Roy was discharged from the hospital once his blood test results returned. The first poison, succinylcholine, had caused his muscle and limb paralysis, but luckily not enough to cause his diaphragm to fail. The second, a substance called syrup of ipecac, had induced the vomiting episode after Satan the maid had stabbed Roy in the neck with her syringe. Neither, however, proved fatal in the dosage Roy had taken.

That dose of death already had a claimant. Walter Wolanski.

Before eight in the morning, Roy was already awake and washed. Sleep had come easily to him that night, but waking up felt like returning to a nightmarish realm of reality. He could still feel a ghost of his churning stomach from yesterday – and he could only hope nothing would come back to haunt him. His clothes couldn't survive another episode of puking everywhere.

Treading between his rooms, he prepared two fold-out chairs on the golden tiled floor of the bathroom, facing the Board. Dr Strong had recommended a day of bedrest, but Roy could hardly keep still. There was a kindling in his soul, sparked from his confrontation yesterday, and he wanted to nurture it, utilise its power and energy. Use his pent-up anger to his advantage.

He had every intention of solving some mysteries today, even if he didn't want to. Or, at least, adding more information to the Board.

Roy reached for the ribbon of fabric beside his bedside table that would ring for Rudy, but a soft knock halted him in his tracks. Wondering who would want to talk to him so early, he quickly wrapped himself in a dressing gown to hide his naked upper-half and cracked the door open.

Officer Durante's hands were clenched so tightly by his side his knuckles blanched, and his green eyes flashed with worry. His uniform was pressed and wrinkleless, a light scent of fresh cotton wafting from him. His jaw was trimmed, his stance was stiff, and his shoulders rose nearly to chin-level.

"Your Highness," he grounded out. "I hope I haven't disturbed you so early in the morning."

Of course, Roy realised. The last time they'd spoken was when he'd caught Durante extravagantly flirting with Rudy.

Flirting and Durante seemed like they would be antonyms of one another in a dictionary. The man whispering sweet nothings to Rudy was not the man standing in front of Roy now. He had been replaced with a soldier of war, hardened by service to the crown, and slave to his duty.

Roy couldn't help letting an outrageous smirk overcome him. "I'm afraid lover boy isn't here yet. Shall I ring for him?" He placed the back of his hand on his forehead and draped himself against the doorframe. "Or are you still in the dregs of your courtship?"

Durante stiffened, but there was no hiding the sweeping flush over his face. He fixated his stark eyes on the door beside Roy's head. A skein of sweat dragged down his forehead. "I… haven't come for him, sir. I… have come for you. To thank you."

Roy paused, his smirk dropping. Thank him? He straightened. "For what?"

Durante levelled a breath. "It has been an honour and a privilege to work in your service."

Roy opened the door wider. "That sounds like a resignation speech."

"It… is a resignation speech."

Wait, what? Roy widened his eyes. "Resign? Why?!" He shook his head, holding up a hand to silence Durante. "This is because of yesterday, isn't it? Because I know about your…" he grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "secret paramour."

Durante's bottom lip upturned, but apart from that, his face remained like stone. "… Yes." He cleared his throat. "I… realise I may have put both you and your valet in an awkward position. I have unfairly ruined your relationship, and gone against the work ethic of the palace. For that, I offer my sincerest apologies, and only ask for your forgiveness as I—"

"You're not leaving."

Durant's mouth paused mid-sentence, hanging on his last word. "I… what?"

Roy gestured into his bedroom. Durante pursed his lips before following inside. Roy shut the door, then twirled to him, his dressing gown dragging across the carpet.

"One: I have zero problems with whatever you and Rudy do in your spare time."

The same blush ferociously gripped Durante's cheeks, dark against his bronze skin.

"Two: you know about the… the thing," Roy said, rolling his hands. He lowered his voice. "The spy."

Durante eased his hands together, intertwining his meaty fingers, and twitched them like an erratic beat. "Yes, sir," he said. "My loyalty is still to the crown, and to your parents. I shall not breathe a word—"

"But if you leave, Durante, then I have to break in another guard to the secret. And none of the other guards are on par with your ninja guard skills."

Durante looked like he was about to argue, but instead clamped his mouth shut.

Roy continued. "So, therefore, I refuse your resignation, and demand that you sit your butt down and start relearning the hallways, because you're staying right here. I'll… even give you a raise."

He realised this was a strange form of blackmail.

Durante, as usual, wasn't ecstatic about earning more money. He frowned. "Thank you, Your Highness, but… I really don't deserve it."

"Why not? You did your job just fine at the Midknight dinner."

But Durante's face twisted – his eyes narrowed, and his lips clasped together. He spoke sharply, like a grazing knife edge. "I also allowed you to be poisoned because I was too busy flirting with Rudy."

Roy opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. Well, he was right. Sort of.

He regained confidence. "You weren't meant to look out for me that day. Only to protect my door. Did the rebels break in and steal my mighty collection of boxer shorts? I don't believe they did."

Then it hit Roy – why Durante had felt so awkward every time Roy gave him a raise. Each time he did, he solidified Durante's position as his personal guard, his bodyguard, and therefore set in stone how often he would see Roy… and Rudy.

Durante's shoulders dropped, and a gloss cast over his eyes. "I just… I just feel terrible about everything that happened yesterday."

Roy had nothing to say about the Durante's situation with Rudy, but… Durante surely couldn't take the blame for Roy's poisoning. He had no idea – none of them did – about what was about to happen.

"I can't speak for the, ahem, winner of your heart, but me being poisoned was not your fault. It's no one's." He grinned. "I'm fine. Don't blame yourself."

Durante didn't look like he could take that as an answer, but nodded warily. He sucked in a breath, that expanded his ginormous chest like a rising beast from slumber, and straightened – the inner Durante lost to the past, and the warrior Durante returning for work.

"If Your Highness wants me to stay, then I shall stay."

Roy nodded. "Good." He grinned again, wiggling his eyebrows. "Rudy would kill me if I fired you, as well."

Durante's eyes widened a fraction. "He would?"

"Yeah. He would. But only in his head. In real life, he'd just snark me to death."

At this, Durante managed a small smile. "Same old Rudy."

"Same old Rudy," Roy repeated. This was the oddest bonding session he'd ever had. "Love to stay and chat, but I actually have a Board meeting with him soon."

Durante bowed his head. "Of course. I shall be outside."

He left without another word.

Roy quickly changed into a loose T-shirt and a pair of jeans (luxuries he was scorned at for wearing outside the privacy of his own room). Durante, however, was in on the spy secret now, and three sets of eyes was better than two. Perhaps Durante had seen or heard something suspicious, or could provide a new perspective on the Selected girls?

Roy tugged the ribbon to summon Rudy, then popped his head out of his room and said to Durante, "Want to feel like a CSI for an hour or two?"

=#=#=#=

=#=#=#=

Rudy, as Roy predicted, was not a happy bunny when he saw Officer Durante standing awkwardly in Roy's bathroom.

With his hair neat and tidy, and his butler's uniform fresh and clean, Rudy grimaced at the sight of his not-so-secret paramour hovering awkwardly by the Board, and fiddling with the multi-coloured pins. He shot Roy a look of near-loathing.

"I thought I said I didn't want you involved, Your Highness," he grated out.

Roy pushed up his nose and clashed his glare with Rudy's. "This has nothing to do with your lover's tiff, Rudy. Officer Durante knows about the spy, so I figured we should use all the heads we have on the matter to talk about the Board."

Rudy glanced at Durante, then back to Roy. "Very well," he said reluctantly. Then, with a warning hiss, he added, "But we are not broaching that subject."

Durante looked mildly hurt by the statement, but stayed quiet.

Rudy sat down on the fold-out chair, and Durante took the seat next to them. The tension was palpable enough to swim in. Neither men turned their head even the slightest direction towards each other, like there was a brick wall erected between them. Rudy stared so hard at the Board, Roy thought the pictures might fall off, whereas Durante was stiff enough to withstand the ceiling dropping on his head.

Clearing his throat to shoo the awkwardness away, Roy made a dramatic show gesturing to the Board.

"So, gentlemen and gentlebros, welcome to the first Board meeting."

"I cannot contain my excitement," Rudy said, with zero excitement.

Roy ignored him. "I, Prince Roy, first of my name, have summoned you both to the humble abode of my bathroom to discuss our current findings so far." He swirled on his heel, the floor squeaking, to look at the Board. The annotated photographs and tufts of red yarn bound tightly to bright pins filled Roy with a hope he couldn't dispel – it wasn't much progress, but it was better than nothing. "What shall we address first?"

Rudy spoke, "How many of the Selected ladies remain?"

Now that Natasha and Vanessa had left for good, Roy made a mental count. "Seventeen." That seemed like a big jump from thirty-five. It was pretty much halfway. He quickly stuck another two felt Xs onto the eliminated mugshots.

"And what clues to do we have?" Rudy asked.

Roy wasn't sure Durante had ever seen the Board, so even though Roy and Rudy were all caught up, he figured a summary of the events and clues would be helpful. He cleared his throat, parched. "The first is Levinia: she said something about showing me her 'prowess' if I gave her something back in exchange."

Durante actually raised his hand. Stiffly, but still raised, and waiting to be answered on. Roy nodded his head towards him.

"Prowess?" he echoed. "What does Lady Levinia mean by that?"

"Beats me," said Roy.

"Do you have context, Your Highness?"

Roy winced – he had context, all right. Rudy snorted and clasped his hand to his mouth, and Roy felt his cheeks flush. "Well, she was making out with me."

"… Oh," said Durante, too gobsmacked to say much else.

Rudy still snickered as he said, "What could she have meant by prowess?" he smirked. "The aforementioned making out skills, perhaps? She does seem to buttonhole you quite often."

Roy glared at him. "Twice."

"Twice more than the others."

Durante cracked a smile then, staring hard at the floor. If he'd made a sound, a giggle or laugh, Rudy would probably have ceased his amusement immediately. Dare he find an on-off boyfriend funny.

Roy flexed his shoulders and shrugged. "Not my fault she wants me bad."

"Well, if she is the spy, and she is trying to solicit information from you, she doesn't, ahem, want you bad."

Roy glanced at her picture. There was a sharp beauty about her, as if her very eyelashes and cheekbones were bold enough to draw blood. Crossing his arms, Roy sighed.

"I think I'd have to just ask her about it. If she really wanted information, we'd have spent less time making out and more time just talking."

He noted this down on a scrap piece of paper.

"The next was Yuriko Sato," he continued, "but she's gone now." A pang of guilt tickled his heart, but he forced himself to push it away. He, instead, indicated to the mugshot of Camilla Daugherty, smiling demurely, and the tacked photo of a broken stage next to her. "After that was Camilla Daugherty and her possible fashion show stage sabotage. She pointed out a flaw in the catwalk construction."

Rudy sat back and intertwined his hands. "Do you really think she would have access to the stage before it was complete?"

"I mean, I was poisoned yesterday. Anything's possible."

"True," said Rudy. "Construction finished… when?"

"They finished the stage two days before the show. I remember Persephone rambling on about it to Mother. The seating area was completed the morning of the day before the show, so the catwalk must have been done the day before that."

"So that left the evening of the Wednesday and Thursday before the show," Rudy said. He stroked his chin. "Unless the construction crew were involved in the sabotage, then that would give Lady Camilla any time before the rest of the production staff were allowed entrance into the Great Ballroom." He frowned. "I'm not entirely sure why you blame her, really. She pointed out the flaw."

Durante tensed. "This could be an example of a citizen fulfilling her duty to protect the crown."

Rudy side-glanced at him with narrowed eyes. Was that an attempt to appeal to Rudy? Roy had no idea.

He tilted his head back and forth. "It was either an act of heroism I shall forever be indebted to her for, or a wily way to gain my favour." He jerked his head to Camilla's picture. "She is an architect, after all. She knows how to bust that stage nicely enough. Maybe it was a ploy to draw suspicion away from her?"

"Perhaps," Rudy said, "it would be wise to find an alibi for her, for the Wednesday and Thursday night. Her maids, for example. Or her guards."

Rudy cleared his throat then, staring hard at Roy, and then flicking his gaze towards Durante. The silence that stuffed itself into every nook and cranny screamed with tension.

Roy rolled his eyes. "Durante, would you mind determining who was on rotation that day and asking her guards about it?"

Durante pursed his lips, but bowed his head. "I can and shall, Your Highness."

"Excellent." If anything, this meant that Camilla could claim back her innocence. "Right. Next, and last of the girls: Skylar Davenport. She… just gave me weird vibes."

"Weird vibes?" Rudy repeated. "That's not solid reasoning for suspecting she is the spy."

Roy twisted his lips. "Of course it is. Spies would be weird, right?"

Rudy rolled his eyes. "How was she 'weird'?"

"This was the morning Yuriko was taken into custody for potentially being the spy, and Mother wouldn't let me see her. Skye joined me in the gardens, and she… I guess she just seemed like she was jealous of having to share me with the other girls."

There was a pregnant pause as the group soaked in the prospect, and Roy wondered – would a spy hint at being possessive? She wasn't even that bad, really, recalling that she held his arm and reassured him about his woes, making it known that she was there for him whenever he needed her. It was quite reassuring at the time. In fact, the only comment that made him hesitate was that she added the other Selected girls in her reassurances like an afterthought.

Rudy crossed his arms, frowning. "I'm not saying a spy can't be jealous, but… Selected girls can be jealous, too."

Roy couldn't think of a single instance where he'd seen any of his Selected girls act out of jealousy. In fact, they seemed quite a placid bunch, thank goodness. If anything, it was Roy growing jealous, that some of them seemed to stare more in Barney's direction than his own.

"I suppose you're right." He glanced at Skye's wide grin, gleaming from her mugshot, and added the words weird vibes. "But for good measure, I'm keeping that comment up there."

"Very well. If you think it best," Rudy said.

Maybe he should add more positive things to the Board. An act or comment that seemed anti-spy. Roy thought back to Barney and his gentlemanly charms. A spy would want to capture Roy's full attention, shun all distractions – but Alisa Orlov kept looking elsewhere. Barney claimed to have a hold on other girls too, but he'd definitely zeroed on Alisa from the start.

He scribbled a note and stuck it next to Alisa's name. Possibly being wooed by Barney.

Rudy cocked an eyebrow. "That's treason."

Roy was confident Alisa wouldn't be so stupid anyway, but it still seemed like the epitome of non-spy behaviour. An innocent gesture that said a thousand words. Another thought popped into his head, recalling a conversation at the Bonfire Ball, and he added next to Levinia's name: has no friends. After the fiasco of letting slip about the province financial statements, it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Yep," said Roy, "but I'm putting up everything that seems even mildly pro- or anti-spy material."

After a long pause, Rudy said, "So, that's all the information you've gathered? You haven't been in any other strange situations recently?"

Roy combed through his mind – and recalled yet another interesting snippet. Lilly and Eulalia during Roy and Lilly's date. They'd argued about something, but not owned up to what. Was it spy-related, or a genuine concern for a Selected girl?

He, again, scribbled this both on a note for the Board, and onto his scrap of paper, to remind himself. Lilly and Eulalia argued at my date, but didn't tell me what about. He would confront the issue later, even though it had happened some time ago. He hoped that it was just an innocent comment.

Rudy sat forwards. "Interesting."

"It was kind of awkward, actually." He smirked, suddenly finding a way to turn the situation. "Two people of the same gender arguing, and me just third wheeling. How funny."

Rudy shot Roy a sharp look – even Durante's eyebrows dipped in resignation.

"Sorry. I couldn't resist."

"Yes, hilarious," snapped Rudy. He couldn't meet anyone's eye now, staring hard at the floor and withdrawing his posture. "Is that all, then?"

"About the girls directly, yes." Roy pointed to the black-and-white photos he'd stolen from the Internet as placeholders. "We also have Walter Wo-loser, Jordan Iscar-riot, Newton's Get-a-Life, and Literal Satan, plus the province financial statements they stole, and their symbol." He paused. "The gold-and-silver ten-pointed star."

His drawing was crude, but it still strummed his memories from the Midknight dinner like out-of-tune harp strings. The ten-pointed star, woven from threads of gold and silver, gleaming from the hood that shrouded Walter Wolanski's face. Their symbol of hope, of revolution. And to Roy, a symbol of destruction and hatred. A symbol he'd been taught to shun, that could trigger the deepest roots of his fear to rocket to his surface. He'd never hated something so bright and hopeful before, something that people looked up to on lost nights, but it was so tarnished by the Southern Rebels' legacy that it was hard not to see it cloaked in blood.

"The rebels used to wear the star symbol, Your Highness," Durante spoke. "Sometimes as jewellery, sometimes hung on their lapels, or branded as tattoos. Sometimes even through their own signatures."

He couldn't recall a moment where anyone wore the ten-pointed star, or wrote it in their signature. Unfortunately, he figured the spy wasn't that stupid.

Durante continued. "It is strange, considering in history, it was the Northern Rebels that used the North Star as their symbol."

Rudy cut across, and a sharpness layered his voice like acid. "They used the pole star, which is traditionally drawn with eight points. As opposed to ten."

Durante hardened. "Still," he said, with a tense tone. "It was a Northern Rebel tradition, rather than Southern Rebel."

"Maybe they simply wanted to pay homage to them," barked Rudy.

Durante didn't entertain him, still awkward. He didn't look like he wanted to argue, and the only indicator that he felt hurt was the slipping veil of his exterior – his slumping shoulders, his marring frown.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Roy appreciated their thoughts and opinions, but he wasn't sure how much he could take being the pacifier of two clashing men. He puffed out his chest. "All right, Durudy. Don't make me get involved."

Rudy snapped up to look at him. "I beg your pardon?" His nostrils flared. "Did you just…?"

Roy grinned. "Durudy."

"No."

"Well," said Roy. "It's either that, or Rurante."

Durante frowned. He clasped his hands together on his lap. "May I ask, Your Highness… what is Durudy?"

Rudy shot to stand, a flush ravenous on his cheeks. "Well, if that is all we have to discuss."

He tugged on his jacket, shot Roy a warning look, and stormed out before either Roy or Durante could stop him.

Roy felt his heart leaden. He thought yesterday's pep talk had reinvigorated their friendship, but apparently, the ginormous wedge that was Rudy's shattered relationship separated them still. He was desperate to help repair them and give Rudy a twinkle of happiness in his life.

On a normal day, Rudy would take Roy's jokes with a smirk and a snappy comeback, but if Rudy really didn't want Roy's ungracious nose thrown in, Roy would back out. Teasing was fun, but losing Rudy's friendship again was not. How much had his break from Durante really affected him?

Durante hardly moved, but his knuckles paled from clenching so hard. "… Was it something I said?"

Roy could have shaken his head, but Durante's apparent innocence towards ship names was probably what set Rudy off. Roy grinned. "Yes and no."

"Was it the Durudy thing?" Durante asked. He fell into a whisper. "What is that?"

"It's your ship name."

"My… what?"

"Durante and Rudy. Durudy."

Durante blinked a few times, before frowning. "I'm… afraid I don't understand, sir."

Awkward. "… Never mind."

Instead of pressing the issue, Durante sighed, expelling his content face for the worry sinking his cheeks. "That was so uncomfortable."

"Yeah." Roy huffed. "I thought you two might get along for me."

Durante definitely let his guard persona drop down a cliff, as he barked a sarcastic laugh. "Even I know you had a bonus intention with this meeting, sir." He straightened in the chair. "Trying to talk with him isn't working. I should… let him stew on it."

Roy smirked. "Give him some time. Maybe then, he'll fling himself back into your arms, weeping about how much he missed you." He breathed out a long breath, not waiting for Durante's reply. "Well, I suppose the Board meeting is over. Thanks for your help, and don't forget to ask for Camilla Daugherty's alibi. You're dismissed."

Durante stood, adjusted the hem of his red uniform, and strode towards the door. He opened it, only for a maid in a different uniform to grind to a halt from her hurried walk.

"Begging the intrusion, officer," she said, her words coloured with some sort of British accent. A maid of Aunt Philippa's, perhaps? "Is this Prince Roy's room?"

Durante opened the door wider, and Roy revealed himself. He wished now he'd changed into his suit, if this girl was going to snitch to the Twinces about his casual attire.

"How can I help you?" he asked.

She hastily curtsied. "Their Royal Highnesses, Princes Alexander and Barnabas, have requested your presence in the West Wing, Conference Room B."

The West Wing? With all the conference rooms and offices? Durante slipped into the corridor, staring warily at the maid, and Roy spoke, "Why, may I ask?"

"They have set up a boardroom meeting to discuss their extended stay."

Roy could have gagged. Of course, the menaces would want to discuss the 'terms' of their stay, as if it were some political arrangement. Of course, they'd drag Roy along to find out what horrific things they wanted done during their visit.

He waved out his hand, sighing. "All right, I'll be there as fast as I can."

He shut the door, allowing dread to fill him as he sorted through his wardrobe for an appropriate suit.

=#=#=#=

=#=#=#=

With Officer Durante a few paces behind, Roy strode down the numerous hallways until he breached the West Wing. Displaced was his determination to organise the Board – though they had made some progress – and substituted with a subtle rage that burnt through him like lava flow.

Everyone in the palace thought he'd drank too much last night. That included the twins.

They were going to rip him to shreds.

The very thought that he would have to endure a royal mocking in front of the entire court was nearly powerful enough for his feet to turn on their heels and run back to his bedroom. He knew their approach would be relentless and harsh, and the rest of the court would probably agree with them. As if they had any less reason to take Roy seriously.

He threw himself around the corner into the corridors with multiple conference rooms. Delia Colestrist stood by the windows, overlooking the courtyard and fountain, and he halted – surprised to see her anywhere close to the meeting areas. He knew she hadn't come here to wish him well, after last night's 'drinking incident'. Should he turn and run?

He hesitated from doing anything. Why would a Selected girl come down here, this early in the morning?

Was she… scouting for information?

Delia's hair, unlike what he'd seen for the past few weeks, was loose – luscious black locks, highlighted with deep brown, flowing to waist length. Her Greek chiton style dress was short, this time – draping to her knees in ivory satin. She whirled to face him, and her hazel eyes seem to pique with interest.

"Oh, Your Highness," she dipped into a rushed curtsy. "How… how are you?" Her tone wavered with uncertainty.

Roy was saddened to hear her slight edge of disgust. He approached her by the window, clamping down the reluctance in his bones, but didn't stand too near, as if to convey his sorrow. "Yes, I'm well now. Thank you for your… concern. Did you enjoy the Ball last night?"

She frowned. "That's it? You're just… well?" She glanced around her before saying, "You went to the infirmary."

If only he wasn't bound by the idea that ignorance was bliss. If he could tell everyone he was poisoned, he wouldn't have to upkeep this charade of his party behaviour. For once, he wanted to shed his stupid reputation.

He managed a grin. "Yeah. I have a great doctor. Fixed me in no time." He adjusted his tie. "I don't even have a hangover."

Delia didn't look convinced, but she smiled. "Okay, well, that's good. It seemed… rather serious, last night."

She had no idea.

Delia let a smile cross her. "But the Bonfire Ball was wonderful! Everyone's costumes were so fabulous. Did you know Maeve won an award for Best Costume?" She laughed suddenly. "Hawaiian punch. Where does she think of these things? His Majesty came second, too."

He'd missed that all. To think, because of some stupid maid in a mask.

He intertwined his fingers and smiled politely. "They did have two fantastic costumes." His head cleared of the thoughts suddenly. "I have to ask. Why are you here?"

She blinked to register the question, and then glanced out to the autumnal gardens below. "Actually, my dad wanted me to enter—"

"No, no," Roy said, stifling a laugh. "I meant here. Why are you here, right now?"

"Oh!" She laughed, a cross between a giggle and a snort. "My bad. I like this time of day, you know. And this season." She turned to face the window again. "Especially the gardens. It gives me so much inspiration to paint. So I like to come here occasionally, by myself. It's like a little secret."

Roy leant against the windowsill beside her, painfully aware of the looming meeting, and Durante a few steps away. He tried to clear that from his mind and appreciate the beauty of his home that he'd taken for granted his whole life. The wealth of ginger trees, the crystal arches of the fountain water, the pathways meandering through flowering beds of geraniums and jasmines, and the acres of emerald-green grass. His thoughts recently had been so bloodied by rebels and spies, Roy didn't often get to appreciate what he had.

"Sorry, I guess I know your secret now," he whispered.

"That's okay," Delia chirruped, sticking out her tongue. "You're good at keeping secrets, right?"

Roy couldn't help but laugh. "You have no idea." Besides the giant, subtle spy war, Roy had kept the secret of his party behaviour away from Ji-Yu's ears for months.

Delia beamed with pride, and pounded her chest. "I'm a great secret keeper, you know," she said. "Little ones, not so much. But big secrets – I keep them until I'm old and wrinkly. And this is one of my big secrets."

He grinned, his eyes glinting with smugness. "And do you have any other big secrets, Lady Delia?"

"Perhaps." She twinkled with mischief and her hidden secrets. "You'll have to find out."

Swept up in the moment, Roy gazed at her. He was intrigued, all right – but what were those secrets? What did she keep under lock and key?

A big secret could easily be that she was a spy, working on his death sentence.

But… to be so open about it. Was that foolish in itself, or a deliberate ploy to draw him in?

Roy felt a wash of glumness. He was certainly drawn in. There was a boldness, a streak and hue of something more, in Delia's eyes, and he wanted to swirl the colours. Find out more. Even if it pained him to admit this was probably something worthy for a position on the Board. Secret-Keeper Delia Colestrist.

She broke the stare, glancing back at the garden, and a sudden blossom of peach captivated her cheeks. "Have you already had breakfast?"

Rudy had brought measly jam on toast for Roy to eat, but he wasn't particularly hungry after yesterday. The poison killed his appetite. "I have."

Delia's glimmer dulled. "Ah," she said. "I'd hoped we could… get breakfast together."

Was that… a date offer? Roy paused to let it soak in, before sighing. "I'd join you regardless, but unfortunately I have a meeting to attend to."

She saddened. "Oh, that's okay." She spared one last cast of her eyes towards the bronzing gardens, before curtsying in Roy's direction again. "Then I bid you a good meeting. Hopefully… you'll come by the Women's Room later to address the rest of the Selected girls. We're all… erm, worried about you."

His heart steeled and crumbled all at once. Worried about him, or revolted by him? He could name at least one Selected girl that would scorn his recent actions, and the idea of having to face them twisted his gut. He felt like he wasn't telling the exact truth when he said, "I will."

She turned to leave, when a thought popped into his head. His future queen would have to attend meetings with Roy anyway, right? Why not break some of the girls in now? He didn't exactly know Delia beyond short conversations, and maybe this would be a chance to show her that he could improve himself, and place others' needs before his own.

"Hey, Lady Delia?"

She stopped, and swirled around. "Oh, just Delia, is fine!"

He grinned. "Great. Delia." He paused. "Do you want to come to the meeting with me?"

=#=#=#=

=#=#=#=

Roy, Delia and Durante came face-to-face with Alex and Barney outside of Conference Room B, a buzz of activity already occurring behind the closed doors. He could feel an angry aura before even approaching the room.

Alex and Barney were huddled around a newspaper in Barney's hands, and when Roy and Delia ambled closer, Roy recognised the front page. It was the same newspaper they'd shown him yesterday, when they'd landed in their helicopter. The article about the fashion show.

Why had they brought that here?

Alex looked up first – and sneered. Roy felt an immediate claw in his gut writhing with discomfort.

"Fitz," he snapped, with more fury than normal. "About time."

Barney added, "You're late."

Roy grinned smugly. "A prince is never late. Everyone else is simply early."

Delia sniggered on his arm. Alex shot her a glare before refocusing on Roy.

"When you're finished quoting the Princess Diaries and becoming irresponsibly intoxicated, maybe then I can take you seriously as a prince."

Roy felt Delia's grip on Roy's arm tighten, like she very much wanted to defend his honour. Somehow, she managed to hold her tense expression, but he could see a bonfire igniting in her eyes. He, too, conjured some form of calmness amongst the calamity.

"What do you want?"

"Did you do it?"

Roy cocked an eyebrow. "Do what?"

Barney hissed. "Did you convince Mother to make us stay for the month?"

Ah. So that was why they were angry. Roy could have laughed – their expressions, so taut and creased with anger, rolling off them in a corona of darkness. It seemed to ease Delia, too, knowing that Alex and Barney had lost their tempers before either she or Roy had.

Roy responded coolly, "Like I would want to keep you two around for more than necessary. No. I didn't, nor wouldn't, convince Aunt Philippa to keep you here."

At this, Barney blew out a serrated sigh. "I told you, Alexander. There's no way Fitz would want that."

"Then who?" Alex snapped, swirling to face his brother. "Who would want to punish us like this?"

"Have you considered," Delia said, with a booming ferocity, "that it was your mother that wanted you to stay? Maybe to learn some manners?"

Alex rounded on her, eyes flaring. "H-How dare you!" he barked. "I am Crown Prince of the United Kingdom Commonwealth, Prince of Wales, and Honoured Son of the union between the House of Windsor and the House of Schrea—"

The conference room doors swung open, and Aunt Philippa stepped out. Her red hair had been neatly pinned back, stark and sheer, over her pale-blue suit-dress.

She brandished her gloved hands with hurried gestures. "Don't throw around your title like that, Alexander, for goodness sake," she chided. She acknowledged Roy and Delia with a sweet smile. "Roy, Lady Delia. Wonderful for you to join us. Please come inside, before my sons decide to recite their coronation vows."

Alex shot a death glare Roy's way before traipsing behind Aunt Philippa. Likewise, Barney's upturned lip matched his wary glare, before he, too, followed his brother.

"You're sure you want to join?" Roy whispered. "It's like a zoo in there."

Delia chuckled. "Too late now."

He wished it wasn't. Sensing discourse, he quickly turned to Durante and whispered, "Wait outside."

Durante just nodded, but he didn't look like he was going to enjoy the moment's peace either.

Advisors from the court had already taken seats at the table. Eleanor Cahill strung her arm over the back of her chair in a relaxed manner, but her clenched hands and pursed lips suggested anything but an easy going attitude. Madam Tremaine's frazzled hair, coiffed into a strict bun, seemed greyer than normal. Hobbs rolled a pen in his hand, whereas Ramsbottom gained another five chins as he regarded Roy with a hiss.

Alex and Barney took their seats near Aunt Philippa. Another newspaper was spread out in front of them, less crinkled than the one in Barney's hands. The three of them sat adjacent Ji-Yu. Amongst the silence tension, Ji-Yu looked like a tundra – cold and calculating, but she didn't even glance in Roy's direction when he walked in. Merrick cast a grim smile his way, but said nothing.

Roy pulled over another chair for Delia to sit, between him and Gemima Chi. Unlike the other advisors, who seemed to burden varying degrees of anger or disgust, Gemima, too, was a picture of cold calm. Her hands were clasped on her lap, but unmoving and still.

All eyes on Roy, he reluctantly let Delia slip into her seat, and the stares of the other advisors thrummed against his conscience.

Alex and Barney stood up. Alex cleared his throat.

"Thank you for joining us this morning at this ad lib meeting." He nodded in particular to Merrick and Ji-Yu. "We are here to discuss the actions of our beloved cousin, Prince Roy. My apologies, Aunt Ji-Yu, Uncle Merrick, if such a topic is delicate, but it cannot be ignored."

Roy shrank at the words. Of course, Roy, Merrick and Ji-Yu, and possibly Gemima, were the only people at this table who knew the real story. Who knew that Roy's behaviour last night was not due to his own actions.

He glanced at his parents, hoping for some sort of excuse, something they could say that would prevent an imminent verbal slap-down from his evil cousins and the rest of the royal court. But Merrick twiddled his thumbs.

Ji-Yu cleared her throat. "You called this meeting, Alexander. You are quite welcome to make your concerns known."

Alex took this as sign to continue. He swivelled Barney's newspaper around on the table, first – the older one, from the fashion show – for everyone to see. "Witness Prince Roy's behaviour at the charity fashion show a few weeks ago. Where he stumbled onto the catwalk. A charity fashion show, and he decides to appear drunk."

The advisors consumed Alex's hatred with equal amounts of fervour, nodding, grunting agreements, tensing their faces with concentration. Even as Roy glanced to Aunt Philippa, but she wasn't look at him, staring at the newspaper with a smooth frown.

"Then," Barney continued, brandishing the newer newspaper, "the headline for today's Illéan Times was WHINE FOR WINE. PRINCE ROY, DRUNK AT FAMILY PARTY."

Roy, again, deflecting the glares of the advisors, his heart thrashing inside him, looked to his parents as a beacon of hope. But Merrick stared hard at the table, and Ji-Yu gave him a knowing look.

Endure, for their sake.

"I was personally offended by your behaviour last night, Roy," said Alex, monotone, but not without an evil glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "That at the party meant to honour us, you couldn't rein in your desires for one night. Do you have no respect for us, then? Is that what I'm meant to take away from your actions last night?"

A bubble of anger popped in Roy. They had no honour for him, either. Their wine-spilling stunt said everything about that.

"What excuse do you have now, Roy?" Alex said, facing him. Sticking the spotlight in his face. "What could possibly explain this?"

Roy scoured the article, but the only thing he could see was the title, and his misshapen form, draped over Satan the maid. His cloak pooled around by his feet, his head hung like a corpse.

No wonder this world didn't take him seriously. And it pained him – to his very core, that he couldn't enjoy a hobby without being judged left and right by people like Alex, Barney or Ramsbottom.

"I… don't have an excuse," Roy admitted, and the words clipped his tongue. "I just went overboard."

"Clearly," Alex said dryly.

"Alexander," Aunt Philippa chided. "You may make your point without being cruel."

"Apologies, Mother," he said, refolding the newspapers. "If the extended stay of my brother and I is official…?"

He glanced at Aunt Philippa with a twinkle of hope in his eyes. Perhaps she'd changed her mind since last night.

But Philippa turned as rigid as steel. "You are staying."

Alex sighed dramatically. "Then, since my brother and I will be staying for a…" he winced, "a month, I'd like to propose that Roy be permanently banned from alcoholic beverages. No vodka. No champagne. No wine."

No wine? Good. Roy never wanted to go near wine ever again.

Still, it meant he had no opportunity to cut loose. And with the twins around, it was going to be even harder to endure the days when alcohol would make them whizz by faster.

"I also propose that Prince Roy has a permanent escort around the palace."

Roy choked on that. "What?!" He shot to stand. "I'm not a damn child."

"Jun," Ji-Yu snapped at his language.

"Aren't you?" Alex shot back. "The guard is only to prevent you from sneaking a secret stash of alcohol around somewhere."

Fury and fire collided together, and Roy stared into that icy-blue abyss that were Alex's eyes. He'd once been told that his cousins were sought-after young bachelors, some of the most handsome men in their country, but he could see nothing of that now. Only a devil wishing to make his life misery.

Roy clenched his fists and sat down. Immediately, Delia's hand pressed onto his lap, and he could feel her soaking away some of his anger, like a conduit of emotion. Delia may not have known that he was drugged yesterday night, but her touch certainly helped to remind him of his morality.

"Fine," he grounded out. "But only if it's Officer Durante."

"Who?"

"My bodyguard. He watches my door during the day, and comes with me to events."

Alex shook his head. "No, no. Your escort guard must have no personal ties to you, to prevent bias. We wouldn't want him… looking the other way."

Roy couldn't believe his ears. This boy had been here for a day, and he was already messing with what Roy could eat and drink, and which guard stood outside his bedroom door.

"Mother, Father," he said, whipping to face Ji-Yu and Merrick. "You can't seriously condone this?"

"Alexander talked to us in private beforehand, and we think it is agreeable terms," said Merrick. "I'm sorry, son. But your behaviour…" he flashed his eyes with sorrow, "it mustn't go unpunished."

Roy opened his mouth to fight back – but the doors burst open then, and a frantic butler bowed ungraciously.

"Apologies for the interruption, Your Majesties, Highnesses, Sirs and Madams," said the butler. He scurried to Ji-Yu and Merrick. "We have a message from the South American Empire."

Ji-Yu shot to stand. "Is it urgent?"

He handed her a letter. "Quite," said the butler.

"Excuse us," Ji-Yu said. She and Merrick left the room in a blitz, and the doors shut behind them. Roy could hear their hurried whispers from behind the door.

He felt his stomach leaden. Without them here, he had no safe beacon to crawl back to. No one to look at for guidance. They hadn't even looked back to make sure Roy could withstand whatever came next in this horrid meeting.

Alex rounded on Roy with a sneer, then sat back down. "That is all I have to say."

Barney sat down after him. "This concludes our portion of the meeting. If anyone else would like to add something…?"

Ramsbottom shifted in his chair, glancing at Roy. "Honestly, Your Highness, we'd all thought this Selection had changed you for the better. I see it has not." He scowled. "No wonder the Southern Rebels target you."

Roy felt his lungs coil. He couldn't believe his ears. How… how could Ramsbottom say that so callously?

Delia spoke out, wracked with scorn. "That's not necessary. No behaviour deserves the target of the rebels."

Thank god, Delia was here. Roy might have taken the insult. He smiled, letting it comfort him that someone was on his side, and placed a hand on hers. She stiffened, but relaxed instantly, easing a smiling in his direction.

Ramsbottom, meanwhile, grunted. "Hmph. Well, he makes himself an easy target."

Neither Roy nor Delia had a time to respond, as the doors burst open again – Ji-Yu and Merrick stood at the threshold with heavy frowns.

"We've just received word from the Brazilian Prime Minister that one of the New Asian countries has been spotted testing nuclear weaponry."

Roy's heart frenzied.

Nuclear weaponry?

"Yes," said Merrick. "Prime Minister Fernanda has called us to an emergency meeting in Rio with the other leaders on the continent. Philippa, you might also benefit with your attendance to this meeting."

"Attendance?" Roy echoed weakly. "Emergency?"

"Yes. They are holding an emergency summit during the upcoming week to discuss the potential plans of action we must take, and preparations to complete in case of a war." Merrick addressed the entire room now, and there was nothing glum in his eyes. "Queen Ji-Yu, Queen Philippa and I must make haste to Brazil at once."

Aunt Philippa stood, shaking slightly at the idea, but nodded firmly and pushed out her seat. Roy and the rest of the attending advisors, plus Alex, Barney and Delia, stood up, too. Worry encased Delia like a capsule.

"Nuclear war?" she whispered, terrified.

Roy shook that out of his mind. It was up to his parents to figure out the next step. But one question still remained.

"What about here? Illéa?" he asked. "Who will be in charge until you get back?"

Ji-Yu glanced around the room – the rest of the advisors waiting for an answer, too – and then she looked back to Roy. A grave expression captured her.

"You will, Jun," she said. "From now until our return, you are hereby named Roy, Prince Regent of Illéa."

A/N: LOL, well, that's quite the responsibility, Roy. :'D Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Apologies for posting this late - I went to London Comic Con yesterday, was so knackered I slept in 'til late today, then went out shopping. My poor feet have yet to recover.

I made another joke poll for bantz, but I'm burning with curiosity for your answers. One option has had a rather indirect effect on the story, but is the biggest threat, whereas the other has had more direct influence, but isn't really the main threat. It'll be interesting to see how you vote...

What do you think of Roy's temporary title? How do you think he'll handle the pressure?! Please leave a review! It's way more encouraging to write when you receive feedback. Favourites and follows also loved! Thanks for reading! Hope you all have a spoopy Halloween! :D

~ GWA

NTT: "I'm sorry, I have to ask... is this a date?"