The Thief

by wintergrew

The offer the Grand Wizard gave Craig was very simple: Steal back the Stick of Truth from the High Elf Kingdom and in turn his friend could return from banishment. A very loose adaptation/inspired by the fantasy lore and backstories the kids set up for themselves in Stick of Truth. (Cross-posted from AO3. Plot based story, but includes Creek)

30. The Dark Kingdom

There were many kingdoms in Zaron, but most had some level of consistency. For the most part, princesses throughout the land were taught a certain way of behaving. They'd learn how to dance. They would know the proper way to curtsy. They'd learn table manners such as the correct way to eat with a fork and spoon or how to properly fold one's napkin on their lap. They could speak with dignity and grace with fellow nobles.

This was the way it was in the largest human kingdom, the Kingdom of Kupa. It was the case in the tiny Kingdom of Neunbruck. It was even the case in the High Elf Kingdom. It was not, however, the case in the Dark Kingdom.

"You know what to do Betsy," a stern voice said from behind her. He placed his hand on the young princess's shoulder upon the dark, almost black cloth of her dress.

"Correct," she said, looking down in front of her, into the frightened eyes of her kneeling prisoner. She raised her small wand and pointed it directly at his bloody chin.

"No please," he sobbed, tears and snot down his face as he pleaded to her. Although both eyes had tears streaming down them, only one eye itself was visible-the other bruised practically shut. "Your highness, you don't want to do this. I'll do anything. Please, I didn't mean to-"

"Kill him," her father ordered.

Without a single moment's hesitation, she did.

Betsy sighed to herself as she rinsed her skirt under a water pump in the castle garden.

The royal family always wore dark clothing as it tended to help conceal blood, dirt, or other filth. She also tended to keep her brown hair chin length for a similar reason. Still, this particular dress, being a sort of purplish color, still showed stains of crimson. Perhaps not bright red, but visible stains nonetheless. She saw red water flow out from the skirt, but it wasn't enough-the dark stains remained.

She didn't mean to kill him so messily. That was incredibly sloppy of her. Sure, by most standards she was quite talented for a girl of only twelve, but as the future queen of the Dark Kingdom there were higher standards held for her. She had been doing this for over half of her life.

"Whatever," she said under her breath. It wasn't anything one of her mistresses couldn't wash out. So with a sigh, she stopped slaving away at the pump. At least it was an excuse to visit the garden for a little while.

Betsy loved her garden. She had visited many other kingdoms on official trips and seen the gardens that surrounded the castle, but she had always found the ones surrounding her own castle to be the best. The one in Kupa was especially atrocious, with brightly colored flowers and perfectly trimmed bushes. She much preferred the black roses and prickly, thorny vines of her own. She liked the dark ambiance and how the plants always appeared to be straddling the line between life and death. It was very befitting of her kingdom.

"Betsy!" a voice called out from an upper floor of the castle. As expected. No time to waste in this frivolous garden, her parents would always tell her. Without another moment's hesitation she walked down the ragged stone pathway towards the side door into the castle. It was a disappointment to leave so soon, but she always listened when she was called.

Much like the garden, the castle kept with the Dark Kingdom's aesthetic. Located high upon the peak of a narrow mountain top, near constantly partially concealed by grey clouds, it looked down on the settlement at the base of the mountain below. The solid black stone building went high up into the sky with its various pointed spires and spikes. It wasn't uncommon for the heads of traitors or enemies of the kingdom to be placed on said spikes, although to her disappointment there weren't any on that day.

"There you are!" her mother scolded, sauntering down the grand staircase.

"I was washing the blood off of my dress," Betsy responded emotionlessly as she entered the palace and walked towards the bottom of the stairs.

"Do you not like blood?" her mother asked with a frown as she paused in the middle of the staircase. She was a very regal woman. Tall with dark brown hair much like her daughter, although intricately tied up instead of cut short and wore a long black gown that was form fitting, yet dignified. Upon her head was the large spiked headdress, or crown, of the royal family. It was quite large with three large metal spikes spouting up out of a purple crown, with the skull of the Dark Kingdom in the center.

After all, she was queen of the Dark Kingdom, bearing the title of Dark Lady. Betsy's birthright was through her, after all. Her father had merely been born as a soldier. A very valiant, brutal soldier whose ruthlessness quickly caught the eye of the young queen, but merely a soldier nonetheless. Marriage between lower classes was allowed if it was so wished upon-after all, anything a Dark Lord or Lady wanted was to be willed-but it would never change the other's official status within the kingdom.

"Of course I do," Betsy stated formally to her mother, "I just didn't want to sully my gown with the filth of a traitor."

"Perhaps you shouldn't have been so messy in the first place," her mother's eyes narrowed.

"I apologize."

"Apologies are worthless," she spat, "Do better."

"Yes, my Dark Lady," she bowed.

"Princess Elizabeth," her handmaiden greeted her as she returned to her quarters. She was a haggard old woman with wrinkled skin that disgusted Betsy. It wasn't an odd fact, as all of the female castle staff were old or ugly. The Dark Lady refused to allow anyone she deemed beautiful to work for her out of her own sense of jealousy. Betsy had seen many beautiful young maidens be killed by her mother in her fits of vanity.

Luckily, Betsy was decently average. She was far from ugly, but not stunningly beautiful in a way that would create tension with her mother.

"My dress has blood on it," she told her handmaiden in a cold voice as she began to take off the outermost layer of her gown from over her head, "I need you to go and wash it for me."

"With all your magic spells, can you not simply cast a stain away?" her servant asked.

Betsy scowled and threw the dress at the woman. "I said wash it."

"As you wish, your highness," she responded, picking up the purple gown from where it fell, folding it into her arms properly.

"Don't dilly-dally, I said go!" she spat, "Unless you want your blood on my dress as well."

"As you wish," she said once more, heading out of the princess's room.

Betsy watched as her haggard servant left. A few moments after she was surely gone, she threw herself angrily upon her bed.

She had failed today. Her mother was disappointed in her. After all these years, she still couldn't perfect the execution spell every time. She rolled over on her back, looking at the dark canopy of her bed above her.

She was going to be crowned Dark Lady one day. A title full of responsibility, not only for her kingdom but for Zaron as a whole. That is, until the day would come that Zaron would become synonymous with the Dark Kingdom. Betsy's mother, the current Dark Lady, had foreseen that it would not occur during her own lifetime, something that greatly angered her. Yet it would come. Everyone in the Dark Kingdom knew it would come. It had been foretold.

It was possible that all of Zaron would fall to the Dark Kingdom in Betsy's own lifetime, during her own reign. She had no proof of it, no prophecy to back that it was going to be her. Yet unlike her mother, there was nothing to disprove it, either. It could be her. Perhaps she would be the one to bring darkness across all of Zaron, to bring all the other world leaders to their knees. To instill fear into the heart of all the land. It could be.

If she learned the power.

Until the prophecy came true, however, the Dark Kingdom had to maintain some stability, relatively speaking. They were far from peaceful people and got involved in wars, but they had to avoid situations that gained large scale. They would maintain diplomatic relations with other kingdoms, albeit through clenched teeth.

Betsy hated diplomatic trips.

"Her Highness, Princess Elizabeth of the Dark Kingdom."

The sixteen year old princess stood out like a sore thumb in the Kupa court as she entered the palace ballroom. Her deep purple and black gown clashed with the warm, bright colors worn by the Kupa women. Her slicked back short hair was quite different from Kupa women who wore theirs long and adorned with various frivolous accessories. The Queen of Kupa had offered to lend her a gown to "fit in" with the current fashion during her stay, but she merely scoffed at the notion. The Queen quickly learned to leave her be.

They should feel honored that she was wasting her time with this silly little ball. Didn't they know that her kingdom was at war with the orcs? She should be in the front lines, conquering more of their land with the Army of Darkness. Still, at her mother's request, she obliged Kupa with her presence.

"I've always liked this one," an obnoxious yet vaguely familiar voice laughed. She turned her head to confirm her suspicions. She was correct. It was that one.

"Do you now, Wizard?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Yeah," he grinned, grabbing two goblets of wine, offering one out to her, "You seem more real than a lot of these assholes. Unafraid to get your hands dirty."

"Is that so?" she asked, taking the goblet.

"I heard you've been a killer since you were six," he said, "That your psycho mom and dad have been training you to be a real bloodthirsty bitch."

"I would watch your tongue when speaking of the royal family of the Dark Kingdom, Wizard," she frowned.

"Hey, I didn't mean it in a bad way," he laughed, "Like I said, I like you."

"I see," she said, taking a sip of the wine. It was too sweet for her taste.

"Between you and me," he leaned in closer, his rancid breath disgusting her, "I respect you all a hell of a lot more than the McCormick dynasty."

"One would think you'd have more loyalty to the royal family that has granted you power for...how long is it now? A few hundred years?"

"Heh, something like that," he said. He tapped his staff against the ground, a blast of energy coming out of it that no one else seemed to notice. Betsy immediately recognized it as a silencing spell. One that would prevent others from understanding their conversation.

She paused. After a moment she took another sip of the wine before using a flick of her wrist to send the sickly sweet wine goblet away. "What is it that you want, Wizard?"

"I didn't say I want anything," he frowned, "Maybe I just wanted to greet my ally."

"So we're allies now?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Isn't that why you're here?" he smirked, "You are here on official business, right? As an ally of Kupa."

"Under the authority of House of McCormick and their royal crown, not their silly little henchman."

"I'm not a henchman," he took visible offense to the notion, "Like you said, the crown grants me a lot of power. I've had it for over a hundred years now."

"What they give, they can take away," she began to walk away, "If it is the throne you want, I think it is quite pathetic that it's taking you so long to get it."

"Maybe I'm just waiting for the right moment," he said from behind her in an annoyingly confident voice, "Just like...your kingdom, perhaps?"

Betsy froze. "What did you just-?"

"Betsy!" another voice called out, grabbing her attention. She immediately recognized the man pushing through the crowd as Prince Stuart, a man not worth her time. Scoffing, she turned back to face the Wizard. But he was gone.

"Hiya Betsy," Stuart greeted her.

"What do you want?" she spat.

"Damn, I see you're friendly as ever," he frowned.

"And you're just as classless as ever," she responded. It was true, in her opinion. The crown prince might be dressed in the finest clothing Kupa had to offer, but beneath it all he had less regality than a peasant. His light brown hair needed a trim and, even for a ball like this, he was messy and greasy. He may not have smelled as bad as the Wizard, but that wasn't saying much.

Classless was the perfect word for Prince Stuart.

"C'mon, you're here for diplomacy, right?" he smacked her shoulder playfully.

"Perhaps," she said through clenched teeth. She would never take being touched like that in her own kingdom.

"Of course you are," he laughed, "Have you even met Carol yet?"

Lady Carol was the reason for this gathering. She wasn't anyone important, in Betsy's opinion, but some noble girl from some irrelevant kingdom who managed to woo the crown prince of a much larger kingdom into proposing to her. They weren't to get married for at least another year or two and had been promised for each other since they were infants, but still, the officially announced engagement was considered a reason for a celebration, a fact that Betsy couldn't understand. Sure, unlike her own kingdom, titles could be gained through marriage and Carol would one day become Queen Carol. Something incredibly ironic given that every day citizens of Kupa were strictly forbidden from marrying outside of their kingdom.

Not to mention, even if it was a worthwhile celebration, all of this frivolousness disgusted her.

"Maybe later," she said.

"C'mon," Stuart groaned, "I know things have been...ya know, iffy between our two kingdoms for the past...forever, but I've been thinking that since you and I are both gonna rule one day...we're both gonna have a say on that, right?"

"Naturally."

"Right!" he grinned, "So I was thinking that in our future we could, ya know, work together? We don't have to be enemies, you know."

"I believe we are already allies," Betsy raised an eyebrow, "Otherwise I would not be here right now."

"Oh c'mon, you know what I mean," he nudged her, "I mean real allies. Not this hesitant peace or whatever. Hell, maybe we could even open up trade."

"Trade?"

"Yeah, trade," he rolled his eyes, "You know, goods and services? Merchants? Maybe you guys could finally buy some fabric that isn't black?"

In the corner of Betsy's eye, she finally spotted the Wizard again on the other side of the ballroom. He chatted it up with some other noble with a big grin that disgusted her. Still...he was a curious person. A repugnant one, but still someone who she felt could end up being important. More than this frivolous yet classless prince.

"Perhaps," she finally responded.

"Good," Stuart smiled. He reached out to smack her shoulder again before realizing that she had already left.

"How was the party?" her father asked as she returned home. There were blood splatters all over his face and clothes and his arms up to his elbows were solid red with someone's fresh blood.

"Terrible," she answered bluntly, "I don't know why we waste our time. Is it not our destiny to one day conquer them all?"

"It is," he smirked, "But you know how it is, Betsy. This sort of thing takes time."

"Yes," Betsy nodded, "We must wait for mother to die."

"It's not going to be in her lifetime, right," his smile faltered, "But, it could be in yours, so keep your patience."

"Is it not a waste to keep her alive, then?" she asked, passing her father casually as she began to walk up the stairs, "Her being alive keeps us from fulfilling the prophecy, does it not?"

"Watch your tongue, girl!" he grabbed his daughter's shoulder roughly with his bloody hand, "That is the Dark Lady, your mother, you are talking about."

Betsy grinned. "I'm not implying we should do anything, I am merely pointing out the obvious. After all, there are quite a few things needed in order to fulfill our plan that we do not yet have. Killing her would be even more pointless."

"If she heard your disrespect-"

"She'd kill me?" Betsy laughed, "I know she can no longer have children. If she killed me there'd be no biological heir to the throne, something very specific to the prophecy, I am sure you are aware."

"She wouldn't kill you," he let go of your daughter, "But if you don't mind your place, girl, we can make your life a living hell until you wish she would."

"Then it's a good thing I do mind my place then," she brushed her father's hand aside and continued up the staircase towards her bedroom. She paused, turning back around to face him once more. "There was one thing worth the trouble. The young crown prince wishes to introduce trade between our two kingdoms. I think it could be a good idea."

"You just complained that diplomacy was a waste of time, didn't you?"

"It mostly is," she said, "But...there's something about Kupa. I believe we should keep our enemies close, as they say."

It took a full year for trade to open up between Kupa and the Dark Kingdom. Although both Betsy and Stuart were in favor of it, as neither of them were yet in control of their respective kingdoms it still took time. The bureaucracy of it was quite dull and boring to Betsy.

"They're sending a merchant tomorrow," her mother told her in the middle of night in the dark hallway. Betsy jumped, not expecting her mother's presence, her stern face dimly lit by the full moon light peeking through the windows.

"A merchant?" she asked, quickly composing herself.

"Yes," her mother responded, "But what are you doing up at this hour?"

Truth be told, Betsy had been planning on going out to her garden. It had been quite a while since she had last visited and hoped to enjoy it in the light of the full moon. Of course, she couldn't admit that to her mother.

"I was thirsty."

"I see," her mother's eyes narrowed, "Hurry on, then."

The next morning, Betsy awoke as usual. It was another dull grey morning, with no sunlight or servant coming into her bedroom to wake her. It was as if the encounter with her mother last night was a dream. Still, she got out of bed and got ready for the day, calling for a handmaiden to help her.

Her old handmaiden had died a short time ago. She had grown quite ill and weak from old age, so her father decided it would be best for her to be disposed of. As grating as her old handmaiden was, she had been the woman who more or less raised her, perhaps even more than her own mother. She couldn't help but feel a bit of sadness as her father's ax went down upon her.

Her new handmaiden was alright enough, though. A young woman whose face had been horribly burned on one side. The other half of her face was attractive enough, making Betsy question whether it had been done intentionally by the handmaiden's family to spare her the potential wrath of the Dark Lady.

"Good morning, m'lady," she greeted her, head low. A meek girl like her probably wasn't going to last long.

"Fetch me my black gown," Betsy responded. She had multiple solid black gowns and didn't particularly care which one she'd wear today.

"As you wish," she said, quickly rushing towards the dark iron wardrobe in the corner.

"What is the itinerary for today?"

"Your father wishes-"

Betsy slapped her, causing her to drop the dress she held in her arms. "I don't care what my father wishes. I want you to tell me what is happening in the kingdom today."

The handmaiden briefly brought a hand to the red mark that formed on the unburnt side of her face, but with another disapproving scowl and raised palm from Betsy, she quickly lowered it and picked the dress back up.

"Well?" Betsy asked.

"I believe I heard the Dark Lady say that she is going to oversee the merchant that is scheduled to arrive from Kupa."

"You believe?" Betsy asked, raising her arms above her head for the handmaiden to slip the gown over her.

"I did hear it, your highness," she confirmed. So it wasn't a dream then. It was today.

"Isn't it odd that they're sending a single merchant?" Betsy asked, "Isn't trade usually more...large scale? With large convoys or even ships in areas surrounded by water."

"I regrettably don't know, your highness," she answered, tying up the front laces in Betsy's gown.

"Well," she smoothed out her skirt, "I guess I must figure it out myself."

"You are not supposed to be here," Betsy's mother scolded, "Your father wanted your help interrogating the traitors."

"This opening of trade was the fruit of my labor," she crossed her arms, "I should be here."

Betsy rarely came to the market square. It wasn't necessary for the princess to ever go and was deemed a waste of time for her. Her mother would do her official patrols throughout it, but anything bought was done so by servants at the royal family's whim. Betsy never protested it-the marketplace was quite dull, mostly with vegetables and dried meats. The Dark Kingdom was not a particularly consumerist society, so frivolous goods for sale were considerably uncommon, making up only a few stands. Still, today was an exception for her.

"You truly are an insolent girl," her mother said, venom in her voice. Yet even she knew better than to slap the future Dark Lady in front of the common people. Though of course, with the distance the common people kept, it would be unlikely that they'd have seen it if they did.

"Why are they only sending a single merchant?" she asked.

"It is all I am permitting."

"But why?" she pressed further.

"Are you questioning me?"

"I suppose I am."

Her mother grew visibly irritated, but merely sighed. "It is a sort of test, you could say," she answered, "See how a Kupa citizen can fare in our lands."

"I see."

"But you are not staying for it. That dress you are wearing is hideous," her mother walked closer to her and grabbed the hem of her skirt, "And what is with that poor lacing? You may meet the merchant later, but I will not permit you to embarrass our kingdom in this manner."

"It was picked out by my handmaiden," Betsy swatted her mother's hand away.

"Execute her then."

"I wanted you here this morning," her father scolded, "I even ordered your handmaiden to tell you this."

"I had to kill her," Betsy frowned as she entered the dungeon, "Getting that out of the way is part of what took me so long."

She didn't particularly like the dungeon. Not because it was dark and full of violence-neither of those two things ever particularly bothered her. The stone walls, stained with blood didn't really feel out of place and spectacular within the Dark Palace. Nor was it even the only place within the palace to be lined with various weapons. Perhaps it was the filth. Perhaps it was the rancid smell.

"Inevitable," he shrugged, "She was far too weak to survive in this kingdom."

Perhaps her distaste for the dungeon was Betsy remembering the times she misbehaved. The times she had this dungeon used against her. But whatever it was, she decided that it didn't matter.

"I know," Betsy nodded. There was a slight amount of her blood on her hand. Even after all these years, she still couldn't get her execution spell down perfectly. But today that wasn't relevant. Her father preferred questioning traitors in more practical ways that didn't involve magic.

"How is the merchant? Kill him yet?" Betsy's father asked at the dinner table as he took a large bite of the beef on his plate. Half his face was covered in blood, but that was not uncommon at family meals.

"More dull than anything," the Queen explained as she more elegantly cut a piece of her own meat, "Normal merchant class. He was part of the shoemaker's guild in Kupa City before he gained the money and notoriety to instead make his fortune traveling Zaron."

"Does he sell shoes then?" Betsy asked, "What use is that to us?"

"You will speak when spoken to," the Queen scolded, "But no. He sells an assortment of things the royal family of Kupa declared. Mostly frivolous goods, but of course the mindless peasants all rushed to buy from him."

"In that sense, a success?" Betsy asked, ignoring her mother's previous demand of silence.

"I suppose," her mother scrunched her nose as she took a sip of wine, "He sold everything and bought some of our city's wares in return. I am allowing him to stay the night, but he is leaving tomorrow morning."

"So soon?" Betsy nearly dropped her fork with disappointment.

"Yes, you clumsy girl," she slammed her goblet down in anger, "What do you expect him to do? It is useless for him to dally around. He will come once more in a few months or perhaps in another year."

"I wish to meet him before he goes," the princess announced.

"You will not."

Betsy, hoping to not have a similar encounter to the night before, chose to exit her room via the window that night. It was more annoying than simply walking down the halls and out a side exit, but it was still a method she had used more than once. It had been raining earlier that night, making this method somewhat dangerous. If only she had mastered the magical art of levitating herself.

Instead, she carefully scaled he latticed fencing full of sharp vines that grew across the castle walls. She wasn't wearing a skirt and she could feel herself getting muddy on her way down. She slipped at one point and could feel a leaf getting in her hair. All of this would make her mother furious. To her, that fact was a bonus.

She jumped down the last of the way onto the ragged stone ground. She brushed off stray dirt off her pants and removed a leaf from her hair with a self assured smile. From there, she quickly made her way to the front gate.

Betsy had managed to get one of her mother's handmaidens to tell her where the merchant was. The wrench resisted at first, claiming that it was strictly forbidden for the young princess to know. With her years of practice in gaining information, however, it was an easy task to get the information from her.

He was placed in a building at the docks. It wasn't a super nice accommodation, but expecting the Dark Kingdom to be particularly hospitable would be foolish. He was given a bed and some privacy, which was more than enough in the eyes of the Queen.

It wasn't a far walk, just at the opposite end of the marketplace street nearest to the water. The streets were empty that late at night due to the kingdom's curfew, but even if they weren't Betsy would be able to defend herself easily. Regardless, she enjoyed the quiet, dark walk in the empty streets.

The building, like most, was painted dark, visible only by the light of the full moon. She considered going through the front door but she knew it would be crowded with fishermen. Instead, she decided to pull herself up through the window into the room she was told was his.

"Hello," she said.

The sleeping man jumped awake, thrashing the covers off of his makeshift hay bed. He quickly reached to light the candle to his left and held it up, looking around. "Is someone there?" he asked through a trembling voice.

"Up here," she called from where she sat, legs dangling from the window sill.

He gasped, quickly raising his candle up to see her. "Who are you?" he asked.

It was then that Betsy got her first real look at him. He was young, about the same age and with brown hair about the same shade as her own. His features were dim in his candle light, but appeared to be that of an average human. Also just like her.

"I'm Betsy," she said, lowering herself uninvited into his room, "And you're the Kupa Merchant."

The merchant flinched and went closer towards the wall. "Y-Yes," he managed to say, "What do you want?"

"I'm not going to harm you," she rolled her eyes as she reached the ground, "I'm just curious. We don't get many outsiders coming into the Dark Kingdom. That live to tell about it, anyway."

"A-Am I the first outsider you've ever met?" he asked in a softer tone, lowering his candle slightly.

"Of course not," she scoffed, "I've been to your Kupa many times, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" he asked.

"Of course," she laughed, "Kupa is the ugliest kingdom I have ever been in. I don't know how you people stand it."

"With all due respect," the merchant said with a gulp as he placed his candle on a box next to him, "If you're a traveler, then why are you breaking into my room in the middle of the night?"

"Well I would have met you more formally earlier in the day," she sighed annoyedly, "But my mother would rather me do other things, so I had no time until now."

"Your mother?" he tilted his head.

"Yes, the Dark Lady," she stated matter of factly. She couldn't help but smile as the young man's eyes widened. "I told you already, I'm Princess Betsy."

"I-I-I'm sorry, your highness," the man quickly jumped up from the bed to greet her formally, "I didn't-I just-"

"Don't stutter," she frowned, crossing her arms, "Just tell me your name in return."

"Roger, your highness," he bowed.

"Roger," she repeated.

"Yes, your highness," he replied, head still down.

"That's an ugly name, but it'll do," she tsked, walking over to him, "But tell me, Roger. How do you like it here?"

"I'm very honored to have-"

"No!" she yelled, stomping her foot, "Answer the question properly."

"I-Well, I-"

"And honestly," she added.

"It's...Well, it's not like I imagined, honestly," he said, straightening back up.

"Oh?" she asked.

"I mean it's...dark as the name implies and it is...Well, honestly the most intimidating place I've ever been to, but…"

"But?" she pressed, impatience growing on her face.

"I was surprised to still see kids playing," he admitted, "Granted, I'm pretty sure they were playing with a dead rat, but...You know, still playing."

"Were you under the impression that citizens of the Dark Kingdom were born into adulthood?"

"No!" a defensive expression covered his face, "Of course you all have kids. But I mean...I guess, what I'm trying to say is that your kids aren't really that different from kids anywhere else."

"I like to think the Dark Kingdom is better at discipline than in Kupa," Betsy crossed her arms as she sat upon a storage box, "I've seen them, you know. So many bratty, spoiled children making a mess of things."

"I've been to a lot of places with my job," Roger said as he lowered his head in contemplation, "A lot of different cultures, opinions on things like child rearing." He raised his head to look at her. "But at the end of the day, the more I travel, the more I realize that the world really isn't as different as people like to imply."

"I take that as an insult," she scowled, "The Dark Kingdom should not be lowered to the levels of the rest of Zaron."

To her surprise, he laughed. "You see, the thing is every Kingdom I've said that to had people respond exactly like that."

"That's not funny!" she spat, gripping the fabric of her pants to prevent herself from directly lashing out at him.

"Maybe not," he wiped a tear away from his eyes, "But either way, it's true. I really did think with all I've heard that the Dark Kingdom would be the exception. I mean, you have to know all the terrible stories about your lot."

"Of course."

"Well, turns out that the Dark Kingdom isn't just full of evil monsters. You're all people like anyone else. Kids play on the streets, people gossip in the market, people go about their day. You might have that harsh, brutal image for a reason, but at the end of the day you're all humans of Zaron trying to live your lives like anywhere else."

"Of course," she repeated, "We are a human Kingdom of Zaron, after all. Are the rest of the kingdoms so stupid as to believe otherwise?"

"Well, honestly? Yeah," he confessed, "But I don't think so anymore, for what it's worth."

"I see," she bit her lip.

"I'm glad I came here," he smiled, "And I'm glad I got to meet you, your highness."

An odd, unfamiliar feeling swelled through Betsy. By all accounts she would normally kill the man for speaking to her in such a way and saying things that should be considered insulting. She killed for far less many times. Yet at the same time, her curiosity with this Rodger fellow seemed to have grown upon meeting him. He was unlike any man she had ever met, and she had met many men, including men from Kupa. His forthcomingness felt more genuine, more intriguing than the unintelligent spouting from Prince Stuart. He was...interesting.

"I have to go," she sighed, standing up and climbing back towards the window, "Tell no one that I've come to meet you."

"As you wish," he bowed his head.

"But," she paused, "Do try to come back one day."

A few months later, Roger came back.

He wasn't alone this time, but instead with a caravan of several merchants with more things to stay for a longer period of time. Betsy was expected to be there upon their arrival with her mother and father to greet them all. Her maid fetched her her nicest black dress and helped her look as presentable as possible in a way that her mother couldn't object to.

"Is that makeup on?" her mother narrowed her eyes. Betsy's hand flew to her cheeks. She did request her maid put a bit of rouge on her.

"To look proper," she answered, "Especially next to the tons and tons you always have on."

The queen's anger boiled up and slapped her. Betsy tried to suppress a laugh. She increasingly liked getting under her mother's skin.

"What's all this?" Betsy's father asked as he met them at the docks. There were traces of blood on his face.

"Nothing," the queen answered, venom still present in her voice, "Our guests are arriving soon."

"Still don't know how much I like this opening up the kingdom business," he said, taking his handkerchief to wipe off his face.

"I have always wanted this," her mother lied, "As I've told you before, I believe keeping our enemies close is the best idea."

"I guess," he tossed the handkerchief into the sea, "I'd be just as happy slaughtering them all."

"I know, dear," she smiled, kissing her husband's cheek.

"There it is!" Betsy interrupted her parents, pointing off to the approaching ship.

It didn't take long for the ship to reach their destination. The docksmen of the Dark Kingdom quickly rushed to help them find their spot to anchor and roll their carts of goods onto the wooden docks. The royal trio waited silently and still, overseeing all of it. Betsy tried her best to remain her proper and stoic as she searched the crowd below for Roger.

"Stand straight!" her mother scolded softly yet harshly as she walked forward passed her husband and daughter down towards the entourage. Betsy bit the inside of her mouth but followed, side by side with her father.

"Welcome," the queen announced in her regal voice.

"A pleasure to meet you again, your highness."

The man who spoke wore a dark green tunic that Betsy recognized as part of Kupa fashion, presumably an outfit of the merchant class. She only ever saw Roger's face in the light of his dimly lit candle, but she recognized the brown hair and round face. Of course, she also recognized his voice.

"They've sent you again," the queen responded stoically.

"They have," he bowed, "It's an honor to be back in the Dark Kingdom."

"There's no need for flattery," she tssked, "I should introduce you to my daughter, the Princess Elizabeth." Of course, her husband without a royal title did not warrant an introduction.

"Nice to meet you, Princess," he bowed. There was a knowing gleam in his eye.

"Likewise," she curtsied.

"You listened," Betsy called out as she snuck out to his window that night. As there were more of them and it was a more formal, longer visit, all of the merchants were given a proper building. Roger, as the leader, thankfully was given a private bedroom. It would have annoyed Betsy if she needed to avoid other sleeping men to get to him.

"And you're visiting me again. I was wondering if you would," he said. He lifted his candle-on a proper dresser this time-showing his grin as he met her.

"It would be foolish of me to request you back and then ignore you," she frowned as she pulled herself completely into the room for the window.

"Maybe," he laughed, "Though I know you royals are often busy. Wasn't sure if you'd have time for me."

"Didn't I tell you last time?" she asked, "I'm curious."

"There are about a dozen or so other merchants this time. Do you want me to call them?"

"No," she nearly yelled, "Don't waste my time!"

"I've noticed," he said as he placed the candle back down, "You Dark Kingdom folk seem to be really into that. Not just wasting time, but you seem to be very direct people who are obsessed with getting to the point and not doing things you consider to be a waste."

"I've noticed that Kupa folk are the opposite," she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall near the window, "Especially the elite. Constantly wasting their time on frivolous things, unimportant formalities, and owning the most over the top luxury items or clothes just to show off. It's a wonder that your kingdom even functions with how much you all focus on the unimportant."

"Maybe," he laughed, "But on my end it's good for business."

"Are you saying your things aren't essential?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I apprenticed under a shoemaker. Shoes have always been my main trade. I'd say that's pretty essential," he said, picking up his pair of shoes next to the bed. "But all these fine details here?" he pointed to the detailed leatherwork, "They're just for show. They look nice and are more expensive, which means the nobles in Kupa City are all over them, wanting many pairs for status. So I mean, I do an important job, but the frivolous stuff gives me some extra coin."

"The Dark Kingdom only cares that they're practical. I guess the most frivolous thing could be that we tend to like dark clothing," she said, "So are you wasting your time only making the bare minimum here?"

"Not for me," he shook his head, "I like traveling around Zaron and meeting new people more than I care about getting rich. Speaking of new people-was that your father today?"

"Yes it was," she lowered her gaze.

"But he's not a king, right?"

"He's not."

"Are your parents-"

"Like you said," Betsy raised her head back up, "We don't like wastefulness. My father may have married the Dark Lady, or queen, but he is still just a commoner by all accounts."

"So marriage doesn't change royal status?"

"By tradition, the Dark Lord or Lady is the only true royal in the Dark Kingdom," she said with a sigh, "Calling me a princess is more due to outside influence and making it easier for your lot to understand. I am going to be the Dark Lady one day, so in that sense I am considered a princess."

"And if you had younger siblings?"

"Not really," she explained, "Only if something were to happen to me-which I don't have any, making it pointless. Once I have an heir they would especially become irrelevant."

"I guess you're glad you're an only child then."

"I suppose," she shrugged, "But really is it that different from your kingdom? King Stuart is going to become the next king one day. Not any siblings of him, not any of his aunts or uncles. Isn't it wasteful glorifying people who will never rule?"

"I don't think that's for me to say."

"It isn't," she agreed, "But I should get going now. I'll try to meet you in the day sometime."

"Alright," he stood up with a smile to see her out, "It was nice talking to you, Sort-of-Princess Betsy."

A rare chuckle escaped her lips. "Likewise."

It took saying the proper things to both her mother on a personal level and to her father's war table on a strategic level, but Betsy managed to be permitted to leave the castle of the day to go into the marketplace as she wished. The streets were busy due to the curiosity of the citizens towards the new outsiders, although they immediately tried to hide it once they saw their future Dark Lady, moving out of the way for her to make it all the easier for her to find where she needed to go.

When she made her way into the building turned into a makeshift shop, she noticed quite a few other Kupa merchants she had briefly seen, immediately recognizable by their gaudy clothes and bad posture. They were of all ages, some appearing to be either children of or young apprentices of the elder ones.

"Betsy!" a voice called out from outside her field of vision. She turned around and saw Roger who had been fitting a shoe onto a young lady. He was smiling ear to ear while the girl, one of her citizens, had a look of horror on her face. A brief glance away showed that everyone had turned silent with a look of utter shock covering each and every one of their faces, Kupa and Dark Kingdom citizens alike.

"Roger," she nodded formally, "Though you should refer to me as your highness."

"Oh, but of course, your highness," he said, standing up and wiping dust off his pants. Two patrons gave each other a confused look.

"Walk with me to the docks," she said.

"Oh, I'd love to," his eyes grew large, "But we're busy and-"

"Can't your other Kupa workers do it without you?" she asked, growing slightly annoyed, "They're not all useless without you, are they? If so, they should be-"

"Of course not, your highness," he laughed, "Alright."

The two walked down the streets, citizens doing their best to maintain a distance from Betsy while also trying to hide their confusion at her walking along with some strange Kupa man. She wasn't sure if she should be enraged or amused, but decided that for the time being she would be the latter.

"People seem to really fear their leaders here," Roger noted as one young girl visibly gasped out in fear as she noticed them.

"Shouldn't they?" she raised an eyebrow.

"I mean that question is way above my status," he said, "But I guess I'm more interested in why."

"Well," she thought about it for a moment, "Ordinarily if someone addressed me the way you did, they'd be killed on the spot."

Roger didn't answer at first, merely pondering her response in the silence only broken by their footsteps and the wind. "I didn't mean disrespect," he finally said.

"I know."

"Is that why you weren't upset?" he asked.

"No," she answered matter of factly, "It's because I've decided I like you."

"Like me?" his face grew pink, "Your highness, I-"

"Don't get the wrong idea," she cut him off, "I find you interesting. Your straightforwardness and otherworldly insight is a valuable perspective to me."

"I see," he smirked, "In that case, the same goes to you. Your respectable highness."

After about a week in the Dark Kingdom, the caravan left to continue their trade route across the human kingdoms of Zaron. A short time to Betsy, but to her mother a wastefully long amount of time.

As the boat sailed away, her mother turned around, her black skirt flowing in the wind. "If that Kupa boy is a distraction, then perhaps he shouldn't come back."

"He is not."

Her mother turned her head back towards her daughter, gaze sharp. "I know that you've been meeting up with him and taking him away from his duties during the day."

"To learn."

"Do you not learn all the times we've sent you abroad?"

"The royals, yes," she said with a frown, "But not the common folk. If you really want to understand a country, you must also understand them."

"Common folk are beneath us, much less common folk of other lands."

"That is true, but-"

"I'm sending you to be the representative of the Dark Kingdom at the wedding of Prince Stuart of Kupa Keep and Princess Carol of Neunbruck in a few months."

"What?" Betsy asked, her eyes growing wide with a shocked irritation.

"You were there for their engagement ball, it only makes sense to send you to the wedding. Plus," her eyes narrowed at her daughter, "With as much interest in trade and the common folk of Kupa, I would think you'd find this as a great opportunity to increase our gains there."

"As you wish, mother." She bowed her head respectfully, but didn't try to hide the aggravation from her face.

"Weddings are fun," Betsy's new handmaiden exclaimed as she rushed to grab clothing from the closet to put into her luggage. Her temperament was far more cheerful than typical of what was preferred of the Dark Kingdom, yet she was the hardest and most adept servant she ever had. "Oh, I remember the wedding between your mother and father! I was still rather young at the time, you see, but it was so exciting! The whole kingdom celebrated it."

"This is Kupa I'm going to," Betsy frowned, "Their culture, if you can call it that, is much different, much more ostentatious. The thought of an actual wedding held by them makes me want to gag."

"Well," she said as she placed a hat on top of the pile of clothes, "Maybe it will be a learning experience? At the very least, it will bring forth more appreciation towards the Dark Kingdom, no?"

"Perhaps."

"See," she grinned, "Something good will come from it!

As soon as Betsy arrived through the gates and into the walled Kupa City she immediately cursed her handmaiden's word.

She absolutely hated Kupa City. She came two years prior, but it was even more obnoxious than usual. There were flowers everywhere around the city, decorating it for the grand occasion. Musicians were out playing in the streets as people quickly rushed the streets. Not rush in the usual daily way, but rather they all seemed to be preparing in some way or another for the big event that was going to occur.

The carriage stopped right in front of the royal entrance of the castle walls, complete with a long carpet stretched out for her to properly step out in. Betsy considered walking to the side of it out of spite, but decided against it.

"Betsy!" Prince Stuart greeted her as she exited the carriage door. He was just as repulsive to her as ever, with his unkempt hair even more grown out than before.

"Your Highness," she said without emotion, "It's an honor to be invited to such an occasion." She kept her head high without bowing or curtsying as would be custom.

"'Course," he grinned, paying no mind to her coldness, "You and I came far in helping normalize stuff between our kingdoms. I wanna go up from here."

"Likewise."

"Now if you'll come inside," he said, grabbing her hand. She pulled away, but he laughed it off. "We are going to have afternoon tea. We'd love it for you to join us."

"Not sure what else I would do."

"Right," he laughed nervously, "So come on in! My guards will send your stuff up to your room."

Betsy followed him through the grand entrance of the castle she had previously been in a small handful of times in her life. It was always adorned in pointless decorations, but now more so than ever. She simply turned up her nose and did her best to ignore it as she was led up the grand staircase into the tea room.

"Princess!" a voice called out when she entered. It was hard to make out just who it was, given the dozen or so people that were in the room.

"Yeah," Stuart said in a very unprincely manner, "She just arrived from the Dark Kingdom."

"Glad you could make it, Princess," a familiar booming voice let out. Betsy recognized it right away as belonging to the Wizard.

"It's an honor to represent my kingdom at such an important event," she said in a voice devoid of all emotion.

"It's great to have you," a young lady with striking red hair said with a thick accent as she stood up. Betsy vaguely recognized her from the engagement party as Carol, the woman who was to be Stuart's bride. Her dress was clearly from her home kingdom of Neunbruck and fit very loosely on her. Just as classless as her groom.

"Of course." Betsy gave a fake smile.

"C'mon over here and sit down!" Carol gestured over to her. "I wanna hear all about you."

"Guard, I want to leave my chambers and go outside."

"First of all," the man said with an irritated glare, "I'm not a guard, I'm Prince Stuart's personal night."

"Who guards me, same difference."

"Second of all, foreign guests are not permitted to wander unaccompanied. You should know that."

Betsy let out an overly loud groan as she sat down dramatically onto her bed, pillows and blankets bouncing. It was a decent enough room by most standards, although with the large magnitude of esteemed guests throughout Zaron it was inevitable that it was more one for a run of the mill noble as opposed to the future queen of a country. Still, it would go against her nature to complain about not receiving a grander room.

On the other hand, while she was deemed less important than other royal guests, she was personally looked over. The guard-knight, was seemingly only a few years older than her, but was incredibly tall and large. He was a man who would not be easy for her to get past, even with her feeble, unreliable magic. Well, unless she wanted to kill him, but that was out of the question.

She bit her lip. Point to all of this was, Kupa didn't trust her.

She looked up at the man. "Then you accompany me."

"Excuse me?" he raised an eyebrow. Or rather, his forehead moved in a way that implied he was raising an eyebrow. His gingery orange hair made his eyebrow hairs nearly invisible.

"You heard me knight." She crossed her arms. "Accompany me through the city."

"You highness, I don't-"

"Do not 'your highness' me." Her eyes narrowed into her signature intimidating glare. "The way I am being treated is more akin to a slave. Your kingdom's merchants are allowed to come and go as they please when welcomed into my city, and yet your kingdom locks the future Dark Lady into a bedroom with an armed knight."

"You know that's-"

"I've kept my mouth shut all these past times you know," she said, voice trailing off, "But you know, I don't think my mother would approve of this if she were to find out."

The knight groaned, reaching for his temple in irritation. "Alright," he finally relented.

"So let's go," she stood up, brushing her hands across her skirt.

"Now? Your highness, I have to-"

"Yes now."

"But-"

"Now."

He groaned again. "Fine."

Betsy gave a bemused smirk and walked to the door. The knight didn't resist and simply followed her as she went down the long hallway, his heavy metal boots clanking loudly behind her even on the soft putrid green rug that ran the length of the corridor. When they made their way down several sets of stairs and to an exit, the guard at the door looked confused but the knight simply rolled his eyes and gestured to Betsy. The guard's confusion didn't falter, but he let them pass into the walled city.

It was a city she knew decently well, as far as cities outside of the Dark Kingdom went. It wasn't of particular interest to her, even if it did look considerably different all fancied up for the royal wedding.

She suddenly questioned why she demanded the knight escort her out.

"So, uh, your highness," the knight said, "What exactly did you want to do?"

"I wanted fresh air," she declared, more so to herself.

He chuckled under his breath. "Not really the best place in Zaron for that."

"Kupa citizens sure speak highly of their kingdom."

"Just callin' a spade a spade," he cracked a smile.

"I see." She stared at him for a few moments before walking off in a direction she randomly decided to go.

"We're not all bad though," he said in a more serious voice as he caught up to her.

"'Not all bad' is a pretty low bar."

"My girl's here," he shrugged.

"Aren't you supposed to be Prince Stuart's personal knight?"

"That I am."

Betsy considered making another snide remark about how inept the knights were in this kingdom. How someone like him would be killed on the spot in her own kingdom. How the entire culture of Kupa was uncouth.

"Your highness?"

"Nothing," she said instead. "Take me somewhere interesting."

"With all due respect, I'm not exactly sure what's interesting to a Dark Kingdom princess."

"Figure it out, then. You deal with Prince Stuart. Although you seem to disrespect him every chance you get, so I'm not sure why he chose you."

"Ha," he let out, "We've known each other since childhood. We-"

"I don't want your life story," she cut him off.

"Dark Kingdom sure teaches their kids to speak really politely," he said, sarcasm in his voice as he guided them through a busy alley. Citizens, seeing that he was a knight escort, moved out of the way. It reminded her somewhat of home, albeit with far less fear.

"No child of mine will dally on pointless chatter and focus on irrelevant details."

"Well, I'm going to teach my kids to not be rude and unsociable."

"Speak for yourself," she said with a glare. He was really lucky she was forbidden from killing him. He gave another laugh, making it clear he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Words couldn't express how much she despised people like this man. Still, she tried to swallow her pride as she lifted up her skirt and followed him through the crowded street.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice more level.

"Dunno."

She clenched her hands into fists. That was it. She had it with this man.

As he kept going forward in front of her, she made an abrupt turn left. Some Kupa citizens turned their heads towards her in curiosity, but they said nothing and didn't alert the knight of her break off. Possibly because of the visible anger on her face as she physically pushed them aside, intimidating them too much to say anything.

She didn't know where she was going and was likely to get lost, but it wasn't like it really mattered. Even if her magic was feeble, she knew she could easily defend herself, especially given how much Kupa put a lid on magic users in their kingdom. It was more on her to not harm Kupa residents who bumped into her.

She managed to push through the crowds into a less jam packed side alley. Heart still pounding, she leaned against a wall to calm herself down. Immediately she noticed that the wooden building was caked in filth, but she couldn't be bothered to care. After all, she knew that alleys without people were often like that for a reason.

She took a deep breath, (unfortunately getting a whiff of the filth around her,) and stood up straight.

What was she doing here? What was she expecting to find?

"Betsy?" a voice interrupted her thoughts.

Betsy straightened up, wondering if her ears were deceiving her. Looking in front of her, she saw that they weren't.

"What are you doing here, your highness?" Roger asked. Betsy's eyes widened.

He was dressed as he usually was, with his simple yet well made green kirtle, although his hair was a bit messier, as though he was less well kept to impress. He had a bucket in his arms, probably throwing his waste into a dispenser. He placed it down on the dirt ground to run over to her.

"I should say the same for you," she managed to say.

"I mean I figured you'd attend the wedding, I just didn't expect to find you in the back alley of my shop."

"Your shop?" she asked, "I thought you were a traveling merchant."

Roger laughed. "You're right, I am," he said, pointing to the building she had been leaning on. "This is where I apprenticed, so I'm allowed to come back."

"Did you come here for the wedding?" she asked, still stunned by the happenstance.

"Well, all Kupa citizens are required by law to return to our borders during the wedding," he explained, "Though of course, not everyone can get into the city itself. But given how all you rich guests are here, I was able to pull strings to get permission."

"Required? But why?"

"Respect and solidarity, or something like that. Not that most Kupa folk are allowed to leave in the first place, so it really only applies to us merchants. A bit of an annoyance given how so few of us are unable to come into the city, let alone see the actual wedding."

"You're not going to the wedding?" she asked, "Then why is the entire city...?"

"You act as though we have a choice," he laughed, "But are you busy? I don't know why you're out here and I don't want to intrude on your royal duties, but if you have time-"

"I do have time," she nodded fervently.

"Alright," he smiled, "Let's get out of this mess."

He took her hand-something that was normally strictly forbidden, but she allowed- and he guided her the opposite way of the main street. He guided her through a rickety wooden door and into the building the smelled intensely of leather. He kept going and soon enough she saw that it was a shoemaker's shop.

"Sit down wherever you like," he said as he let her go, gesturing out around the small shop. It was quaint. There were several seats around for a shoemaker to craft in, evident by the various tools littered around them. She picked one that seemed tidier and took a seat.

"Do you want tea?" he asked, "I think there's some around here."

"I'm fine."

"Good," he sat down at a seat not far from her, "I didn't want to have to start the fire again."

Betsy looked at him long and hard. He was brazen with how he spoke to her like much of Kupa, and yet for some reason it didn't bother her as much as it did when that knight or Prince Stuart did it. Why was it?

"Something the matter?" he asked, "I'm sorry this place isn't much." He smirked. "But then I guess you don't like ostentatious stuff, do you?"

That's right, she thought. Unlike the others, he was actively hospitable. Not in some flashy way to gain points, but out of a real sense of genuineness. He was kind-something she didn't value, of course, but was refreshing all the same.

She knew it also made him weak. Yet at the same time, he didn't feel weak to her.

"Princess?" he tilted his head.

"Sorry," she blinked, shaking her head, "Yes, you're right."

"I bet this isn't all that fun being here now, then?" he leaned forward, chin in his hands and elbows on his lap, "Though I guess it is profitable."

"You said you don't care about profits."

He gave an amused smile and straightened up, stretching his back. "Guess I did say that, didn't I?"

"Was it a lie?"

"No," he said in a more serious tone, "I do like to see all of Zaron. But I do need to make a living."

"I see."

"Plus, while I never expected to run into you like this, I did kind of hope that you'd be here, too."

Betsy instinctively raised a hand to her cheek. It felt hot.

"Sorry," he stood up, "I-I-I didn't mean to offend-"

"Why don't you go with me to the wedding then?"

"E-Excuse me?"

Betsy swallowed, trying her best to straighten up and look dignified. "I was permitted to bring a lady in waiting or some other form of security that I wished from my court, but the prior were too likely to embarass me and the latter are too busy to waste time at something like this."

"I'm not-I'm not in your court."

"No, but I have an open invitation that I can extend to you," she said, "I don't think they would fight with me."

"But I'm just a Kupa merchant."

"Who has done his job helping to connect the two kingdoms," she crossed her arms, "I think it is fitting that you attend at my request."

"I-" he seemed unable to form another sentence.

Betsy stood up and turned to the door. "I don't expect a Kupa merchant to reject my generous offer."

Roger's expression slowly melted back into a smile.

"Alright your highness."

"Your highness! You gave us all a fright last night," a Kupa lady in waiting or noblewoman commented as she entered the grand dining room for breakfast the next morning.

"I was taking a stroll."

"I'm aware," she answered, "But Sir Tucker said you got separated and couldn't find you. We here at the castle have been quite worried."

"Sir Tucker?"

"Ah yes, the knight who has been assigned to assist you."

"Oh." She never bothered to learn his name. Not that she cared even then.

"M'lady, although we pride ourself on our safety in this city, we still would like to protect our guests at all costs and-"

"I'm fine now," she said, pushing through the doorway into the grand dining room, "Leave it alone before I get angry."

The long stone table in the middle of the dining room was already full of a lot of nobles and royalty not just from Kupa but across Zaron as a whole. Of course ones from Neunbruck, the bride's home country, but from all over-at least based on fashion.

"Betsy!" Stuart called out with a smile on his face, "It's great to see you this morning! Ya had us-"

"Worried. I know."

"Right," his smile faltered for a split second, "Well, anyway breakfast is about served, so take your seat over here!" He gestured across the way to an empty seat. "My servant here will take you." Betsy obliged, allowing the well dressed man to escort her to it. He pulled out the chair for her.

There was already an empty plate in front of her with a bowl and cloth for her. She sat down without a word and ran the cloth along her mouth and hands.

"Princess Elizabeth of the Dark Kingdom," a heavily accented voice said next to her. Betsy dropped the cloth back into the bowel to look at the person sitting next to her.

Her mouth became ajar the instant she realized who it was.

It was a young lady that she had met a small number of times. A lady that in any other circumstance she wouldn't have been too surprised about seeing her in attendance at a formal, political event in Zaron. Anywhere but Kupa.

"Queen Sheila," Betsy tried to suppress her surprised expression, "I didn't expect to see you here."

"You can thank His Highness Prince Stuart for that," she said, taking a sip from the embellished gold goblet, "He says that he wishes to help normalize relationships between humans and elves."

"Is that so?" Betsy took a sip from her own goblet.

In general, humans and elves did not have the best of relations. The Dark Kingdom maintained brief relations with elves, (or rather, did their part to prevent constant wars from breaking out between the two groups,) and had even formed albeit brief alliances with the Drow Elves. Overall, the two races remained for the most part separated by the natural barrier of the Lost Forest and the grand dwarven mountain ranges that separated their territories.

However, no human kingdom had worse relations with the elves than the particularly xenophobic Kingdom of Kupa Keep. And there was no group of elves that Kupa had worse relations with than with the High Elf Kingdom.

In Betsy's opinion, the High Elf Kingdom was more or less the elven equivalent of Kupa. Sure, they were very different in terms of aesthetic, but at their core they were essentially the same. Ostentatious monarchies who fought to be the cultural capital and major power of all of Zaron. Their fierce centuries long rivalry was nothing if not ironic.

Queen Sheila was a quite young queen, only a handful of years older than Betsy, who ascended to the throne while still in her teen years. She was considerably large for an elf, a usually dainty and lithe race compared to humans, but thus far the reign of her and her consort husband had proven not much different than the High Elf royals before her. Not a fan of humans, her subjects kept on a tight leash, and determined to prove her kingdom's superiority. The fact that Stuart reached out to her was unsurprising the more she thought about it, given how much he attempted to fix relations between Kupa and the Dark Kingdom, but it was hard for her to grasp why Sheila would go along with it.

"Perhaps with the eventual shift in power, we can have peace between all of Zaron," Sheila said. Her eyes narrowed and her expression sent an unsettling feeling down Betsy's spine.

"Perhaps."

As soon as her response left her lips, a group of plates came floating through the far doors with a large yet nonoverwhelming gust. The heated plates all floated around above the tables and chairs in a sort of choreographed dance before eventually each and every one of them landed gracefully in front of the seated guests.

"Good morning, everyone," the booming voice of the Grand Wizard came out from where the plates came. He had his usual smug expression on his face as he went to stand at the end of the table. "On behalf of the royal family and all of Kupa, we want to thank you all for coming today. Today is the day our future king is going to marry the lovely Princess Carol of Neunbruck." His voice was as confident and sleazy as ever, but Betsy couldn't help but be amused by how unnaturally formal his manner of speaking was compared to normal.

Prince Stuart stood up abruptly, hitting the table and making his plate clatter. "Thanks," he said with his big goofy grin, "Really appreciate it." He turned to the guests. "He's right! We're all really glad y'all came out. I know how the past of Kupa has been, but I'm hoping with my future reign...well, I'll save some of this for our wedding dinner. I'm sure y'all're hungry for breakfast, so let's eat!"

"Amazing how he doesn't see how much he's being played like a fiddle," Sheila whispered in Betsy's ear.

"Pardon?"

"I think you know what I mean."

The wedding went exactly how it was supposed to. It was somewhat of a struggle getting Roger in-the guards didn't believe him when he said he was a guest of the Dark Kingdom. The guards told him that they refused to waste Princess Betsy's time and it was only the fact that she happened upon them when searching for him that he was allowed in.

He dressed well, but still stood out as a commoner. He wore a nicer, more vibrantly green kirtle than usual and a cape unlike anything she had seen him wear before. Nicer than most peasants, and she wouldn't be surprised if it was from pulling strings from fellow merchants who made them. Still, it wasn't nearly as extravagant as the outfits of the royals. Not that it mattered to someone like Betsy. The puzzled looks from all the nobility only brought her joy.

The ceremony itself was typical. It was dreadfully boring and hard to pay attention to. She never attended a wedding in the Dark Kingdom, but hoped that their process was less tedious and with less pointless tradition. She felt like dozing off and was only brought back to reality with the clapping upon the kiss between bride and groom.

She wished that was the end of it. She wished there wasn't also a large ball she was expected to attend.

"Somewhat exciting," Roger nudged her as the crowd was slowly leaving the grand hall where the ceremony to get touched up for the ball. "I haven't ever been to a ball this important before."

"They're all dreadfully boring, really. I should apologize for subjecting you to this."

"No, don't," he said, "It's an honor."

"As a citizen of Kupa? Or as a guest of mine?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Both."

"I see," she responded, walking forward for him to follow.

"What about you, princess? Are you going to have a wedding of your own soon?"

Betsy stopped again. "That's an out of line question."

"I didn't mean to offend."

She sighed. "No, not currently," she said. She pondered what to say for a moment. "But my mother wishes for me to marry one of our mages. But…"

"But?"

She probably said too much. It was a humiliation how her mother kept insisting she marry one of the mages of her army. How her mother constantly berated her for her weak connection to magic. How she needed to marry someone with a strong connection, lest the future ruler of the Dark Kingdom might not have any ability at all.

"Future Dark Lords or Ladies are allowed to marry whomever we want, no exceptions," she said instead, "I will marry who I want, regardless of her wishes."

"I guess that's a benefit of your kingdom. Young Stuart and Carol have been promised to each other since the day she was born."

The ball was just like every other ball Betsy had been subjected to. Full of colorful dresses, much more colorful than her own. Full of laughter. Of dancing. All things she hadn't the slightest interest in.

Roger seemed far more interested in the ongoings of the ball, his eyes big looking at everything going around. Still, he stayed with her at the outer edges of the ballroom.

"There you are!" an angry voice bellowed through the merry music and laughter. Betsy groaned.

"You're spending the grand wedding party of your beloved future king yelling at a foreign guest?" she said, crossing her arms.

The knight-Sir Tucker, as she had learned, had a less metal and more formal cloth uniform on, yet still as overpowering as ever. The large blade hanging from his waste didn't help, although the pretty blonde girl hanging on his arm from the other side lessened it. Regardless, he didn't frighten her in the slightest.

"You're one to talk," he growled, "Do you have any idea what-"

"She's right!" the girl said, rolling her eyes. She was one of the prettiest young ladies Betsy had ever seen in Kupa, with long golden hair tied up in intricate braids with a ribbon to match her incredibly expensive looking gown the flowed behind her. She was too pretty for him, even if he was Prince Stuart's personal knight.

"This is 'your girl' you mentioned, I take it," she said.

"Oh, is he talking about me?" she said coyly, blinking her long eyelashes flirtatiously. It made Betsy sick.

"O-Of course," he told her. He looked back to Betsy and then briefly to Roger. "Who is this man you've brought in."

"My guest."

"You didn't bring anyone from the Dark-"

"He's from Kupa. Do you not recognize your own people?"

"Why do you-"

"Thomas," the young lady put her arm on his, "It's clear we're only bothering her." Sir Tucker's berated expression instantly melted upon looking at her.

"Yes you are," Betsy agreed, "Leave us."

His expression grew more irate, though less than before. "Fine," he said through clenched teeth. The young lady giggled before leading him back towards the center of the ballroom.

"Sorry about that," Betsy said to Roger as soon as they were for sure gone.

"I-" he stammered, "I-Don't apologize."

"Hm?" She tilted her head.

"I-I just can't believe they just came up to us," he said. His face was pale, as if he had just seen a ghost.

"Right. To think they had the audacity to bother me."

"Betsy, do you really not know who they are?" he asked, taken aback.

"Sir Tucker is the prince's personal knight, I've been told. He was tasked with watching me yesterday. A real thorn in my side."

"Betsy, he's the greatest knight Kupa Keep has ever seen!"

"What? Him?"

"Yes him! Sir Thomas Tucker. He's been a war hero since he was barely a teenager. An absolute military genius with the best combat ability of anyone in the kingdom. And that woman with him, that's Lady Laura, his betrothed, is from one of the most important noble families in our kingdom."

"If they are some of your top people, that doesn't speak so well for your kingdom," she scoffed.

Roger laughed. "I guess you would think so."

"Of course." She frowned. "We have higher standards in my kingdom."

"I'm sure you do," he laughed, "What about with dancing?"

"Dancing? I don't dance."

"Not ever?" His eyes widened.

"Of course not. Dancing is foolish," she said in a matter of fact tone.

"Even if it was with me?" he smirked.

"Yes."

"Well, sometimes it's okay to do foolish things," his tone grew coy. Her face grew red with irritation.

"If you are asking me to dance with you, you should do so formally."

"Oh but of course," he said. He stood up straight and took her hand. "Princess Elizabeth of the Dark Kingdom, may I have this dance?" He bowed and kissed her hand.

"I'll think about it."

"Oh?" He looked up at her.

She groaned, grabbing his hand. "Fine. I'll dance with you," she said, looking away from him, "But do not embarrass me and make me regret it."

"Of course not, your highness."

She spoke the truth about dancing. It wasn't a practice that existed in the Dark Kingdom. There were times in generations past where royals in her kingdom might learn for the purpose of events abroad such as this, but they had long since stopped. Her mother especially was against dancing, and would be incredibly infuriated with her doing such a thing. That, mixed with the odd stares, made a giddy feeling form in the pit of her stomach as the other couples formed in circles in the center of the ballroom.

"Grab her hand," Roger said under his breath as he gripped her own hand forming a circle.

"No," she scowled, "Why would I-?"

"We're dancing a carole, so it's necessary. But don't worry, this is a simple one," he assured her. Betsy frowned, but aggressively grabbed the hand of the woman to her left. A noble from one of the southern seaside kingdoms, judging by her dress. "You're going to go right three steps and kick, then the same to the left, then in."

"Huh?"

"Just follow along," he grinned as the music started up.

The people in the circle all took a step back to have their arms stretched out while still maintaining the circle. As the beat slowly started, everyone took three sideways steps to their left. Although she didn't cross her legs in the process as they did and missed the kick out from her right foot, she managed to keep up. It was a little easier to repeat it as they did the same thing to the right. Then three steps in. She missed the three claps and was half a beat behind as they walked backwards, hands grasping each other, yet not enough to embarrass her.

Repeat again. The tempo went up, and with it the group moved in accordance to it. One more time even faster. Then the music slowed for the fourth round. Then it sped back up again. It was as if she was moving on her own, quickly moving in unison with the other dancers. Just as soon as she danced quickly with the other dancers, the music stopped.

"You did great," Roger told her.

"I-"

"Come on, they're going to do a Saltarello," he grabbed her hand and pulled the two of them into an open spot in the crowd.

"A what?"

"You just dance with me for this one," he said with a slight laugh, "No more holding other people's hands."

"Alright," she nodded, unable to formulate a better response.

"It's a little harder, but it's fun," he lined himself up side by side with her, "Just follow along!"

"I...Okay."

"I should mention that we hop for this one!"

Betsy's eyes widened. "What?!"

Before he could respond, the music began.

The tempo was somewhat faster than the previous song and immediately Betsy could tell that he was right about it being more difficult. She struggled to keep up with his hop steps and which way to kick out her legs. Her long dress was annoying to hold up, but the second she thought she got a hold of it, he whispered for her to spin under his arm.

"You got this," he assured her with a smile. Her face turned warm.

The song went on and eventually ended before she fully got a hang of it. Perhaps because the act of hopping or skipping was something she never did. Unlike children in this kingdom that could be seen skipping down the streets, in the Dark Kingdom it was a huge taboo. Walk or run, don't waste your time doing anything else.

Another similar song started, and once again Roger guided her through the complicated steps with a smile. She stepped on his foot more than once, but it was as if he didn't notice. He guided her along, a smile still on his face and her heart racing. Then the same through the next song, another group dance, only a little more complicated. She just went along dancing and dancing, unsure of the feeling she was feeling.

"Having fun?" he asked in between dances.

"Fun," she echoed.

"Yeah, fun," he laughed. She didn't know how to respond. Thankfully the music started back up, allowing her to get away with it.

The music slowed down and the beating of her chest was becoming a little too much. Roger took note of this, and wordlessly guided her out of the way of the dancers and back over to the edge of the ballroom.

"Thank you," Betsy said without looking at him.

"I saw that you were getting tired and-"

"For making me do that," she interrupted, "I've never...done anything like that before. It's not allowed in our kingdom."

He thought for a moment before speaking. "Well, you're in Kupa now, aren't you?"

"This isn't my home."

"It's only mine for part of the time, too."

"I suppose so," she sighed, "I suppose a merchant like yourself will always be traveling through Zaron without staying in one place, won't you?"

"For the time being, yes."

"I see," she said in a solemn voice that surprised herself. She began to turn away. Roger responded by grabbing her hand and looking her directly in the eye.

"But I will always come back to you. If that's what you want, that is."

Betsy opened her mouth then closed it.

"It is."

Blood spurted everywhere as the axe fell down upon the traitor's neck.

"You've returned," Betsy's father greeted her as he tossed his weapon to the ground, completely ignoring the newly deceased body. "How was everything?"

"Dull as expected."

"Naturally," he kicked at the corpse, "I would just as well raid the wedding and kill everyone there."

"Perhaps one day," she said, scrunching her nose at the body, "But for the time being peace is the more tactful option."

"Tact is for elves," he laughed, wiping some of the blood off his forehead onto his sleeve, "Nothing beats the edge of the blade when it comes to getting what you want, girl."

"That day will come."

"Can't wait for it," he grinned.

Coming back to her home was far stranger than all the previous times she came back from abroad. It was odd, in ways she couldn't describe. She still despised Kupa, despised how they did everything. And yet…

She tried to keep that off her mind as her mother droned on about the current status of Zaron at the war table. There was no current ongoing war, yet with the mindset of the Dark Kingdom, discussions always went on as if they were.

"Now that Prince Stuart is married he is soon expected to take over from his derelict father. We shall soon expect a full shifting of power that will ripple throughout society in his posts, leaving the kingdom in a temporary state of vulnerability."

"Stuart has more or less been acting as the monarch for years, has he not?" Betsy cut in.

"Only because the Wizard wants him to think so," her mother said, glaring at her daughter for interrupting. "He knows that the Crown Prince isn't the wisest and is allowing him confidence in order to step up and take over the throne before the death of his father, but we have reason to believe the second the crown comes upon his head he will make his move."

Betsy recalled what Queen Sheila said. She somewhat regretted not speaking to the Wizard more during her brief stay.

"For too long, the seemingly immortal wizard has been the biggest wildcard in our kingdom's plans," the Dark Lady continued, "We know he wishes to one day take control of Kupa from the McCormick dynasty. What that would entail, how that would affect our kingdom, however, is still a mystery."

"I believe he is just that," a soldier added in, "Just another one of those power hungry fools. I can't imagine he'd be much different than the McCormicks."

The Dark Lady narrowed her eyes. "Do not underestimate him."

"Should we try to take him out?" Betsy's father asked, "A fool like Stuart would be more beneficial for us."

"You're still underestimating him, my love."

"I believe our Army of Darkness could overpower him. He's just one man."

"We will not waste our time with such a thing now," she frowned, "At any rate, that is not what I have called this meeting for. We have a new potential enemy, one that has been lurking in the shadows without any notice. It is only thanks to our interrogators on the border that we are beginning to unwind a mass conspiracy."

"Conspiracy?" the voices in the room chattered.

"There's an underground rebellion in Zaron."

Betsy rushed to the docks the moment she heard the merchant ship was coming in that day. Her mother and father disapproved, but as a full adult under the Dark Throne tradition, they no longer could force her to do anything. It was a cloudy day like most, but the breeze of the salty air felt nice on her face.

A disappointed feeling swelled in her gut as the boat docked and the first people to come out were strangers to her. Still, she patiently waited until she finally saw the familiar brown haired young man. She couldn't stop herself from running to him.

"Your highness!" he said with a large grin.

"Your highness?" a merchant next to him asked, "This is-"

"Correct," she said abruptly, "Now come with me, Roger."

"Your highness," he laughed, "With all due respect, I should probably load my things first."

Betsy looked at the crowd of a dozen or so other Kupa merchants. "They can do it for you."

"I don't want to put that on them."

"Too bad."

"Alright," he said, scratching his neck, "Crown's orders, I guess."

Betsy smiled and grabbed his hand, leading him down away from the docks. She planned for this day to come in the months since they had last met and knew exactly where she wanted to take him. The confused look on his face when she headed towards her castle amused her. She told the guard at the gate ahead of time, so there was no questioning upon her reentry.

"Where are you taking me?" he finally asked as she circumvented the main entrance of the castle building, and instead went along the side yard.

"We're almost there."

She knew her garden was nothing like the gardens Roger was used to. He was from Kupa after all, not the Dark Kingdom. She knew that chances are, he would prefer the brightly colored gardens of other lands.

Still, the dark flowers and many vines were her guilty pleasure over the years. One thing that held little traditional value, yet she would still find herself coming back to.

"A garden?" he asked as they finally approached it.

"The palace garden," she said, walking on the dark stones that lined it, "Yes."

"It's very…" He looked around, studying the thorny black roses fully in bloom for a moment. "It's what I would expect from the Dark Kingdom."

"Is that bad?" she asked, tilting her head.

"No," he said with a slight smile, "It's very you."

"I'm glad," she said, taking a seat on the stone bench. He followed suit and sat next to her.

"I'm glad you've brought me here," he said. He put his hands on his knees. "But why?"

"I decided that I wanted you to see it," she said, wind blowing through her short hair. "I know I whisked you away here quite quickly and abruptly, but...I didn't want to wait. I don't like needlessly waiting."

"Well, thank you. And no, don't worry about it."

"I-Roger…" she nervously gripped the fabric of her dress.

"Yes, your highness?" he asked, picking up on her sudden nervousness.

"I was thinking...Why don't you stay here?"

"Stay here?" he echoed her, eyes widened.

"With me."

"In the Dark Kingdom?"

"Obviously," she frowned.

"As...As a merchant?"

"As my partner." She looked away from him.

His mouth fell open. A few moments after realizing he did this, he quickly brought his hand to his mouth. "I-Your highness, that's...That's quite an offer but...I…"

"Am I a fool to think you have feelings for me?" she grasped fabric tightly into her fists.

"I-That's not it, princess."

"Then what is it?" she asked angrily, standing up.

"Betsy, I do have feelings for you."

An odd fluttering feeling went from her stomach into the warmth of her cheeks.

"Then why do you hesitate then?"

"We talked about this before," he said, looking down at his lap, "I'm a merchant. I like my job, traveling around. Plus…"

"Plus?"

"If I were to marry you, I'd never be able to leave this place. You know that. The crown would have my head for being with someone from outside Kupa."

"Even if it was to a future monarch?"

"As a peasant doing such of my own volition and not through an arranged political marriage? Especially so."

"Well...then stay here," she told him, "Stay in my castle. I'll protect you."

"Besty," he sighed, standing up and taking her hands. She instinctively wanted to pull away, but didn't. "This is all so fast. It's a lot for me to think about. Why don't we just take it slow and then see what happens?"

"Take it slow? What do you mean," she said, looking at him skeptically in the eye.

"Well, we could start with a kiss, for one," he gave his signature light smile at her.

"Fine."

"Where have you been?" the Dark Lady raised her eyebrows at her daughter from the top of the staircase.

"I've been busy," Betsy responded, crossing her arms at the foot of the stairs.

"That merchant boy is not more important than our kingdom's current troubles."

A cold feeling spread across Betsy's skin. She gripped the bottom handrail. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"Don't lie to me, girl," her mother responded, beginning her descent down the stairs, "Don't think I haven't noticed you always running around with him whenever he's here."

Betsy looked up. "I-"

"Or that I don't know about the stunt you pulled with him at the wedding."

"It was a political statement to represent our newfound trade relations!"

As the Dark Lady reached the bottom of the stairs she slapped her, her sharp nails creating thin cuts across her cheek.

"Kupa is our enemy," she hissed, "Have you forgotten this? Have you not paid attention to the situation?"

"So what? I like him, and as the future Dark Lady, I am free to-"

Her mother slapped her again. Betsy brought a hand to her sore cheek.

"Foolish girl," she spat, "This temporary peace and relations you created will soon be over. What do you think will side with you? Go against his entire nation for you?"

Betsy's heart seemed to skip a beat, recalling her earlier conversation with him.

Her mother continued. "And if he does, what do you think that means? He hardly knows you. All he would be after is power. Your power."

Betsy lowered her hand. "He knows you cannot marry into a royal position here!"

"So what?" her mother laughed, "He can still control you. Perhaps his goal is just that-to sabotage this entire country." She paused. "Perhaps he is part of that little rebellion brewing. The one that is actively seeking to take control of the powerful leaders of Zaron."

"You're wrong."

"I was worried I drove you off."

"No." Betsy shook her head as she pulled herself into Roger's familiar room from the window, the moonlight against her back. "I...Things have gotten quite complicated at the castle."

"Oh?"

"Obviously, you are not in the position to know about the goings on of our court."

"Right," Roger said, scratching his neck, "I forget sometimes about the politics."

"It's alright," Betsy sighed, wiping off the dirt from her pants.

Roger looked concerned. "You don't seem alright, though."

"Oh it's...My mother has grown quite paranoid as of late. I...cannot go into details, as I said before." Betsy pressed her mouth into a thin line. "But...I do wonder if she is fit to rule."

"Um...wow."

"Yes, well." Betsy sat down on the bed next to him. "She's sending me to the frontlines of our skirmish against the Barbarians."

"To war?" his eyes widened.

"Yes?" Betsy blinked. "It wouldn't be the first time. I've led battles since I was twelve."

"Right." He relaxed a little.

"It's going to be alright though," she said, putting her hand on his. Their eyes met each other.

"Of course it will be," he said. He raised his free hand to brush a strand of hair across her face behind her ear. "I bet you're an amazing soldier."

She smiled as she leaned in for a kiss.

Her blade pierced through the torso of the barbarian.

He gave no information, and seemed to genuinely know nothing of the supposed rebellion and their supposed routes between human and elven land through the Lost Forest. He actually cooperated quite well, but nonetheless in her interrogations she shared the existence of the conspiracy. He would not be allowed to leave alive.

She wiped her bloody blade on a cloth. Switching from primarily using magic to the more practical methods of her father really was the best decision, even if it hurt her pride. She was never going to become a powerful mage. It was best that she accept that.

"Your highness," a soldier greeted her as he entered her tent and stepped over the fallen barbarian. A cold gust of winter wind came through, briefly shuffling things throughout the war tent.

"Yes?" Betsy asked, tossing the sullied rag aside. She analyzed her newly cleaned blade, rotating it in her grip. "Have you any word about the Barbarian skirmishes?"

"Well," he said, trying to avoid looking at the dead body beside him, "Unpredictably, the tribe is not pleased with our sudden attack."

"I would expect not," she sighed, putting her sword back in its sheath. "But my mother is convinced that the border tribes must be the key to finding out about this insurrection. Keep it quiet to extract information, then return."

"That's the problem," he said, his serious glare locking into Betsy's eyes, "Talk is, they are going to bring the Barbarian King into this."

Betsy let out a large groan. "Of course they would. It's foolish that my mother would think her plan would work."

"Your highness." The soldier appeared shocked at Betsy's insinuation.

"Am I wrong?" Betsy approached the soldier. "Tell me, general, what is your opinion of this? Have you seen any sign of a grand conspiracy in Zaron?"

"Personally, no but-"

"Exactly." Betsy pointed her finger in his face. "My mother knows she will never fulfill our grand prophecy and she knows that she is not destined for any sort of greatness. She's losing her edge." The soldier stood silent. Both agreeing or disagreeing with his princess about his queen could count as treason. Betsy grinned. "There is no rebellion, there is no path they are taking through the Lost Forest. We will stop wasting our time with this."

"Is that an order, ma'am?" he gulped.

"It is." She walked away from him to the other side of her tent. "I want you to get things over with swiftly and wipe out the entire village."

"All of them?" he asked. It was a question for the sake of clarity, not out of a moral quandary."

"Naturally," she nodded, "We can't have them running to their king, can we? But first." She scrunched her nose at the dead body still lying on the ground. "Get rid of this thing."

"As you wish."

Her mother would not be pleased with her entire lead being wiped off the map.

"They weren't cooperating," Betsy told the messenger to relay to her from the ruins. She knew that wouldn't be a sufficient response, but she didn't care. More than anything she wanted to get out of the awful forest. The way the flora seemed to move, the way the season changed from winter to summer upon entering, the weird feeling she felt being in there. At least this one was referred to as an outskirt village for a reason, meaning she didn't have to go all that deep into it.

Perhaps it was odd for a future Dark Lady, but she also didn't particularly enjoy the stench of dead bodies. Though complaints aside, it was what it was. Barbarians barely counted as human, anyway. At least it was quieter, with only the sound of the dwindling fires.

Still, it was odd to her that her mother was suddenly so shaken to the core by some little rebellion rumors. Barbarians generally kept to themselves and were very straightforward with their actions. Most of them only spoke their own rough tongue, and were definitely not the type to risk everything to house some conspiracy.

As the village burned, so did the odd feeling within her.

"General," she called out.

"Your highness?" he approached from behind upon being called.

"This...wasn't a true mission, was it?" She gazed off in the distance towards a collapsed structure, flames nearly out.

"Pardon?"

"What is my mother really after?"

"Your highness, you know that I can't-"

"Can't what?"

"I follow the orders of my Dark Lady."

"Lying to me is treason," she said, raising her blade towards him.

"Your highness," he said, trying to maintain his composure, "I did not intend to deceive you."

"Speak." Her blade touched the skin of his neck.

"There was no lie," he said slowly and carefully, "You mother just thought that-"

"Thought. What?"

"Just that...Just that you should be away for a while. So that she could...do what she needed to do."

That was enough for Betsy. She stabbed him in the neck.

"How could I be so stupid?" she hissed under her breath. It took her time to leave the forest to run back to the military encampment. A few soldiers who stayed behind to question her abrupt return, but she merely blasted them all away with her magic. It was one of few times her attempting that spell worked, but she wasn't in the mindset to dwell on it.

She jumped onto her horse's back and rode it as fast as she could towards her kingdom. She knew she was about a day out from her castle by horseback, and despite the snow beginning to fall and the cold air relentlessly stinging her face, she refused to let the horse stop.

Her mother wanted her out of the way. She sent her on a pointless war front in order to cast her aside.

"Stupid." Her tight grip on the reigns turned her knuckles white.

Adrenaline kept her awake through the entire ride, and adrenaline kept her moving as she entered her city's gates and onward through the streets to the castle.

"Your highness?" The castle guard's eyes widened upon seeing the horseback princess.

"Where is my mother?" Her gaze was ice cold as she slipped off her horse.

"I-Aren't you supposed to be at the border?"

"Where. Is. My. Mother?" She stood less than an inch away from the guard.

"I'm not-"

"You have no reason to be worried about my mother killing you," she said, reaching for his throat, "I will kill you first."

"I-" he choked through her grip, "She's in the dungeon."

"Why?" she asked, tightening her fist around his throat, "Why did she send me away?"

"Th-Th-The rebellion. They're traitors."

"Who?"

"Fr-From Kupa."

She dropped him. Her worst fear was coming true. It felt as though her heart hit the bottom of her stomach.

"Roger."

She left the panting guard behind as she ran to the castle entrance. She ignored the staff, even pushing a handmaiden out of her way onto the ground as she ran to the stairs leading to the dungeon. The door was locked. She kicked a hole through the wood, splinters flying.

She pushed the ruined door down the steps, her following after it. The clicking of her shoes on the stone stairs matched the beat of her heartbeat. As the stairs turned, she pushed the fallen door from where it was pressed against the wall and carried on through to the bottom, where she could hear loud noises.

"What in hell's name are you doing here?" her father yelled as she reached the bottom of the stairs. He was covered in blood splatters, clearly taken away from some interrogation to investigate the noise from the stairs.

"You're the one who should be answering questions." Betsy glared at him straight in the eyes as she finished her descent.

"Leaving a battle assignment in treason, girl."

"I'll ask you once." Betsy approached her father, standing toe to toe with him. He was considerably taller than her, but her expression looking up at him was cold as ice. "Where is he?"

He laughed. "Makes sense. A traitor loving a traitor."

"TELL ME!" she screamed.

He kept laughing, taking a step back from his enraged daughter. "Well, technically speaking, part of him is on me," he said, gesturing to his bloody shirt. Betsy balled her hands into tight fists as her whole body began trembling with anger. He grinned. "Your mother is over there, getting a confession out of him. Once he spills all of the information on his little rebellion, the whole fabric of Zaron will change."

"I'll kill you," she said under her breath.

"Speak up, girl."

"I said, I'll kill you!"

He rolled his eyes. "Like you'd have the-"

Before he could finish, Betsy plunged her sword into his gut. As he coughed up blood, he looked down at her daugther in shock. As his mouth began to attempt to form words through the blood, she ripped the sword through him.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, making it nearly impossible for her to hear. She felt dizzy, perhaps from the lack of sleep or perhaps from what she had just done. Nonetheless, she continued on down the dungeon. Towards her father's torture room. The door was unlocked. She could hear a man screaming on the other side.

There were bodies. She recognized all of them as Kupa merchants, but only through their clothes. They were stacked on top of each other, creating a pile that probably took a few days to make from the stench. She didn't see Roger, but the corpses were for the most part unrecognizable.

"Betsy!" a pained voice screamed. Her head jolted up. At the end of the room was a bloodied man chained to the wall next to her mother whose back was towards her. He was injured, but alive.

"Roger!" she called out, running towards him.

"Betsy!" he sobbed, "Betsy, you have to-"

"What is this?" her mother turned around. Her face was as angry as it was shocked. "You have no business-"

"You have no business hurting him, you bitch!"

"Excuse me?" she put a hand to her chest. "You have been nothing but a pain in my side since the day you were born. You brought a rebellious conspirator's cell into our kingdom, and now have the audacity to try and save him?"

"You know he's innocent," she walked to her mother slowly with heavy steps, "You know that you are only torturing him because you know he is the one thing that ever meant something to me!"

"You are a fool. The Dark Kingdom will be as good as through the day you put on this crown and become Dark Lady."

"We'll just see about that." Betsy ripped the large crown from her mother's head, pulling out a good chunk of her hair in the process. Her mother cried out, but was more thrown off guard than anything. Before she could retaliate against her daughter, Betsy shoved the large metal spikes of the crown into her chest.

Much like her father minutes before, there was a look of shock in her face. Then she fell to the ground. Betsy watched her lifeless mother lay there, blood pooling out of her.

"Betsy?"

"Roger!" Betsy snapped out of it. She quickly rushed to him and undid the chains around his wrists and ankles. Once the support of his arms by the bindings was gone, his weak body dropped unable to hold itself up, but she caught him before he could fall.

"Y-You," he struggled, reaching his weak bloody hand out to stroke her blood splattered cheek, "You saved me."

"I did. Of course I did." She grasped his hand that rested on her face.

"You just-Your mother."

"And my father."

"Betsy, I'm-Your family...for me."

"Of course," she smiled, gently squeezing his hand, "I love you."

Tears began forming in his eyes. "I love you, too."

They kissed.

"I want to raise our son like a normal boy."

"Excuse me?" Betsy said, turning her head away from the infant's bed to face her husband behind her.

"Why not?" he asked, approaching them both, "What's the point of having him stay here? He's a second born, which under your own rules means he doesn't count as royalty. Plus you hid your pregnancy well enough that no one would miss him."

Betsy instinctively brought a hand to her new childless stomach. Explaining away a first pregnancy with an undisclosed father was one thing, but she decided the second time it would be better to keep things private as much as possible.

"He's second in line to Lizzie," Betsy sighed, placing a blanket over Clyde, "If she were to pass away before having an heir."

"And neither of us are planning on letting anything happen to our daughter." Roger leaned against the wall. "So let her be raised in your dark, traditional royal ways. Let me raise Clyde as a merchant."

Betsy looked long and hard at her sleeping son. "I should be insulted that you want our son to lower himself to that."

"Compared to what? Living life as a nobody in the Dark Kingdom, always overshadowed by his sister?"

"It is the way it has always been. Even once Lizzie grows and produces an heir and his chances at inheriting the throne are gone, that isn't to say that he can't be a reputable part of the Dark Kingdom's society. You're going against his blood, his people."

"Half of his blood," he pointed out, "I'm from Kupa, after all. His blood is every bit as much tied to Kupa, to the merchant life, as it is the Dark Kingdom and the royal court. Lizzie will follow your half, Clyde mine."

"But-"

"The answer is no."

"When we agreed to keep our marriage, our relationship, a secret so I could keep living my life it opened up so many doors to our potential children. No one in the Dark Kingdom, in Zaron, beyond your closest confidants know he exists. Our son has the opportunity to grow up in both worlds. He'll still be your son, just as Lizzie is still my daughter, but he'll be able to live a free life traveling around Zaron with me, getting opportunities most never will. Maybe in the future he'll come back as an advisor with more insight into the world than most ever could dream of."

The boy squirmed in his sleep. He was much fussier than Lizzie was as a baby. She shared then and now a striking resemblance to Betsy, albeit prettier than she ever was. Fitting that she was named Elizabeth after her. This boy, on the other hand, appeared to be split right down the middle, taking half from both his mother and father.

"I let you go because I love you and do not wish to take from you what you love," she said to her husband, eyes still locked on the baby, "But what you are asking oversteps that. You are free to come and go, but you are not free to take away."

"It's not taking away! It's-"

"This conversation is over."

"You're weak." Lizzie's condescendingly wicked grin was enough to send chills down most people's spines. To her little brother, it caused tears to stream down his face.

"Again," Betsy ordered from the balcony above them.

"Why?" Lizzie asked, "I'm just going to beat him every time."

"I said again."

"Fine." Lizzie grimaced as she picked her sword from where she dropped it in the courtyard. Little Clyde tried to suppress his sobs as he slowly brought himself back to his feet, clutching his sword with both of his dirty, mud-caked hands.

"Terrible stance. Have I taught you nothing, boy?" Betsy scolded as she made her descent down the stairs towards her two children, towering over her son.

"I-I'm sorry," he sniffed looking down at the ground. He straightened up slightly, though his lack of stamina kept his posture inadequate for Betsy's standards.

"What have I told you about stuttering? And look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Hands trembling, Clyde slowly turned his gaze to his mother. "Y-Yes, moth-"

She slapped him. His blade fell from his little hands.

"Useless." Betsy shook her head and turned away. "You're right, Lizzie. Enough of this. Your father is coming home tonight and I want you both cleaned up."

"Clean up for Father?" Lizzie laughed, "Why bother?"

"Are you questioning me?"

Lizzie's eyes grew large as her mother's glare burned into her. "Of course not, Mother. Right away." She nearly stuttered, but managed to hold on to her words.

Betsy grabbed Clyde's arm near the shoulder, jerking him towards Lizzie. "Help him."

"As you say," she curtsied. When her mother nodded in return, she broke her formal expression and frowned at disgust at her younger brother. "Come on," she groaned at him, gripping his arm at the elbow as she roughly led him up the stairs into the castle proper.

Betsy took a deep breath of the outside air in the training courtyards. Her two children couldn't be any more different.

Lizzie was everything a future Dark Lady should be. She was incredibly talented in both magic and practical combat, able to best nearly any trainer that came to her. She had the heart of a true leader of the Dark Kingdom-cruel and merciless. She was able to master the dark arts in magic much younger than Betsy ever could, killing people much younger for less than Betsy ever did. She was intelligent. She was beautiful. She was able to put on a charming face when needed.

Clyde on the other hand had proven to be a great failure. It was just as well that he wasn't in line to be Dark Lord as it was nearly impossible to imagine he could ever take up the mantle. He was soft. Although still very young at only six, at that age Betsy had been able to kill with a simple order of her father. Clyde always hesitated. He always cried and stuttered, hating to kill and interrogate. When he did, it was always sloppy. His connection to magic was weaker than Betsy's own, and he didn't show signs of making up for it in practical hand to hand combat.

Perhaps Roger was right about him.

She missed Roger every second he was away, the love in her heart just as full as ever. A smile came across her lips. He would be home soon.

In many other kingdoms, the fact that she was still (publicly) unmarried with one (public) child may cause quite a stir, but in a land like the Dark Kingdom where the monarch was free to live as they wished, there was no such issue. Perhaps another Dark Lord or Lady would be looked down upon if it came out they were married to a foreign commoner, but Betsy knew it wouldn't be the case with her.

She was a beloved Dark Lady, much more than her mother ever was. Still feared and merciless, but at the very least mothers no longer needed to disfigure their young daughters' faces out of fear of jealous rage. She maintained and expanded relations with other kingdoms, formally creating new jobs in diplomacy and international business. The economy in the kingdom boomed, creating better lives and more opportunities for her citizens.

No, she let Roger stay a Kupa merchant, because that was what he wanted. She knew it was what he wanted, and she knew how knowledge of their relationship would potentially put a death mark on him from Kupa. Although it always pained her to see him leave, she loved him. Enough to let him live his life on his own.

Besides, all of it was temporary. The diplomatic relations, his travels, the mere existence of other kingdoms-it would all be over soon. After all, the child from the prophecy was born. She may not know where exactly in Kupa nor the exact identity, but she knew it all the same. It was out there, the same age as her son. It would almost definitely be in her lifetime, even if the grand magical profits couldn't confirm it yet. To be fair, they were rarely of help anyway.

Still, she didn't need to dwell on that. Roger was coming home. She only hoped her children would clean up well enough for him. She already saw to it that her servants cleaned the castle until it was spotless and that her cooks prepared his favorite stew. She ran a little bit of oil through her hair for shine and a bit of rouge to her cheeks.

"Daddy!" the voice of her little boy called out. He ran quickly down the steps of the grand staircase towards him. Roger let out his arms open towards him, picking him up above his head the moment he reached him.

Betsy smiled from the top of the staircase. Ordinarily she would punish Clyde for such a display, but she would not contradict what Roger seemed to be okay with. Still, she was thankful that Lizzie stood stoically beside her.

"Welcome home," Betsy welcomed him. She began her descent down the stairs, slowly but steady with the weight of her crown keeping her posture perfect, as her daughter followed behind her.

"Glad to be back," he grinned up at her, Clyde still held in his arms. The boy wrapped his arms around him tightly, digging his face into the crook of his neck. Roger laughed at this, bouncing him slightly.

"I take it your travels went well?"

"Of course," he said, walking son-in-arms to greet his wife. He kissed her cheek. "But of course, I missed you all." He turned to his daughter. "Lizzie." Lizzie rolled her eyes, turning away from him. He laughed nervously. "Well, how about dinner? I'm starving."

"Of course." Betsy put a hand on his shoulder. "I've had the cooks prepare your favorite. Let us go."

As she said, dinner was prepared and still warm waiting for them at their seats. The table was short for a royal dining table as it was rarely used outside of an immediate family, but Betsy preferred it that way. Perhaps not the days she was with her own parents, but she did now.

"Where'd you go, Daddy?" Clyde asked through a full mouth.

"Manners!" Betsy scolded.

"Betsy, it's alright," he laughed. He turned to his son. "I'm very happy to hear your questions."

"That makes one of us," Lizzie said into her bowl.

"That goes to you too, girl," Betsy said, sending a glare towards her. "You will show respect to your father."

"Why?" she asked.

"Enough!" She raised her hand towards her daughter.

"Wait!" Roger called out. "It's alright, really! Let's just all calm down, okay?"

"Fine." Betsy retracted her hand. Both children sunk into their seats.

"Well," Roger began, trying to diffuse the tense mood. "I went to the Dwarven tunnels."

Clyde's expression suddenly brightened, eyes glowing at his father. "Really?"

"Yes really." He playfully poked his son's nose. "Huge underground cities inside the mountains! Ones they made thousands of years ago and keep building!"

"Can I go?!"

"No," Betsy cut in. Clyde frowned and looked into his food. He had been taught to not argue with her. It was one thing he had over Lizzie.

"Why would anyone want to go into smelly caves, anyway?" Lizzie asked, "Unless it's to conquer them in a valiant battle."

Roger opted to not answer his daughter. But then, he rarely did.

"Clyde, Lizzie, you may not be going to the Dwarven territory any time soon," Betsy decided to cut in, "But perhaps tomorrow morning you can show your father just what you have been working towards in his absence."

"Yes mother," they both replied in unison.

Clyde fell backwards, hitting his back to the ground with a loud thump, elbows behind him barely bracing him up from hitting his head.

"Useless," Betsy said to herself, hand grasped upon her head. She straightened up and looked towards her children in the training area below. "Again!"

"Betsy, I don't know if-"

"Again!" she called out even louder. Lizzie grinned, roughly pulling her brother up to his feet before he could struggle back up himself. There were traces of tears in Clyde's eyes, but he merely wiped them away with his bloody knuckles and picked up his sword again once more.

"Betsy, is he-?"

"Begin!" Betsy ordered, ignoring her husband completely.

Her children were instructed to fight hand to hand during their demonstration for their father. No weapons, no magic. Nothing but their own skills.

Lizzie immediately started with a left hook to her brother's jaw. As he flinched, she kicked him square in the chest. Betsy wondered if that would be the end of it, but Clyde was able to push himself back up. He went for a punch to her stomach, only barely brushing her fabric as she dodged back. He struck another punch. She grabbed it, flipping him over to the ground.

"Pathetic," Betsy snarled. Clyde was on his chest, struggling to pull himself up.

"Betsy, Clyde is-"

"A disappointment, I know," Betsy rubbed her temples.

"He's hurt," he corrected her furiously. He ran down the steps to the practice field and picked up his little boy. Lizzie crossed her arms.

"Put him down, Roger," Betsy followed after him, "He doesn't need your coddling."

"Coddling?" Roger asked. Clyde didn't resist being picked up, but he was too frightened to hold on too tightly, as to not enrage his mother. "He's a child."

"Yes?" Betsy said, "This is how children in our kingdom are raised, especially those raised in the castle."

"Culture doesn't excuse making our kids torture each other!"

"Lizzie? Take your brother and leave us," Betsy instructed with a calm, even voice.

"Yes mother." She went to her father to grab the young boy from him. Roger resisted initially, but ultimately let his elder daughter pry Clyde from him. She put him down and grabbed his arm, roughly pulling him up the stairs and into the castle. Clyde looked behind once, but upon catching his mother's gaze quickly turned away.

When they were both gone, Betsy spoke again.

"I thought you understood the ways of the Dark Kingdom."

"I thought I did, too," Roger said, standing up from the ground. "I understand that you're a militaristic society that starts young but this...You're too rough on our kids!"

"Lizzie seems to handle it well. She always has."

"You're too rough on Clyde."

"I am far less rough on him than my parents were to me. I might just be the least rough Dark Lady parent that has come by."

Roger's irate expression fell into sympathy. He took a deep breath, walking to his wife. "I know you had a rough upbringing," he said, "Your parents were...unspeakable. But don't you see that even if it's not as bad, you're still repeating the same mistakes they did!"

Betsy slapped him. "How dare you," she said, "I am doing what is required to keep this boy alive in this world. I am nothing like that vain, self obsessed woman. I have raised Lizzie into being a proper successor, and I am doing everything in my power to give my second born all the same resources. He has a mind of his own, it is on him if he cannot keep up."

"Maybe it's because it's not the world he was meant for!"

Betsy froze. It was like Roger dealt a punch with his words.

"You want my son to abandon his birth place and join you, don't you? It's what you've always wanted."

"Why not?" he asked, "You have to see that that's what's best for him. It's just as much his birthright as this place is." He gestured out to his surroundings. "He's not in line for the throne, his more adept sister is. He doesn't like this life and wants to see the outside world. I see the way Lizzie looks at him with disgust. Everyone would be happier."

Betsy didn't answer. She turned around and looked around the practice field. There were smudges in the dirt from where her son fell.

"I know this is your way of loving him. To toughen him up, to make him what you think he should be." Roger reached out to touch her arm from behind. "But you have to let him go."

Betsy unclenched her fists. "Fine. You can talk to him."

"So Father took Clyde."

"Yes," Betsy sighed, leaning on the war table, "We decided it would be mutually beneficial to all involved." The room had cleared out sans the mother and daughter

"Because I'm the stronger one and he's the one Father cares about?" she asked, feigning innocence in her tone.

"Watch your tongue, girl!" Betsy shot an icy glare.

"Isn't it true?" she merely shrugged, "You always said he was useless. I'm superior to him in every way. And…" she crossed her arms, "Father hates me."

"Enough!" Betsy smacked the table, making it jolt. "I want you to begin preparing how to behave at the Kupa court. We have an important meeting and I will not let you embarrass me with your loose tongue."

"The third in line to the Kupa Throne being born," Lizzie said, rolling her eyes, "I don't see why that's-"

"Do as I say. I will not say it again."

Lizzie sighed. "Yes, Mother."

Her daughter was right. The birth of the third child of King Stuart and Queen Carol was not truly something for celebration in her opinion. No, it was merely a front. For too long, Betsy had been waiting for an excuse to enter Kupa, to enter the land that child was born into. Not the young prince or princess, but the child that was the key to everything.

Lizzie was privy to the prophecy and knew this. Her insolent attitude was grating on her fast.

Still, the child existed in this world for some years now. Betsy was made sure of this. Yet too long had passed without the child revealing itself at all. It did concern her that perhaps the people of Kupa or someone else was made aware of its existence, of what it was. Either way, it was about time for her to see for herself. She just needed to wait for the pesky royal brat to be born.

It was odd to not have her own pesky little brat around. Clyde was too young and deemed not worthy to be privy to information like his sister, and likewise the rest of the world outside of her trusted castle staff did not know of his existence at the compromise made with his father. Although it annoyed her to no end how he would clutch at her skirt, how he cried for such minimal reasons, how weak and ineffective he was...perhaps she missed his presence.

"I will say your mother was right about one thing," a trusted mage advisor who had been waiting for her said as she exited the doorway. An older man, with silver hair and a hunch, yet indegrity that didn't at all make him seem frail.

"Watch your tongue." The advisor had been very much at the forefront of her mother's reign. He had been loyal to her, but upon her death he had sworn loyalty to Betsy. That, paired with just how skillful he was, led her to keep him around, unlike many of her mother's upper echelons who met their end at her blade.

"Your majesty, you know that I would never mean that disrespectfully," he said, raising his hands in front of him, "It is why I have chosen to wait to discuss this with you alone."

"Go on then." Betsy looked at him, skeptically.

"Your mother was concerned about the rise to power of the Kupa Grand Wizard, Eric Theodore Cartman."

"Of course she was."

"Well," he continued, "You also should recall her worry that King Stuart's weakness would be the linchpin. Given how the king is behaving, I wouldn't be shocked to find out the Wizard is finally heading towards his end game."

"I do recall. But thus far, I believe there seems to be little change. King Stuart's initial delusions of grandeur have gone down, and I don't see how he is any different than any other before him."

"Perhaps," the mage said, pacing the hall. He stopped. "But perhaps it wouldn't hurt for you to, on your next visit, take note of such things."

"I hate it here."

"As do I, child," Betsy said, "But you know why we need to come."

"That Kevin boy is an affront to royalty." Lizzie crossed her arms as she sat upon the bed of their temporary quarters in the castle. "He has the tact and grace of a peasant."

"Much like his father," Betsy couldn't help but laugh. "The McCormick dynasty is a disgrace. It's a wonder how they have managed to keep control of such an influential kingdom."

"The Wizard, right?"

Betsy's smile faded. "Perhaps."

"I wish you the best of luck on your meeting with him, Mother."

"Yes," Betsy pushed her hands on her lap as she stood up.

The meeting was to be off the record. To her surprise, at the presentation of young Princess Karen, the Wizard had approached her. He was vague on what he wanted, but the conniving glimmer in his eyes was ever present. She knew he wanted something.

It was getting dark. Just in time.

"Your highness?" The knight who guarded the outside of her door naturally questioned her as she began to leave.

"I have other engagements." She hoped he wouldn't be too much of a nuisance about this.

"My lady, it's late and-"

"She's with me," the Wizard called out. "You better not speak about this, you hear?"

"Um...right, sir!" he nodded, letting Betsy pass. Her crown was off, allowing her more free mobility to hastily catch up with the Wizard.

"Sorry about those morons," the Wizard said even when the knight was still in earshot.

"He is not the man who usually accompanies me," Betsy said, "Where is Thomas of House Tucker?"

"Dead," he responded without any sign of remorse in his voice.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, a good number of years ago now," he shrugged, "Though at least he died in a grand battle or whatever against a dragon or something. Got him a nice statue in the gardens. His bitch went real nuts though, running off to go be some peasant woman. Knowing how spoiled she was, wouldn't be surprised if she already starved to death trying to live like that."

An image of the young couple at the royal wedding flashed behind her eyes. The beautiful young woman hanging onto her valiant knight.

"I see."

"Forget about those two irrelevants though," he said, stopping before an unassuming wood door. He raised his hand up to the lock and doorknob. A blue light emitted from his hands. Moments later, he grabbed the doorknob and it opened. "Come on in."

It was a dimly lit room not all that unlike most rooms in the dark stone castle. There was a stone table in the center with two goblets of wine already waiting at two of the chairs. The Wizard motioned for her to sit down at one of them.

They both took a seat silently. Betsy took a sip from the goblet. Red wine. She wasn't by any means an expert, but it tasted expensive.

"What do you want?" she asked, putting the gold jeweled goblet down on the table.

"I should ask you the same," he replied. A large, fox like grin grew across his face.

"I hope you're not wasting my time," she said, running her finger slowly along the rim of the cup.

"I hope you're not wasting yours, too."

Her hand clenched irritatedly into a fist. "Just say what it is."

"I want control of Kupa."

Betsy was astonished. "What?"

"I know you know it," he smiled, leaning back in his chair, "I know everyone knows it."

"I'm shocked that you're admitting it is all."

"So will you admit that your pit of a country is plotting something too?"

"What?" she asked.

"C'mon now." He rolled his eyes. "Everyone knows your kingdom is a glorified death cult." He leaned in. "But no one, after all these years, has been able to figure out just what it is you are after. What your real plan is."

"You're accusing me of quite a lot. I should be offended."

"Nah, you shouldn't be offended," he said, grabbing his cup to take a big sip. He put it back down with a loud thump. "If anything, you should be relieved."

"You're speaking nonsense."

"I want us to join up," he said, wiping excess liquid off his face.

"Join up?" She looked at him as though he grew a second head.

"Why not?" He frowned, crossing his arms. "I want to take control of Kupa. You want to fuck up Zaron. We don't have to go against each other. In fact..." He smiled. "I think we both might have a better chance if we do that working together thing."

"You really are insane," she said. She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. "But go on."

"You came down for Prince Kevin's birth, but only for a few days. You didn't even bother for Princess Kenny's. Yet around the time she was born, you began acting real funny."

"I don't-"

"Think I didn't notice?" he said, "I mean sure, you've always been more open to the outside world than your hag mother was, but this? Actually sending your people to Kupa? Plus now you're actually interested in the Kupa third born? What happened?"

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"Why the hell else would I call you?" His patience was clearly wearing thin. "I know you're plotting something that'll fuck up Zaron but I don't care. You let me keep control of Kupa and I don't give a fuck if you put the rest of Zaron into some weird fucked up eternal darkness. Or hell, put Kupa in it too, just let me stay in charge of it."

"What exactly do I gain from that?"

"Because there's something you clearly want in Kupa, dipshit. I can help you."

Betsy didn't respond right away. She knew, as everyone did, that all of Zaron believed the Dark Kingdom had ulterior motives-a death cult, in the Wizard's own words. It wasn't particularly concerning nor telling that he would believe such a thing. It would be normal for her, as it was for all Dark Lords and Ladies generations before her, to simply deny it.

Still. There was something always quite odd about the Wizard. For one thing, his age. Magic, for those with a strong connection to it, could be quite a powerful thing, but no one else, human or elf, had ever used it to extend their lifespan just as long as he had. It was clear that he wanted control of Kupa, if not all of Zaron, but despite his immense power, he always waited. For what, no one ever knew.

Unless he was waiting for the same thing she was.

"Do you know," she spoke slowly, "About the child?"

"Child? You mean Princess Karen?"

"No," she shook her head, "The child. The one that has the potential to grow up and shake the entire foundation of Zaron."

"The one in all those stupid prophecies?" he asked.

"Prophecies?" she asked. She hadn't known any others.

"Well yeah, every kingdom and culture practically has their own variation of it probably. Why, what about it?"

"What do you know of it?" she asked.

"I've found as much as I could, but unfortunately it's all old bullshit with little consistency across fuck all anything. Just that it'll be a human and it's from birth or whatever."

"Specifically in Kupa," she said.

"Really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. Our profits have been sure of it for hundreds of years."

"Holy shit," he leaned back laughing, "That's great. I've always killed magical brats hoping it'd be born into Kupa so I could squash it out early, but I always worried that it'd be born in some shitty far off kingdom I could do nothing about."

"That's why you do that? I always thought it was for your pride."

"Hell no! Do you really think I'm scared of some peasant kid learning how to levitate some shitty pebble or something? Come on now, I'm the most powerful wizard that ever lived. As much as it's a pain in the ass I have to make exceptions to magical noble kids, I actually like teaching them to be a fraction as awesome as me."

"Well," Betsy said, "The child was born. About seven years ago, in fact."

"Then I've already taken care of it."

"No you haven't. We would know."

"No magical noble kids were born seven years ago, minus the princess and her shitty weak connection. All the others were killed."

"Obviously you missed one."

"We didn't. We were thorough with all the testing in the villages."

"Then perhaps it is the princess?"

The Wizard slammed his fists against the table, causing the entire thing to jerk. "You know I can't kill a fucking princess."

"Well, maybe it isn't her," Betsy mused, "How many noble children that age were born at that time? Ones to families who may have knowledge of such a thing?"

The Wizard thought for a moment. "That fucking asshole," he hissed to himself.

"It's alright," Betsy assured him, "In fact, it would have been a disaster if you actually destroyed the child."

"Go on," he said, still fuming at his internal realization.

"Let me explain to you my kingdom's prophecy."

"A gift has arrived, your majesty."

"Oh? Who from?"

Months had passed since the proceedings for the young princess. The leaves that were only just starting to grow at her birth were now turning red and falling away.

Things had been going well. Clyde living away with his father for a year now allowed Betsy to focus all her energy on Lizzie. She hated to admit it at first, but it really was beneficial in the end. Lizzie was allowed more suitable sparring partners. More focus honing her abilities, both physical and magic, and were her magical abilities great. She was strong, she was merciless, she was cruel.

"From Kupa, your majesty."

Situations between the Dark Kingdom and Kupa to an outsider would appear the same. To even the King and Queen of the latter kingdom, this would appear to be so. But Betsy knew better. An unlikely alliance was formed, one that could bring her closer to becoming the Dark Lady of prophecy.

She had no intention of holding up her side of the bargain with the Wizard, of course. Yet for now, she would use his help.

"I see," she said, "Give it here, then."

"Yes, your majesty."

It was a long rectangular wooden box with a scroll of yellowish parchment attached via a red ribbon. Betsy pulled the ribbon undone to take the presumed letter as one of her servants took the box to pry the lid open. He pulled out the contents. A bottle of wine.

"If it's from Kupa, it's likely garbage," Lizzie said from where she laid across a chair lazily. Her hair was down and wild across the arm of the chair, and there were small traces of blood in it she hadn't washed out yet.

"Your majesty, Dark Lady Elizabeth of the Dark Kingdom," Betsy read the messy handwriting out loud. Her eyes skimmed through the contents to see if the rest of it was too sensitive to read out loud. It was from the Grand Wizard himself. "Elven wine," Betsy said to her staff, "Of the same type he gave me on his last meeting with me."

"Oh?" Lizzie's attention was piqued. She sat upright in the chair before standing and approaching it. "I hear Elven wine is the best."

"I don't want my young daughter getting drunk on wine."

"I just want to try it."

Betsy groaned. "Fine," she said, "You may take a glass with you to study. You may drink it while you practice your interrogation spells on the mice."

"Thank you, Mother." A smile escaped her lips.

"Just remember, you are supposed to keep them alive."

"Understood," Lizzie replied with a nod. She turned to the handmaiden and ordered her to take the bottle to the kitchen to prepare her a glass.

Betsy wasn't in the mood for any wine. She drank it socially, but it was never really something she sought to drink. Even an extraordinarily expensive Elven wine such as that. Beyond her daughter tasting a bit of it, she figured she would save it for when Roger returned. That distraction aside, she turned her attention back to the letter.

The Wizard carried on with the formalities of their forged alliance. How he was thrilled that they would join forces to change Zaron as they knew it. How her information on the approximately seven year old child being born in Kupa really helped him narrow it down.

How he believed he figured it out. A young noble boy, son of one of his more powerful magicians. The House of Marsh tended to have magically inclined children, so he always did find it skeptical that both his daughter and young son had no connection. Lord Marsh would, in his opinion, be one of few in Kupa to know about the legends. How his own abilities could potentially protect his son.

But it was alright, he insisted in the letter. He made the boy's death look like an Elven ambush.

"Idiot!" Betsy yelled, slamming her fist into the table so hard that the wood splintered. He wasn't supposed to try and kill the child. She thought she made that abundantly clear.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. It was the wrong boy, anyway. The real one was still out there.

Suddenly a blood curdling scream came from the castle kitchen below. At first she wondered if it was best to ignore it, but then decided to investigate.

As she went down the servants' stairs-the quickest route-and into the kitchen, she saw who the scream came from. One of her cooks, a middle aged lady with tears streaming down her face. She was hysterical, but she stepped aside, showing what was lying on the other side.

Lizzie's handmaiden. Lying eyes wide opened with foam at her mouth. Lifeless.

"What's going on?" Betsy demanded.

"I don't-I don't know!" she sobbed.

Betsy walked over to the fallen handmaiden. Above her on the counter was a single tin cup, the sort that servants used. Betsy picked it up. Inside was a red liquid, the wine from before. The sneaky wrench decided to steal a little bit, wanting to try the expensive drink for herself. Just a small amount, enough for it to not be noticeable from the bottle.

"She was poisoned," Betsy said. Her entire body grew cold.

"What?" the cook asked, "Who could be-?"

"The wine." Betsy's hands began to tremble. "Lizzie!"

It took several weeks of trying to reach out to Roger and about a week more for him to make his way back to the Dark Kingdom. He was merely given word that his daughter was in danger. It was too risky for her to explain more.

"I can't believe it," Roger sat down on the bench in the garden, cupping his hands into his head. The first snow was falling.

"Our daughter is dead," Betsy repeated to him, "Murdered by the Grand Wizard of Kupa. Your people."

"I just...I need a moment."

"You never loved her," Betsy said emotionlessly as she brushed the snow off a wilted rose, "You don't need to pretend otherwise."

"That's not true!" He looked up at her. "She was my only daughter!"

"You've been afraid of her since she could talk."

"I was afraid of what she was becoming!"

"Well it doesn't matter anymore." Betsy's fist closed around the rose, crunching it in her hand. "She won't become anything anymore. Clyde will be the next Dark Lord."

"Betsy, he's loving his life as a merchant! Traveling around." He stood up and walked towards her. "You should see him, how happy he is. You said it yourself, he isn't fit for this."

"I'll train him more diligently. He will have time before I put him in the public eye."

"Meaning?"

"I can't have anyone know that Lizzie was poisoned in our own castle," she sighed, "I killed all the staff that bore witness."

"Then-?"

"The story shall be that she was blindsided and kidnapped near our border by Kupa knights. When the war ends, we will declare that she died valiantly in battle for the Dark Kingdom's victory. Then, and only then, I will introduce Clyde to the world."

"Betsy, please." He reached out to touch her shoulder. She smacked it away.

"You care less about the death of your firstborn than you do molding that boy to your whims," she spat.

"I couldn't do anything about Lizzie!" his voice grew louder, "If I could, I would have. But I knew as the first born, she had to stay here and be your heir. But I didn't want my other child to fall into a life of war and cruelty."

"Well do you think I would let him back into Kupa now?" Betsy asked, "Are you not listening? I am declaring war. Even if Lizzie survived, do you think I would let my son live among the enemy?"

"So what, am I the enemy now, too?"

Betsy's expression fell and she looked to her feet. "You are permitted to stay. You will not be able to leave, but I promise you full protection."

"Your issue is with the Wizard," Roger shook his head, "Don't be foolish and declare war on Kupa."

Betsy laughed. "I'm not just declaring war on Kupa," she said, "My daughter was murdered. I'm declaring war on all of Zaron."

"I wanted to go with Dad," Clyde complained at the table. It was odd eating a meal with only mother and son.

"You know why. Your sister is missing," Betsy scolded, "And if she is not returned to us, that means you shall be Dark Lord one day."

"But if she's fine?" he asked, "Then can I go?"

"No, you stupid boy," she said, "Do you not see? Kupa stole your sister from us. Your powerful, seemingly unstoppable sister. She, who is just as half-Kupa as you are."

"So?" he said through a full mouth of tough beef.

"Kupa would murder you in a heartbeat," she said, "For what you are."

Clyde swallowed with a gulp. "No matter what?"

"Of course," she said, "Your very existence is a threat to them. Kupa Keep is a very backwards kingdom. If they knew your father married a foreigner like me, they'd have him hanged in the square. That fact would automatically get you killed as well, but that you are of Dark Kingdom blood and potentially next in line for the throne?"

"But I didn't do anything!" he protested, crossing his arms. "That's not fair!"

"That's the way the world is, my child. You can either hide and hope they don't find you in Kupa, or you can live out your destiny and your birthright here. In the Dark Kingdom, a place that will always accept you."

"But I'm not strong like Lizzie is!"

"In time," Betsy said, wiping her face on her napkin, "I will make you strong."

"Okay," Clyde replied, nodding his head once.

"Good," she smiled, "Once you're finished, meet me in the war room. I think it's about time I tell you about a little prophecy."

/

/

/

"He's just a kid, Randy."

"Yeah, and he's also the last surviving heir to the Dark Kingdom's throne," he said, turning away, "If he was gone, the kingdom would be extinct."

"He's my son," Roger pleaded. "I heard what happened to your boy. My boy is still with me, waiting for me at the inn. You have to understand."

His connections to the merchant's guild may have gotten him into Kupa City, but he knew Clyde wouldn't be safe here. His existence may have been kept quiet, but enough people knew the truth. His fear was less survivors of the Dark Kingdom, but more the very side Roger was on. The one that wouldn't see Clyde as a boy, but as an heir.

He knew Lord Randy Marsh might be no different. But he knew Roger. He knew what it was like losing a son. The fact that Randy allowed him to stand there in his wing of the castle was enough to give him hope.

"We've all lost kids," Randy responded, taking a swig of ale from his desk, "How many children has that asshole killed to make sure the prophecy can't happen? But we all put up with it, because we know La Resistance is right-which you should know I had to stop being a part of once I lost my son."

"I killed my wife."

"We appreciate you ending the war like that," Randy sighed, collapsing onto his chair, "But you know, when we told you to watch out for Betsy all those years ago, we didn't expect you to marry her."

"I fell in love with her," Roger said, "I hoped...I hoped that that would be enough to change her."

The joy in his wife's eyes when she saw him return. Their last embrace. The look of bewilderment as he plunged his blade into her, barely visible through his tears.

He didn't want it to end like that.

"See, that's the thing," Randy said, squeezing his eyes shut and massaging his temples, "You thought you could save her, that you could change her from what she was. Just like you are so sure your son won't follow in her footsteps."

"He won't. I raised him, too. I even trained him to be a merchant, took him around for a year. He's a good boy, Randy."

"How many years ago was that?"

"Th-Three."

"And then?"

"Well…" he slowly responded, "When Lizzie died and war was declared, she took him back."

Randy looked him in the eye. "So he was there training to be a ruthless, bloodthirsty ruler while she declared war on all of Zaron, probably actively participating in it. Plus, saw firsthand how his entire kingdom crumbled which is only going to leave a grudge."

"He's still a kid," he repeated, "When I came back to...Well, he didn't seem all that different."

Randy sighed. "How much does he know of your involvement?"

"Nothing," Roger insisted, "He didn't even know Lizzie was dead. I told him his mother died in an accidental blow from a soldier. We weren't going to officially make him next in line until the war was over. He was still kept in the dark about everything, including things like prophecies, ours or theirs. Betsy never had faith in him. His magic was taken along with everyone else in the Dark Kingdom. For all he knows, the Dark Kingdom is permanently done for, and he might as well stay low."

"Fine." Randy lazily slammed down his bottle of ale. "Say he is a good kid. Say he deserves a second chance away from...that. What do you want me to do about it? I told you, I'm not in La Resistance anymore."

"But you were on top," he said, "You know people who are. You can ask for favors to help him, to help us."

"The only Kupa Lord or Lady loyal to La Resistance with their own village that could possibly take you in is Lady McDaniels in Sundorham."

"Th-That's great!"

"No it's not!" Randy straightened up with a glare. "That's where we sent Laura and Thomas. It's where Craig is."

"So?"

"So?" Randy was bewildered. "What do you mean so? Putting them together would be the dumbest move imaginable."

"No it's not." Roger grew more animated. "Think of it-the two of them living together in a small farming village. They could become friends. If the two of them grew to care for each other, specifically if my son grew to care for Craig...We wouldn't need to worry. Our prophecy would come true!"

Randy sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "You know, a few years ago, a little before I left La Resistance, I actually went to visit Craig. His magic was becoming too much for him to control, so I put a seal on it. He seemed like a good boy, but I just couldn't get over just how lonely the poor kid seemed. So…" He stretched, joints cracking, and stood up. "Maybe, maybe, you're right. You're from La Resistance, meaning you can watch over Craig, too. Maybe your boy can cheer him up."

"Yes," Roger nodded fervently, "Of course."

"I'll lead you to Lady McDaniels, then," Randy said, putting a hand on Roger's upper back to guide him out of the room. "But remember."

"Yes?"

"Above your own life, above your kid, above anything, you have to protect Craig."

"Understood."

"I mean it Roger," Randy told him directly in the eye, "That kid is the most important thing in all of Zaron."