, being less obsessed with the family pasttime in general.
He blinked at the unusual pile of red silk and white chiffon on the table. “What’s that? Vera, are you practicing your embroidery?” His tone of voice suggested she might not be his sister at all.
“Of course not!” She replied emphatically. “The crown prince invited us all to meet the delegates from Halagred and sent this dress with it.” She took a step away from it, and gestured at it like he’d sent her a dead rat.
“A dress?” He asked, nonplussed. “Since when does Remrin care what you wear?”
“Since Halagred decided to send two princes and a princess to visit us.” Veralisse said, with a sigh. Her mother had been the only one who knew about her meeting with the prince, as her father and brothers had been spending most of their time meeting their friends or enjoying the town. She hadn’t exactly planned to tell them anything about the conversation, assuming it would not make much of an impact on them.
Plus, of course, there was the- “I thought silver-hair told you he wouldn’t bother you about any foreigners. Why haven’t you used this as an excuse to tell him to shove his engagement up-“
“Edgar! Can we talk about this at breakfast?” When the rest of her family was there. So she wouldn’t have to deal with her overprotective brothers one at a time. Edgar wasn’t even the worst of them.
“Suit yourself.” He said, with a shrug, but as he left the room, she heard him howling, “Hey Davin! Remrin sent Veralisse a dress as big as a bedsheet! She wants to talk about it at breakfast!”
“Edgar!” Her mother’s voice sharply reprimanded. “Don’t shout things like that.”
The woman herself then immediately entered, pinning the brooch onto the dress and holding it up against Vera to see how it looked, as Vera herself had done earlier. She nodded. “I suspect it shall suit you very well. Now go on, dear, and fetch your father. Breakfast is ready, and I’m sure we’re all dying to hear your explanation now.”
Once they were all at the breakfast table and digging in, her father started. “So, Veralisse. What’s this about a dress or a meeting with the prince or whatnot?”
Veralisse sighed and put down her fork. “His royal highness-” two of her brothers snorted, having given up calling him by his proper title in private since she’d gotten engaged to him. She coughed and said again, “His royal highness asked to see me to discuss the matter of our engagement while he hosted the royals from Halagred. As you probably know, father, one of the princesses is coming, and we agreed that it would be best for the two of us to present a united front to the people until she leaves, so that no one can suggest his royal highness would abandon me for a foreign princess.”
Her third eldest brother Davin scoffingly said, “Well, why shouldn’t he leave you well enough alone by now and chase some foreign woman?”
She continued just a pitch louder, as if she hadn’t heard him. “It appears the delegates from Halagred have, in fact, arrived early, so a private ball is being held in their honor tonight, and we have all been invited. In light of our agreement, and the rushed nature of this event, it is only natural his royal highness saw fit to send me a dress for the occasion that might complement his own.”
There was a momentary silence around the table, then her eldest brother Havilan buttered his bread and said, “I don’t see why you agreed, Vera. The prince has always been the sort to accept your decisions about things, and I’d have thought you’d be happy to have an excuse to encourage he engage himself to someone other than you.”
“You’re mistaken, brother. I wish my engagement to be annulled, not embroiled in a scandal that suggests our crown prince is unfaithful and untrustworthy. It should be a matter between the two of us; allowing a third party’s influence to interfere with how the people see the matter would only complicate the situation.”
“Hah. That’s our Veralisse, giving our poor little crown prince unfortunate hope again.” Her fifth brother Leonard said, rudely pointing at her with his own piece of bread. “He’s going to execute you if this keeps up, you know. Or threaten to kill us if you don’t agree to marry him. Remrin’s not as lenient as you think he is, and there’s only so long a man like him can hold back his desire to possess something before he goes mad and destroys it.”
Veralisse scowled at him, even as her mother exclaimed some objection to such a rude assessment of their crown prince. Leonard was by far the most friendly with the prince, being of the same age, but he spoke of the prince even in public with a casual disrespect that belied how clearly wary of him he was. “I hope you’re wrong, brother.” She eventually said, as he ignored her glare. “I really hope you are.”
Circumstances didn’t let her dwell on it, though. As soon as breakfast was finished, Veralisse was thrown into preparations, thoroughly scrubbed in scalding water until her skin was pink, forced to sit still as a corset was yanked around her broad frame, and the dress was tried on. The maids poked her as they hastily marked where adjustments needed to be made, and every style of hair and hairpin was attempted while the dress was being altered. She was fed a little lunch, then her mother laid out different perfumes and insisted she try a little of each one. Veralisse didn’t know why all of this was necessary when the only extravagant thing about the process should have been the dress, but it seemed her mother felt she had to be molded to match, rather than the dress molded to match her. A little more makeup than usual was attempted, and then removed, her face was primped and plucked and rubbed with lotion, and she knew not what else, and she was told to rest perfectly still until all the other preparations had been made.
She would have been forced to, too, if Saera Metten had not suddenly arrived at the villa, unannounced, and demanded to see Veralisse. Vera could hear the arguing from all the way down the hall, but knowing Saera, not even her mother could stop her. Vera stayed where she was, eyes closed, flat on her back in nothing but a slip, as her cousin abused the door to her room for the second time that day.
“Vera, you-! What are you doing?” Saera asked, stopping abruptly inside the door.
“I’m resting.” Veralisse said, with an aggressive boredom. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Oh, yes of course. Deacon sent me a letter!” Veralisse jumped upright. He’d never sent her a letter before. And he and Saera had never met or corresponded in any way. Saera barreled on. “He said it was absolutely urgent he meet with you, and that he was heading to your estate right now because he couldn’t find out another way to contact you in time. Vera, as soon as I read the letter, it and the envelope burst into flame!” Not a thing letters normally did, nor one Veralisse could have anticipated was within Deacon’s power.
Through the mix of envy and shock, Veralisse’s most strongly felt the urgency that she get herself out of bed and presentable before-
There was yet another commotion from downstairs, and Veralisse flung on a long night jacket and hurtled herself into the hallway, until she reached the balustrade of the grand stairway, just in time to hear her mother say, “-who you think you are to be barging in here over the objections of our butler. Lady Metten has just arrived herself, but she hasn’t-” Her mother followed Deacon’s gaze up to catch Veralisse, and her response was to physically shove Deacon to the side. He didn’t fall. Demons, after all, were stronger than most regular humans and Deacon in particular was a nimble one, but it did serve its purpose to tear his eyes away from a barely-dressed Veralisse, long enough to allow Saera to drag her back behind the safety of the hallway wall.
“I’ll go take care of him. And your mother.” Saera said, shaking Veralisse a little. “You get yourself dressed.”
Veralisse rolled her eyes. “He’s seen me in less.” He had, after all, seen her just a couple weeks ago, in nothing but her undergarments.
“A piece of information I had no desire to learn, and that your reputation demands you keep to yourself from now on.” Saera said with a smooth disgust, misunderstanding completely. “And regardless, I think your mother is on the verge of dramatically fainting, just to get him to leave. You wouldn’t want to encourage her.”
She went down the stairs, telling the duchess in an actually proper tone of voice, “He did send me a letter, your grace. This is Veralisse’s good friend, the demon Deacon. It was why I was in such a hurry to arrive with my news for Veralisse. I suppose my warning was for naught, since he arrived sooner than anticipated. I’m afraid Vera isn’t ready to receive an audience at the moment. May I take him to the sitting room while you inform his grace?”
Veralisse turned around and went back to her room before being able to hear the rest. She stripped off her slip and pulled on her more typical, shirt, trousers, and boots, and was racing down the hallway as fast as possible. She heard voices coming from their public sitting room, and deliberately slowed herself. She creeped closer, and then looked around the corner of the open doorway, trying to make herself inconspicuous. Deacon was sitting back in the sofa, while Saera was perched in the chaise lounge the duchess usually used, back very straight. Veralisse’s parents were nowhere to be seen, but small refreshments had been brought out. They appeared untouched, as Saera glowered at the uninvited guest.
“So you’re the rumored Deacon. She talks about you often, you know.” She heard Saera say, coldly. Every inch of her body was screaming disapproving nobility. She always had managed to look the part in a way Veralisse hadn’t.
The demon just grinned back at her. “I gathered.”
“Oh, not humble I see.” Saera had heard a great deal of Deacon, and had never seemed particularly opposed to the idea of him, so this reaction was a bit unexpected. All the same, Veralisse found a smile creeping onto her face at the exchange.
“I am much too familiar with myself, and with Lisse, to be humble. Would you really hold it against a man that he have some level of confidence?”
“A demon.” Saera corrected, in a prickly fashion.
“If Lisse does not see the difference I do not see why I should be troubled that you do, viscountess.” Deacon sat back, easy as you please, apparently unfazed by the trappings of nobility or the woman across from him. He was lucky her brothers were all occupied taking care of their affairs before the dinner tonight, as they had all heard of Deacon before and were deathly curious about him.
“It does not trouble me, but it does not do to forget it, either. It is not the place of a demon to enter a noble estate, much less the estate of a family famous for killing demons such as you. It would be better for your life, as well as this family’s reputation, if you refrained in the future.” Veralisse had rarely heard Saera so stiff, and suspected the other woman was purposely being more unfriendly than usual for some reason.
Deacon laughed, undeterred. “As you say, I have no intention of repeating my sin, but perhaps the unusual nature of my arrival might give you pause, as to the contents of what I am to relay.”
“And you maintain it is some information you could not have provided in your… rather unusual letter.” Saera asked, flatly.
“It is indeed. It is only for Veralisse’s ears, and I am afraid letters are too easily intercepted. Even magical ones.” He leaned forward, conspiratorially. “As you are Lisse’s dear cousin and closest friend, I shall let you in on a secret. It is not the least bit difficult to create a letter like the one I sent you, so long as you know how to mix a few demonic herbs together.”
Lisse took a step into the room, and cleared her throat, “And where, pray tell, would you learn to do that?”
Deacon smiled at her and stood, genuinely seeming delighted to see her, but his only answer was, “Where would a demon’s mystique be if he revealed all his secrets as soon as he was asked?” His expression became deadly serious as he sat back down and added, “And my actual business is rather urgent, so you will have to question me about this topic at a later date.”
He glanced over at Saera, but she turned her head away and made no move to leave. He shrugged as if it was no big deal after all if she also heard. Veralisse sat next to him, and in a lowered voice, he said, “I have heard that tonight there will be an attack on one of the royals from Halagred.”
Veralisse and Saera both reacted physically, Saera standing up abruptly, and Veralisse pulling back away from Deacon, shock on both their faces. “In fact, I have heard that they arrived early in the first place because an attempt had already been made on the princess’s life.”
“Heard from whom?” Veralisse demanded, standing up as well.
“Does that matter?” He asked, impatiently, but he was staring her in the eyes, tone serious. “Don’t go, Veralisse. Or at the very least go armed. There is no need for you to get caught up in this.”
“Heard from whom, Deacon?” She asked again, harshly, reaching for a sword that was not there.
He shook his head, seeming resigned for a moment. Then he looked up at her and mischievously said, “If you wish to know that, I’m afraid you’ll have to catch me first.” And in a flash, he stood and bounded for the door.
“Wait!” Veralisse called, and Saera bolted towards him, but neither of them made it in time. Veralisse managed to get to the doorway just in time to see him look straight at her with a grin, and vanish in a flash of light.
“You told me he’d never used magic before.” Saera said in the carriage, coming to the party she had not been formally invited to.
“Besides his illusion magic, he hasn’t.” Veralisse said, trying to maintain her patience with Saera.
“So then, was disappearing part of his illusion magic? You said he was a higher level demon, right? But you didn’t know what sort. Now that you’ve seen a bit more of it, do you have a guess for what he is?” She pestered. She’d clearly been dying to ask the questions earlier, but as soon as Deacon had disappeared, the butler had gone to get the master and mistress of the house, and the whole house had been in uproar – an uproar extended by the return of her brothers who each in his turn demanded to know what had happened and began asking a million questions. And by the time everything had settled, it was time for Veralisse to actually get ready for the ball, and Saera had returned to her townhouse to do the same. The duchess had, of course, attempted to explain that the invitation had not specifically included her, but Saera had simply declared that it had been addressed to Veralisse’s entire family, and she was Veralisse’s family, whether the prince had meant her or not.
“No, Saera.” Veralisse said, exasperated. “If it was just illusion magic I’d have been able to see that weird… twisty thing the air does. And I haven’t a clue what types of demons would be able to do that sort of higher level magic. Illusion magic is a minor demon’s game, that’s the only reason I know what it looks like.”
“I thought you were supposed to be my demon expert!” Saera protested.
“What exactly do you think of me?!” Veralisse cried, throwing up her hands. “An upper-level demon hasn’t invaded Denedry since the duchy was established! In fact, the only one I’ve ever seen is Deacon himself.”
“Then how do you know-“
“Because minor demons aren’t articulate, Saera.” Vera snapped. “They’re not terribly smart, certainly not smart enough to speak Fegrin fluently, much less pass as a full-fledged human.”
“What about what he said about the demonic herbs? You told me he was kidnapped here as a child, how would he have learned to manipulate those?” Saera wasn’t done with her pestering, leaning forward in the carriage much closer than Veralisse was comfortable with.
“I don’t know anything about that.” Veralisse turned her face away, trying not to engage Saera with her own worries and questions. “I’ve heard that certain plants that grew in the Death’s Teeth mountain used to be used for potions, but any knowledge of how that’s done has passed beyond human knowledge for centuries. He-” She hesitated. “He did tell me he was kidnapped and brought here, and he told me that when we were first children. But.. but he is a demon after all. He might remember things from back when he lived in his hometown. At least enough to experiment a little. He doesn’t talk about it often, I just assumed it gave him too much pain to.”
“Oh, Death leave it.” Saera swore. “What do you know about Deacon, if you know nothing of his hometown, his abilities, and how he gets his information? You claim you like this demon. You must know something about him.”
Veralisse hit her forehead against the small window, half-wishing one of her brothers had dared ride the viscount’s small two-person carriage with them. At least someone else would have been there to punctuate Saera’s questions. She liked to think she knew plenty of things about Deacon. She knew what sort of person he was at the very least, that he held her in some regard, that his mother had died when he was very young, and that the faire in town that happened in the middle of the summer was his favorite thing. But none of those were the sorts of details Saera was looking for, and when it came to those questions – what was he, what could he do, how did he know all the things he knew – she found herself dissatisfied to realize she could not answer a single one.
“Look Saera,” she finally responded to her awaiting cousin, “I will ask Deacon for an explanation later. For tonight, we need to focus on the princes and the princess from Halagred. Deacon said the princess was already targeted once, so I shall try to stay by her side as much as possible.” She touched the sword at her hip. She had been rather surprised to note that, while the voluminous skirts were certainly no friend to swordplay, the waistline made a comfortable enough spot to put her swordbelt, and the lack of hoops helped the bulk of the sword disappear into the fabric. The hilt and top half were still visible, but at least the weapon didn’t clash with the ensemble in general. Saera had a much less subtle collection of knives clipped to a black belt that just barely matched her dark purple dress.
She was tempted to ask what Saera’s husband thought about that particular set of accessories, but Saera had made it clear from the moment she’d gotten engaged, that her marriage was a taboo subject, and the viscount had seemed to oblige by making as few social appearances as possible.
“Yes yes, I know.” Saera said, with a wave of her hand. “You’ll tell his royal highness to keep watch over the younger prince, and you want me to keep an eye on the older one, correct?”
Veralisse blinked in surprise. “How did you-“
“How long have we been together, Vera? You didn’t tell your father and brothers, but you cannot keep a matter like this a secret from his royal highness. That leaves the three of us, one per royal child. You’ve just told me you’ll watch the princess, and I’ve heard myself that Prince Eillum is the only one among them who is child to the queen, so of course his royal highness would wish to protect the heir. Prince Isviel is known for his swordsmanship, so I need only watch him a little. Come on, then.”
The carriage had stopped, and the door opened to Saera’s coachman. Both women stepped out without his help, which he did not offer. First Saera, then Veralisse. Veralisse had barely taken a step onto the ground before she found a gloved hand stretched out to her.
She looked up to see Remrin smiling at her. As he had said, he was dressed to match in a dark red overcoat and patterned silver waistcoat, though he wore black pants and a white cravat. She was surprised to find his plain white gloves embroidered with red thread, as was his customary flower insignia, on his lapel. She gave a small sigh but stood tall and took his hand.
“Your family has already arrived. They informed me that you would be arriving with the viscountess.”
She half-grimaced, half-smiled at him. “Did they also tell you about our guest today?”
The prince tilted his head to the side curiously, looking at her all the while. “No, was it a very unusual guest?”
His reaction told her nothing useful, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop looking for some sign in his face of an opinion about the matter. “Not entirely unusual. He has been my guest often enough, but not one I have ever seen walk through the door as he did today. Deacon came to see me, with urgent news that he had heard of an attack planned today against the royals from Halagred.”
“I see.” Remrin said, utterly expressionless.
Veralisse waited for some other response, but it didn’t seem like he was interested in saying anything further. They walked from the front door to the entrance to the ballroom while she was waiting for a response. The chamberlain announced them before she could wheedle an answer out of him. “His royal highness, the crown prince Remrin Sevaille, first son of his Majesty King Stephen Andelweed, and his esteemed fiance, only daughter of the Duke of Denedry, future crown princess, Lady Veralisse Rochester.”
Veralisse sighed. “May I assume from your silence that my esteemed fiance was already aware of this attack?”
“I was informed only when the princes and princess arrived this morning. The border guards alerted us that they were early, and Princess Alwe apologized for their unexpected arrival being on her account. They left behind all but their most essential supplies and made haste for our borders as safe harbor. But how did your… friend come by this knowledge?” He wasn’t looking at her, and there was a stiffness to his manner that might have been wariness, or might have meant he was hiding something. The fact that she could not tell which it was, was a little bit maddening.
“Your highness, if you already know of the attack, did you not prepare for it?” She glanced at him with a combination of wariness and skepticism. There was no way he hadn’t made some sort of preparation for this new threat if he’d known about it in advance. Carelessness was not a trait Veralisse had ever associated with Remrin.
“Certainly.” He answered promptly, to her relief. “The best guards have been put on duty tonight, and the palace guard has been increased, but this was not knowledge I wished to turn into rumor, so I have had to move subtly. As we do not yet know the attackers’ motives or identities, there is not much else that can be done at the moment. Besides the those from Halagred themselves, only his Majesty, my aide, and I know the full truth. And it seems now you and your demon friend.”
“And Saera.” Veralisse added, unashamed.
He was as expressionless as before. “I suppose I should not have been surprised that you would also tell the viscountess.”
“I didn’t.” Veralisse snapped slightly, just a little offended that he thought she would. “She was there when Deacon gave me the news. I do not know why he chose to do so, as they have not corresponded previously.”
Remrin was silent for a long moment, so Veralisse took the moment to add, “At any rate, I have tasked her with guarding his highness Prince Isviel, as I thought you would see fit to keep careful watch of his high honor Prince Eillum, and allow me to watch over Princess Alwe. And in that vein, I will be staying in the crown princess’ quarters until this matter is settled.”
The crown prince started slightly, openly surprised. Then after a moment, a wry smile touched his lips. “I am ashamed to admit I am quite jealous of Princess Alwe, to have convinced you to do something I have not been able to.” Veralisse didn’t say anything. It was the easiest thing to do. The foreign royalty would be hosted in guest rooms not far from the crown princess’ quarters, as they would originally have been her responsibility. She hadn’t thought of it until now so she would have to tell her family and Saera.
Thankfully, they did not get much privacy to stand awkwardly in silence, as it did not take long for others to walk up to them and begin introducing themselves and wishing them well. Several of the women made some comment on the unusual extravagance of Veralisse’s dress, but with the prince standing by her side dressed clearly in like kind, the comments were all complimentary, with no snidely polite criticism hidden underneath. This was significantly more peaceful than she was used to, but she would rather deal with her typical portion of snidely polite conversations than feel Remrin perpetually hovering at her shoulder, while she did her best to look away and forget he was there.
Finally, when everyone else invited had arrived, Remrin tapped her hand, just in time for her to hear the doorman announce, “Their highnesses Prince Isviel and Princess Alwe of the Tellerem, and his high honor Prince Eillum of Halagred.” She looked up at the grand doors, which opened to reveal their foreign guests, and even she felt a strange awe at the three who walked in. The three Halagresians walked in one after the other, so it was easy to get a good full look at each one at a time. Prince Isviel was not tall, but his willowy figure made him look taller than he was. He had long, straight, dark blond hair pulled back into a very simple ponytail, and sharp dark blue eyes that seemed to be looking over them all. Princess Alwe’s golden blond hair almost seemed to shimmer under the light of the ballroom chandeliers, and had clearly been intentionally curled a little but kept down, decorated with several tiny artificial flowers. She shared her brother’s dark blue eyes, if much softened; they were still somewhat cold and aloof, but more in an intentionally neutral way than in a haughty one. Her dress made Veralisse green with envy, as it was a plain, dark blue, and clearly a single layer of soft velvet, with conservative long sleeves instead of gloves, and nothing more than a golden silk ribbon around the waist to serve as ornamentation. It looked easy to move in and extremely comfortable, and it suited the princess extremely well, as it did nothing more than accentuate her petite frame and smooth grace. The princess was not only beautiful, but seemed to float over the ground, as if carried by boat rather than the gait of her own feet. And lastly, Prince Eillum arrived, striding into the room like he was impatient with it all, his short hair a sort of burnished auburn, and his dark brown eyes seeming to blaze a path through the crowd as he scanned them all. He was shorter than his brother, and a little darker-skinned, but there was a sort of brazenness to him that seemed to suggest he knew his place was above his elder siblings. All three were dressed more modestly than anyone else in the room besides the servants.
Remrin immediately strode forward to meet them, holding Veralisse’s hand on his arm as he had all evening, and Veralisse found herself unconsciously trying to make her gait a little less unwieldy while somehow also desperately trying not to look as though she was being dragged.
“Lisse, if I may present Prince Isviel, Princess Alwe, and his high honor Prince Eillum. Your highnesses, my fiance, Lady Veralisse, daughter of the Duke of Denedry.” Bows and curtsies were exchanged, and Veralisse was discomfited to find the extravagant sound of her many petticoats rustling being the only sound made among the five of them.
“Lady Lisse.” Prince Eillum said, roughly, reaching out his hand first to receive her own for a polite kiss.
“No, it’s Veralisse.” Veralisse said hastily, pronouncing the first half of her name a bit more slowly than usual so the foreigners could catch it. Prince Eillum looked surprised at having been interrupted, as if he had expected Veralisse not to say anything until all the greetings had been done, but his siblings’ expressions were much more schooled. “Lisse is a nickname I only give leave for demons to use, as they cannot pronounce the first half of my name.” Her expression twitched slightly with displeasure as she glanced at Remrin, who had gotten the nickname from his first meeting with Deacon, and had not given up its usage despite knowing what it meant to use it.
“Lady Veralisse.” Princess Alwe said, stepping in as Prince Eillum had let go of her hand and was eyeing her a bit uncertainly, perhaps at her forwardness or at the mention of demons. “It is a pleasure to meet you and be welcomed to Fegrin.” She spoke fluently, but there was something slightly odd about her pronunciation, some syllables spoken more quickly than they ought to be, others more slowly. She had said “Viera” instead of Vera and oddly seemed to pronounce the “r” with a sort of tap of her tongue, instead of using the more rounded sound they pronounced with their lips. Veralisse was almost tempted to tell the princess she would also give her leave to use the nickname Lisse, but it was too late now not to be construed as an insult.
The brief moment of introduction had apparently given both princes time to recover, and they proceeded with their greetings, Prince Eillum politely declaring that she was beautiful, and Prince Isviel somewhat shortly venturing a compliment about the palace.
When those were done with, Veralisse told them, “I will be staying at the crown princess quarters in the palace tonight. They should not be far from your own guest quarters, so if you should need anything, do not hesitate to send a maid for me.”
The boys exchanged a look again, and again Princess Alwe remained perfectly unfazed, giving another curtsey and replying with a soft, “Thank you, Lady Veralisse. It gives me great comfort that our hosts have offered such generous attention and assistance.”
Veralisse tried not to stare at the princess, suppressing the uncanny feeling that the other woman was not quite human, nor even demon. There was something schooled about her in every way. The way she stood, the way she reacted to any unexpected situation, stepped in for her brothers so that they not be seen as impolite, yet only gave basic and humble responses, never daring to speak for them, only giving them time to make stronger sentiments. Even Prince Remrin didn’t seem so calculated. Veralisse wanted to ask her how she did it.
Remrin finally let go of Veralisse, and subtly drew Prince Eillum away into an innocuous conversation about Halagred’s beauties, and Prince Isviel went with them, leaving the women to themselves. Veralisse tried not to freeze. She’d succeeded in getting a chance to stick with the princess, but she had never really kept the pleased attention of most noble ladies, at least not the proper ones. And Princess Alwe was clearly the proper sort.
It was as if Princess Alwe realized immediately that Veralisse would need help. She began speaking as soon as the silence stretched just a moment longer than Veralisse was comfortable with. “Are you acquainted with many demons, Lady Veralisse?”
Not the topic Veralisse would have expected a proper princess to want to talk about, but one she absolutely could talk about. “Yes, I suppose one could say so. My father’s duchy borders the demon kingdom, and many minor demons come from those parts searching for food, and shelter from the more powerful demons that dwell in the mountains. Left unchecked, they are a very great threat to people of the duchy, but when properly fed, they can be quite tame, friendly even, if not very smart. I’ve befriended a few, though most must be killed of course.”
Princess Alwe somehow managed to look riveted and yet only politely interested at the same time. “You do not mind that many of the demons must be killed when you are friendly with some of them?”
Veralisse was a little surprised by the question, never having even considered the idea that she should feel guilty for killing demons. “Of course not. It is my very great honor to defend my homeland. While a few may be my friends, they are still demons, and they would not hesitate to kill many people if allowed the chance. Before we fought them off, Denedry was almost entirely uninhabitable, much less the peaceful and prosperous land it is now.”
Princess Alwe smiled at her, though still mildly, making it difficult to discern if it was a genuine smile. “You hold great love for your father’s duchy.” She said, in a tone that was not quite a question.
The princess had managed to surprise Veralisse yet again, and Veralisse paused for a second to simply blink at her. She slowly answered, “I do. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
This answer seemed to puzzle the princess slightly. “Not simply because it is your home?” She asked, equally slowly, as if trying to formulate the words with very great caution not to offend.
Veralisse smiled at her, a soft smile that she did not even realize rarely graced her face in noble parties such as this. “It is my home, yes, and where I feel I most belong, but it is also beautiful itself. My father once took me up the Death’s Teeth mountains when I was a little girl. I’d never been before, and he wasn’t supposed to because that’s where the demons come from, but we sneak trips when it’s safe. It was just the two of us, and I was fascinated with the mountain, but he sat me down and told me, ‘Look back home, Vera.’ And that’s when I saw it.” She was gesturing along with her story, but not really telling the princess anymore, seeing it so clearly in her mind’s eye as she tried to map it out with her hands. “The small strip of grass we’d walked through to get there, sand on either side and past those, the sea as far as the eye could see, sunlight glancing off the water in a million different directions. But beyond that, there was home. The barricades and nets we set up to ward off the demons, but also wooden houses, streets of stone, the tiny forms of people going this way and that, my family’s manor bordering the edge of the sea, and fields beyond the town, green and yellow plants in neat rows waving with the salty breeze. I’d seen all of it before, of course, but not from that height, not from the mountains as the demons must have seen it. And my father told me, that this was what we protected. That without us, that land would be black with the bodies of minor demons, plant life worthlessly damaged, and all other living things consumed as fast as they arrived.” She stopped and properly addressed Princess Alwe again, as she explained. “Ever since then, protecting Denedry and its people is all I have ever wanted. There is nothing more I could ask for.”
The princess had half a smile on her face, as well, but astutely asked, “But do your duties as crown princess not interfere with your duties towards your home? Is it not left defenseless even now?”
The smile half dropped from Vera’s face. “Demons aren’t as active in the hot months. The knights should be enough to hold the barricades while we attend the season. And I have six older brothers, your highness, I’m sure they will do very well without me when I become crown princess.” She stopped herself from saying “if,” but it was hard for her to assert that her brothers would be enough. It was true they didn’t require her help, but that was still what she wanted to do, more than anything, and she knew it showed. She tried to recover it somehow. “His royal highness has always been very understanding about my duties towards Denedry.” She knew how flat that fell, but the princess didn’t seem to notice.
“It is difficult for me to imagine someone who would not be moved by a story such as yours.” She replied, smoothly.
Veralisse found herself pausing again, but this time because she realized, “He has never heard it. No one has. His royal highness has never needed a reason, and the only others who have asked, simply wish to question my right to fight as the men do.”
“That is a shame. It is a beautiful story.” Princess Alwe declared, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world that everyone should be deeply interested in Vera’s personal motivations for fighting. She continued, as if knowing Vera wouldn’t know what to say to that. “Many noblewomen in Halagred are expected to know how to fight, should the occasion arise that they must protect their homes and children, if their husbands cannot.”
Veralisse took a good look at her, a little interested in learning this about Halagred. Noblewomen were not expected to fight at all in Fegrin. “What if they do not obtain husbands or children?”
Princess Alwe was still not shaken, but her response held that same calm matter-of-fact tone she had used to declare Vera’s story beautiful. “Such a thing would be a great misfortune indeed. One can only hope that the Sun of the Desert would have pity on such a lady, as he did with my aunt.”
“Your aunt?” Veralisse asked, confused a little, and surprised, as she had not pegged Princess Alwe for a gossip. “Prince Isviel’s mother? She was taken into the palace because she could not find a husband?”
Princess Alwe seemed equally surprised and confused by Veralisse’s response. “Taken into the palace? Why would his Majesty take a woman other than his wife into the palace? He gave Lady Ellevian the gift of a prince, in his wisdom and benevolence, but far be it from even the Sun of the Desert to dishonor the queen to take a different wife.”
Veralisse had to stop herself from asking outright if Halagred did not have concubines. She’d assumed as much once she’d heard confirmation that Prince Isviel and Princess Alwe had different mothers, but she now got the impression the princess would actually be offended if she asked such a thing. She swallowed and instead carefully said, “My apologies, your highness. It appears my knowledge of Halagred’s rule is insufficient.”
She waved a hand in response, not skipping a beat. “As is my knowledge of Fegrin, I am sure.” Just from their short time together, Veralisse got the vaguest impression that the princess knew everything there was to know about the customs of the Fegrin nobility, and possibly the same for every country the royal envoy had passed through. The princess made this impression worse by then meticulously explaining, “The Sun of the Desert takes and marries one queen, and if she gives him heirs, she will be his only queen even into death. But in his Majesty’s many surveys of the realm, he may grant any unmarried, willing virgin his favor, and peasant or lady the birth of a prince or princess would bring her great honor. My aunt is now well-married to the-” she seemed to struggle with the right word for a moment, before carefully continuing, “land-master of the East Mountain of the Tellerem. My mother swore her body to the Sun of the Desert after the birth of her second royal child, and his Majesty visits her when he goes to that region. We, the royal children, are raised by her Majesty Moon of the Mountains. His Majesty protects his land and his people. Her Majesty protects his home and his children. His Majesty flower of the realm shows great strength in having done both for many years. His royal highness must feel blessed to have so mighty a woman as yourself as his future queen.”
Veralisse bit her lip and said, “You flatter me, your highness.” And then began to prove the princess’s assessment entirely wrong by awkwardly working her way through a change of subject about Fegrin’s cuisine. Princess Alwe continued to astound her by slipping into the conversation as though it had been the topic all along, and the golden-haired princess spent the night accommodating Veralisse’s every awkward attempt at conversation. Veralisse almost felt bad for her. She did note with some satisfaction that the crown prince spent the night introducing the princes to everyone, and the one time Prince Isviel strayed from them, Saera engaged him in conversation. If Princess Alwe noticed Veralisse paying them specific attention, she made no indication of it. The two of them were frequently approached by other ladies, but most of them were much too busy trying to impress the princess to be unpleasant. All the same, Veralisse was exhausted by the end of it. It was difficult to imagine how the crown prince had managed this sort of thing year after year, for every occasion and guest.
It felt like it had been a year by the time the ball was finished, and as people filed out of the palace, Veralisse smiled at Princess Alwe, a little awkwardly. “May I escort you back to your chambers, your highness?” She asked. The princess had not once questioned Veralisse’s presence by her side throughout the night, though perhaps she thought it only Veralisse’s duty. She nodded graciously, and the two of them began their way through one of the doors and down the hall, away from the string of people leaving. Veralisse found herself glancing back at the others once. She had been to the palace before, and been acquainted with the guest quarters and crown princess quarters, but only as part of any duties or formalities associated with her position; she was used to leaving on a night like this, not taking a side corridor while others left. Come to think of it, she had never paid much attention to what the royal family did when a ball was mostly over.
“Veralisse?” Remrin said from behind her in the dark hallway. She turned sharply and gracelessly stumbled over her voluminous skirts for a moment, slamming one foot on the floor and throwing her arms out to balance herself. Unfortunately, the motion caused her to slap away Remrin’s outstretched hand as he tried to steady her.
“My apologies.” Veralisse said on instinct, taking a moment to right herself all the way.
Remrin took one of her hands without the slightest indication that he’d registered the previous slap, unintentional as it was. He bowed to Princess Alwe. “I hope you do not mind, your highness, but there’s been a problem with your room. A maid broke the vase and it has yet to be cleaned. Allow me to direct you to a different room for tonight.”
Veralisse gave the prince a look, but the princess curtsied, strangely knowingly. “Your generosity is boundless.”
Though the journey to the other prepared room was short, the crown prince kept up a politely distant conversation with the princess, allowing Veralisse to finally breathe. She found herself unwinding with every step, the tension from the night bleeding away. The two of them bade the princess good night, and were silent for a moment. Then, Veralisse looked over at Remrin.
“Would his royal highness condescend to explain what really happened to Princess Alwe’s room?” She asked with a raised brow. He hadn’t let go of her hand, and for once she was grateful for it. It was a steadying force against her exhaustion.
“The evening was peaceful, but I expect if anyone would wish to attack the princess, it would be on the night the Halagresians were first put on display. And as you have so graciously agreed to stay in the palace for tonight-“
“For the season.” Veralisse interrupted, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. “Or at least until it is certain that our guests from Halagred are not in danger.”
Remrin seemed to hesitate for a moment, and she heard him say under his breath, “Our guests?” But he gave her no time to reply, before nodding. “Very well. As you have agreed to stay in the palace until our present crisis is over, I thought you might occupy Princess Alwe’s room for tonight in case someone… comes to visit. Or that was what I thought, but I must have been a fool, not to have anticipated that you might wish for true rest for-“
“Enough.” Veralisse snapped at him. “I am a bit taxed, but staying in someone else’s room is a little enough feat. Fear not. I have demon’s blood in me, after all. I shan’t die so easily. Better I be bait than the princess.”
For a long while, Remrin said nothing, and the silence was so uncomfortable that Veralisse finally looked over at him. He was looking down at the floor, expression slightly tight. She nudged him, and he gave her a slight smile. “Demon’s blood or not, I would not have you risk your life. Do not forget that you are also one day to be a princess.”
She sighed, but did not have the energy to argue with him. Instead, she told him, “Mother will send a maid with my valise of personal effects and a few dresses. Unless your royal highness insists my wardrobe is entirely insufficient for my stay at the palace.”
His expression had still not quite softened from its slightly tight smile. “I apologize again for tonight. I anticipated that you might not have anything suitable to receive foreign guests on such short notice, and that was what was had on hand.” When she gave him a skeptical look, he laughed a bit and clarified. “My sister embroidered the outer layer for practice some years ago, and bought the red dress saying that she wished to be prepared with a wedding present. In case we eloped, I believe it was.” He laughed again, and so did Veralisse. It was just like Princess Aquilet to think it even possible that the crown prince might run off and marry whenever and however he wished. “I will not keep you longer for tonight, but if you would, I suspect it will help us both if we discuss future wardrobe arrangements together soon. Perhaps tomorrow? My sister takes her tea in the garden. You can imagine she would be quite devastated if we left her out of the planning.”
Veralisse gave him a tired smile. “Till tomorrow then.” And then she disentangled her hand, swept into the room, and shut the door in his face.
She looked morosely around the dark space. As expected of the palace, it was spacious and elegantly furnished, with the first half of the room acting as a little sitting room, an open doorway leading to the bedroom. There was no balcony attached to the room, but extremely beautiful large windows allowed white moonlight to cast eerie shadows through the whole room. The crown princess quarters were much more extravagant, involving an interconnected set of study, living quarters, a storage room, and two sitting rooms, but Veralisse was almost grateful for this switch tonight. The looming threat of a potential attack was nowhere near as intimidating as the constant reminder that she was far from escaping the role of crown princess.
She sighed and sat on the bed. The maids had turned down the bed, but a trunk Veralisse didn’t recognize still sat at the foot of the bed. The crown prince really must not have told anyone about his plan to have them switch rooms. Unfortunately, this also meant that the luggage her mother had sent for was sitting in the wrong room, with no way for her to retrieve it. She grabbed the dress to rip it into something more comfortable, but the crown prince’s explanation gave her pause. She would happily rip a dress from the crown prince, especially since she knew he wouldn’t mind, but Princess Aquilet would be devastated.
Instead, Veralisse sighed and began the laborious process of gently extricating herself from the dress, before folding it neatly, sword on top of the dress, both of which she stashed slightly under the bed. She stood in the room with her undergarments for a moment, then gave up thinking of a way to make slipshod night clothes, and slipped under the covers. She was fast asleep before another thought could enter her mind.
Veralisse didn’t know how long she managed to sleep before her red eyes flashed open in the dark. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what had woken her, but then she felt a cool breeze tickle her face. The window was open. She knew it hadn’t been open when she’d fallen into bed, and no servant in their right mind would come in the middle of the night to open the window.
She groaned and rolled over, as if doing it in her sleep, but her arm hung off the bed, hand grasping for her sword. She heard the faintest shift of cloth, and jerked upwards, pulling the sword from its sheath and brandishing it towards the sound. A black-clad figure stood between the bed and the window, holding a knife in his hand, but had frozen in surprise. he wasn’t surprised for long. Apparently immediately recognizing that she was not the right target, the man shot towards the window. Flinging the covers from her frame, Veralisse jumped from the bed, sword in hand. “Oh no you don’t.” She muttered, even as she launched herself out the window after him.
The two of them were on the third story, but if the assassin had made it up here in the first place, he had to have a safe way down, as well. The man caught himself on a ledge Veralisse could barely see in the dark, and Veralisse had to twist herself around, reaching out her free hand to grab his clothes. The motion startled him, and he let go, both of them hurtling towards the ground with barely a second to spare. With a grunt of effort, Veralisse wrestled him under her just in time for them to slam into the palace’s perfectly manicured front garden.
The man landed with a hard thump and Veralisse thought she heard a crack, even as she was thrown and had to roll to break her fall. It was a miracle her naked sword hadn’t seriously injured either of them, though there was a cut on her chin from where it had nicked her as she’d rolled. A little winded, Veralisse scrambled upwards and pointed her sword at the man’s neck. “Guards!” She roared.
The man tried to move for her, but recoiled in pain, holding his chest with a groan.
“What’s happening?” “Who’s there?” She heard male voices say. She glanced around to see guards approaching and relaxed slightly.
This happened to be a mistake, as the assassin took her distraction to leap for her, knocking the sword from her hand as they tumbled farther into the garden. He tried to pin her down, only to discover, as others had before him, that Lady Veralisse Rochester was stronger than the average man, and simply rolled over him, pressing her forearm into his neck. “Guards!” She yelled again, a little quieter this time because she was breathing hard. “Someone has attempted to assassinate the princess!”
The man under her gave a groan that sounded like it might have been a swear word, and one of his arms swooped up to jab at her side with a small knife. She dodged, avoiding anything more than a minor cut, but it allowed the man to get some leverage to shove her over. Desperate, wasn’t he? Veralisse jammed her fist into his likely broken ribs and he let out a cry, collapsing on top of her. It didn’t take long for her to pull herself up and plant her bare foot on his chest, pressing slightly. “Who are you?” She demanded, harshly. “Why are you trying to kill the princess?”
The soldiers finally arrived, surrounding the man with bare swords. “Answer me!” Veralisse pressed her foot down a bit farther, eliciting another groan of pain.
“Lisse!” She turned to see the crown prince dashing forward to join the guards. Unfortunately, he wasn’t alone. Curious servants and guests were trickling out of the door, others popping their heads out their windows.
She lifted her foot from the assassin’s chest, and took several steps away, letting the guards take the main attention. Remrin reached forward and wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. She was slightly surprised to see genuine distress in his silver eyes, but she placed a hand on his arm, applying a gentle pressure to convince him to let her go, eyes flicking towards the more important matter.
He released her gently, and she oddly observed the concern in his expression stiffening into regal displeasure, as he turned his gaze on the assassin and the men surrounding him. “Who is this man?” He asked the closest guard. “Reveal his face to the light.”
Torches were brought, as the man was pulled roughly upright. He didn’t look familiar to anyone. One of the guards from Halagred even stepped forward to confirm that this wasn’t the same man who had attacked the group before arriving in Fegrin. A quick search of the man’s person revealed nothing identifiable. Underneath a black cloak, his clothes were nondescript, the sort of thing a small-time merchant might wear, and he had brown eyes and black hair, the only immediately noticeable thing about his features being a scar on his neck, as though someone had slashed his throat. He had three small knives on him as well as a medium-length straight blade. Those were all made in the Fegrin style, and looked of average workmanship, with no symbols cut into either the knives or their scabbards.
One guard shook the man, “Identify yourself, intruder.”
The man ignored him, as he had ignored all the other questions before then.
From behind them, Veralisse heard people whisper, “I heard Lady Veralisse say he tried to kill the princess.”
“The princess? Princess Aquilet? Who would dare attack Princess Aquilet?!”
“No, I think she meant Princess Alwe. Of Halagred.” And so on it went.
Remrin twisted his body slightly as if to receive the rumors, but directed his question to Veralisse. “My Lady Veralisse, are you certain that this man intended to harm Princess Alwe of Halagred?”
She tried not to roll her eyes at him, following his lead and speaking clearly for everyone to hear. “I am certain. As per your royal highness’ request, I stayed in Princess Alwe’s room tonight without anyone else being informed of the change. The man entered through the window, and approached the bed with a knife. When he saw my face, he simply attempted to leave. His objective since then has merely been to escape me, not kill me. I cannot imagine his target could have been anyone other than her highness Princess Alwe.”
An attempt on the life of a foreign dignitary was grounds for immediate execution. Veralisse’s words stirred up more gasps and whispers, rather than quenching them, and Veralisse and Remrin locked eyes for a moment, knowing what was going to have to happen next, at least with this many witnesses.
“Your highness.” The guard who had shaken the prisoner took a step back and lifted his sword, the guards holding the man pressing him forward to allow easy access to his neck. “If your royal highness would permit, I can dispatch this assassin immediately.”
Remrin’s expression did not outwardly change, but for a moment, Veralisse thought she sensed frustration and indecision in it.
In the midst of all this, no one expected to hear a clear, but not raised voice command, “Stop.”
Everyone turned to look at Princess Alwe, growing quiet at the sight of her. She stood in the red torchlight exactly as she had in the banquet hall, hands folded in front of her, back perfectly straight, not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in her lacy nightgown. She began walking towards the intruder, and it seemed as though she glided across the rough ground, the rustling of her nightgown providing the only sound in the respectful silence. No one tried to stop her. The soldier who’d had his sword raised just a moment ago took several steps back when she got close.
She looked down at her would-be assassin and knelt slightly, gently taking hold of his hands and drawing him to his feet. “What grievances do you have against me?”
He glowered at her suspiciously, before finally speaking. His voice was a low, rough growl, and it sounded as if speaking gave him some pain. “Do you really think I would tell a foreign spy anything?”
The princess’ expression did not change much, but it seemed to soften slightly, as though she were looking at a child, “I suppose that would be too much to ask indeed.” She turned towards the prince and Veralisse and addressed them instead, “It seems this man’s trouble is with my country, not with this people. I am sure you will interrogate him as you see fit, but please, do not execute him on my account. There is no need to shed blood over so small a thing. As it is my personal request, my father would take no offense at this attempt on my life remaining unavenged.” No one knew what to say to that, but she seemed unfazed by their confusion.
The golden-haired princess turned away and began to walk back to the palace, and only Veralisse was bold enough to call after her. “He just tried to kill you. Does that really not matter to you?”
Princess Alwe stopped and turned to look at her. Her tone was stately, dark blue eyes meeting the passion of Veralisse’s red ones with a stillness Veralisse found frankly creepy. “If a man draws his sword against me, no one would fault me for drawing my own. But if violence begets vengeance, vengeance also begets vengeance. It is easy for the powerful to spill the blood of the weak. I would rather turn that man’s sword into my shield, no matter how much more difficult that might be.” And with that cryptic little message, she left.
Veralisse stared after her, nonplussed, but the strange hush the princess had brought with her seemed to lift. Guards dragged the man to the dungeons, the onlookers dispersed, whether to return to their work or their beds. Veralisse looked to Remrin. His gaze was turned inward, mind obviously churning. She interrupted him anyways. “How could she say not to execute an obvious criminal? It will be seen as weakness on our part.” She asked, voice soft so that the people around them wouldn’t listen to their conversation.
Remrin shook his head, still half-thinking. “‘On her account.'” He said.
“What?” Veralisse asked.
“She didn’t say not to execute him. She said not to do it on her account. In preventing his execution for the crime of attempting to assassinate a foreign dignitary, we may focus our attention on the crimes he might have committed against Fegrin. We may look for other conspirators, or use him to weed out problematic figures who would take advantage of an attack against a member of the nobility. Or, if he is a true patriot, we might be able to use a loyal citizen with his skills. Halagred is not our enemy, but cannot be counted amongst our allies, either. Our internal affairs are of more consequence than our relationship with Halagred, to the benefit of all countries to the east.” He finally met Vera’s eyes, and there was a strange smile on his face, a light Veralisse recognized as admiration. “Wisdom’s princess, indeed. Perhaps she has earned her name.”
Veralisse sat on the bed in the crown princess quarters. She’d attempted to return to the bedroom she’d been in, but the crown prince had told a maid to escort her to the crown princess chambers and to call the royal physician for her, and she could not find an adequate reason to object to either. So here she was. The bed was bigger, the furniture was more elaborate, and there was a wide balcony overlooking the inner courtyard gardens, a privileged and intimate area of the castle. As before, she made no effort to light the room. She was still dressed in her undergarments, even though she now had access to her own trunk.
She was tired, and she suspected badly bruised as well, but that she could handle. The events of the past couple weeks were different. The crown prince insisting they spend more time together, Deacon’s mysterious new magical abilities, an attack specifically on a princess from Halagred, not to mention Remrin’s attitude towards the princess after her last comment. Something about it unsettled her, but she wasn’t certain what. She dropped her head into her hands with a sigh.
She only had a few moments to sit and think, before there was a light knock at her door, and then, without waiting for an answer, Princess Aquilet came practically flying into the room. Princess Aquilet was younger than Veralisse by four years, but Veralisse always felt like she was much younger. Everything about her was soft. Her round face still in the process of losing its baby fat, soft silver hair that fell in gentle waves. She shared the shape of her brother’s eyes, and of course their silver hue, but those eyes never held that strange intentness that so disturbed Veralisse about Remrin’s eyes.
She tackled Veralisse with a hug, and Vera bit back a swear as the princess somehow managed to make her aware of several bruises she’d been quite deftly ignoring just a moment earlier. “Are you alright?” The little princess asked, thankfully letting go and looking up at her worriedly. “Rem said you’d been hurt. I brought the physician with me.”
That stupid prince making an ass of her again. “I’m fine.” Veralisse said, patting Princess Aquilet on the head gently. “His royal highness exaggerates. I was only a little bruised.”
“Might I be the judge of that, my lady?” The physician asked, not unkindly, directing her to lie down. He had her tell him where it hurt, and then checked her for bruises, sprains and broken bones. He then put a little salve on her chin, and the same for a cut he’d discovered on her side, likely where the assassin had tried to stab her earlier. With a smile, he pronounced, “As my lady guessed, you are in perfectly good health, other than a few cuts and bruises, some of which I suspect are not from this most recent attack at all. I’m sure my lady shall be fully healed with just a little rest.” He was talking mostly to the princess, who was still sitting anxiously by Vera’s bedside.
“You see?” Vera said, to her. “I shall be perfectly fine. And I shall join you for tea tomorrow. Did his royal highness tell you we were planning to join you?”
Princess Aquilet gave a tentative smile, still mostly looking worried. “Well, yes he did. He said that it was to discuss your wardrobe this season.” She didn’t seem the least bit concerned about why Veralisse would want a new wardrobe for the season. “And I should be happy to help, only if you are certain you would not prefer to rest tomorrow.”
Veralisse shook her head. “I’m sure I shall be forced to rest much more than I wish tomorrow. I should be happy to stretch my legs and join you for tea.”
The princess smiled with a genuine sort of pleasure, and gave a curtsey of thanks that always made Veralisse vaguely uncomfortable. But in a moment, her countenance changed, a little pout settling on her lips as she said, “Everyone says it was Rem’s plan to have the two of you switch rooms, and I am grateful Princess Alwe is alright, but he should know better than to use you this way.” She jabbered on. “He could have asked a guard be stationed there or simply had the room be vacant. It isn’t right, risking a future crown princess this way. Had you gotten seriously injured, he never would have forgiven himself. Nor should he.” She added for good measure, “And nor would I.”
Veralisse laughed just a little. “And how would your highness have punished him?”
“Hah.” The little princess pompously declared. “Who would know better how to punish him than his own sister? I should refuse to let him see you, and run off to demon country, until he’s decided to renounce anything that might put you in danger.”
Veralisse laughed again, and flung her arms around Princess Aquilet, wincing slightly as the sudden motion brought out a somewhat abused shoulder. “My dear princess, it is my honor to be placed in danger for the sake of the kingdom and my crown prince. It would be his failing not to use my skills in times such as these. You cannot demand such foolishness from him.”
“Are you my brother’s knight?” The princess replied pertly.
“If only!” Veralisse cried, brightly. “I’d be far better suited to that than his fiance.”
“Well you are his fiance, and not his knight.” Princess Aquilet declared, with an air of finality to it. “And he should treat you as such.”
“The matter was to be kept quiet.” Veralisse explained patiently. “It was not something he could have planned with simply anyone.”
“Trusting you is not reason enough.” Princess Aquilet said, tone just as displeased as before.
“It was not a matter of trust.” Veralisse laughed again, before stopping herself from explaining further. Princess Aquilet did not know about Deacon, so it would have been difficult to explain how she already knew of a potential attack. Thankfully, the princess didn’t ask for a further explanation.
“Of course it was.” She said, confidently. “He is that sort of person after all.”
“And what sort of person would that be, your highness?” Veralisse asked, though more because she expected the princess’s response to be amusing than because she really wanted to know the answer.
Princess Aquilet rolled her eyes, “You know perfectly well that everything happens exactly as he expects it will. No doubt he told only you, Emer, and father.” She shook her head. Emer was the name of the crown prince’s aide, and the princess spoke of him often, but Veralisse rarely remembered that was his name, and her attempt to remember meant she hadn’t a moment to respond before Princess Aquilet barreled on. “And never a word to me, as if I don’t matter. This is what he gets for it. I would have him stay away from you for the rest of the season, but I suppose his presence is necessary tomorrow.” She said with a long-suffering sigh. “And we’ll be holding a more formal ball for the delegates as originally planned in a month’s time. The two of you have to look perfect. Did you know the Duchess of Deardrew kept asking me last night what I thought of Halagred and if I might not be amenable to visiting, supposing I had someone to escort me. As if I’m a child who doesn’t know any better that marriage is what she was speaking of. Hah! We ought to show them.”
“That is much to presume, your highness.” Veralisse attempted to placate, “I myself would be curious to see Halagred. Perhaps the duchess was only making polite conversation.”
“Well it wasn’t polite for long. I made sure of that.” The princess stood and put her hands on her hips proudly. “Now rest, so you can be ready to plan your battlewear tomorrow!”
“Yes, my general.” Veralisse laughed, as the princess flounced from the room just as vigorously as she’d entered it.
Somewhat energized by the princess’s own enthusiasm, Vera stood and began rummaging through her trunk to find her nightgown, but had barely even begun when a voice floated in from the balcony door in the other room, which she had not even realized had been open. “She seems to rather love you.”
Veralisse stood up, still in her underclothes, and looked over at the balcony, but she recognized the voice, and was not alarmed. She took her time, wrapping a small blanket around her shoulders before stepping around the bed and around the empty doorway. Her bare feet touched the cold stone of the balcony floor, but she did not flinch. There he was, sitting on the thick stone railing of the balcony, looking off towards the carefully manicured Queen’s Jungle. She came to sit beside him with a little laugh, “She’d kill you, you know. On the spot. A strange demon boy, breaking into the palace to visit her brother’s beloved fiance? She’d vaporize you before you even gave her your name.”
Deacon chuckled. “You forget that few possess your ability to spot a demonic illusion. As far as she’d see, I’d be no more than a strange man sitting on your balcony.”
“Even worse.” Veralisse said, grinning slightly. “She’d scream loud enough to daze you, and use the opportunity to knock you off the balcony.”
He threw back his head and laughed, “Do you really believe a little princess capable of something like that?”
Smile widening, she asked, “Would you like me to call her back to see?”
“Far be it from me to test the royal wrath.” He conceded, with a twinkle in his eye, before wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
Veralisse leaned her head on his shoulder, trying to just enjoy the moment, but she had too many questions. Too much had happened in so short a time. She looked up at him, and he looked down at her and smiled. “What is it?” He asked her. It was annoying how sweet he seemed even when asking a dull question.
She grabbed his cheek in her fingers and pulled slightly, even as she asked, “How did you know? That Princess Alwe was going to be attacked.”
He shook his head, half-laughing as he tried to break free of her pinch. “I have my sources.”
He did not succeed, but she frowned at him. “I’m serious, Deacon. You’re lucky I haven’t pushed you off the balcony myself after all of that nonsense earlier today. I’ve never questioned you before. I know there are things you can’t tell me. But this…” She shook her head and let go of his cheek, tugging the corner of the blanket more firmly around her shoulders. She hesitated for a moment, unsure what she was really trying to ask him, surveying his forgettable face for some sign that he understood what was making her so uneasy. All she saw in his face was a reflection of her own unease. His eyebrows creased in confusion, and he opened his mouth, but seemed hesitant about what to answer, more because he couldn’t quite seem to understand what her question was…. anymore than she did.
She scowled at him again, but reached up to smooth the wrinkles from his forehead, speaking again, this time with a little more composure. “I’m too tired to fight with you today. So let us say I’ll let you off if you give me just one answer. How did you know Princess Alwe was going to be attacked today? What sort of magic made you disappear in front of my eyes? Death and fire, Deacon, how are you even in the palace right now?” She stared at him, waiting for an answer. She’d given him options at least.
He seemed to relax a little, and smiled, but did not answer right away, looking up at the sky. “I apologize my attitude has upset you, Lisse. There are things I still cannot tell you, but my discovery of Princess Alwe’s plight is not one of them, I suppose, when one thinks about it. The short answer is that when the foreign royals arrived early, I looked into why, and intercepted a message from a foreign courier attempting to sneak across the border. The language was cryptic, I believe partially because it was one of a series of coordinating messages, but I worked out that something had been planned for today… and the messenger’s missive was to inform the attacker to target Princess Alwe specifically. But since I intercepted the messa-“
“Of course, you weren’t certain if the entire party would still be in danger.” Veralisse finished for him with a short nod, head somehow having made its way back onto his shoulder as he’d spoken. His response didn’t answer how he managed to intercept the message, but it wasn’t a completely ambiguous answer.
But he went on. “As for the new magic I used today. I have a confession to make.” She craned her head up at his, but he wasn’t looking at her. “I’ve been trying for some years now, to find any literature I could to recreate demonic spells and potions. This is not the first time I’ve used them in my work… I suppose I just hoped I’d never have to use them with you, but the situa-“
“Why not?” Veralisse realized a second too late that she’d snapped the question sharply, and ashamed, glued her eyes onto her fingers.
There was only a brief silence, but when he spoke again, she could hear a smile in Deacon’s voice. “I suppose I did not like the idea of you knowing how weak I really am. You’ve always spoken as if guessing I was of some great race of demon. In my pride, I could only think that I would prove you wrong if you knew that all I am capable of is a handful of worked-out spells and potions.” He laughed and shook his head. “In truth, I would not even have enough demonic herbs to make potions with if his royal highness had not allowed me access to the Royal Greenhouse.” Now properly smirking at her, he pulled a small badge out of an inner pocket of his jacket.
Veralisse gasped and snatched it from his fingers, pulling away from him to get a better look at it in the moonlight. It was a square medallion, affixed to a ribbon clearly meant to be worn around the neck. Only certain people were allowed in the Royal Greenhouse – even she’d never been inside – and if this badge gave him access to those, it was little wonder he’d been allowed in the inner gardens. “I should light you on fire.” She said incredulously, staring at it. “What spell did you use to convince the crown prince to let a demon into the Royal Greenhouse?”
He gently pried it from her fingers and placed it back inside his jacket. “No spells. But I’m afraid what I’ve traded for this trinket is a part of things I cannot tell you.”
She gave a sort of dissatisfied, and frankly rude, harrumph, and removed herself from the railing to plop her butt on the balcony floor. The cold stung even through the blanket, but she was too stubborn to move back into the warmth of his arms. Giving Deacon her best, red-eyed glare, she petulantly said, “I see I’ve misjudged the depth of your relationship with the crown prince. It seems far greater than my relationship with either of you.”
He laughed, and sprung off the balcony railing to crouch close in front of her face. “Rest assured, our greatest connection is for business alone. He simply needs some… demonic help with it.”
Veralisse reached out and pinched both of his cheeks in her fingers again, letting the blanket slip right off her shoulders for the satisfying feeling of punishing him a little for his mysterious nonsense. “I swear, someday I shall make you tell me everything, and then perhaps give his royal highness a royal kick for making you keep his secrets. I have enough troubles reading his blank expressions and waiting for your own secrets to be revealed. Him adding to your burdens simply gives me half a mind to kick him now.”
Deacon grabbed her hands to still them a little, still laughing. “And now I’ve answered all your questions. Is your wrath satisfied?”
She pressed her lips together, but did not pull away. “My wrath, perhaps. But someday, when I know what precisely I have to be angry for, I might lay blood and knives on your table.”
“I should not hesitate to pay you back in gold.” He said, leaning his forehead on hers. “Veralisse…” He sighed quietly. “I know I’ve asked it of you for too long, but trust me just a little longer. At least a little longer, and then you can lay all the blood and knives you wish on my table.”
She knocked her head against his lightly. “Very well, sir. I’ll be patient a little longer. For your gold.”
Tea with Princess Aquilet wasn’t quite like tea with anyone else. Veralisse even felt she could tolerate the crown prince when it was just the two of them and the little princess. Her energy made it relaxing, oddly, as though the princess was sucking them both dry of any need to control the conversation. Prince Remrin sat back drinking a nice wine instead of tea, and Veralisse let Princess Aquilet spread papers with a dizzying number of dress drawings on it all over the immaculate white garden table.
Veralisse had always hated it when dressmakers visited the estate, but she found herself drawn in by the princess’ vision. “You needn’t wear silver and red the entire season. I think as an introduction, it was quite proper, even if it was a bit of a waste of my wedding gift,” she was chattering on, “but I did think you looked very well in that waistline. The dresses you brought for the season should do well enough for outings or more private gatherings, no one expects you to dress more than just so, and I dare say it should set tongues wagging if you suddenly chose to dress much more nicely during your regular gatherings, but what do you think about attending an operetta in something like this?”
She tapped one drawing with the glass pen in her hand. The thing she’d pointed at looked honestly fairly simple among the designs, completely absent any ruffles, and largely black in color. It had a high and distinct waist and full skirts, but the only real decorations to the gown was a splash of white on the bodice covering her chest, and red roses dotted all over the skirt. “It’s… pretty.” Veralisse said, with a sort of laugh. It was much more bold and flashy than anything she usually wore, but it didn’t appear more burdensome, and she’d been fully expecting much worse.
Princess Aquilet took that lukewarm agreement enthusiastically, “Excellent. It pairs so easily with a black suit with a white cravat, and Rem’s flower in your red. Your brooch should accent nicely on the black, black slippers shouldn’t be difficult to obtain, and for the jewelry, more simple pieces with silver and rubies. Yesterday’s necklace was nice, but I was quite upset I hadn’t a chance to see it on you beforehand, because you were so shiny I felt as though your lovely skin got swallowed by it. I got a bit excited since such pretty things would just melt into my skin and hair. I hope you’ll forgive me.” She stood briefly from her seat to give a sort of distracted curtsy of apology, and took a large, unladylike swig of tea. She then reached for a different drawing, setting the black dress drawing to a side Veralisse guessed was meant to be the approved pile.
A small cough to the left made Veralisse look over at the crown prince. He had brought his glass to his lips, so she couldn’t see his expression fully, but there was a sort of fond twinkle in his eyes that she’d only ever really believed when it was about his sister. He glanced up and saw her looking at him, and perhaps it was the wine, but he didn’t look away or change his expression. For half a second, Veralisse smiled back at him. One of the few things they agreed upon was how healing Princess Aquilet’s energy was. Then, the princess called her again to give her opinion on a different dress, this time for the ball the crown princess usually hosted to mark the start of the mid-summer faire.
A few more dresses in, Veralisse put her head on the table, and with a long breath asked, “Princess, when exactly did you see a milliner to design all these? You can’t have possibly called one to draw these in one night.”
The princess waved carelessly. “Mia and I sit down after designing mine to think of things that might suit you.”
With a huff of exasperated laughter, Veralisse threw up her hands. “What for?!”
“Well, you can’t very well continue to wear your aunt’s stripped-down hand-me-downs when you become queen, can you?” Princess Aquilet said, distractedly sifting through more papers. “What of this one?” She thrust forward a drawing of an extravagant golden dress. While the overall shape was more slim, with fitting long sleeves and less poofy skirts, the bodice was clearly made up of several layers overlapping each other, and the skirts were layered, each layer a different length to reveal a different section of a veritable tapestry of embroidery.
“For what?!” Veralisse almost jumped, trying to imagine herself in something like that. It would definitely show off how tall she was, but as for the rest of it…
“You’re right. Gold isn’t your color.” Princess Aquilet said, snatching the drawing back, and eyeing Veralisse shrewdly. Vera was about to dump her head back onto the table, resigned to her fate, but was caught off guard by the tips of gloved fingers gently pressing the knuckles of one of her hands.
“Quilly, let’s stop for a bit.” Prince Remrin said. He was still smiling gently at his sister, but there was a note of steel to his voice.
Princess Aquilet scowled at him for a second, but took a look at Vera’s face and conceded gently, “We needn’t decide all of the dresses today. We’ve chosen enough for the next few events, and I daresay none of these are fit for your final ball, at any rate.” She straightened her “accepted pile” and began collecting the drawings that were still dripping off the table.
Veralisse laughed in relief, though withdrew her hand from the crown prince’s touch quietly. “You’re too kind, my princess. We can continue later, but I hope you would not mind if I excuse myself for now to examine the Queen’s Jungle.”
“Of course.” Princess Aquilet said, already distracted giving the maid the pile of accepted designs, and directing her to send them to M. Liddy’s. “These are all to be gifts from Rem, and Mia will attend to every detail besides choosing the designs, so you needn’t worry.” As if sensing Vera’s intent to argue, she twisted to spear Vera with an almost pouty look of determination. “I shan’t let you argue about that. It’s high time he sent you a thing or two.”
Veralisse shook her head, but the reproach was so clearly directed towards the crown prince, that she didn’t feel in good conscience to push the matter. She stood, wincing slightly as the motion reminded her that her shoulder was still displeased with the events of the night before.
To her surprise, the crown prince stood with her. “May I join you?” He asked, his mild smile as disconcerting as ever, as he trained his silver eyes on her.
Almost on instinct, Veralisse opened her mouth to refuse, but suddenly their conversation the week or so prior wormed its way into her brain. ‘Just for this season, let us really be engaged….’ She swallowed her objection, and with somewhat tight lips said, “Very well.”
She turned around quickly, but not fast enough to miss Princess Aquilet’s mouth dropping open in surprise.
She was halfway to the Queen’s Jungle before Prince Remrin managed to catch up to her. They walked in silence a bit, and when Remrin finally spoke, Vera almost didn’t hear him at first, “I apologize if you feel I leveraged our promise in front of my sister.”
“So you are aware.” Vera said, mouth curling slightly.
“It was not my intention. In the future, please feel free to refuse if we are among company.”
Vera snapped, “I’m afraid I do not possess the talent nor will of his royal highness to entertain my loyalties only when it suits me.”
“Is that how you see it?” He was looking up thoughtfully at the trees. “I suppose you mean to insult me by saying so, but it is sadly too necessary a skill for the future king to abandon it too easily.”
Veralisse snorted, hands balling into fists, but for a moment, she paused. Normally, she would have satisfied herself snubbing him the rest of their walk, but if he was asking they get to know each other better… well, why couldn’t she also take it as an excuse to be daring. “Would his royal highness abandon it then, if it served no purpose for the future king?”
He looked at her, and for just a moment, she thought she saw genuine surprise there in his face, but the moment faded as though she’d imagined it. “I cannot say truthfully if I could abandon it. Being selective in how one chooses to respond to circumstance has always felt to me as human nature itself. Do you not yourself approach our conversations differently than you do conversations with your brothers?”
He was doing the thing again – watching her as though by refusing to let his gaze wander he might capture her every thought, her very person. Veralisse let her steps pull her farther from him. “I do not see that I do. What does your royal highness see as so different between the two?”
“Do you truly see little difference between love masquerading as mocking disrespect and hatred masquerading as decorum?”
“You mistake me, your royal highness. In both cases, my loyalty to myself demands I honestly reflect what is given to me.”
He stopped abruptly, forcing her to turn back to look at him. They were well into the Queen’s Jungle now, a dense and vividly green forest bursting with colorful flowers. Veralisse had always loved this place, but she had visited rarely as it would require her going into the palace. It was the one thing she’d been looking forward to about staying in the crown princess’ quarters, but the dark green of the backdrop here only seemed to make the crown prince more unsettling to look at. He was dressed in a mild dark blue, but his pale skin and silver features still made him pop from the background, unreadable expression cementing the impression that he was the only spot of cold, dead light in the place. “Is that what you think, Lisse?” He asked, and she desperately wished again that his body language or tone gave away what he was feeling. Anger, hurt, amusement, disappointment, anything at all. “Do you believe that my decorum masks hatred?”
She stared him down, “I did not say you were correct in determining that hatred was what lay behind my manners. But I see I have reflected you well, that you struggle to see whatever truth lies behind what decorum demands.”
“Have I been at all ambiguous in my attentions to you? Do you not wonder if your own convenience does not blind and deafen you?”
“Do you blame me for questioning the heart you claim to offer me when your royal highness has never once honestly revealed that heart to anyone at all?”
In two long strides, the crown prince was inches from her, forehead almost touching hers. He did not touch her, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of flinching in turn, but there was something about his expression that made her remember Leonard’s words from earlier, about Remrin not being as lenient as she thought.
“Do you know why I asked you if I could come with you here, Lisse?” He whispered. “I could not allow the chance to see you smile at me again to slip through my fingers.” He pushed a little bit of her thick brown hair behind her ear. “You did once.”
“If you’re speaking of when you first showed me this garden after our initial engagement, we were children. And at any rate, I do not recall smiling at you at all. I believe it was the Queen’s Jungle that held my attention.”
He gave a soft laugh, and pulled away again. “Indeed, you are right. You do not smile at me at all.”
“I am not so free as his royal highness to smile as it suits my purposes. Or is that another thing you believe necessary for a future king?”
“For one who seems to evaluate my very way of standing with a critical eye, can you really say it is not?” Something in his tone told Vera he was ready to end the conversation. Perhaps the implicit dismissal of royalty he could turn on at the drop of a hat, or the way he was turned as if to leave the garden.
This time, it was Veralisse who closed the distance between them, grabbing his lapel to drag his face closer. “I am no king, so I will not dare judge what you must do as part of your preparation to lead wisely. But show me the courtesy of not acting the fool. You are perfectly clear with me when duty calls for it, only to act as though we are playing some game when the matter of our engagement comes up. I have thus far agreed to play it with you because I have little other choice without disgracing his Majesty, but I will not pretend to respect your decision to do so. You will not have any more of my sincerity if you continue to refuse me yours.”
“I have given you my sincerity.” He retorted, eyes ice cold and hard as stone. “It’s you who has spat it back in my face every time, claiming that your objection to our engagement has anything to do with your duty. Be honest with me, Veralisse. If Denedry did not need defending at all, if becoming queen meant nothing more than defending Fegrin as you have your home, would you still not consider me for my own person? Can nothing I do or say sway you?”
Veralisse let go of him, scowling. “You are not your own person, your royal highness. Nor have you ever been in our engagement. If you were, there would be no engagement to discuss, for the only man the Duke of Denedry cannot refuse even his daughter to is his Majesty the king.”
For a long moment, they were both uncomfortably silent. Veralisse stood there, waiting for a retort, whole body geared for a fight, but none came. The prince merely stared at her as if she were a new flower in the Queen’s Jungle, shocking and unfamiliar in such a way as to inexorably draw the eye. As Veralisse waited, she slowly found the guilt mellowing her expression and tempering her frustration. It was, perhaps, unfair of her to say, when he’d been just as much of a child as her when the king had decided they’d be engaged, but the simple fact was that it was true. She had never considered whether he would be a good match with her personally, but nor did she care to now. She was first and foremost engaged to the crown prince. How she felt about Remrin Sevaille, which in truth she had never interrogated herself enough to know, was entirely irrelevant.
The crown prince broke the silence and looked away from her, only to say, “You Rochesters will be the death of me.” And though she could not tell whether anger or amusement was involved, he said it with an exhaustion she’d never seen on him before, as if the very air itself had weight. But then he rallied himself, smiling again, and bowed to her. “As you say, my dear Lisse. Our engagement has always been as crown prince and his future princess. I have been unfair to you, and I find myself ashamed of my foolishness to even dare hope you could ever see it as anything more.” Veralisse watched him warily, but said nothing, sensing a bitterness in his words. “At any rate, it will all be finished this year. It seems my timing is, as ever, apt.” Before Veralisse could ask him what he meant by that, he bowed once more and left.
Veralisse watched him go, and when she was quite sure he was gone, she dropped to the ground, staring up at the peek of blue sky through the dark green trees. What did he mean “it will all be finished?” Was he just talking about their engagement? Though they’d made their deal to be properly engaged this season, she could not recall him promising that their engagement would end once their deal was up. She’d always guessed there was some specific merit to their engagement for him, beyond his dry confessions of love, but again she failed, as she always had, to figure out what it could be, when the people of Denedry and their rulers had always meant so spectacularly little to the main political structure of Fegrin. Groaning, she closed her eyes against the hint of sun, willing her complicated relationship with the prince to simply vanish into thin air.
Taking another long breath, she opened her eyes and continued through the Queen’s Jungle. She took her time, walking slowly through the maze of trees, lingering on each new flower and stopping to chat with the gardeners she bumped into on the way. She wasn’t sure how long she was in there before Princess Aquilet came running up to her, pale skin flushed in a flattering, girlish way.
“Princess? What’s the matter?” Veralisse asked, waiting for the girl to catch her breath.
She looked quite irritated, as she gasped gulps of air. “I’ve been chasing you- everywhere! What reason could you possibly- have- for rushing from place to place. The gardeners’ directions have hardly been helpful.” She sucked in another huge breath of air, and seemed to finally steady herself, pulling a letter from her reticule.
“You’ve received a letter from the Duke of Hayworth. One of the maids assigned to your quarters came to the pavilion to deliver it, saying the messenger had asked the letter be sent to you directly.”
“The Duke of Hayworth?” Veralisse frowned, taking the letter from the princess and using her thumb to gracelessly pop the letter open. Edgar Attenforth, Duke of Hayworth, was quite famous in high society for being young, eligible, and altogether unattainable, having ascended to the dukedom at the age of 22 and spent the following 6 years ignoring every young woman throwing themselves at his feet. Not a single scandal was attached to his name, and he held a high position in court, Hayworth being one of the closest dukedoms to the capital itself. He was also, curiously, an excellent swordsman who had spent some time with them in Denedry during his youth. He was still quite close to Veralisse’s eldest brother, Havilan, but she herself hadn’t had so much as a polite conversation with him for almost ten years.
“What did he say?” Princess Aquilet asked, clearly one etiquette class away from craning her head to peek at its contents.
Vera didn’t mind indulging her curiosity. It wasn’t as though the duke had said anything of particular note. “The duke is requesting an audience with me. He says it’s a matter of some urgency, and relates to his royal highness. He writes that he wishes not to alarm me, for his royal highness is in no danger, but that it was imperative he discuss something with me immediately.” Specifically, the duke had said it related to an unsavory figure who had implied a relationship with the crown prince and princess. Veralisse hoped more than believed that he was not speaking of Deacon. She scrunched up the letter, shoving it into one of her pockets.
“Immediately like today?” Princess Aquilet pressed.
“I expect so, your highness. Or perhaps tomorrow. I shall write to permit him to call on me any time this wee-“
“No, wait!”
Veralisse stared at the princess, who shifted uncomfortably. “Today or tomorrow should be alright.” The princess said, sheepishly. “But I was hoping…. Well, I was hoping you would accompany me four days from now. Into town.”
Veralisse waited for some follow up to that, and when it did not arrive willingly, prompted, “For… what purpose exactly?”
There was another stretch of silence, before the princess conceded in a small voice, “Rem. Well, he- I overheard him promising to escort Princess Alwe to town then.”
“So you wish me to join you in spying on them!? Absolutely not! His royal highness has enough eyes on him without my acting the meddlesome, jealous lover.”
Princess Aquilet rolled her eyes, “Exactly! He ought to know better than to play escort to another woman with the gossiphounds always hovering about him. I would not have imagined it of him if I had not heard it myself! Not when he’s been so devoted to you all these years. He must have a reason, and I want to know what it is. Don’t you?”
Veralisse scrunched up her face, unwilling to admit that she was indeed curious, and the princess rudely pointed directly at her face. “Hah! I knew it! Especially if he hasn’t told you about it, and is escorting her alone.”
“I didn’t say he hadn’t told me.” Veralisse said hastily.
“Oh please, my lady. Someone else might be fooled, but I know you, and more, I know my brother. If he’d told you about it, he’d have also asked your blessing, and you wouldn’t have hesitated in telling me to mind my own business. Plus, something’s changed between you. I can tell. He looked quite ill when he came to see me off at the pavilion.”
“He looked ill?”
“Well, as close as he ever gets to being emotionally distraught, at least.” Princess Aquilet said, waving it aside as if this was some petty detail. “So will you come with me? I will feel much better if you are with me, and haven’t anyone else I can trust not to immediately tell Rem.”
Veralisse let out a groan, but she was also quite certain that the princess would climb over the palace walls by herself if she didn’t agree to go with her. “Fine. But I refuse to follow them around all day. If they seem to just be shopping around town, I’m leaving immediately. And you’ll owe me a pie from Mrs. Cott’s.”
The princess squealed in delight, and crushed her in a hug that reminded Veralisse of a few oddly placed bruises from the excitement last night. “I’ll buy you as many pies as you like.” She muttered, before scurrying off to do who knew what, leaving Veralisse to stare down at her pocket, bulging from the crumpled letter.
The duke came to call on her the very next morning. It seemed his business was urgent indeed. He was shorter than she remembered, being barely three inches taller than her, and much less hardened than her or any of her brothers. He carried himself like Havilan, though. That quiet, and perhaps one might call it gentlemanly strength. “My lady.” He said, extending his hand to greet her with a kiss to the back of her hand.
She eyed him a little uncertainly, but allowed him to kiss her hand. “It’s been some time, your Grace. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He had brought with him both a maid and a manservant. An odd thing to do, but one which she was grateful for as it meant she could dismiss her own maids, who would no doubt report straight to Prince Remrin if they heard anything strange.
When she turned back, he was smiling at her. “I see you anticipated my own concern, my lady. Rest assured, Eleanor can be trusted, and my man Dever was the one who discovered the information I am about to relay to you.”
Veralisse gave a gracious wave. “I had no doubt you would only bring those you trusted if anything you wished to speak to me about was of a sensitive nature. I do recall you were always much more careful than any of us. I hope you will not keep me in suspense as to what this sensitive information is, and why you chose to relay it to me, of all people.” She raised her eyebrows.
The duke laughed, then stopped himself. “I apologize, I meant no disrespect. It’s just- Well, when you do that, I’m forced to remember little Vera really is to be our crown princess one day.”
Veralisse found herself smiling. “Oh please, your Grace. No matter how high I ascend in ranking, I doubt you’ll ever be able to convince any of my brothers that I’m anything but ‘little Vera.'”
It was his turn to wave away his title. “I would be most grateful if you stopped referring to me as ‘your Grace.’ From you, all I can think of is Leonard’s smug face pretending to be a simpering miss at my first ball as duke.”
While Vera couldn’t recall being there, she could well imagine it, and the both of them had a laugh at that, before the duke brought their attention back to the matter at hand. “To answer your question, I must first tell you something that would have one day be made known to you as future queen. Something I would not be telling you now if not for the urgency of my news.” Veralisse cocked her head to one side, but did not interrupt. “Many years ago, his Majesty King Baster Skriod secretly tasked my grandfather to start a black guild. I am unfortunately not privy to the exact reasons his Majesty Skriod felt it necessary to have a less savory source of information available to him, but ever since, the Dukes of Hayworth have built quite a network bartering in information and services, reporting to his majesty flower of the realm whenever we find something must be brought to his attention.” Veralisse was kind of impressed with herself for not letting her mouth drop open as she stared at him. “We are not, however, the only one of our kind, and in the past ten years, a new organization has risen to some prominence. It appears to be a small organization, but deals in only the highest level of information. From the letters we have intercepted, we have only been able to determine that they use an uncrackable code, and some…” She only barely heard him mutter under his breath, “form of sorcery I would not have believed if I hadn’t seen it myself.” He shook his head, and continued in his normal volume, “I believe they are led by one man who shields himself with a small group of trusted representatives whom no one can ever describe.”
Veralisse didn’t know what expression she was making, but she hoped it was masking the fury and frustration she could feel replacing her surprise. What was Deacon doing? She knew he was in the information gathering business, but to be heading an organization big enough to catch the attention of the king’s personal black guild? Edgar was watching her carefully, so she prompted stiffly, “This does not suggest I should be your first choice to relay whatever information is your true purpose in coming here today.”
“Indeed you are not.” He said, with a bit of a laugh. “Normally, that is. But time will not allow me much liberty in this case, and as I stated in my letter, his royal highness and yourself are principle characters in our latest concerns. After much research, we determined certain places the highest members of this guild frequent, one of which was the post office. I sent Dever,” he gestured loosely to the man beside him, who bowed to her respectfully, “some months ago to keep an eye on it, and a week ago he discovered a nondescript man sending a letter with one of the Danar birds in the same code we had seen them use before.” Veralisse’s face was pale. Danar birds were, despite the name, not birds at all, but a type of demon, commonly used specifically for delivering messages, thanks to their high flight speed, intelligence, and ability to find anyone they were directed to. Sending a Danar bird was extremely expensive, as few of them existed, and even fewer people knew how to keep them well-behaved. Their domestication itself was a rarity that only Fegrin had been capable of thus far. “We attempted to capture the man, but he surprised my men by declaring that he was under the orders of the crown prince, and a close personal friend of yours and subsequently managed to escape.” He watched her in silence for a moment, gauging her reaction before continuing. She prayed he took nothing but surprise from it. “His royal highness has refused my request for an audience,” he said, almost conversationally, “so I felt I had no recourse but to approach you, and ask if you might illuminate any relationship yourself and the crown prince might have with this organization, before we investigate any further and take steps to prevent any further movement on their side. My determination to speak with one of you gained higher priority because we suspect this organization either is a part of, or has some knowledge of the recent attack on royal grounds. An event which, as you might expect, our duty to the king gives us great interest in.”
For a long moment, Veralisse was speechless, utterly flabbergasted. She had learned more about Deacon in two weeks, it now seemed, than she had learned about him in the past, oh what was it, decade or so that she’d known him, and she was not pleased with what she had learned. Reckless, conniving fool. No longer satisfied with the half-answers she’d gotten from him last night, she wanted very much to get her hands on him and squeeze the truth, for all that it was, out of him. Did he really think his magic and his personally cultivated relationship with the crown prince was all he needed to get by?
“Vera?” Edgar asked, breaking her out of her stupor.
She floundered, forgetting for a moment that he had come to her in her capacity as future crown princess. “I uh-” she cleared her throat audibly, uncomfortably. The two people he’d brought with him exchanged glances. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she finally managed to regain a little composure and say, “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. While I suspect I know the person who you speak of, I only know of him in a social context. I know nothing of his business.” She furrowed her eyebrows and looked down at her hands, both frustrated and trying to determine how best to proceed information-wise. “I am aware that he conducts some business on his royal highness’ behalf, or that they work together for some purpose, but his royal highness has never seen fit before to include me in any of their discussions, so only he is privy to the exact capacity in which this organization works for him.” Setting Deacon aside, what was the crown prince doing, and how much was he involved with this? Danar birds. No matter how well Deacon had made of himself trading in information, little was worth using Danar birds. Either he really was a part of a plot against Fegrin itself, or that stupid prince had something to do with it. Neither possibility pleased her.
Edgar broke her train of thought again, making her start. “That is unfortunate. As much as it was possible, I had hoped to avoid bringing this to his majesty flower of the realm’s attention until we knew for certain what we had to tell him. He is not a man who takes kindly to any concerns about his heir.”
She thought about it for a moment longer, then locked eyes with Edgar. “Refrain for just a little longer. I will petition the crown prince myself to allow you an audience to discuss this. He rarel-” she stopped herself. “You may leave your maid with me during the time it takes me to get his approval.”
He hesitated, looking over at the maid he’d brought with him, before turning back to Veralisse. “And your knowledge of this… individual does not give you reason to doubt his intentions?”
She sighed. “For now, no. In fact, the reason why it was I who was attacked and not Princess Alwe last night is because he warned me beforehand that an attack had been orchestrated against the Halagresian delegates. He had never involved me in his business before, and I do not possess any way to track his location, so you know more about his black guild than I do, unfortunately, but at least I doubt he was a conspirator in the incident.”
Edgar looked unsatisfied with this answer, but perhaps he could tell that she was telling the truth, or perhaps he figured it was just better not to push her if that was the extent to which she was willing to share. He nodded. “Very well. I’ll leave Elina with you for a few days.” He glanced at her again, as if asking her approval before proceeding. “She will see to it that any urgent messages from you, any new information, or a planned audience with the crown prince will get back to me quickly.”
Veralisse stood, holding out her hand to him. He stood in turn and kissed it, before saying, “Sorry about this, Vera.”
She sighed again, but what was he to do? He had responsibilities, and so did she. With a nod from her, he made his way out.
Veralisse looked over at the maid he’d left her. Elina, was it? As her own maids returned to the room, she collapsed back into her chair. They eyed the newcomer briefly, but said nothing. Vera beckoned to one of the maids. “Please send someone to ask his royal highness for an audience. And someone else had better escort me to the training grounds on this cursed place.” Looking over at the duke’s maid, she added, “You may as well come with, it might be entertaining.” She didn’t wait for a response before heartily ignoring the maids and changing into an outfit she could move more easily in, the sword waiting for her on her bedside.
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