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Dusk Angels

Joey pushed his way through the thronged crowd and forced the throne-room door open. The king looked up expectantly, but upon seeing who it was looked down at his papers again. Joey sighed and approached the small round table to the left of the throne.

"Sire." He saluted.

The king did not look up. Joey groaned inwardly. The king's well known thirst for peace had compelled him to ignore the Knights – he had wanted to disband the Orders, but had been advised against it by the High Priest and his ministers. He'd had to settle for merely pretending that the Knights no longer existed, and did not meet with the Preceptors of the four Orders, leaving them to fend for themselves. Not that they had much trouble doing it – the citizens admired and respected anyone who was good enough to don the Knight's armour, whatever their king said.

"Sire." Joey lowered his hand.

"Yes, what is it?" asked the king impatiently, seeing that Joey was not going away.

"The missing Betrothed."

"Come to crow over me, I suppose?"

"No, I've come to help you. The Knights of the Four Kingdoms – "

"No."

"Sire, I haven't even – "

"No. I will not have you meddling – "

"SHUT UP!" yelled Joey, losing his temper and banging his gauntleted fist on the table.

The king jumped, then leaped to his feet. "Are you threatening me?"

"Maybe I am," growled Joey grimly, facing the king. "Listen to me. Preceptors Sparhawk, Calib, Manya and Farden offer the use of their Knights to find the Betrothed. We go with your blessing, or without – we serve the kingdom, not it's king. However, I'd prefer it to be with."

"You can't – "

"Father?" Yami stood at the door, now dressed in a soft brown robe. His sword-belt was fastened around his waist, but the scabbard was empty.

Joey inclined his head to the prince, but the king stood motionless.

"Yes?" he asked quietly.

"Father, I've been thinking, and – I, well, I want to join the search. I think it'll, you know, be the honourable thing to do." Yami stressed the word honourable, trying to show he was willing to make amends.

Joey stood silently, wishing he wasn't here. It wasn't right for him to be here – he could see the prince was trying to convey something other than his message… something about the way he spoke.

"Fine." The king sat down, suddenly looking very tired. "You may go. Sir Knight, tell the Preceptors that they may each sent one champion to accompany my son. I will… make arrangements."

"Thank you, sire," said Joey, bowing slightly. He saw Yami frown slightly, as though he was struggling with something, and then the prince ran to his father and hugged him. The king sighed and returned his son's embrace, and Joey felt the tension between the two melt as if it had never existed. He saluted and left, grinning to himself.

"One champion?" Sparhawk frowned. "Well, I suppose it's better than nothing. At least we got his permission."

"Shall I contact the other Preceptors?"

"No, I'll send someone else. You go and change, you stink."

"Thanks," Joey said dryly. "It's a occupational hazard, you see."

Sparhawk grinned and turned back to the numerous papers littering his desk.

Joey left, making straight for his cell. When he reached the small room, his squire was sitting on his bed, mending some socks. Joey grinned.

"You're like an old mother hen, you know that?"

"Well, if I don't look after you, who will?" retorted the squire, looking up. He rapped on Joey's armoured chest. "Once you put this on, all rational thought flies out the window."

"Help me get it off – I'd like to think rationally for a while. And Sparhawk says I stink."

"All knights stink in their armour. I'll clean it later; I actually haven't really been worrying about it. I swear, the minute I turn my back for one second every single garment you own gets holes in it!"

Joey grinned. "Just letting you get your hand in."

"Sure, sure. Come here, let me unbuckle you."

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