Thirty years of experience does something for a man's instincts. Cor's were telling him that something was rotten in the Citadel. Why reassign the Crownsguard to protect civilians if Regis didn't expect them to be in danger? Why ensure evacuation plans were set and understood if he didn't expect to use them? Why pull the Kingsglaive into the Citadel if he didn't expect trouble? And why all the subterfuge and confidentiality? They had been friends for longer than Regis had been king.

Cor had done all he could to convince Clarus to divulge their plans or Regis to change his mind. Now he needed to trust that the decisions made had been the correct ones. It wasn't his place to complain about orders—much as he hated them. He had work to do.

He had all but given up any hope that Regis would relent when his radio crackled to life.

"Marshal, do you copy?"

The voice was almost lost in the clamor around him. The imperials were due at the outer gate within the hour and the crowds seemed to have doubled since the morning. So much for the standard business day. Didn't these people have work to do?

Cor tapped the button on his radio. "I copy."

"New orders from the throne. You're to report to the upper floors of the Citadel tower immediately."

The perpetual furrow in Cor's brow deepened. "The royal quarters?"

"Affirmative."

What in the…?

Not his place to question.

"Copy that. ETA thirty minutes."

Of course Regis called him back when he was knee-deep in protests downtown. He tried not to think about why. He requisitioned a car after ensuring that his position would be filled and made his way—as fast as congested streets allowed—toward the Citadel. Blockades on the main roads meant he had to pull rank at more than one stop, but no one made him wait longer than thirty seconds while they dragged barriers aside.

The crowds at the Citadel were even worse, but he made it before the Nifs reached the west gate. He sure as hell wasn't going to join an imperial procession to enter the capitol. That mess was the Glaives' problem, now.

He dropped his car keys with the Crownsguard officer in charge of that quadrant and took the Citadel steps three at a time. He might have gone in through the back—fewer people—but it was a longer walk to the royal quarters from the servants' entrance. So he took the main entrance and the lobby elevator, which took him as high as the executive offices. Whoever had designed this place had traded convenience for privacy; he was forced to change elevators and make good use of his rank and key card to gain access to the top levels.

The lift doors opened to a scarcely-used lounge in the royal quarters. All of the Citadel was black marble, sleek columns, and gold accents, but these floors were arranged less like a government building and more like a home. Floor length curtains in black velvet blocked out the city and sunlight, side tables dotting the halls held creeping ivy in gold pots, and short hallways connected open living spaces.

It was also—in contrast to the lower floors—quiet. Only a few Crownsguards even had the clearance to be stationed here and fewer still had the ability to activate that lift. Now, all of those Crownsguards were in the city and so what would have been a sparsely-populated mansion with inconspicuous guards was now completely deserted and thrown into premature darkness.

Which made Cor being summoned here even more strange than it would otherwise have been. Regis must have been in the throne room—unless something had gone very wrong very quickly, in which case Cor would have expected to see a lot more people on this floor. He didn't. So what was he doing here? Aside from Regis, Clarus, Cor, and a single attendant, the only other people who could gain access to this space were on their way to Altissia.

He thought.

"Cor. Punctual as usual." Someone else was up here with him—an ebony-haired woman who rounded the corner from the direction of the bedrooms.

For an instant, he was twenty-five again and the queen was still alive. She smiled at him as an old friend. Who else could she have been, save Aulea?

Then the little bits and pieces added up. She was a good half foot shorter than Aulea. Her eyes were the same blue, but with less good-natured mischief and more steel. Her posture held the grace and poise he had once expected from Aulea, but it also held the command he was accustomed to seeing on Regis.

Reina.

Cor's brain started rolling again.

That was Reina. Of course it was. Why hadn't he recognized her? She looked the same as ever.

...didn't she?

"Your Highness." Cor bowed stiffly. "I thought you had gone to Altissia."

Reina's hair hung loose around her shoulders—damp, as if from a shower. And she hadn't been camping in that outfit.

Niflheim was taking over Lucis and she had stopped to have a shower and change her clothes. Didn't she have more important concerns than her appearance?

"I had. We never made it," she said, succinct. "You're here because Father requested that I have a guard for the duration of this… event. I requested you. I don't have time to explain this choice or any other of the curious decisions you will watch me make in the next two days. Suffice it to say that last night I Dreamed and I am here to ensure what I witnessed never comes to pass."

Never before had Cor heard her speak so nonchalantly about the strange dreams she sometimes had. In fact, he wasn't sure that he had ever heard her speak of them. Most of what he knew was second- or third-hand, from Regis, Clarus, or the occasional Citadel rumor.

"But I need something from you, Cor. I know full well that your loyalty—once earned—is difficult to break and you will follow me, without question, to the ends of Eos. I need that, today." She hadn't moved from the edge of the room—exactly where she had rounded the corner. She stood with her hand on her hip, studying him with an unsettling gaze. He had watched her talk down subjects who came before the throne and members of the ruling council alike, but never before had he seen such a look on her face. That look had been like a mask—a blank front that hid everything underneath. This was no mask; it was her, open and earnest and intense. She hadn't issued a single order, she hadn't sharpened her voice and put a threat behind polite words; all she had done was lay down reality in front of him. He had no choice but to do as she wished.

But respect was something earned.

The thought must have showed on his face.

"I realize I have given you no reason to have such faith in me. I can spare fifteen minutes to do so and I hope it will suffice. But we will need an empty practice room. Come. The closest one is a few floors down from here."

She moved for the lift but caught his gaze and hesitated, then stopped altogether. He couldn't begin to sort out the meaning behind her expression; he knew what regret and pain looked like well enough, but what they were doing on her face in connection with him, he couldn't guess.

Then they were gone.

She hit the button to open the elevator doors and stepped in without another word, leaving Cor standing outside.

What the hell was going on?

He shook his head and followed her. If she was going to explain herself she would do it with or without his questions.

She did.

Sort of.

As the doors closed, she leaned against the side of the lift and looked up at him. "The relevant information—for the purpose of the here and now—is that Niflheim is not here for peace. Tomorrow night they steal the crystal, kill my father, and take over Insomnia—after destroying half the city. I mean to make sure that never happens."

She said so much with so few words, as if none of it mattered to her. It must have. She loved Regis more than anyone else on Eos. So she cared, but she had it under control. Good.

Her explanation answered too few questions, but it did explain Regis' behavior. No surprise the empire wasn't here for peace. Regis had put him in the city on purpose—protect the people because he had already counted his own life as forfeit. But if Regis died…

Shit.

The lift stopped three floors down and Reina strode out and down the hall. Something about the way she walked caught Cor's eye: precise and efficient. She used to move like she knew people were watching; now she moved like she couldn't care less. She pulled the training room door open, leaving Cor to follow her or not.

So she Dreamed Regis' death and woke up with new purpose? It still didn't fit. She had been trying to protect him since she was old enough to think he needed it, but she had always been ineffectual. Why the change?

He followed and stopped in the middle of the room, arms folded. "Do you intend to fight me?"

Reina picked a practice blade off the wall rack and tossed it to him. He swiped it out of the air and tested the weight in his hand automatically. Too light. He would have to adjust.

"I need you to know you can trust me at your back so that I can trust you at mine. Let's dispel, right now, any misconceptions you may have about needing to protect me."

Right. That was not something she was going to be able to wipe away in fifteen minutes. She was the princess; she was Regis' daughter; and—Gods damn it—no matter how hard he stared at her, sometimes he just saw that little girl, more eyes than face, wrapped in a fluffy black blanket the night her mother had died.

She picked a quarterstaff off the rack and joined him in the center. Her stance was for a pole-arm—she favored the naginata—and she betrayed no hesitation as she took her place in front of him.

She struck without warning and swept her staff in an arc at his neck-level. Cor deflected but she slid the staff forward even as he caught it on his wooden blade. If it had been a naginata, it would have sliced his collarbone going across.

She moved like no twenty-year-old had any business moving. Yes, she and Noctis had ten years of combat training and word was she had accelerated that four years ago—but not even that accounted for her skill.

Her tells—when he managed to spot them—were minuscule. A twitch of her deltoid, a stiffening of her abdomen, or nothing more than the flick of her eyes. She drove him back, blow by blow, exploiting every weakness he had never known he had. Her eyes narrowed in focus, but behind that was solid confidence. Had he seen it five minutes ago, he would have called it overconfidence. Now he was certain it wasn't. She was nearly as familiar with her staff as he was with his blade.

He took the defensive, wanting to feel the solidity of her offense and find her weaknesses. He studied her form—as well as he was able while still blocking and diverting—and made note of every step and turn. Her stance was admirably tight.

This was not the style of someone with ten years of training.

This was the style of someone with twenty years of in-field combat experience.

"Where the hell did you learn to fight like this?" Cor deflected her staff and took another step back. His shoulder ached from where she had landed a solid blow and his collarbone was going to be bruised in the morning.

She paused in her assault. "You taught me."

He wanted to deny it. They had never trained together. He had seen her practice with Gladio or Noctis once or twice, but that was the extent of it. No way she had learned this from Gladio.

But he could see himself in her style. Her stance—elbows in tight, weight forward—was exactly what he favored. And didn't his opponents always complain about his lack of tells?

Hell.

It was one thing to know she was supposed to Dream the future. It was another to experience the results firsthand. How long must she have trained with him to gain this skill? Years, at least. It was unnerving to realize she knew him years better than he knew her.

Reina motioned to him. "We can spare a few minutes more. You'll want to test my defense."

Cor didn't wait for any more prompting before he launched into his own attack.

In that brief moment as his blade came down over her head, he saw surprise on her face—her eyes widening. Then she was gone—or, at least, not where she had been. He swung and hit nothing but a blue shadow of her. She gave a mirthless laugh as he twisted, shifting his weight and striking from a different angle. He didn't think it was directed at him.

"So. I never could Dream while I was awake, after all."

Cor wasn't sure what that meant. He was less sure that he was meant to, so he decided not to ask. He focused on hitting her—and he just hit air as she phased out of the way.

Again. And again.

He pushed himself as hard as he was able. If there was a limit to this, if he could hit her, then someone else could and he wouldn't be able to trust in her defenses. But he couldn't hit her. He tried for three minutes straight before admitting it.

And she stood there, having only picked up her feet a handful of times. He hadn't even begun to push the boundary of what she was capable of.

Cor lowered his blade, letting his breath slow once more. "I have never seen anyone phase like that."

"I know. You were so angry at me when I told Libertus to hit me with his axe until I got out of the way or died trying."

Was this what people with amnesia felt, hearing others talk about what they had done with no memory of the event? But it sounded like something he would be angry about. Why couldn't she have learned to phase the traditional way?

"My future self has more sense than yours," he said.

"You do," Reina said. "Now let's go. There are traitors in Insomnia. It's time to burn them out."

He wanted to object that they had come to the training room to prove something. Then he realized she had. In ten minutes she had convinced him—more than he had ever thought possible—that she could take care of herself.

And he could respect that.

He could follow that.

AN: See, look! Some of the chapters are longer.

In other news, Episode 2 of the Fractured audio drama is finished. You can find it right here: youtu. be / bEJDmXVSKS0 or at the bottom of my profile.