Hey, ya'll. So, in her review, Myka brought up a very good point! Where is this story going? Myself, I don't really know T.T... Yes, its true, the authoress is flying by the seat of her pants. However, if anyone is good with stuff like, oh, plots, I'd be much obliged for any help. At the moment I only have a general notion of whats going to happen. I'm glad to hear everyone is still enjoying the fic and kisses to my new readers! Thanks again to Inez, Myka, and faerie007 for reviewing! You guyz rock : D

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"Wow, Duzie! That cape looks great on you! Is your magic strong enough to conjure up stuff now?! Will you make me one in green?!"

"What?! This is the first time you've seen me in my true form, and all you can say is that you like my cape?"

"…. Well, now that you mention it, I thought you'd be scarier. The scariest thing about you is your hair."

"My hair?..."

--

The crowd roared with approval as the man went down in a clatter of armor and weapons. The side of his face was slightly scorched and one of his eyebrows had been burned away completely. It had been one of the most even matches of the entire martial arts tournament and those fortunate enough to have a place in the stands had been on the edge of their seat, absorbing the ebb and flow with eager attention. In the end, the challenger went down and Prince Duzell was left looking like he'd stuck a finger in an electric current from a Holy Bolt attack. He was, however, standing. Which is more than one could say for his opponent and all that really mattered to the tournament officials.

"Prince Duzell of Pheliosta!" the herald bellowed. The crowd once again erupted in a tidal wave of noise. They seemed to have overcome any stigma over the prince's namesake during the course of the tournament. "The Prince advances into the tenth bracket!" The herald's words were all but drowned out by the people in the stands. Everyone already knew the Prince had joined his brother in the third-to-last bracket. Both he and Lord Yuujel of Zi Alda had steadily climbed their way up their respective ends of the chart and would be facing each other in the next round. Phelios would be facing another newcomer who had done well for himself, and the reigning champion, a La Naan native, would be facing a second noble from La Naan and tournament veteran.

Medic rushed on to check over the vanquished warrior as Duzell made a bee-line for the benches, where his brother and their new 'acquaintance' sat watching. Phelios gave his brother a casual wink and a half-smile at Duzell's hard-won victory and Lord Yuujel managed a nod.

"Well fought, Duzell," the proud Zi Aldan commented with all the bored lack-luster of insincerity. Duzell shrugged, turning to sit on the bench, dropping his sheathed sword on the packed dirt ground at his boot-clad feet. As the days had progressed both of the young men had found that they didn't particularly care for the other, Duzell finding Yuujel stuck-up and presumptive and Yuujel feeling Duzell to be a dull grouch. Their only common bond was Phelios, who possessed the miraculous gift of getting along well with just about anyone.

"Yeah," Duzell mumbled in response, too tired to attempt anything more complex. The young prince had mixed feelings about the next fight. On one hand, he had the chance to beat the snob out of the haughty Lord Yuujel. Conversely, he had the opportunity to be beaten to a black and bloody pulp by the haughty Lord Yuujel who was actually quite good with that sword hanging at his side. Duzell shifted uneasily on his wooden perch under the realization that the odds might not quite be in his favor for his next fight. He snatched a covert glance at his future adversary. The ponce was talking with Phelios about one of the other contestants and was quite openly criticizing the man's sword style. Phelios had to intervene with a well-placed topic change when Yuujel made a rather nasty, and only sort-of subtle inference to the unskilled man's sword master.

"It should be quite the match. I'm looking forward to it," Phelios was saying. Duzell lifted his aching head at this. They were talking about the next round now. When Phelios saw he had his twin's attention his smile turned so conniving and gleeful that it could have been described as down right wicked on a less angelic complexion. Duzell returned the smile with his finely toned glare. Just the right amount of malice without being comedic or melodramatic. He was admittedly surprised when his brother's reaction, usually a triumphant grin or wink became his stiff over-bright public persona. Duzell was soon alerted to the reason for this alteration by loud voice that hardly reflected the age or physical stature of its possessor.

"Beautiful fight! It wouldn't be proper for a prince of Pheliosta to not advance to the tenth bracket," Lady Ramia announced. She and her retinue were pilled in along the stone wall that separated the fighters from the spectators. "We were all very worried about you," she said with a hum of genuine maternal sympathy, reaching over the barrier to pat the exhausted boy on the top of his head. Too tired to object, his only option was to endure the fawning treatment. As is fussing over her niece's child had reminded her of her own children, Lady Ramia looked around for one of her boys. As luck, or instinct, would have it, Laphiji was passing through the crowd with the latest results in his wrapped hands. Whatever his original destination may have been, he was soon assailed by Lady Ramia shouting across the stadium at him.

"Laphiji! LA-phiji!" He stopped, shoulders slumping slightly. She'd seen him now. There was no getting away from the demanding old woman.

"Hello, mother," he said, once in proper hearing range of the group.

"We were just complimenting Duzell on his fight," Ramia explained. Laphiji inclined his head politely toward the boy, recognizing the slim victory with the gesture. "They might give the winner a run for it this year! The winner is always from La Naan, you know. We've had quite the turnout this year, haven't we Laphiji?"

"Yes."

"A impeccable success. I'll be sorry to see it end in only a day. We shall all miss the young princes as well. Oh, I haven't given you the news yet," turning to Phelios. "Your father sent word this morning. That girl's gone off again, so you're parents wont be home to greet you. Bali, or Balan -what was that name? - Will be in charge. The letter was addressed to you, but I took care of everything and I've already sent a reply. I told your father I couldn't possibly let you travel alone and that Laphiji would be available after the tournament was over." This was clearly news to all three of the individuals involved. Duzell started in surprise, sharing a look with his wide-eyed brother. It was then he noticed Laphiji looking at him like the adopted noble would rather be mucking out stables for the next week than escorting the princes home.

"I have tournament duties," Laphiji tried, lifting the papers in a helpless, bewildered plea. "And… Lady Elenor." He winced at using her as an excuse when he already felt so guilty, but the prospect of squandering his last few days as a bachelor on the royal miscreants called for desperate measures.

"Pish! Elenor can do without you for a few days and don't worry about the tournament. Seiliez can handle all that." Ramia was firm and all had the sinking feeling that she wouldn't budge.

"Aunt, we really are quite able to--" Phelios made a last effort. Ramia clasped her hands together and turned up her button nose.

"I won't hear anything more about it. It'd be an insult to just send you with a guard. That's just the way it shall have to be." With that final word, Lady Ramia turned on her heel and trotted away, her retinue following like a train behind her. The three men stood dumbfounded in her wake. It was Laphiji who recovered first.

"I…" he lifted the papers in lieu of words. Phelios nodded and Duzell squinted his eyes. Laphiji beat a hasty escape into the crowd, presumably going about his tournament business.

"Do you think Lady Ramia was surprised when she came out of her mother and discovered she'd been born into the wrong branch of the family?" the younger twin whispered, eyeing Yuujel to make sure the boy wasn't listening in.

"I think she must have been aghast… And that's not very kind, Duzell," was the hushed reply.

"You agreed." Phelios couldn't deny it. "She's worse than Balan when it comes to bossiness." Phelios nodded, giving his agreement again.

"There's mom and dad." Yuujel announced, revealing what had occupied his attention for the past few moments. "I'll be off then." He nod-bowed to the brothers and was off like an arrow towards his doting parents. Duzell was gazing gloomily up at Lady Ramia's parquet platform.

"Look, Uncle Laphiji isn't that bad and it's only for two days." Phelios consoled, giving his brother a gentle pat on the back. Duzell sighed, but mad no other reply. "Let's get going. I've got dried dirt all down my boots and it's starting to bother me." Duzell looked his grunge-covered brother over and decided a bath wouldn't be a half-bad idea.

"Right." Another sigh echoed closely behind. Phelios shook his head. Duzell was determined to be gloomy.

--

The morning's fights had ended and the participants were slowly gearing up for the afternoon round. Duzell, bathed, bandaged, and feeling slightly better about the looming return trip, was making his way to the benches. He could see Yuujel across the way, swinging his monster of a broad swords and taking firm measured steps as he went through some practice movements. Duzell swallowed a lump he hadn't realized had been building up in his throat. Yuujel had his father's stature and his mother's disposition. He could be a brutal, almost ruthless, opponent.

"Relax. He's slower than you are. Stay on your toes and use every trick in your magic arsenal. He's quick with holy magic, so you'll want to set up a barrier spell early on," Phelios advised. He too was watching Yuujel and feeling equally nervous for his brother. "Here." Phelios pressed something into Duzell's palm. It was a bit of beaten metal, square and grey. A charm had been carved into the sides.

"I'm not a big fan of ruelles, Phelios."

"I know, but just wear it for this fight. It should give you a little extra resistance to his spells." Duzell slipped the magical item over his head, letting it settle against his chest under his armor. He felt he needed all the help he could get.

"Bracket Number 10! Will the fighters step into the arena?" Came the heralds call. Duzell stood and Yuujel sheathed his sword. "Presenting Lord Yuujel of Zi Alda and Prince Duzell of Pheliosta!" Duzell walked confidently into the arena. The referee stood in the middle. Duzell approached, stopping on the official's right. Yuujel stood directly opposite the prince. His expression was clam and sure. At the referee's signal they both bowed, neither dipping very deep. The referee slowly stepped away. The fighters drew and the ref's hand went up. There was a long breath of anticipation in the arena and then the hand flew downward. Duzell parried up, bringing his sword close to his face to ward off Yuujel's blow. The first strike had come and gone. As both contestants were still standing, the battle promised to be good and long.

Yuujel attacked right, but his sword swung through air. Duzell was dancing far off to the boy's left. In less than a breath, Duzell had thrown up a magic barrier. It looked like the prince was in good stead for the fight, which is why it came as such a shock when Yuujel pulled out a high-level Shattering spell and spanked Duzell with it. The prince went flying backwards and landed in a bruised tangle of black cape and dark hair. His queue of hair had come undone, adding to his disadvantages. Though slightly stunned, Duzell was quickly back on his feet and gritting his teeth in anger. Yuujel smirked at him, swinging his sword back and coming at the prince with a wide slash. Duzell only barely managed to duck under the swing. The game of cat and mouse continued around the arena. Yuujel would charge like a rhinoceros and Duzell would slide away as gracefully as any cat. Unfortunately, the prince's stamina was not what Lord Yuujel's was. In only a matter of minutes the Zi Aldan had him backed against the edge of the arena. Duzell darted left, but stumbled and fell. It was all over. The match was done. Yuujel closed in on his prey, raising his sword for a thrust. Duzell closed his eyes and gnashed his teeth together. If only he could do something!

With that thought, a strange feeling of elation came over the young prince. The high before the fall, perhaps? Yet the feeling persisted and he began to feel strong and rested again. Duzell grabbed his sword and leapt to his feet. He was ready to face any opponent, but as he opened his eyes he discovered he wouldn't have to. Lord Yuujel was lying on the ground, hand resting limply on the pommel of his dropped sword. The boy looked drained, like he hadn't an ounce of energy left in him. It was then Duzell noticed the eerie hush in the stands. The entire stadium was holding its breath. He could hear running footsteps behind him and something bumped into his shoulder. Duzell didn't even twitch or look around. He felt a hand on his, taking the sword from him.

"Duzell!" someone hissed. He looked at the person holding his captured sword. It was Phelios, looking almost as pale as the drained Yuujel. "Come on, Duzell," Phelios urged, sparing a wary glance toward the crowd. People were beginning to whisper. The medics had also regained their senses and were rushing to the fallen lord's side. Phelios beckoned again and this time Duzell obeyed.

"I feel… great," the amazed boy mumbled. Phelios only spared a worried glance at him, guiding his twin past the benches and into the inner rooms reserved for the athletes. "What happened?" Duzell ran a hand through his loose hair and froze. His long black hair was, well, white. White as snow on an early winter morning. "Holy Sidia!" he cursed, grabbing a fistful of the white mass and running it through his hands, inspecting it.

"Yeah, well, that's the least of it," Phelios muttered, uncharacteristically dark. "What you cast back there was straight up blood magic." Phelios crossed his arms. "At least you're eyes are still green."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Listen, how many humans do you know that can cast blood magic?" Duzell scowled and looked away, refusing to meet his brother's eyes.

"It could have been a fluke. Anyways, what's more important is I'm disqualified now." Phelios gave his twin a look that suggested the older prince didn't quite believe that the tournament was more important than Duzell being a vampire. When Phelios didn't respond, Duzell took his silence for ignorance. "You know. The ban on blood magic? It's supposed to discourage contestants from making deals with undead bloodsuckers?"

"I know, but I don't think you should be worrying about the tournament right now."

"Oh? So you're saying you think I'm a vampire?"

"Yes! I've been saying it for a while. I don't think you're going to go full-ghouly on us, but you should be prepared for weird stuff like this."

"How, exactly, does one prepare for instinctively sucking the life out of another person?" Phelios hesitated, unsure how to exactly field this question. Duzell began pulling at his bizarrely white locks in agitation. He was glaring at the offending hairs as if it was their fault they'd turned such an alarming color. Phelios was spared from having to provide an answer by their 'uncle's arrival. Laphiji was standing in the doorway looking particularly reaper-like in head-to-toe black and with an envelope in hand. He walked directly to Duzell, handing the boy the envelope.

"You've been disqualified from the tournament… I think you should return to the castle." He paused, turning to consider Phelios. "Are you withdrawing from your fight?" he asked. Phelios looked surprised.

"No. Not at all." Laphiji looked slightly puzzled. He stood there perplexed, but at length seemed to accept the answer. The taciturn man nodded once and left the room without further discourse. The two princes shared an uneasy look once he'd left.

"That was…"

"Strange," Duzell supplied. Phelios got a peculiar look on his face and turned to his twin.

"Do you think he thinks we're…?"

"St. Phelios, no! I'd rather marry Thisbe."

"Who?"

"The red-head." Both boys gave a shudder at the thought and tried to put the suggestion out of their minds.

"You should get going," Phelios reminded him. Duzell shrugged.

"Don't want me to stay for your fight?" Phelios shook his head, gently pushing his brother towards the door.

"I'll reenact it for you later if you want me to, but I don't think it's a good idea to go back out there just yet." Duzell relented, moving toward the street exit.

"Luck," he muttered, pulling at the handle.

"Thanks," Phelios replied. Duzell pulled open the door and slipped into the street, leaving his brother and the arena behind. He was greeted with stares. Some citizens had obviously been waiting for him to emerge. That, or news got around particularly fast in La Naan. Duzell ignored them and was content to hurry on unencumbered when he felt a familiar and particularly unwanted stare. Against his better judgment, he looked. There she was, watching him like some lurking vulture. This time, instead of the obscure gaze of longing, she looked vaguely smug. Duzell glared back at her, but she didn't seem to mind. She smiled and dropped a bow. Angry, Duzell turned away and hurried to the castle. He had a bad feeling about that girl.