Part I: Inferno

My love,

I have heard that happiness is a place. Once discovered it can be returned to, yet no one is allowed to stay permanently. Did you ever pursue a desire, knowing well enough its acquisition would be temporary? Even when you make the choice to stay, to believe, to conquer, to struggle, the inevitability of its end provides no closure. Resolution, if any is achieved, rests entirely on the fact that you chose this path for yourself despite the unknown of its end.

Many sunsets ago I read, "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings." I may curse providence all I want my darling but, however tragic, I do remember this fate was chosen by me. And, if given the chance to repeat it for all my strange eternity, I would not dare change a thing.

Chapter 1

The Nothing Man

1 February 1816

"Do not dare unsheathe your sword, Logan," she said with a harsh tone. He paused for a moment while still hovering his hand over the hilt.

"And why should I heed your warning?" he replied.

"Because I have a pistol and you are no match for its speed," she reached behind her back and pointed the gun at her older brother. Logan quickly raised his hands in defeat. "Pop! Pop! Pop!" she cried while Logan clutched his chest where blood should have been oozing out and leading to his inevitable death. His lanky frame shook before he fell to his knees, throwing his fists into the air. Taking a deep breath he hollered, "Curse you! Curse you Beatrice for betraying your own blood!" After a few dramatic choking noises and rolling his eyes into the back of his head, Logan fell back to the ground and did not move.

A triumphant Beatrice skipped over to him, where he looked as if he was more asleep than dead, and kicked him in the side. Logan pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at her, "Stop that! No more battle after one of us dies!"

"The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war!" Beatrice laughed and pulled her brother up, then headed to her father's desk in his library turned office. While Logan preferred to play their games in the castle War Room, she felt most alive surrounded by the ceiling-to-floor bookshelves.

"You cheated," Logan said behind her. There was a silence.

"How so?" Not facing him, she continued to look through the miscellaneous papers and maps that covered their father's walnut desk.

"I never knew you had a gun. We were only supposed to use swords. Those are the rules," he made an annoyed huff as he crossed his arms.

"You keep your rules, I will be happier without them. I won, didn't I?" She whipped around and stared at him with wide blue eyes. She could feel his anger rising by the second and quickly reconsidered her approach. Beatrice slid off her father's chair and wrapped her arms around her older brother, "Logan, I promise I won't do it again. I'll follow the rules you set for us."

Trying to break himself free from her embrace, Logan gave up and patted her on the back, "Thank you, dear sister, now back to the matter of planning our next…"

But before Logan could finish speaking, Beatrice gave him a surprised look and put her finger to her mouth, motioning for him to be quiet. She whispered, "Do you hear that?"

"No, I don't hear anything," he replied.

"It's footsteps, and it's not just Papa, someone is with him. Logan, take cover!"

The two children immediately ran to their favorite hiding spots in the opulent office. Logan bounded for the heavy, navy blue curtains behind his father's desk. They were long enough to hit the ground and cover his feet. His slender frame did not create even a bump in the thick fabric. Beatrice, who was smaller, opened the door of her father's mirrored schrank and nestled herself inside next to a short stack of books. Carefully, she pulled the door toward her, as not to rattle the mirror and give away her position to the approaching adults. She almost closed it but was unable to without pinching her fingers. The opening created a small sliver of light in the dark of the shrank. She repositioned her body to the corner so that she would remain unseen. The children waited patiently.

"Beatrice," Logan whispered from the curtains, "I think you heard wrong."

"Shhhh, be quiet! They're almost here," she said as softly as possible through the crack. At that moment, Logan could finally hear the shuffling of feet outside the door. There was a conversation happening and he was unable to discern words, but he could hear the deep tones of men in discussion.

The double doors of the office swung open and two men entered. Beatrice listened carefully to their movements to determine how close they were to the shrank. She concentrated on the two bodies, knowing quickly one was her papa. She smiled to herself tenderly. The other figure she could not read at all: not his body, nor his energy. She closed her eyes as tightly as possible and tried to focus in on the second man, just as Papa had been teaching her, but she felt nothing.

"I have to say, yours is a face I did not know if I would see again in my lifetime, old friend," her papa exclaimed to his guest.

"Then you must be elated at the privilege of gazing at it again before you die," replied the nothing man. His outlandish manner of speaking intrigued Beatrice and she wanted to gaze through the crack in the door to see him. Like pouring wine from a decanter, she gracefully moved herself near the narrow opening of the shrank. Looking around the office swiftly, she saw her papa behind his desk and could immediately feel a strange stirring within him. Who is this visitor? she wondered.

"I am here with an invaluable proposition, Sparrow. After leaving that boring and barren wasteland Garth called home, I realized I am outgrowing my current career. While I do still find the salty air of the sea invigorating, I am afraid the days of piracy have begun their end." The nothing man paused as he flourished his hand in the air. "Soon Bloodstone will no longer hold the same appeal for me as it did. Such a pity, but one must move on."

"What are you planning to do?" her papa asked as he relaxed in his chair.

"Primarily, I no longer wish to have those negative monikers attached to my name. Thief. Pirate. Smuggler. Debauchee. Oh, my mistake, I will gladly keep that last one," he answered while slowly pulling his gloves off. "Despite having many courtesans to choose from, my greatest love affair has always been with my own affluence. It is newly the 19th century, Sparrow. Industry is where our country is headed, and more importantly, the wealth of our country is headed." The nothing man crossed his legs and stretched out lazily across his chair, "You need me as an advisor in all matters of business now that our little country is united under your throne. Condemn the nature of my trade to satisfy your inane moral obligation, but do not deny my success."

"That I can't," Sparrow replied, "but I wish you had chosen markets less black."

"And what would have been the fun in that? I am the ruler of my own underground empire and have enjoyed the fruits of my labor voraciously," the nothing man sighed dramatically, "but I also want more than what my current lifestyle offers. I have matters of relevance to consider. I cannot remain underground forever and Albion cannot remain in the dark ages. It is the time we create a new domain to conquer, one of iron and steam, that will ensure Albion, and myself, security for years to come."

Beatrice edged even closer to the crack. She closed one eye and tried to look at the man who was visiting her papa, but his face was out of view. All she could see was his outfit up to the tails of his cravat. It was black with red detailing, form-fitting, with leather boots that looked remarkedly like a pair owned by her mum.

Her papa rested his palm on the right side of his chin, which Beatrice knew he did when he was deep in thought. After a few minutes, he lowered his hand, "I'm assuming since you are bringing this up to me now, that you have already begun and require my help?"

The nothing man chuckled, "My, my, you do know me well, Sparrow." He paused for a moment and his voice suddenly gained a smoothness Beatrice had not expected. "I have not entirely abandoned my current profession, but it does not mean that I am not preparing for this new horizon. I cannot refute that certain aspects of my recent industrial undertaking may improve when you decide to support me. And, undoubtedly, all aspects of your rule will improve when I become your advisor."

The king wanted to reject the proposal, but he knew he greatly desired the expertise. He wanted time to think about it. "If you were just one percent less condescending you would be fifty percent easier to swallow, Rea…," but before finishing, Sparrow abruptly stopped speaking.

His guest snorted at the sad attempt of an insult, "Rest assured that I am swallowed regularly enough to believe there must be some ease to it." When the king did not react to his comment, his expression went blank. "I was unaware that losing one's sense of humor is required to become royalty…," but he fell silent as well when he noticed Sparrow's perked ears and concentrated face. The nothing man looked around the room expectantly with a cocked eyebrow.

Her papa's sudden silence caused Beatrice to stop breathing, but she could hear Logan's restless heartbeat speeding up only steps away. She knew it was as loud as thunder to her father's sensitive ears: they were caught.

"Reveal yourselves now!" Papa boomed in a stern voice. The nothing man was excited by the change in mood.

Logan pulled the curtains back and walked out slowly with his eyes lowered. Beatrice pushed open the right door of the schrank with her index finger, alert and quickly looking over to her father's guest. The nothing man darted his eyes back and forth between the two children before his mouth began to curl downward and his expression soured.

Beatrice hopped off the edge of the shrank and landed on the plush carpet below with poise before walking to stand beside her brother. She held his hand and gave it a squeeze. She knew Logan hated disappointing Papa.

"My business and my meetings are not part of your battle games," he said while putting his calloused hands on each of their shoulders. "This interruption has now wasted both mine and his time. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, I understand. This misjudgment will not occur again," Logan muttered.

"Me too, Papa!" replied Beatrice before laying her cheek on her father's hand that still rested on her shoulder. She felt a warmth spread through him before she looked up to his face and saw a slight grin. He hated disciplining them in this manner. Truthfully, he believed that children should be children. It was an opportunity he missed and he did not want to chastise the two people he loved most for using their imagination. But they also needed to mind him; an entire country judged their every move. They could afford to make mistakes in private, but not in public. He knew the masses were cruel.

"What a touching, familial scene," gibed the nothing man, who was twirling a letter opener between his fingers at an unnerving speed.

Motioning for them to follow, their papa began walking both children to the door. While passing the nothing man, Beatrice kept her eyes fixed on him the entire time. Her gaze was met by his and she felt something unfamiliar. An adult had never looked at her that way, like she was a threat. Right before reaching the door she stopped moving and turned around to her father.

"Papa, can we please be introduced to your guest?" Beatrice inquired. Like a flash of lightning, her father gave her a look that said, you best behave. The nothing man, oblivious to Beatrice's request and the three sets of eyes now staring at the back of his head, continued sitting in his chair while balancing the letter opener on one finger.

"Reaver, I would like to introduce you to my children," her papa announced.

"Oh, really? Why?" he asked as he spritely leaped from his chair and sauntered over to stand in front of the small family. Beatrice was taken aback and giggled; the physics of his movement was different than anything she had seen before. Immediately she imagined him as a dancer in her ballet class, there to perform a perfect glissade.

"This is my son, Logan. He recently turned fourteen. A brilliant mind, truly," Papa patted his shoulder and Logan stood up taller. Reaver raised both of his heavily arched eyebrows and nodded with no more enthusiasm than a castle servant agreeing to wash extra linens. "And this is…" Before her father could finish, Beatrice stepped forward and mimicked the nothing man's meandering gait before she politely curtsied. Her mockery was not lost on him.

"Good day Mr. Reaver, my name is Beatrice. I am seven and a half, I love ballet, my favorite flower is the Punica granatum, and I think you are very pretty."

Reaver laughed, much like the laugh he used for his own jokes, and looked back at the king, "Sparrow, it seems as though your daughter, despite her young age, has already developed a well-trained eye for the aesthetic."

Sparrow could not entirely disagree, but he wished Beatrice would learn the difference between what should be said and what should stay inside her head. Reaver looked down at the young girl again who had yet to move. Why hasn't she left yet? he thought. "Is there a third child? What are we waiting for?" he asked the room.

"Reaver, when you receive a compliment from a child, it is polite to reciprocate the sentiment," Sparrow said dryly. He was evidently ready for this moment to end as well.

"Oh! Is that why she hasn't budged?" He paused and thought about a compliment. What could possibly be good about a child? Beatrice waited in hopeful expectation as he mulled over his next comment. "I've got it!" he clasped his hands in front of him and moved them up and down in time with his words. "Princess Beatrice, you appear to be cleaner than most children. Less covered in those vile elements, like soil and soot." Pleased with himself, Reaver smirked and gaily walked back to his seat. Plopping himself down in the overstuffed chair, he did not look back again.

Beatrice looked at her papa and shrugged her shoulders, "He's not wrong."

Her father shook his head and motioned for the children to leave. Both Logan and Beatrice galloped down the long hall that headed to the castle's main staircase. Sparrow closed the doors of his office and readied himself to continue the conversation.

Reaver had not asked to stay that evening in the castle, but the queen insisted. She told her husband in private that it would be socially inappropriate to make him leave before serving food. "If he stays for dinner, he might as well stay for the night. It is not as if we don't have the room, my love," Iris told her husband while they dressed for their evening meal. She paused, "Do you dislike him?"

"No, I have come to enjoy his company, but I prefer it be the two of us without my family present." His wife looked confused and he continued, "He may be charming, but so is an incubus. Just don't become too comfortable. Most rumors you've heard about him are true, and the others you haven't heard are true as well."

Iris knew a bit about the characters of her husband's past, but most had not visited. His friends were few and she thought Sparrow would enjoy the company. Of course, she had heard of Reaver, but stories about him seemed like exaggerated pub folklore. She knew he was wealthy and that he did not seem to age, but she only ever thought him to be an eccentric libertine. She certainly did not consider him to be a threat. "I'm sorry, my dear. For the future," she said with a smile while hugging her husband from behind, "we should create a signal, that when used, means the other should stop speaking immediately. And we definitely should include our little Beatrice in on this secret."

Sparrow laughed at her suggestion. It was her brand of thoughtfulness and humor that replenished his soul daily. He turned to her and dramatically winked. She shook her head no and then pulled on her left ear. Sparrow nodded in agreement, "One tug means stop, two tugs means run?"

"Perfect," Iris said while she kissed him on his ear, "I love it!"

After dressing, the king and queen walked to the children's bedrooms to escort them to dinner. Both were giddy at having company. Logan was ready by the time they arrived, while Beatrice could be heard running around in her room next door. Logan had put on a skeleton suit with an uneven cravat he tied himself to match the new guest. Beatrice, who always ended up in an outlandish outfit if it was not picked for her, was dressed in riding attire complete with a toy pistol. Jasper had come out after her, claiming that he had tried to put her in a gown but she refused and that, "Yes, that is Logan's former coat. Beatrice has decided that she prefers being a young boy this evening!" Iris wanted to laugh at her children's silly attempts for Reaver's attention, but Sparrow's words of warning rang in her mind.

Beatrice poked her brother and yelled, "Race me!" before sprinting down the hallway. Logan did not react; he knew he would never catch up to his sister. She ran far too fast as if her life depended upon it. Within seconds she was out of sight.

Beatrice reached the dining room before the rest of her family. She slowed herself before entering and calmly walked to the seat next to the nothing man. She politely wished him a good evening, just as she and Jasper had practiced an hour before. When he responded to her just as Jasper told her he would, it was the first time she appreciated her manners lessons. They waited for the others in silence.

Reaver picked up and admired his dinner goblet, turning the silver back and forth to catch the candle's light. While he watched the cup, Beatrice watched his hand.

"Mr. Reaver?" she asked.

"Staring is rude," he matter-of-factly replied.

She was surprised he noticed. "May I touch you?"

Before finishing her question, she began reaching a small hand out to touch his. He pulled back immediately with a slight look of indignation. "No, you cannot touch me," he sat the goblet down. "I now know why your father tucks you away in this castle as if you don't exist."

"Please reconsider! I can't…I can't sense anything coming from…" Beatrice wanted to explain, but her parents and brother entered the room. As smooth as silk, Reaver's grimace turned into a charming smile as he stood and greeted them. The family quickly took their seats while Beatrice remained quiet; she was worried her father had overheard her. Jasper entered the room, taking his post near the door, and smiled encouragingly at her. She shyly returned the gesture and fiddled with a button on her coat.

Despite the king's minor apprehension surrounding the evening, everything was going surprisingly well. Reaver charmed his hosts, telling them stories about life on the sea, exotic lands he visited, and the riches he acquired. His stories were muddled with innuendos that glided over Beatrice and Logan's heads. Iris would chuckle and Sparrow couldn't help but heartily laugh at his old friend.

By dessert, Beatrice was staring at Reaver with the same wide-eyed interest as earlier. Her mother noticed first. She knew that look and what it meant but carried on with the conversation. Sparrow noticed as well and was inclined to stop his daughter, but decided against it. Let's see if Beatrice learned anything from today, he thought.

Reaver hesitantly looked down at the girl. His smile was gilded and his eyes were dead. Beatrice did not blink. He cleared his throat and reached for his wine. He did not particularly enjoy hurting children, but it was not beyond him. While sitting in front of the child's entire family? Also not beyond him, but most children did not have a Hero king for a father. Pushing back his instinctive desire to physically stop the thing that was annoying him, he turned and looked back at the Queen and continued with his story.

"You look very young for being very old," Beatrice whispered at a nearly inaudible level. Her mother and Logan did not catch the comment, but both men at the table did. Reaver glared at her with the same menacing expression as earlier that day, but his eyes were darker than before. Beatrice felt an internal prickle of excitement and fear; her favorite combination. Instinctively, Sparrow wrapped his hand around a dinner knife in case the moment escalated. It was the king's reaction that caught the attention of his forthright daughter. Her father's mood swing was so rapid that Beatrice felt nauseous and immediately broke her stare with Reaver. The exchange took place for no longer than a second.

"Mr. Reaver? Excuse me, Mr. Reaver?" asked Logan.

And as if their strange interaction had not occurred, Reaver immediately looked up at the boy with contrived interest, "Yes, Prince Logan?"

"What type of ship do you own?" he inquired.

Reaver let out a haughty laugh, "You ask as if I only have one!" and he began to explain his collection in extraordinary detail. While Reaver spoke, Sparrow glowered at his daughter from across the table and she knew she was in trouble. Not speaking again that evening, Beatrice hurriedly finished her dessert and left for bed without a word. As she walked to her bedroom, she wondered how Reaver's penetrating glare lasted only a moment but felt like a century. One day, she hoped, I will have that effect on people too.

"It's February and they have not reupholstered the furniture from their winter hues? How abhorrent!" Reaver continued to mutter to himself while looking around his quarters for the evening. While the room housed luxurious carpets, rare ornaments, ample seating, and an oversized fireplace, he could not help but realize that the washroom of his holiday home was more palatial than this. He derisively clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth three times while shaking his head.

Earlier in the evening, he had propositioned a servant to keep him company for the night. The young man evidently worked in the gardens. He was tan, with a strong jawline, and a physique that was difficult to hide under clothes. Sparrow's rapacious wife probably handpicked him, he thought, such an obviously undersexed woman. His strapping entertainment for the evening was told to arrive precisely at midnight.

Reaver sat in a chair near the fireplace, toying with his Dragonstomper .48 between agile fingers. He lazily glanced at the clock near his bedside. He had been acutely aware of its loud ticking, which he categorized as just another discomfort of the horrendous room. Realizing midnight was approaching, he placed his gun in its rightful holster and began untying his cravat. Walking over to the mirrored armoire, he could not help but gaze at himself as he slowly pulled laced drawing string from eyelets near his collar. Coaxing his reflection, he winked, "Oh you handsome devil."

A slight tap at the door caught his attention, but he did not turn away from the mirror. "You're early but come in already, I'm tired of waiting." The door opened slightly and those same wide, blue eyes from dinner stared back. Reaver took in a deep breath and clenched his teeth. He had no desire to withhold his annoyance, "You again? Leave at once." As if he had not spoken at all, Beatrice came into the room and carefully shut the door behind her. She began walking toward his empty fireplace. "I am many of the things that people call me, but my proclivities do have their boundaries. You, a child, cannot be found in my room at this hour. Go now," he pointed a long finger at the door. His hand was shaking from the amount of control it took not to simply pull out his gun and relieve her body of its head.

"I'm here to help you, Mr. Reaver," she innocently replied. "I overheard your conversation with Thomas. You told him that you felt it was rather cold in your room and you could use his assistance to keep warm tonight. But he's rather busy in the kitchen right now and I knew I could help you much faster. I wanted you to be able to sleep." Reaver shut his eyes and furrowed his brow. Without thought, he balled one fist around the grip of his gun. Biting his lip, he struggled not to hurl abuses at the awful twit until she cried. Was his partnership with Sparrow worth dealing with this insolence?

Beatrice didn't mind him. She sensed his anger, but it felt different than others' anger and fascinated her; his anger reminded her more of Logan and less like her father or Sir Walter. After a night of hiding from adults to get to his room, she was unwilling to leave without a fight. She had been asleep in her bedroom earlier, only to be awoken from a dream in which a woman told her to sneak into the kitchen immediately if she wanted to learn more about the nothing man. To her surprise, when she followed those instructions, she had found him in time to catch the end of his conversation with Thomas and remain undetected.

While Reaver continued to make a pained face in response to his self-restraint, Beatrice picked up the skirt of her white linen chemise, lowered to her knees, and sat back on her heels before the fireplace. Cupping both of her hands together in front of her, she closed her eyes in concentration and slowed down her breathing. Reaver heard her heartbeat change. What had been a steady thump all evening now sounded like a hummingbird flutter. He knew the change in tempo was unusual given her meditative state; this both annoyed and intrigued him.

"You are odd. It is in your favor tonight that you are the daughter of a king," he declared aloud. Beatrice did not react. Too much like your father, he thought to himself. Deciding that threatening her, despite how it may upset Sparrow should he find out, was better than being found in his room with her by an excitable servant boy who would love to tattle on him. He would obviously dispose of the boy before that could occur, but what would he do with the tiny witness in his room that looked as if she was praying to his hearth. He rolled his eyes and shut them for a moment. Now, he told himself, is the perfect time to forcefully throw her out of the room the way you wanted to earlier. You could even ensure that she hits the wall on the other side of the hallway, just for good measure. A wicked smile grew on his face.

Opening his eyes back to the bizarre scene unfolding in his room, all of his thoughts stopped.

Before him, inside of Beatrice's small hands, was a growing flame. It hovered above her skin and shimmered with iridescence. He was all too familiar with this type of fire: it was that of a Will user. Starting small, and having a strange shape like that of a roughly cut jewel, the flame grew at a rapid pace. Once an appropriate size, Beatrice leaned forward and blew. Instead of extinguishing the delicate fire, it leaped out of her hands and floated nimbly onto the firewood below. After some crackling, a sizable flame emerged and the hearth shone brightly with many colors, like sunlight hitting stained glass. It shifted to a different hue with every new flare. Reaver recalled Garth's being blue and Sparrow's being red, but Beatrice's fire shimmered like a dark opal. The young princess sat as still as stone on the floor with closed eyes and cupped hands. Even Reaver understood that her amount of control was rare; Sparrow had required gauntlets to summon his will.

"Princess Beatrice," Reaver said softly in a tone he had not used with her before, "other than his lovely display, do you have additional talents?"

Immediately her eyes flew open and she looked at him with excitement at gaining the interest that eluded her all evening. "Oh yes, Mr. Reaver! I have a garden that grows the most delicious herbs. My favorite is sage, and should I have a child one day, I would like to name them after an herb because…"

He cut her off. "Hmm, that is…marvelous. But do you ever have those foul, unwanted pests in your garden? How do you rid yourself of, oh let's say, beetles?" he inquired with precision.

"That's easy, with my bow. And I never miss," she lifted herself off her knees and tried to look at him in his face. He was so tall that it hurt her neck and she could only see his chin, nostrils, and the curl of his dark hair.

"And when you play the 'battle game' with Prince Logan, I imagine there must be some real fighting, some wrestling?" Beatrice nodded at his question. "Great. And who is victorious during those real battles?"

"We both win, but if I'm honest, I let Logan overtake me. I don't think he would play anymore if his little sister always won. He's embarrassed easily." She placed both hands on her hips, stuck out one foot, and glanced upward and to the side to match Reaver's own formidable stance. It was a game she played with herself to see how long it took for an adult to notice, but the nothing man did not even look down. She frowned.

"Interesting," he muttered. Thoughts quickly raced through his mind. What would he do with this budding Hero? Should he kill her now so that she is not a problem in the future? He shook his head back and forth, instead content with a future challenge she may pose. Should he kidnap her, raise her as his own, and control her powers? Immediately he shuddered at the thought of a grubby child running through his pristine halls. Finally, he agreed with himself. He would harbor this secret, which he was sure only known by the king, and use it to his advantage when the time came.

While Reaver was in thought, Beatrice had been slowly inching closer. Before he could notice, she reached out and lightly gripped his hand. Instinctively he broke her touch and forcefully grabbed her by the forearm, turning it upside down and pulling her closer to him. He bent down to look at her face-to-face. Reaver noted this was the first time he observed the girl showing even an ounce of fear and he could not help but be pleased that he was the source. A large, curved smile spread across his face. Beatrice stared back in horror, her eyes dilated to an unnatural size. Reaver could see his reflection staring back in the black of her pupils. He leaned in closer than he knew he should and her mouth remained agape with a silent scream.

Speaking in a grave tone he scolded her, "Tsk-tsk, little princess. Did I frighten you?" He paused for a response, but she said nothing. "Well, then do tell. Why did you touch me even after I forbid you from doing so?"

Beatrice stayed catatonically still. Tears began running down her cheeks, but he did not feel her attempt to pull away. Reaver happily slipped back into control, "I truly applaud your evident disregard for authority, but not when it comes to mine. And I underestimated you, Beatrice. I did not believe you knew how to shut your mouth, but look at you now. Such self-control! I ought to learn something from your example." Squeezing her arm tighter, he pulled her close enough to feel the heat of her breath and lowered his voice to a growl, "The time is now for you to return to the safety of your room, princess, before I decide to truly terrify you."

Letting go of her arm with a push, Beatrice tensed in surprise. The blue in her eyes returned at a rapid pace as her pupils contracted. She clutched her arm to her chest and her body shook as if she were just pulled from ice water. While in a daze and wiping her face in confusion, she tried walking toward the door, but could not keep to a straight line. She looked around the room as if it were her first time there. Finally placing her hand on the knob, she opened the door to exactly the width she needed to leave. She turned around and tried to focus her eyes, but found it to be too difficult.

Beatrice concentrated on the center of the four swirling Reavers in absolute disbelief. The nothing man was not filled with nothing: she had been disastrously wrong.

"Are we dreaming?" she asked. The words barely tumbled out of her dry lips. She wanted to ask again, but her saliva was sticky like taffy and it was difficult to speak.

Already sitting in his chair near the fireplace, Reaver did not look at her. With a flick of his wrist, he motioned for her to leave. Immediately he heard the soft click of the door shutting and the sound of small feet on the thick carpet outside of his room. He knew she wouldn't return. Her face had looked like that of a person the exact moment before dying when the knife is plunged into their gut but they are still aware enough to panic over their coming death.

Reaver stared at the lustrous fire created for him and replayed her words in his mind a few times before decidedly entertaining them. Are we dreaming? What nonsense, he thought to himself, this is why I loathe children, they are senseless.

After some time, he heard a brusque knock that could only be produced by a strong fist. "Come in," he shouted at the door, "I'm tired of being bored."

Reaver left the castle in the early morning by carriage. After a quick discussion, he was the newly appointed business advisor for King Sparrow of Albion.

Hours later, Iris walked to the children's rooms to escort them to breakfast. She lightly knocked on Logan's door and heard a quiet, "Come in," from the other side. She entered the room to see Logan sitting upright in his bed, reading one of his many books. He looked up, pressed a finger to his lips, and pointed next to him. Iris walked closer and saw Beatrice sleeping next to her brother. She was curled around a pillow and seemed frustrated in her sleep – her eyes would tighten periodically and her brow regularly furrowed.

"What happened?" Iris asked as she sat on the edge of his bed.

"She came into my room late last night and asked if she could sleep next to me. She was complaining about a nightmare. I had difficulty understanding her mum, but it was obvious she had been crying in her sleep," he closed his book, "and mumbling something about screaming in her head." He lowered his voice further, "She claimed it was too loud for her to sleep, that they "woke her up" on purpose."

"She is prone to nightmares, but this sounds worse than those before it." Iris could not hide the concern in her voice while she looked at her daughter. She is too small to have these troubles, she thought.

"I don't mind it," Logan interrupted her thoughts.

"Mind what?" Iris replied.

"Her coming in here with me. It's sort of nice, in a way." He continued, "I'm her brother. It's my duty to protect her, even if the threat is not real."

Iris smiled at her son, "What about when it is real? Will you still protect her?"

"Absolutely," Logan replied, "I cannot imagine any other way."