(( AN: Welcome to the third book in the series, following An Accidental Princess and The Princess and the Plan. You don't have to have read the other two books to enjoy this one (though it does help!).

Updates may be even spottier than the other two books because 99% of my time is divided between my job and my new dog, but I hope you'll stick with me anyway. As always, I love to hear what you think -- comments, critiques, thoughts, anything! Just drop me a line either through the reviews or a private message.

Now sit back, and enjoy! ))

Prologue.

Wisps of gossamer clouds drifted across the cerulean sky, their travels interupted by the jagged tips of the white-capped mountains stretching almost unendingly towards the pale yellow sun. A pleasant breeze curled its way through the lush green grass, making the stalks dip and sway in a silent, euphoric dance. The zephyr tugged at his sleeves, carressing his cheek, and causing the scroll he held to flutter in a thinly-veiled attempt to free itself to frisk along to the carefree wind's calling.

Over the soft breath of the breeze, he could hear the rustle of feathers and didn't need to turn to see who had joined him.

Is that what your meditations have granted you?

He continued to inspect the rough brush strokes marring the smooth plan of the scroll in his hand, nodding once. "It is."

The tall being moved forward another step, lowering his feathered head to inspect the scroll as well. Golden feathers glimmered a burnished amber in the sunlight, the swift curve of his deep brown beak a strong line despite the softness of his feathers. Green eyes of a hue to rival the grass around them focused their vertical slits in consideration even as wide paws crowned with impressively curved talons flexed against the cool ground.

The old man didn't disturb his companion's contemplation, simply waited until the Gryphon had discerned what he would from the ebony ink.

Do you see what I see?

The man's lips tweaked in an amused smirk. "I see Death, if that is what you are so mysteriously skirting, Ambrosius."

The long crest feathers at the back of the Gryphon's head flexed, then flattened as abruptly, accompanied by a low hiss of displeasure. You speak of it so glibly. It is not just Death I see, but the Visitor.

"Yes, and the Book."

The Elf Queen named a new Storyteller, Mur.

Mur lowered the scroll in his gnarled hands to regard Ambrosius intently, his blue eyes twinkling merrily underneath his heavy brows, the thick lines etched into his weathered skin crinkling.

"Shall I say it?"

The Gryphon flattened his crest-feathers at the old man again, sharp eyes bearing into the man's. Two thousand years, Mur. One would think that such time would learn you the fallacies of gloating.

Mur hrmphed deep in his throat, briskly rolling the scroll up and shoving it into the fold of his robes. "I wasn't going to. Besides," he continued, bending to collect the brushes and ink stones at his feet, carefully stowing them into their indents in the silk-lined boxes that he'd brought with him.

Straightening once more, he turned to look squarely at his companion. "We've already met." The Gryphon continued to watch him as the man turned, his feet finding their way onto the worn stones of the path out of the garden.

She hasn't met you.

"And when I hadn't met her, she had met me. One would almost find a riddle in it, if they looked carefully enough," Mur replied with a laugh, a cracking sound that shook his thin shoulders and made him pause for a moment in his travels. The Gryphon kept pace with him, his wings tucked carefully against the smooth fine feathers of his strong sides. His feather-tipped tail lashed once, the only betrayal of the big being's worry.

You make light of this when there is only one possible outcome for the lines you have drawn.

"A book, a visitor, death. It's very clear what the ink is telling me, Ambrosius. The only issue is... how long?"

His robes made the softest whisper on the smooth stone of the monastery as they left the sun-bathed gardens behind them, entering the cool archways of the quiet, elegant buildilngs, weathered marble statues peeking at them from between tall pillars as they walked, the man shuffling along, the Gryphon making not even a whisper as he kept pace.

Does it matter? Time is inevitable.

"One could make a case for a great many things that are inevitable yet not necessarily imminent." He paused, thoughtfully. "Sister Lotusblossom's porridge, for example. Inevitable, as soon as the morn is come once more. Imminent? Perhaps not as yet. First we must muck our way through Brother Yao's too-strong tea at evening repass."

I would also make a case for your inability to take anything without making light of it inevitable as well... and much more imminent.

Mur burst into laughter once more, raising his cracked hand to brush aside a rich silk curtain, moving inside the room. The golden Gryphon remained outside, gazing down the ornate hallway towards the distant glimmer of sunlight. Soon dusk would fall over the mountains and their quiet valley nestled between. Soon another day would end, bringing them one more nightfall closer to the characters Mur had been drawing every day with increasing clarity.

The Gryphon lowered his head.

It is my heart's deep wish that your hands would draw something other than Death, old friend...

Mur emerged from the back room, one hand raised towards his chest where around his neck hung a golden key, glistening even in the dim light of the inner room. He didn't say anything, simply gazed at his friend and long-time companion, seeming suddenly as old as the lines in his face betrayed him to be. Reaching out, he put a hand on the Gryphon's strong shoulder, a sad smile hovering about his lips.

"Mine as well, old friend... Mine as well."