Hey, folks! I'm back!! Sorry about the delay : (. I warned you I was inconstant ever so... Anyways, thanks for all the love and support! As always, tell me what you think. I love hearing people's guesses as to what will happen next. Who knows, maybe I'll be inspired and change the stroy to incorporate the idea if I really like it : ). Much love to you all. See you next chapter.

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"Lady Iahtar, you are a direct descendant of the Holy King Phelios. Your veins are a sacred vessel for his sainted blood. It is your duty to marry a man who will strengthen this bloodline and produce an heir worthy of you holy ancestry."

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Lady Ramia insisted it was the shock of the event that had turned Duzell's hair white. No one else dared to voice their opinion, but it was still clear that Lady Ramia's beliefs were not of the majority. That night, the prince deviated from every possible social tradition and took dinner in their rooms. The meal was not pleasant. Phelios seemed at a loss for words and Duzell was caught between impotent anger and perplexed wonder. He would periodically grab the ends of his hair throughout the evening and raise them to eye level, staring at them as if willing their old color to return. Naturally, he was to be continually disappointed with the results.

"It's not going to change back, already." Phelios added, putting down his fork. Neither had consumed much. Instead, Phelios had spent the last half-hour pushing food around his plate while Duzell's meal remained relatively untouched.

"Quiet… Aren't you supposed to eat that? You're a 'finalist' now." Duzell was actually proud that he didn't sound too bitter when he said it. Phelios had won his own match by the skin of his teeth. He would be facing last years champion the next morning as Duzell had disqualified and Yuujel had been subjected to a forced medical withdraw. Phelios had few illusions about his skill. Yes, he had made it to the finals, but the reigning champion was a seasoned fighter and one very likely to tan his hide in the upcoming match.

"I guess," Phelios replied, resuming his trick of pushing the food around. He reluctantly lifted a forkful and took a bite.

"You don't think you'll make it tomorrow?" Duzell guessed, starting to twist the ends of his bleached hair together. Phelios shrugged, chewing slowly and looking pensive. He swallowed.

"Of course I will. If you don't have confidence in yourself, you admit defeat before the battle even begins," Phelios said, sounding like he was reciting from a 'Helpful Quotes' book. Duzell raised a freshly re-colored white eyebrow.

"Keep telling yourself that. It's a miracle either of us have gotten this far."

"Doubting our abilities?"

"Listen, if I hadn't done… whatever I did today there is no way I would have beaten Yuujel. In case you didn't see, he was beating the crap out of me."

"Oh, I saw. The whole stadium saw."

Duzell frowned, yanking at his hair again. That was right. The whole of La Naan had seen him go vampire on the poor noble and now he looked like he was prematurely grey. Or white. Whatever. The point was that if there hadn't been rumors about him being a vampire king's reincarnation before, then there certainly were now. Only the Dread Vampire King Duzell and people over the age of sixty had white hair, and everyone in the kingdom of Pheliosta knew it. Duzell's life of denial was over.

"What if I really am a vampire?" Duzell mumbled, staring in horror at his hair.

"Well, you're not at the moment. I guess you could use your inherent magic to, I dunno, change forms into one, but you're human for now." Duzell just shook his head. He didn't even have a reply for that one. He pushed his plate away.

"I'm done. I'll go call the maid for the plate," he said, standing up from his chair across the small in-room table from his brother. Phelios looked up, watching his brother.

"Yeah. Okay." He forced another mouthful down. He really should try to eat for the match the next day, but every swallow repulsed him. If only he could stop worrying about Duzell long enough to focus on himself. The whole selflessness bit was really not helping him in this particular instance. After a few more quick bites he put aside his tray for the maid to collect. She showed up shortly, sweeping away the remains of their picked-at dinner. "I'm going to bed," Phelios announced, stripping of his shirt as he headed for the door that would lead to his bedroom.

The princes split a parlor with two bedrooms and a bathroom adjoining. Duzell nodded, but made no move to follow his brother's example. He settled for gazing out the window at the courtyard. Something white flashed in the moonlight and Duzell narrowed his eyes. Great Sidia! Not again! Seiliez and Laphiji were in the garden, leaning in close to one another and talking. Duzell repressed the urge to bash his head against the stone windowsill. Was he cursed? Mostly likely, yes. Duzell reeled back from the window and slammed the shutters closed. He'd had enough for one day.

--

Phelios hadn't won. He'd put up a hell of a fight, dragging the match out for a good seven minutes before conceding defeat. Lady Ramia's predictions had been accurate and someone from La Naan won the tournament. Duzell supposed he would have felt the disappointment more sharply if he hadn't been so preoccupied with his own freakish physical alterations. He left all of the bemoaning to Phelios, who did a poor job of it.

When asked if he was upset about losing, the amicable prince simply smiled and stated that he was pleased with how far he had progressed and that there was nothing to envy in his loss. It had shaken Duzell out of his self-pity stupor long enough to wonder if he and his brother were really related. He was fond of the theory that his parents had found the abandoned child of a monster and a human and just decided to take him in and say he was Duzell's brother. It was completely something their mother would do.

They'd spent their last day in La Naan sequestered in the palace walls. Duzell was too ashamed to venture out into the city and Phelios was to conscious of his little brother's feelings to leave him alone for too long. They spent most of the day in the courtyard, Duzell hiding behind the binding of a book and Phelios chatting with Lady Elenor about her approaching nuptials.

The lady, it seemed, had little to occupy her time lately, as her mother-in-law to-be was managing all of the wedding arrangements, from flowers to guests to food. Lady Elenor was silently pleased to be allowed to decide on how her dress should be made. No one but Seiliez knew that Laphiji was utterly miserable about the whole tangled affair and would flee from the room every time someone attempted to ask him about the arrangements. Duzell and Phelios had not brought up what they had witnessed that night not even a week prior. Duzell was trying to block the business from his mind, while Phelios felt it should be resolved by the involved parties without his extraneous interference.

When the bell tower struck three, the princes were happily on their way to the throne room to take their official leave and be on their way. As much as they disliked having their uncle join them on the trip, they were both eagerly looking forward to returning to their home. Only a week had passed, but the events of that week made it seem so much longer and both were bone-weary of life in La Naan. The plan was they'd say a quick, private goodbye to Lady Ramia and be on their way. So, it is easy to say they were both thoroughly and entirely surprised to enter the throne room and find it filled with solemn, disapproving faces.

Lady Ramia was seated on her dais, her eldest standing to her right. Laphiji stood at the bottom of the circular stone landing, dressed for travel. The royal Razenia family stood to the left of the throne, the monkey of a Princess restrained in her father's arms. What really caught Duzell's attention and caused him to step back with a barley audible hiss was the pristinely dressed redhead standing smack dab in the center of the cluster as if she were the cool little center of the universe. Behind her stood and aging man, obviously noble, with fading brown hair and deeply defined crows feet. His face was red with some kind of exertion and he looked as if he'd just finished the telling-off of his life.

Ramia coolly eyed her grandnephews as they entered the room. She turned her head back to the aging gentleman. Her face was devoid of its usual smug smile, making her look stern and almost foreboding.

"The princes, just in time, Lord Forden," she said, her tone matching her chilled gaze. "Duzell, come here child," she said, returning her attention to the princes. Duzell shifted nervously and felt like his legs were dragging marble shoes across the floor as he approached the dais. "Duzell, Lady Forden informs me that you are engaged to his daughter."

The room was dead silent. Duzell was sure he'd swallowed his own tongue and would never be capable of speech again. Phelios collected calm was gone and he gaped openly in amazement. No one else seemed to find the news new, even if it was still quite alarming. Duzell shuddered involuntarily and tried to think of something to say.

"Pardon?" he managed in a shaky voice. He was starting to regain some of his higher processing abilities, which he quickly put into use by glaring at the girl. She simply smiled demurely. Lord Forden cleared his throat.

"My daughter informs me," he began in a gravely voice, "that you made a promise of engagement to her two nights ago and that you had been meeting in secret since before then," the man accused, glowering at Duzell like the was some galvanizing rogue who made a habit of bamboozling young ladies. "She took this promise in good faith and was alarmed to hear the young prince was leaving La Naan without formally declaring their intentions. I am quite appalled by this! I demand this young man keep his promise to my sweet Thisbe," the man finished. Duzell was making a decided effort against attacking the mad little vixen. His fists were clinched and he was sure Phelios could actually hear his teeth grinding. Lady Ramia turned to him again.

"Is this true, Duzell?" she asked, serious and unforgiving. Duzell was so overcome; he didn't think he'd be able to speak. Phelios quickly stepped in for him.

"Surely it can't be, Great-Aunt," he said, trying to sound diplomatic. "My brother is acquainted with the young lady, but I can vouch that he did not make any promises to her or impugn her virtue in any way," he tried. Duzell crossed his arms.

"We were only alone together a few times, anyways," he managed, speaking slowly and with great effort. Phelios nodded to back up his brother's statement and then immediately wished he hadn't. A look of surprise came across Lady Ramia's face and Duzell could swear he saw the gleam of triumph in the red-haired sorceresses eyes. Lady Ramia sat up straighter in her throne, her furs shifting around her shoulders as she moved.

"You were with the young lady without a chaperone present?" she asked in that courtly, 'simply-appalling' manner. Phelios winced and Duzell pressed his lips together. He knew his eyes must be wide as green saucers. That etiquette code was beyond ancient, from before even his parent's time. Surely they weren't going to bury him on that custom, were they? Laphiji, surprisingly, was the next to speak.

"Even so, Duzell has to marry from the Phelios line," he added, voice quiet and calm. Lord Forden looked to his daughter and took a shuffling step forward. Lady Ramia's eyes snapped to him.

"I'm afraid my son is right. Your daughter may be from a noble line, but the young prince must marry a descendent of Phelios, even a second born," she announced, trying to appear sympathetic to the elderly lord. He nodded solemnly, but seemed unperturbed.

"But my daughter is a descendent," he announced, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a old, battered crest with the Ci Xeneth symbol engraved on its weatherworn surface. "This was given to one of my maids by a red-haired swordsman who came through this town seventeen years ago. Nine moths later, that maid, a favorite of my wife's, died in childbirth. We took the babe in as out own since we had no other children. To this day I believe that man was the son of Lord Jened of Ci Xeneth, Illsaide." The silence following was broken by a strange muffled gasp that walked the knife's edge of being a sob. Queen Falan's face was ashen white beneath her freckles and she looked about to faint. Her husband loosed an arm from their daughter to steady his wife. She leaned against him, seemingly in a daze.

Lady Ramia courteously ignored Falan's outburst and folded her wrinkled hands firmly in her lap. Duzell thought he was going to gag. The entire thing was incredible! This was hardly an airing of grievances. It was a circus. His own personal circus orchestrated by ringleader redhead! Surely no one actually believed this tale. It was thin at best and had more holes that most cheeses. Who could verify this man's claim was true? Who would expect him to marry the girl because they'd been alone without a chaperone? If his mother had abided by that outdated rule, she likely would have married the first farm-boy she snuck out of the castle to pull a prank on.

"This is a very serious matter." Duzell was aghast at the words tumbling past Lady Ramia's wrinkled lips. It was a sham! A mockery! What was serious about it? Duzell was about to say so when his brother put a hand on his wrist. Duzell looked sharply at the blond. Phelios shook his head subtly, aware of what a yelling-fit would do to his brother's honor and reputation. Duzell stood down and settled for starting at the floor. "There's nothing for it," Lady Ramia asked after a long moment of consideration. "Lady Thisbe will have to accompany the princes back to Pheliosta where the Queen may make a decision." Duzell was horror struck. If his great-aunt was giving this rouse such serious thought, his mother would be all over it. He closed his eyes and tried to suppress a groan.