Author's Note: Wow! Here is chapter six, two months later than I anticipated. Yikes! In any case, I appreciate your patience and your dedication to keep on reading. :) I hope everyone has been able to remain safe and healthy during this pandemic as well!

Another special shoutout to MrsTolan and our new guest reviewer too! Thank you both for your (continued) feedback and enthusiasm! Your words of encouragement keep me propelled to continue this story!

Let's hope the next chapter won't take nearly as long. I know, I know. I sound like a broken record. Just let me dream! lol Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The Slayers © Hajime Kanzaka, Funimation, and J.C. Staff. Any original characters belong to me.


Troubled Waters

Chapter 6

Prospects

Scribblings of ink blinded and confronted Lina's awakening vision.

A slow hand reached and peeled the written paper away from her droopy face. She surveyed the study. Phil was asleep at his desk, his head laying on a stack of papers. Dripping from the corner of his mouth, a small pool of drool stained his makeshift pillow. To her side sat Gourry, who, was slumped in his chair, his head tilted towards the ceiling and his muscular arms splayed out to the sides.

Her gaze journeyed to the standing clock, stationed in the far-left hand corner of the room. Breakfast had been served. Her gurgling stomach and vivacious appetite compelled her to rise to her feet and scramble to see what was left in the kitchen. However, the effect from the minimal hours of sleep she had were too overpowering to make a move. Slowly, she lodged her forehead back onto the tabletop.

Light broke its way through the opening of the study door. Its sharp squeak roused Lina, rubbing her eyes as her fuzzy sight identified the new presence. There stood Zelgadis; fully dressed and who appeared well slept, he glanced about the room. The corners of his lips drooped, and his eyes scrutinized the scattered crumpled papers slithering from the desk to the floor surrounding its now resting spectators. Solely based on his surroundings, he wouldn't call this productivity.

"What happened here?"

Lina cast a glower over her shoulder. "We pulled an all-nighter. Could have used your help too, deadbeat," she snapped in a groggy voice.

"I was busy," he stated.

Lina narrowed her gaze. "Sure, you were," she grumbled sarcastically. An extended yawn leapt from her throat. She stretched her arms above her head, slapping them back at her sides. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"To speak with Phil," he replied in an evasive tone that foretold he would not divulge as to why.

Lina focused in on his vagueness. "You'll have to wake him." She arched her eyebrows at the missing petite statured shadow that would typically linger behind him. "Where's Amelia?"

"Asleep. She informed me she didn't get much rest last night so I told her I would let Phil know that she will be sleeping in."

Which was technically true. Rebelling against the night's intended purpose, they had stayed up into the hours of darkness. Not that Zelgadis had any complaints. The hours were productive; perhaps immediate results failed to flourish, but still, exchanges of curious wonders prevailed. Flipping each page to the next, he was surprised how he lacked in disappointment. Frustrated, yes, but determined and perplexed no doubt. And, if he dared to admit it, the pleasant company kept him steadfast to the candlelight.

As the sun caressed the breast of the brightening sky, that 'pleasant company' needed her lost hours of shuteye. Zelgadis's current form did not require much sleep to begin with. But Amelia, who bore dark circles and a series of yawns needed to replenish her energy for the day ahead. It was the least he could do. Afterall, he was never the type to give verbal thanks.

Lina's expression only read of skepticism. Intensifying her focus on his poker face failed to render the truth. Zelgadis's lip line flattened and his stoic eyes withheld any secrets swimming within his cold irises. Still, her dauntless demeanor urged her to persist.

"What are you hiding?" she pressed.

"Nothing," he replied, acting with a casual and uncaring tone.

Lina didn't buy his abstinent performance. "So, Amelia's allowed in on secrets and not me?" she swiftly concluded, sitting up.

"You said it, not me."

Lina waged her odds. She could persist in this song and dance of interrogation, goad him which would most likely irritate him further, other simply come right out with the knowledge she had already acquired. Contending with Zelgadis was never a picnic... So, she chose the latter.

"I know about the chest, Zel."

Zelgadis's teeth clenched and his rocky eyebrows clamped together. Finally, he breathed out in defeat and relaxed the tightened muscles within his shoulders.

"How?" he asked in a deadpan tone.

"Gourry saw you," she confessed. "Now, c'mon spill. What did you find?"

Zelgadis cursed to himself. He should have noticed how strangely quiet the tent fell minutes into their disputation of who harbored the malodorous feet. Of course, the infamous culprit of snoring was up and about, moving stealthily in the shadows thanks to his perfected sparring reflexes. He wondered what compelled Gourry to tell Lina anyhow. He was never labeled as a loose lip gossip or a nosy neighbor. In any case, Lina would have eventually found out. Even so, he preferred to have kept finding a secret, so he may conduct his own personal research before vastly knowledgeable, but still, greedy hands took charge.

"It's a book," he professed. "But it's contents are— there might be something but there also might be nothing," he explained, knowing full well how nebulous his statement was. He sighed. "It's difficult to explain without showing you. From what Amelia and I gather, we believe it has something to do with the Payne family and Ralteague. So, we're wondering if Phil has any information about Sir Gilliame Payne's relationship with the royal family."

"You possibly discovered a book from the Payne family, and you weren't even going to tell me?" she balked, slack-jawed, with bulging eyes.

At that moment, Lina could not decide whether to throttle him or to celebrate his rare and perhaps valuable discovery. Aching muscles and lacking motivation resolved that she should simply be delighted that she was now, at least, privy to the start of a new mystery.

"On the bright side, this saves me the trouble of snooping," she said with a wryly smile.

Zelgadis snorted. "Figures as much."

"Well, it's not like you would have been forthcoming with me," she defended.

"Fair enough. Still, that's no excuse to search through someone's personal belongings without their consent."

"You can lecture me all you want when you deal with someone as elusive as yourself," she replied with a waving dismissive hand. "Now that we're on the same page, what are you waiting for? Go on! Wake Phil up!"

He didn't appreciate being prodded like cattle, nonetheless, Zelgadis knew if he wanted his answer, he needed to inquire before Phil's attention was diverted elsewhere.

He rounded the desk and came to the crown prince's side. Still slumped, Phil's open flood gate not only released a stream of saliva, but a series of dramatic high to gradually falling snores. A hand stretched out, hovering above one giant brawny shoulder. Zelgadis hesitated. Last time he checked his job description never entailed having to wake his sleep-deprived boss. With one shake alone, he feared his face would accidentally suffer a blow from one of those mighty curled fists.

But before he determined whether he dared to take a whack at waking Phil, the door swung open. An invasive presence intruded with a grand entrance of a profound gust of wind. Icy blue eyes slit with a call for attention.

"Philionel!"

Like a foreseeable avalanche, an abrupt cry roared and crashed into Zelgadis's already sensitive eardrums. Soon after, Gourry shot awake. He slid from his slouched position, falling onto his back with a noticeable thud. From there, he winced, rubbing the back of his head. Simultaneously, Phil's head violently flipped up, shooting straight up in his seat. As did one of his rounded fists, landing straight onto Zelgadis's jugular.

He tumbled to the ground, back first. The blow, while not as amped up with intent, carried a similar sting to that of Amelia's pummeling. Thanks to his chimeric form, any physical discomfort went undetected to Zelgadis's thick rock-hard skin. However, when swept up in a heat of passion, a swing from Amelia managed to defy the resistance of his manipulated form. Zelgadis's once bruised jaw and missing back tooth had not forgotten the swift powerful punch executed by the exuberant princess a year and a half ago. If anything, it taught him to listen to Amelia the first time.

And now, it taught him to let sleeping giants lie.

Phil's alerted, wide veined eyes dilated and manically danced across the spinning room. "I'm awake, I'm awake!" he shouted, lost in a frightening stupor.

Vonzelle's lips tightened at her son-in-law. Her scowl ventured to the askew pillar of contents upon his desk to the spilled wreckage flooding the floor. "What a mess!" she exclaimed. Her attention turned to the redhead. "Miss Inverse! Make use of your yourself and tidy up the place, won't you? How can one sit and discuss with such disorder around?"

Lina arched her shoulders. A stray piece of parchment fell victim to her aggressive clutches, squeezing it to a pulp. The sorceress hissed under her breath. "Why don't you make use of yourself and—"

"I'll help," Gourry interceded. He translated a look to Lina which read as wise advice. And so, she, begrudgingly, submitted to his warning as her voice dropped into venting mumbles.

Voluminous moonlit river stained skirts mounted themselves upon what was once Gourry's chair. Puffed shoulders sat back, accentuating a ruffled lace collar with a privileged wrinkled chin high to the air. A wooden woven covered basket rested in one aged hand, eventually settling upon the desk.

As the pair collected the scattered papers, Vonzelle's eyes centered on her half-awake son-in-law.

"Now, what have you, Philionel?" she asked.

Phil did not need to ask what she meant. Here she was, punctual and expecting him to be alert and prepared. He rubbed his eyes and his forehead creased. "Mother…" He stirred, tightening closed eyelids. "What time is it?"

"Half-past eight."

"Can't this wait until the afternoon?"

"No, it cannot, Philionel," Vonzelle insisted, tapping the end of her cane against the floor. "We agreed by this morning and it is morning. Do you always renegotiate when you cannot keep your promises? Even when you secretly acquire your own personal staff for assistance?" she added with a sting, disapproving eyes gesturing to the pair busily cleaning.

Phil's eyes popped opened and he shot a mild glower. His frown extended from her chiding to the point where aging wrinkles became apparent. In irritation, a quick hand snatched the first piece of paper within his reach. The parchment laid between his large fingers. He adjusted his throat and began to read.

"I have prescribed you an ointment for the fungal infection located on— Oh, wait." He blushed. His thick neck scrunched itself into his massive shoulders. He sat the medical note down gingerly with a sheepish smile. "That's not it. How embarrassing…"

Vonzelle rolled her eyes. Her manicured fingernails tapped against the dragon head of the staff. Each tap timed with the ticking clock became a musical beating of sorts.

Still lying unacknowledged behind the desk, Zelgadis came to his senses. Splayed on his back, his focus drifted between the two syncing ticks. From the perspective of a ground dweller, he monitored Phil's frustration bloom. Unintelligible words poured from the crowned prince's mouth his thoughts lost among an overload of lavish words on pressed scented parchment.

Zelgadis's muscles tightened and constrained. His palms moistened. The rhythmic tapping and ticking reverberated in his ears like a foreboding drum. Peering under the desk, he cranked his neck and observed his friends' shuffling feet, the scattered papers, the elaborate heavy skirt of expensive fabric— How could he forget?

The letters. Damn.

Zelgadis blamed the book. But that was useless. Hadn't he wanted to forget the letters? He could not stomach the idea of standing by and watching it all unfold. Yet, despite these feelings, he told himself he should not care.

From the corner of his eye, Phil, at last, noticed his sprawled employee. "Is there a reason you're on the floor, Mister Zelgadis?" he inquired, beaming down at the chimera.

Zelgadis grimaced. "Not particularly, no."

"Well, do you need something?" he asked anyhow, too distracted in the search of the desired letter to question the outré state of his daughter's bodyguard.

Zelgadis sat up on his elbows and rose to his feet. He dusted himself off, and as his hands rotated to his backside, he aggressively grabbed a piece of parchment stuck to his behind. "It can wait, sir," he answered, tossing the paper aside. "I'll just come back later—"

"Not so fast, Mister Greywords," Vonzelle interceded before he moved an inch. "I have yet to become formerly acquainted with you. Perhaps you should stay; we may need an opinion outside of our family ties."

"I don't believe I would be of any help, Marchioness," he stated, closely riding on the coattails of formal politeness and blatant refusal. "I have other matters to attend to."

"Like what?"

"None of your concern."

Vonzelle held back a pious laugh. "Well, unless it's life-altering, for example, I don't know, the world coming to an apocalyptic end, I believe you can spare a precious minute or two and make yourself useful here."

Zelgadis held back a snort. Yeah, right. Like I'm seriously going to take orders from you.

Who did she think she was? He glared. How stupid was she to believe that he couldn't see through her? Friend of Amelia's or not, Zelgadis doubted his objective viewpoint was desirable to the marchioness. His status with Amelia was not seen as an advantage but as budding sabotage. Amelia said so herself last night. Confining him in her paddock of scrutiny was a predictable tactic. To Vonzelle, he was a book into Amelia's world, and the marchioness desired to know how much Zelgadis knew of it and more importantly, how invested he was in it.

Well, he concluded with adamancy, she's not going to get anything out of me. I don't want any part in this—

And he intended to reiterate those very thoughts. Until Lina's outward defiance dominated the room. She rose to her feet and slammed the garnered letters upon the desk. "Well, Gourry and I don't have to stick around," she declared. "We've done our part—"

"Are you quite sure you would like to excuse yourself from partaking in the reasonably sized breakfast I brought, Miss Inverse?" Vonzelle inquired. "It would be quite a shame after all the trouble our head cook went to prepare such a feast for our little meeting."

When she removed the towel nestled on top of the basket, the corner of lips began to salivate. Lina and Gourry scurried over and leaned forward, lost in the savagery of their gluttony. There, with silverware and dishes in tow, sat layers of butter smeared pancakes, glossed with scrambled eyes, and dripping grease-riddled slabs of cottage bacon. In Lina's eyes, it was like unveiling a cascade of bright glistening gold.

The sorceress cradled her woven hands against her cheek. "Well, I guess we could use some breakfast. After all, it is the proper way to start any day," she added.

She exchanged glances with Gourry, who nodded and hummed eagerly in agreement. Together with clattering plates, the pair divvied up their regiment of well-deserved proportions.

"Would you mind saving me some?" Phil interjected, though his voice was droned out by chomping and slurping.

Zelgadis stifled a scoff as their servings mounted to the highest peak possible. "Well, I'm not so easily taken by primitive needs," he stated. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Ah! Here he is!" Phil's bombastic voice boomed. He smiled in relief as he held his finding in his hands and gestured for the chimera to return. "Come, come, Mister Zelgadis! There's plenty of room by me."

Zelgadis sighed inwardly. Not Phil too! Had he not made his disdain clear? He thought, as of yesterday's brief discussion, there was a silent understanding between himself and Phil. Evidently today, no one either listened or cared not to.

Even so, to simply defy Phil, however, was another challenge in of itself. He did not wish for Vonzelle to find a reason for sacking him, which in this case would be, blatant insubordination. Not that he answered to her… But now Phil was insistent, and as much as he preferred to remain ignorant to the prospects of suitors he also did not want to find himself outside the palace gates forced to seek his next place of residence with his one, but very packed, bag.

Not that I honestly believe Phil would fire me over something so petty… He's not like that. And I certainly don't need to explain myself… And if that judgmental old bat thinks that I'll be bullied into being complaisant over a few nasty quips she's—

"Has your hearing suddenly failed you, Mister Greywords, or do you prefer to stand absurdly still like one of those pornographic statues Philionel has adorned throughout the entire garden?"

Without difficulty, contrary to the old woman's belief, Zelgadis's intensified hearing pricked at Vonzelle's uncouth sly dig. He shot a look of daggers, which went blissfully unnoticed by Phil who found himself hung up on those 'pornographic statues'.

"Those half-naked statues have always been there—" the crown prince started.

"You will obey your employer, Mister Greywords, and sit down," Vonzelle ordered curtly, ignoring the prince's desperation for clarification.

Zelgadis refused to budge. Phil's attention drifted to his mother-in-law then back to the chimera. He had never seen a silent standoff so equally matched when it came to intimidating scowls and absurd stubbornness.

"It will only be a few minutes, Mister Zelgadis," Phil assured, gesturing to the free chair beside him.

Zelgadis breathed deeply out his nostrils. At this rate, his only exit seemed miles away. He figured, the sooner he sat down the sooner the torture would end. He had nothing to offer, and he would prove so to Vonzelle.

Eventually, he planted himself in the proffered seat and crossed his arms over his rock-hard chest.

Vonzelle produced a wicked smile at his reluctant obedience. "Thank you, Mister Greywords," she sneered. Now, you were saying, Philionel," she proceeded, turning to her son-in-law.

With the correct letter in his grasp, Phil indulged his captive (party of one) audience. "I would like to recommend Lord Reynard Arron Tatum, Earl of Vawdrey from Wanbrone, Zephilia. I have met him on a handful of occasions, and I can attest to his character; he's easy to speak to and he is the most giving of men. His family has contributed not only to the restoration of Seyruun after the recent Zanaffar attack but has also procured a chain of charity homes for wayward mothers and their children. From what I've heard he's also an aspiring poet. Considering his interests and principles, I think he's someone Amelia would get along with very well."

"I have met the boy myself, Philionel," Vonzelle informed. "While his father is a man of admirable character, his son, from my own assessment, is nothing but a simpering fulsome romantic. He is not what I'd consider king material. He is too nice. Amelia's already nice. Two overly nice rulers equal an uprising in commoner's demands. If you're looking for someone who can make friendship bracelets with Amelia, then I am sure he would do nicely."

Lina stopped midway through chewing her vanilla filled pancakes. Ouch! she winced silently.

Zelgadis paused at this vivid character description as well. He visualized a grown non-descriptive man stringing wood beads on twine, weaving a daisy chain, playing with a cootie catcher riddled with names of the world's princes, and jotting down flowery entries in a locked but not-so-secret leather-bound diary under the covers of the night. He had to hold himself back from laughing. To be fair, that depiction was probably as inaccurate as Vonzelle's impression. If Phil approved, then there must have been something remotely redeemable… even if he did sound sickly winsome.

"Well, I still think Reynard is worth our time. He's my pick," Phil stood by, unmoved by his mother-in-law's lambasting.

The crown prince slapped the parchment onto the wooden top and released a satisfactory smile. A moment of silence stretched out. When nothing further was exchanged, Vonzelle's eyes sparked with stirring curiosity.

"And?" she broached.

Phil gave a blank stare and blinked. "And what?"

"Don't tell me that's all you came up with after being locked up in here all evening!" she exclaimed.

Phil's eyes shifted and he adjusted his throat. "Well uh… yes."

"After all those letters you only liked one guy?" Lina moaned with half-chewed bacon stuffed on the one side of her cheek.

"He's the only one I'd approve of," Phil said evenly. "He's kind, not too old, and might hold Amelia's interest."

"That's a very slim 'might', Phil," Lina pointed out.

"How sad," Vonzelle sighed. "Apparently, your dire need for assistance rendered themselves useless."

"Useless?!" Lina echoed. Her silverware armed fists slammed themselves against the desk. Red eyebrows furrowed as the mental exhaustion of preserving through the dark hours of the earth took its toll. "I'm the one who stayed up the entire night!" she reminded.

Vonzelle simply arched an eyebrow gesturing towards the sorceress. "Then after all your hard work, what have you, Miss Inverse?" she pressed.

Lina crashed down into her chair and folded her arms. "Nothing, because I know there's not one person in that stack who is what Amelia wants," she answered with trailing confidence up to her raised nose.

Vonzelle squinted. "Are you confirming that my granddaughter has someone in mind?"

"Uh—no!" she quickly rectified. Her fingers drummed against her chin, spewing a nervous lighthearted laugh between her fast-moving tongue. "I just mean her dream man, that's all. You know, a girl's fantasy?"

Vonzelle followed Lina's eyes. Studying people became a hobby of hers. And she had become quite good at it too. At her estate in Doonatel, she had caught a handful of servants amid lies; even her husband who had sworn up and down that he was watching his red meat intake. She read somewhere, in a newly written book, that expressed the exploratory idea of reading cues through physical movements. Telltale signs such as folded arms, dashing eyes, and wettened licked lips seemed to be a pattern of fibs. From her own observation, she found eerily similar evidence.

But at this moment, deciphering became a challenge. Either Lina found comfort in staring at the far righthand corner, or, subconsciously, of course, focusing on Zelgadis during the illicit questioning of her explanation. In any case, Vonzelle drew her own conclusions.

Her frown intensified. "Quite," she replied slowly. Her eyes drifted to Zelgadis. "Well, we're not looking for any 'dream man' here. We're looking for the next king of Seyruun."

From the pocket of her massive dress, Vonzelle withdrew a stamped letter. She smiled to herself reading the signature scribbled on the front. "Now, here's an acceptable candidate."

By exchange of hand, Phil received the letter and unfolded it.

"His name is Lord Esmour Asriel Ne Bardolf, Duke of Ula'ree of the Outer World," Vonzelle elucidated as he silently read to himself. "From what I've seen myself, he has taken the reins of his responsibilities quite well despite his father's passing. There was no resistance in fulfilling his father's promise to Doonatel's trade agreement. I first met him earlier this year, and he is nothing but a charming, articulate, and intelligent man with solid ethics. He could give Seyruun ties to the Outer World in which none of the other countries have. If anyone could handle the demands of a kingdom, it would be him."

From the corner of his eye, Zelgadis peered at the engrossed crowned prince. He observed his upper lip buried under ashy hair, waiting for its departure from the bottom one with impending inquisition. But nothing immediately came. Whatever the letter told, Phil, laminated quietly, stroking his chin.

Finally, he looked up at Vonzelle. "Where did you get this?"

"During my last visit. He personally delivered it to me after I informed him of Amelia's situation."

Of course, Zelgadis grumbled silently. Apparently, subtly did not matter to the marchioness. Amelia hadn't even met the man, and her grandmother already espoused this Lord Bardolf. After that testimony, Zelgadis was surprised she hadn't unveiled an engagement ring and wedding invitation samples out of those expensively spun pockets. Zelgadis relaxed at one reassuring reminder. If she thought her credence was enough to propel Phil to enforce a marriage, then she had another thing coming.

Phil sat the letter aside, steeping in his inner thoughts.

"Though I do not expect him to be Amelia's only choice," Vonzelle made important to clarify when the silence was too long to bear. "There is an abundance of names to consider… What is this pile?"

Her manicured index fingernail aimed at the towering titled stack of envelopes. After Phil's minimal declaration of approval, Lina thought the pile's identity was obvious.

"The rejects," the sorceress answered, seeing she was the only person in the room who had taken the time to structure an attempt at organization.

"Hmm…" Her gaze shifted and scanned another, smaller, heap. "And this?"

"We hadn't touched that stack yet—"

Before Lina could finish, Vonzelle collected the unexplored envelopes, sifting through them. Each family seal and name that withered against her preposterous standards were cruelly tossed to the side. Apparently, pickiness ran in the family.

"Now, let's see who we have here…" She paused, holding a single envelope in the air. She then proceeded to open it and skimmed through its contents. Her thin faded eyebrows rose. "Prince Domianus Cernea Le Brun Elemkia. Third in line for the Elmekia Empire. Considering his siblings are all married off to nobles of neighboring countries, it is to be expected he'd seek an alliance with Seyruun. Have you met him before, Philionel?"

"Only his parents," Phil replied.

"Well, I have," she emphasized. "And I can tell you he has the reputation of being a philandering nitwit whose attention can only be held by portraits of nudes and jewel-encrusted objects. Not to mention, he has an extra toe."

"Which kind and on which foot?" Gourry asked, intrigued despite the unsavory subject while chewing.

Lina made a face. "Does it matter?" she retorted.

"So, he's an idiotic promiscuous inbred," Zelgadis summed up, arms folded across his chest. "But he's, at least, of a legitimate bloodline."

Vonzelle whipped her head in his direction and narrowed in on his intentional jab. She pursed her wrinkled lips. "Careful, Mister Greywords. May I remind you that you work for a family of a legitimate bloodline."

"Yes, well, none of them are sporting an extra digit," Zelgadis noted. He had no desire to contend with her, other than he wanted to match her previous caustic sting.

"Do you have something against those of a noble lineage, Mister Greywords?" Vonzelle asked, almost accusatory.

"Only when their prejudices affect their ability to govern."

"And what prejudices would these be?"

"Against the common people," he began, as if it were obvious. "What makes your son-in-law a standout among other rulers is because he sees his people as equals and acknowledges their hardships. He does not fault them for being poor or uneducated. Instead, he offers aid and expands their horizons."

"And so, you believe Amelia seeks similar qualities in a man?"

"Amelia was raised on these principles. You can draw your own conclusions," he advised bluntly.

He had hoped he made an impact— not that he desired any part in the handpicking of Amelia's future husband— but at the very least, some food for thought. If Vonzelle genuinely cared for Amelia, then she would attempt to search for a husband who shared similar sentiments…. Not that he meant to wave his own flag by use of suggestive implication. Absolutely not. He was simply advocating on Phil and Amelia's behalf. Nothing more.

"Very well," Vonzelle answered, uninjured by his curt response.

When she finished with the letter, Vonzelle tucked it back into the envelope and extended a hand before Lina. "I believe you know where this goes, Miss Inverse."

Letting go, the paper floated down like a feather, and thereafter, Vonzelle motioned her hand for Lina to collect the discarded applications. Being treated like a servant was getting old fast. Raged fingers seized the paper, wadding it up into a crumpled ball. Before her arm could even stretch overhead, Zelgadis ceased the premature pitch and handed off the infantile weapon to Gourry, who was seated next to the available metal garbage can.

To Gourry's vivid imagination, the paper did not end its journey in the waste bin, but was taken apart, smoothed out, and in the hopes of his venture, given a new purpose in life. Zelgadis contemplated watching out of the oddity of Gourry's decision to repurpose the paper, but alas, was drawn in by Vonzelle's next proposal.

"Ah, now here's some who holds potential," she said with confidence. "Viscount Percival Oswin Manston from Bezeld, Kalmaart. He owns the Bleakburn estate. It has been passed down for many generations. He stands to inherit a substantial fortune from his surviving mother. He is an educated man, a patron to some of the finest establishments. Kalmaart's world-renowned amphitheater and museum of magical artifacts to be exact. Someone who wishes to expose the arts to all people.

"Now, how does that sound, Mister Greywords?" She kept watch of his expression and returned him with a pious smile. "Yes. He would be a man worth considering."

"I don't know, Mother," Phil hesitated, watching her add the letter to the 'approved collection' of eligible contenders. "I know of him, but I've never met the man myself. Besides, I think he's just a little too old for Amelia."

"He's only thirty, Philionel," she contended.

"Again, a little too old," he repeated.

Vonzelle paused, before dismissing her son-in-law's concerns altogether. "Well, do not fret," she assured half-heartedly. "We'll have Lord Tatum and Lord Bardolf to compensate for the age.

"Now, who's next?" she continued. She skipped examining the letter once she saw the name printed on the address. "A Mister Lefric Vorderman from Sairaag." She released a short mocking laugh. "Ha. The gall of the man. To think we'd permit a wool merchant to be king."

When she received no concurring sentiments, not even from Phil, she sighed in mental exhaustion. "Does anyone wish to take an educated guess as to why?" she pushed in an infra dig tone.

Zelgadis bristled at her provocation for a response. "Because Seyruun's economy does not rely on any production involving sheep," he reasoned. "If he was in search of a union, he'd be wise to look to the dignitaries of the Dils or Zephilia as they heavily rely on wool due to their colder climates."

Vonzelle's eyebrows rose as she nodded. "How very astute of you, Mister Greywords. Are you as well versed in my granddaughter's taste of men as you are in Seyruun's economics?"

The clamor of Zelgadis's conscious echoed: Why did I have to open my big mouth? which furthered to annoy his already displeased state. He knew distracting himself from the question was useless; whatever Gourry was creating, the folds and creases did not make it easy to identify.

Vonzelle fixed him with a steady stare against his short-lived silence. Zelgadis snapped. "What's it to you if I know anything about Amelia's preferences? I already told you what I assume," he reminded.

"There's no need to be irascible, Mister Greywords," Vonzelle lectured. "I am simply asking for your perspective. You are not only my granddaughter's friend, but her bodyguard. From what Amelia tells me, you spend a great deal of time together. Surely you know some of her most— intimate thoughts."

He hated how she paused and even more how she carefully finished her sentence. Before Zelgadis responded, he felt fatherly eyes shrink him with piercing intensity.

"Do you?" Phil asked, his tone muddled between surprise and suspicion.

Zelgadis returned Phil a look of 'you know me well enough to know the answer'. He settled his narrowed eyes back onto Vonzelle. "I'm afraid to disappoint you, but I don't."

"What a shame," she breathed sardonically.

Zelgadis scoffed. "Hardly. What's your game with this inquisition? Didn't you just say we aren't looking for Amelia's 'dream man'?"

A change in expression spread across the marchioness's face. She sat back; her refined posture still intact. Finally, she nodded. "Yes, You're right, Mister Greywords. Thank you for correcting me. We certainly aren't looking for any 'dream man'," she stated with condescension.

"Well, I think we should at least consider traits Amelia would have in common or admire—" Phil interjected.

"I believe we've already established such, Philionel," Vonzelle cut short. Her hand grappled another letter, cold eyes diverting to the rigid chimera. "So long as these 'traits' stay in the confines of good breeding."

Zelgadis reflected the personal barb. He tried to tell himself it didn't hurt because he didn't care.

"Here's a man with promise." Other than a pale milky white, a rare shade of faint rose dusted Vonzelle's cheeks. Her smile, for a near ten seconds, was halfway genuine. "Lord Ozbert Harrelsone, Baron of Garigill along the Alliance of the Coastal States. He's a levelheaded man with an abundance of political connections that would give Seyruun stronger connections with our already formed allies. Under normal circumstances, he would make a splendid match for Amelia." Her tone and expression shifted. "Alas, I'm afraid time is not on his side."

"Is he sick?" Gourry presumed, working on the last finishing touches of his creation.

"No, Mister Gabriev," Vonzelle replied flatly. "He's seventy-three with a failing libido. And that most certainly won't do. It goes without saying that heirs are a necessity."

And she knows this how? Zelgadis couldn't resist wondering. He rationalized, Vonzelle must have come to that conclusion based on the relative facts of aging… right? His mind terminated the exploration of that conclusion.

There was another troubling matter of this letter that left him stunned. He shook his head at the mere thought of a seventy-three-year-old man seriously believing a young woman, such as Amelia herself, would even contemplate his offer of marriage. Yes, arrangements of all kinds were made for the benefit of a family, financial gain, and this case, a country. But what Zelgadis could not comprehend was that a man, whose years in the sun were so long ago, chanced that his proposal would outshine a man three times younger, stronger, and well, if he had to be crude, who possessed greater sexual potency than himself. The thought alone made him blush.

"I'd prefer not to have a son-in-law older than myself," Phil noted with a scrunched nose, ushering the letter into the stack of disqualified contenders.

"That's a no brainer," Lina concurred, wiping grease off her hands with a supplied cloth napkin. She leaned back in her chair, her stomach very much content but full. If she could have gotten away with it, she would have unbuttoned her pants too.

The atmosphere in the room dropped to near silence as Vonzelle further sorted and counted the approved requests to four. When no further effort went into picking apart the letters, she released a purposefully intended sigh. Being the sole arbiter for standards was a tiresome task. She tapped her index finger against the desk in exasperation at Lina's lax state, Gourry's tinkering mind, Zelgadis's blatant refusal, and Phil's eagerness to wrap things up.

"Well come now," she ordered, catching their attention, "I must not do all the work— Would anyone else like to make a suggestion?"

Before anyone could answer honestly, Gourry innocently fished through the few scattered paper he initially collected off the floor. Randomly, he pulled one out among the stack, fleetingly glanced over it, and raised it in the air.

"What about this Count guy from Calcherth, Lyzeille? He seems to have a pretty good track record," he inquired, seeing he found no striking blemishes as the other bachelors.

Lina's blunt thin elbow nudged the swordsman in the arm. He rubbed it and turned to her while she hissed, "What are you doing, Gourry? Are you trying to force Amelia into an unhappy marriage?"

"No." He blinked. "The opposite."

"I suppose we must consider Count Bolivar Savill as a candidate," Vonzelle sighed, not particularly excited about the prospect. "I personally know little of him but Doonatel owes his aunt a favor after her generous donation to our infrastructure proposal."

"So, a pity invite?" Zelgadis surmised flatly.

Vonzelle centered her focus on Zelgadis as she took the letter from Gourry. "If you do not approve of the selection, Mister Greywords, perhaps you would like to make a suggestion?"

"No, thank you," he replied snidely.

How long had Vonzelle had them locked in the study anyhow? Zelgadis peered over his shoulder and stared at the clock. He groaned inwardly at how much time had been wasted on his account. He knew, despite requiring sleep, Amelia was a punctual creature and would be searching for either him or Phil sooner than later. Considering how opposed she had been to marry a man in her world of status and wealth, Zelgadis feared how livid she would be to find not only her father but her closest friends locked in secret with her meddling grandmother all while in the process of handpicking her a husband.

As his gaze returned forward, Zelgadis's eyes danced about the room. He searched for a distraction as Phil and Vonzelle talked among themselves. He had attuned his ability to listen closely while otherwise, keeping himself occupied with something else. And in this instance, oddly enough, he found himself not drawn by Phil's urgency to think of Amelia amidst the prospective suitors but to finally know what enraptured Gourry's preoccupied attention.

"What are you doing?" Zelgadis asked.

The tip of the swordsman's tongue rested on his upper lip as he fine-tuned the finishing touches. "Making somethin'," he replied.

"We can see that," Lina joined in, just as perturbed by his silent dedication to his handiwork. "But what is it?"

"I'm wondering if I can get this to fly," he answered, straightening what appeared to be wings.

"What would be the reason for that?" Zelgadis posed.

Gourry shrugged. "Just to see if it works." He paused and broke out into a smile. "Hey, wouldn't it be cool if this were a model for something that could actually fly us from place to place? It'd save everyone a lot of time when traveling."

"Why would we need something that could fly when we can do that ourselves?" Lina contended.

"Well, not everyone is a sorcerer. And most people don't own dragons."

Already amped with a counterargument, Lina paused and mulled over his justification. In return, she simply smiled and cocked an eyebrow. "You're full of surprises, you know that?"

Between the thin gap that separated the bottom of the door to the floor, stood a faint shadow of feet. Zelgadis froze as the doorknob jiggled and then turned. A mind-numbing creak dispersed. The sound, which was profound to only his troubled ears, extended its agonizing cry. The exhilarated speed of his pumping heart and now pulse blended into a medley of portending trepidation. He swallowed hard, expecting to be confronted by an explosion of emotions from his rightfully stunned friend.

Thankfully, unless she had been compelled to grow a stubbled trimmed beard in a matter of hours and sport menswear, the presence was anything but her and so assuaged Zelgadis's simmering alarm.

A messenger bowed upon entrance as he stood by the door. "Prince Philionel, I apologize for interrupting, but a letter has arrived. It's urgent you open it at once."

Phil's stolen attention led to the abandonment of his conversation with his mother-in-law. He smiled and motioned with a friendly hand for the messenger to come forward.

The messenger bowed as he placed the letter in the crowned prince's hand. Phil nodded, thanked him, and then permitted the man to leave. His stare intensified with sharp focus as he ran his thumb over the familiar bloodred wax seal.

"It's from Ralteague," he announced.

Head and shoulders first, Zelgadis, Lina, and Gourry, leaned in. Without hesitation, they encroached on the crowned prince's space.

Uninformed, of the ongoing circumstances, Vonzelle rose an eyebrow at the trio's strange fixation. "Well, open it," she encouraged, with bubbling interest.

Lina and Gourry waited with heightened anticipation. The hair stood up on the back of their necks and they wrung their hands. Concerns of evidence being left behind after their thievery at Ralteague's rival ice cream shop bloomed in their frenzy filled minds. They had hoped that their personal friendship and ties with the royal family had not linked Phil to the transgression.

Zelgadis, on the other hand, led himself to believe the contents bore negotiations regarding the land agreement. After all, Ralteague had demonstrated eagerness for another meeting to ensure their portion of the acreage.

Phil slid the letter opener under the edge of the seal, gliding the knife along the undercarriage until the contents within were revealed. Inside, a single piece of parchment lay neatly folded. Soon, Phil unfolded it and within seconds could not read past the first sentence. Astonishment raced across his budged eyes and traveled down to his crinkled nose and slanted mouth. All observed his shift in expression and crept closer in desperation.

"What is it, Phil?" Lina demanded.

Phil arched his bushy eyebrows. It's from Prince Derek," he declared.

"What does he want?" Zelgadis pressed.

Phil lowered the letter and stared ahead. "He's asking for permission to court Amelia."

Lina sat up in her chair. "You're joking," she balked.

The crowned prince shook his head, skimming over the letter once more. "I can't believe it myself."

"You're not seriously gonna let him, are ya Phil?" Gourry interjected.

Zelgadis struggled to keep his lower jaw departing from the top. Hadn't Prince Derek declared, most rudely in fact, that he had no interest in Amelia? As of yesterday, Phil had gotten the impression that the prince wanted anything but another fiancée. And now, here was a letter, sent out within less than twenty-four hours. To Zelgadis, this request of courtship was nothing but an act of duplicity and scheming chicanery of King Henry's. Too bad for him, this letter's final resting place would be in the ashes of a stoked fire.

Phil steeped himself in a long thoughtful pause before breaking out into a small smile. "Well, I think we could include him out of pure nicety," he decided, placing the letter down. "I mean, we have invited no other princes and they are our neighbors to the west. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to see the man's intentions."

Zelgadis allowed his mouth to drop. Had Phil forgotten everything? And hadn't Phil just theorized what a dissonant match his daughter and the prince would be based on their countries' political standings alone? He caught himself in time before an inadvertent objection burst between his lips. Then he bore in mind Phil's reconsideration. Zelgadis raised his eyebrows in surprise. Had he seriously considered using the prince as a pawn much like his own father had? Though he did not fully agree with this form of tactic, it was the perfect charade for Seyruun to launch back in the hopes of uncovering Ralteague's true agenda.

"Well, I've never met the prince, Philionel," Vonzelle interposed. "Besides, I thought he was already married."

Phil frowned at her mimicking protest to that of his earlier grievances. "You're thinking of his brother," he rectified.

"That's right, now I recall," she realized. "He's the one whose engagement was—" Her eyes slit. "Shall we say, short-lived," she finished with purposeful intent.

"A prior engagement has nothing to do with him as a person," Phil disabusing her implied judgment. "I've known him since he was a boy and I can attest that he has become an ambitious and hardworking man."

Cepheid knows Henry has shaped him as such, he thought with a light snort.

"He has a military background, he's versed in politics, and he's appropriate for Amelia's age. Not to mention, I hear he's rather popular with the ladies," Phil added as if the purposeful fawning of a superficial perk would be of persuasion.

With a fixed contemplative stare, the marchioness soaked in her son-in-law's cogent defense of Prince Derek. Finally, when she could not find anything adverse, she complied. "I suppose. Perhaps a man of militaristic background would be of use to our pacifist nation. And we must consider someone to compliment my granddaughter's looks. For instance, portraits... and youthful virility of course."

"Like kids?" Gourry inferred.

"Yes, Mister Gabriev. Children," she patronized dryly. Icy blue eyes kept in sight of Phil. "Ceifeed knows this family could benefit from a little beautification."

"What are you implying?" Phil questioned, insecure by her shifting eyes to his freely growing mustache.

"Then perhaps we have seen enough," Vonzelle concluded on behalf of well, everyone. "If you include the toadying idealist and this Prince Derek fellow then that makes it— five suitors? That should be a sufficient selection. We wouldn't want to overwhelm the girl either.

"I believe we may proceed to the next phase then," Vonzelle asserted. She abandoned her chair and with her reliable cane, strutted to the door. Without bothering to face the others, she motioned her hand for them to follow.

Lina swiveled in her chair, her hand resting on the back as her eyebrows rose. "Next phase?" Frankly, she had listened to enough. Not even the most sumptuous cuisine would motivate her involvement any longer in this boring suitor business.

Vonzelle stopped in her tracks. When she pivoted to face the sorceress, she leveled her with a haughty gaze. "Planning a ball of course!" she trumpeted as if this common practice should have been plain as day.

As a muscular arm stood erect in the air, Gourry at last, let his paper winged invention fly directly over the marchioness articulately stacked hair. The initial ten seconds was a proud moment of achievement for the swordsman. That is until a feminine silhouette flitted into the study. There, a petite peach-colored arm stretched and with a little jump, grasped the flying contraption into her gentle grasp. She brought it to her chest. She gazed up.

Wide cobalt eyes shook lost in bewilderment at the gathering before her. "A ball?" a soprano voice rang out. Her eyebrows furrowed in suspecting dread. "What's going on?"

Zelgadis grimaced. Busted.


A/N Continued: And this concludes our program! I hope you all enjoyed this one scene. I must admit, this chapter was a chore to get through. I had three different ideas has to how this chapter would go about. The initial two I was not content with, so I went with the latter, rewriting the chapter. Originally, I tried to keep Zelgadis in control and avoid the situation of the letters altogether, while leaving Phil, Lina, Gourry, and Vonzelle to discuss the letters... but I found it much more believable for him to be confronted with the subject of the suitors, and therefore, Vonzelle. This won't be the last time these two face off! :)

Furthermore, after watching T.V. shows and reading examples of prospective suitors from books, scripts, fics, etc. I knew I wanted to give the reader a little background on the potential suitors vying for Amelia's hand and for readers to get a peek at who will be invited to the palace since it had been previously discussed in an earlier chapter that Vonzelle and Phil would do so. So many great thanks and an abundance of credit to those written works who brought inspiration! :)

And Gourry's little invention was inspired by Gary Oldman's character (Rosencrantz) in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. I highly recommend this movie if you have not yet checked it out! It's a dark comedy of sorts based on Shakspeare's play, Hamlet, and I just love how those few moments where Rosencrantz invents something of our modern time and that his ideas are easily dismissed. There will be more Rosenctranz-esque moments to come! ;)

And now the suitors have been chosen! Time to make preparations for the ball, and Amelia's reaction, and of course further discussions about the book... Until then!