FINALLY done with this chapter! phew! How many months has it been?

Anyway, special thanks to Val for pushing me when this thing was kicking my ass and of course my wonderful grammar knight Arminthe Ipswich for getting this back to me despite her midterms. Thanks girls!

Disclaimer: Own nothing but the plot.

Chapter LIV: Princess

Princess Cristina waited on the jetty of the Locrian pier with crossed arms and an impatiently-tapping foot. The whole of Locri stood behind her, exuberant and eager for the arrival of their Magister and his new Magistrate. They stood bright-faced and curious, with baskets of breads and cakes, streamers and noisemakers, and all the requirements necessary for a lively merrymaking. A shame it would all go to waste, she thought. But her father had been very clear in his adamancy. The moment The Great Leviathan docked at Locri's shore before returning to the capital in the middle of Locri's celebration with his own daughter at the helm, he'd made quick work of the "misunderstanding" as he'd dubbed it in an obvious scolding of her "rash and misguided" efforts. Her cheeks dusted with red and the line of her lips tightened, remembering that scolding.

With the word of their Magister's First that the bride's identity, at his request, was to be revealed on arrival and the King's blessing, the people quickly returned to their planning but with a much greater enthusiasm. Though it was not the Princess Bride they'd expected, this new bride breathed just as much mystery as the Magister himself, and surely it would have to be an unusual maiden for their Magister to marry so suddenly. All the King would reveal to them—and her father would tell her—was that it was a foreign prince who'd stolen their Lord's heart.

It was wishful thinking more than fact, Cristina convinced herself. She'd seen the apprehension on her father's face and judged it accordingly. She'd demanded to know if the union had been a love-match—declaring that he, at least, owed her that much of an explanation. Timaeus' First had bragged that it was, using his wife's letters as proof. The people were more than ready to believe their Trierarch had married for love. The King had only retained his neutral mask. "That is for the Trierarch to explain," he'd said evenly. She hadn't missed the way he'd neglected to say Timaeus' name—or the unease that flashed across his golden eyes. It only confirmed her suspicions, but it was all third-party speculation. The truth would not be known until The Eye finally docked.

Never, in all her life, had she felt so eager.

But then, never in all her life did she think Timaeus would agree to a political marriage. Not when he was so convinced their own would be a poor one. It was a duty—a living embodiment of the treaty. It had to be. There was no other reason why Timaeus would marry a foreign royal and reject her.

She snorted at the thought like it was even a possibility. Kemet royals were notorious for inbreeding and hardly known for their appearances. Why else would they keep concubines and have multiple wives? She smirked a bit. And the Kemets were notorious for their singular tastes: hair always black and straight, eyes beady and dark, skin smooth and brown. Any differences were snuffed out with dyes and wigs, nothing unique or exotic about them. She almost pitied her beloved having to wed such a dull wife. Her father won't hear the end of it—she would make sure of it.

Faint and far away, The Eye of Timaeus glowed on the horizon like a bright green star, and the whole of Locri crowded around the rock jetty with eager impatience. The Great Leviathan, her father's own ship, sat along the far quay with the King at the helm—his face a mask of eager acknowledgement. On either side of him stood his two remaining Dragon Knights, their own ships docked further out—The Claw of Hermos and The Fang of Critias. They were her allies, at least. Whatever her father refused to tell her, they had. From them, she'd grasped the details of who precisely this new bride was. Critias could not have been more obvious in his dislike. According to him, the boy—the Prince—was a child—saucy, spoiled, selfish, and wholly unsuitable for The Pride of Atlantis. Hermos had been less harsh. As far as the boy was concerned, Hermos remained indifferent, but he did admit that he believed the boy was "too young and too inexperienced" and that Timaeus deserved a stronger consort. It has been enough for Cristina, who smirked approvingly. Not even docked, and already she was proving to be the superior choice. Yes, wholly unlikely the marriage would see through its second ceremony.

They awaited the arrival of the boat since mid-afternoon when a bird arrived bearing the Quartermaster's seal and signed in the Trierarch's own hand. That had been only a few hours ago, and now, the early evening sun hung low in the sky—an ecstasy of brightness ready to paint the canvas of the sky with romantic colors of the sunset. Perfectly timed for the ceremony, the celebration, and then the wedding feast, Timaeus' First had said—but it was he who had translated the letter. It would have been romantic, Cristina thought, had the sun not insisted on shining until she would sweat. The air was cool, but the sun was hot and the long wait risked the last of Cristina's patience.

She saw a small crowd of people gather along the rock jetty as the all-too-familiar black and silver sails and emerald hull cleaved across the water like a dragonfly. Then the ship raised her sails. The crowd cheered in rapturous allure. The Eye of Timaeus glided through the gray green water on billowing green and black wings. Then her oars stilled, dipped, and retracted. Slowly, the boat drifted towards the jetty. As it approached, she saw the familiar shapes of sailors work the riggings and lined the fore—a small army whose captain was the beautifully-carved emerald dragon, whose massive wings formed the ship's prow. More sailors lined the quay as they approached and reached for the mooring ropes. The men at the prow tossed them large cables. The others caught them with ease, pulled and dragged the boat in line against the opposite side of the quay. Familiar with the procedure, Cristina stepped aside and out of the way, eager for the arrival and for this farce to be over and done with.

From his own deck, her father turned to one of his generals, nodded, and made his exit. He descended the ship's stairs, Critias and Hermos on either side of him, and stood at her side. His face was a mask of indifference. His eyes narrowed when he caught her smiling face, but he said nothing.

The Eye ground to a halt, groaned, then stopped completely. The crowd stirred and jumbled as the families of the sailors, including Timaeus' First pushed and shoved their way forward. The gangplank was lowered and in Atlantian fashion, the soldiers descended the ship first, followed shortly by the four shipmasters, then the Quartermaster—who looked taller, fuller, and her face and smirk had a stronger glow to her than Cristina had remembered—then last of all was the Trierarch… and his bride. She swallowed the word like it was bile.

Timaeus stood at the head of the steps, all regal beauty and commanding authority. Fully dressed in his armor and mantle but his helm absent, he looked every inch the terrifying dragon the tales claimed, but a forelock of silver sovereignty crowned his black hair—a physical trait all on his own that spoke of his own royal status and connection before he'd even earned it. His face was sharper than she remembered. His skin was a bit darker, his height a head taller, but there was something about his eyes that bothered her. No longer did they carry the mask of indifference and cunning wit, nor was his smile the unreadable curl he used in public. His eyes had a sort of... brightness was the only way she could describe it, and his smile was less controlled and more relaxed, not plastered to deceive but genuinely real. More real, dare she even think it, than the smiles he had used for her.

She shook the thought away. The whole crowd turned to look at him, their eyes wide with impatient excitement, like small children eagerly awaiting a name-day gift.

Timaeus scanned the crowd with even eyes, then he turned to his side—as if none of them existed—and smiled. With a gentlemanly bow, he offered a hand to the creature still hidden within the ship.

She pretended not to notice the look of longing and anticipation in his eyes, and instead waited eagerly for the bride, a smirk settling on her face. A pale hand took Timaeus' and Cristina watched with arrogant fascination as he stepped forward, eager to point out every comparison in how the prince was inferior.

She sucked in a loud gasp of sheer horror.

The Prince was by no means ugly—and far from plain. She could've told herself he was, but even the deepest part of her could not accept the lie, and as Timaeus led him by the hand down the gangplank, his beauty only appeared even more exotic. He didn't look Kemetic though his extravagant hair was an odd combination of Kemetic colors—a blaze of Ramses-red and Kemet-black like a sway of black flames, crowned with a forelock of spun gold that framed his face royally. And what a face it was: sweetly round with heart-shaped cheeks, wide and made for smiling, that curved to the elegant point of his chin. His lips weren't femininely plump nor were they seductively dark, but they appeared soft and lusciously curved like lotus petals.

He wasn't tall, his shoulders were not broad, and nothing about his slim build and small muscles boasted a warrior's body—but neither was he femininely petite nor spindly thin. Rather, his smooth limbs were a rare balance between the two. His slender chest and wide hips only confirmed the theory. There was a golden tint to his skin, but the hue was honeyed and by no means the dark brown native to Kemet. There was no dye in his hair, no kohl outlining his eyes, no red painting the soft pink lips, and no beads or jewelry or anything else that should've marked him as a Kemet royal. It should have made him look worse—instead it emphasized the exoticness of his beauty in a sort of stripped-down elegance that was both natural and needed nothing else to showcase his unique features.

Most devastating of all were his eyes: they were neither beady nor black, but large and rounded and the color... Oh, Leviathan help her, the color was the most brilliant shade of blue she'd ever seen—dark, deep, and penetrating.

Prince Ujalah was—and it mortified her to admit it—simply lovely. Never more in her life did Princess Cristina want to scream.

They descended the steps together, the Prince shyly squeezing Timaeus' hand. Walking hand in hand with Timaeus as they departed the plank, the boy at least had the grace to blush. He blushed prettily, she thought with dull resentment. He kept his eyes bowed, though a small smile graced his lips. There was no shame in the act. If anything, the bashfulness looked sweet on him.

The two lovers could not have been more different: Timaeus with his olive skin, sharp angles, and straight black hair and silver forelock; and Prince Yugi with his honey-gold skin, playfully-round face, and mop of Ramses-red curls crowed with gold. Light and dark—resilient lotus blue and the great green sea.

It burned her to realize how perfectly juxtaposed they were.

She'd expected him to arrive half-naked in some foreign loincloth, but even that victory had been denied of her. Instead, he'd worn a gown that was clearly of Atlantian origin. Though it was a simple evening gown, the Prince wore it as if he had his whole life. She had not failed to notice how the cloth clung like it was damp or how the sleeves covered his wrists and, unlike her own garment as she stood in the King's presence, the shoulders were not bared, and she smirked at the advantage.

They stopped before the King and Timaeus bowed gracefully. The bride copied his example, bending with a clumsy elegance at his slim waist instead of dropping to all fours like a beast with his forehead pressed to the dirt, as she'd heard the Kemets do.

Timaeus turned first to his comrades with a less-than-pleasant expression and spoke in a dysphemistic tone. "Hermos, Critias." He did nothing to mask the umbrage in the name. "Thank you for coming to greet me. Your arrival is unexpected but nonetheless appreciated," he spoke with forced civility.

Then he turned to her. Their eyes met for the briefest moment and she let all her disapprobation and indignation shine there.

His expression reflected nothing.

"And it is an honor to see you, as well, Princess."

The use of her title and not her name was like a strike to her side, but she ignored it. Formality was the punctilio of such public procedures, not familiarity. "I apologize for the misunderstanding this must have caused you," he suddenly explained. "Please know it was not my intent to conceal the change of my marital status—simply the desire to inform my country and family personally and not informally." He shot Critias a glare, the only time since he'd looked so adoringly at his bride that his mask cracked. "Though it seems the notion was not shared by all."

She opened her mouth, ready to speak, but a sharp look from her father silenced her. At her left, Critias wisely said nothing.

At last, he turned to her father, his face convivial with familiarity.

"My dear King," he spoke in Canaanite, she realized, as opposed to his Locrian tongue—and realized with dull resentment the language was for the Prince's benefit. "I thank you for coming to greet me and my new bride on our return home. You honor us with your presence, Great Basileus."

"The honor is ours," her father answered, all pleasantries. "We trust your journey went well?" he asked, and had she not been looking, Cristina might have missed the sly light in his eye.

"Yes," Timaeus answered with a sort of secret smile. His eyes flickered briefly to his still-bowing bride, and she swore she heard a snicker or a giggle. "Indeed, it was."

Cristina noticed immediately that their hands were still clenched, and Timaeus gave his bride's a light squeeze before continuing. The new tone was immediately light and airy, nothing like his earlier disdain.

"May I introduce my beautiful new bride?" He gestured an arm in a half-bow, and there was no mistaking the mesmerism in his eyes or the way he blandished. "Prince Ujalah, youngest son of the late Pharaoh Pinedjem I, only son by his second wife, Isetemkheb, and brother to the current King, Akheperre Setepenamun—Pharaoh Psusennes I."

The boy's head stayed bowed until Timaeus introduced him. His face was a picture of comity though the violets of his eyes, blazed with determination.

He released Timaeus' hand and stepped forward. Timaeus stepped back until the Prince now stood alone before the Basileusof Atlantis, the Crown Princess, and the two Dragon Knights.

His gaze remained transfixed upon them, not speaking or moving. Just as she could no longer bear the arrogance of it, the Prince crossed his feet and dropped into a long, elegant bow—bent low so much his face was nearly level with his waist and his arms raised like the gentle arch of a bird's wings. The action, she realized, slid his silken sleeves elegantly to his elbows, the respectful length. Cristina's jaw dropped. It was an ancient curtsy noble wives had used when first addressing royalty.

Her eyes darted quickly, and she saw Critias just as shocked and Hermos arch his brows. Only her Father looked unsurprised. If anything, there was expectation in his smile.

And then the creature did something truly disturbing: he spoke.

"Knight Hermos, Knight Critias," he addressed each man in turn—speaking, as all three realized at once, in nearly-perfect Canaanite. Bowing first to the Knights and then to the King, "Great Basileus, I wish to thank you for coming to greet my arrival." He paused for a moment, worrying his lip. "I also wish to apologize for my behavior last we spoke. I know our last encounter did not leave you with a hopeful impression of my character nor my loyalty, wailing as I did like a struck child."

Cristina found herself unable to breathe. The two Knights looked equally as thunderstruck. Was this soft-spoken creature with sweet eyes and a sweeter voice truly the wailing seductress the Knights had warned her about? It was easy to see how such charms could've seduced their grandest Knight, but were these gentle words the truth or simply part of that ruse?

Only her father seemed immune to the spell those jeweled hums seemed to cast. "There is nothing to forgive, young one."

Her father spoke, regal and firm, but accepting. "We understand the circumstances were not the most favorable, and we are the first to admit they should have been different. We can forgive you for being overwhelmed, such as you were." A venial smile graced his lips. "But you do us a great honor with your humility."

The Prince lifted his face revealing a euphoric smile and eyes determined to conciliate. "You humble me with your pardon, Great Basileus. Please know that those are no longer my feelings. I fully accept my duty and position, and I am confident I shall come to love Locri and this country as I once loved my homeland."

The King met his declaration with a look of pure praise. "We have no doubt you shall."

Lastly, the Prince turned to the Princess. So caught off-guard was she that she had no defense for his kind eyes and humble smile. "Princess Cristina." He bowed, though not as deeply as he had for the King. "I trust you have heard a great deal of me, though I doubt the tales have been pleasant," he said, politely and matter-of-fact, though tinged with sadness. "It is my hope that in time, you may form your own opinion of me and me, you."

He concluded, lowering his arms—and to her embarrassment, offered a gentile bow. It appeared effortless.

She suddenly felt spotlighted, as if all their eyes were on her. Waiting with baited breath for her to speak. Whereas her father's conversation with the prince had only a moderate, if eager attendance, nearly the whole of the country was suddenly cramming closer, eager to witness the confrontation between Princess and Consort—lover previous and lover present, the long-believed future bride of a magical fairy tale and the actual pride who indeed fit the fairy tale but one far more worldly. Worst of all, she was the one being presented, for all her nervousness and wounded pride, while this… this… interloper stood composed and patient—a true prince born.

It was the worst insult he could've ever dealt her.

Quickly, she composed herself, her face one of regal sternness, and scrutinized the prince with a quick, nodded glance. When she spoke, she made sure all could hear her even tone. "You speak of gratitude and duty, and even loyalty." She paused deliberately.

Breathless, the spectators leaned forward. The Prince did not move.

"And yet you stand before your King with your sleeves drawn and in a wet pauper's dress like a drowned rat."

The collection of gasps echoed like a storm wind, but that was not what surprised her. What did was the look of horror and disgust on not only her father's face, but Timaeus' as well. Worse still, the prince did not flinch.

"Cristina!" Her father barreled forward, anger in his voice.

Angered at being ridiculed for what was so obvious an offense, she spun to her father and justified, "You know I speak true, Father. Look at him!" She had enough control to not point. "He claims to be the Trierarch's bride! He knew whom he would be addressing! And yet he's dressed no better than a maid! He covers his shoulders like we are beneath him. He insults Timaeus and all of us with him!"

She glanced at her Knights for support, but Hermos turned away from her, frowning, and Critias remained silent.

"If that is your argument, then the fault is mine. I did not—" Timaeus had stepped forward, ready to defend, but was cut off by the prince rising from his curtsy and gesturing an arm.

"No, Tim," Yugi mollified, calm and steady, and with such humility that even the crowd had stopped muttering. "She's right." He smiled and lowered himself again.

Cristina's smile curled with absolute triumph, but it was not to her he bowed or addressed.

"GreatBasileus, I apologize if my appearance displeases you. To do so was not my intent. It was my original decision to arrive in the Locrian armor gifted to me by my husband upon my boarding The Eye of Timaeus, you see? We were married then, and she and all who served her are just as much mine as they are his. 'Twas only appropriate I look the part. However, as we arrived closer, my Lord Husband thought my current ensemble was more appropriate to the rank of Magistrate and…" He paused to smile and, as if he planned it, a blush rose in his cheeks. "I can deny him nothing. And, as you say, Great Princess, I was to be meeting royalty and my King spoke ever so fondly of his darling daughter, so I thought it would please her better to see me as a Magister's consort and not a warrior." He frowned, almost apologetically. "I also apologize if I appear so frazzled. I'm afraid there was just not enough time to dry it properly after our dance in the storm." He rose and spun to his husband, smiling. "Remember, Timaeus?"

She did not miss the coquettish wink in his eyes. Or the way Timaeus smirked when he nodded.

Cristina wrung her fingers. A protest immediately formed on her lips and she took a step to do so.

A swift hand sharply ensnared her arm, like a snake sinking its fangs into the neck of a rabbit and squeezing just as tight. She recognized it immediately that it was her father's.

"It matters not," the King said, gracious and apologetic. The calm of his voice was masterfully masking the anger in his eyes, and she knew it was not directed at their foreign guest. "Such things are trifles and easily fixed. There are hours before your ceremony, after all."

Yugi smiled and bowed humbly. "Regardless, my King, I am a magistrate of Locri now. I should be mindful of that and always present myself at my best." He rose then, and when his eyes met hers for the briefest of moments, there was a smirk in them. A single—simple—victorious glance.

"Besides…" Then he spun and gracefully fell into Timaeus' waiting arms. He pulled him close and kissed his cheek, whispering just loud enough for them all to hear it. "I want to look beautiful for my new husband."

And then something terrible happened: Timaeus blushed.

She wanted to deny it, write it off as some trick of the light, but there was no mistaking the vibrant rosy hue that bloomed across the Trierarch's cheeks when the Kemet boy whispered those words. It angered her. Timaeus never blushed, for nothing ever embarrassed him. To think this dratted, foreign prince could make him do so… It was unthinkable!

Without another word, the pair locked their hands and bowed to their king, who in turn dismissed them with a smile and nod of the head.

With a smile of radiant pride, Timaeus raised his lover's hand and addressed the crowd. "Citizens of the West, may I present my consort, Magistrate Ujalah!"

The crowd needed no further incentive and burst into a vociferous symphony of congratulatory shouts and rapturous applause, and the little prince absorbed it all with a humble smile and a sweet bow that had all of the realm cooing and scampering for his attention, while others praise the Magister for his choice.

Throughout it all, Cristina witnessed the prince shyly grab Timaeus' arm and whisper not-so-shyly, "Just so I know, is it not the tradition for the groom to carry his new bride through town before bringing him to their new home?"

She watched in horror as Timaeus scooped the tiny creature into his arms and kissed him boldly in front of everyone. The soldiers behind them all exchanged knowing smirks and snickers. The crowd gasped in surprise, then girls giggled behind their hands and men simply smiled and rolled their eyes, no doubt impressed by the prince's coyness.

No one questioned it now. People were already whispering in each other's ears. Rumors were certain to spread and by nightfall, everyone would have their candles out and listening at the foot of the Magister's manor for the sounds of laughter and pleasure. By dawn, they would all know and there would be no doubt—Timaeus was in love with a Kemet Prince, and the Kemet prince was in love with him. It would be the romance of the century. Stories would be told of the union, and women and girls alike would flock and swoon at such a perfect romance. Men would joke of it over drinks, and trade and make wagers over how long the marriage venture would be, when the Magister would stop smiling, how many children they'd have…

For the public loved a royal wedding, almost as much as they loved romantic tales of gallant Knights rescuing princesses trapped by evil priests. Even Cristina agreed all the pieces were there.

Not one of them would care for the truth. Or see their lord's new consort for the manipulative little monster he was.

"You were right, Critias," she sneered in a whisper. "It is worse than we thought. Much worse."

"Indeed," Critias hissed in agreement. "I did not think he would fall this fast."

"Neither did I," Hermos agreed, but it was more of curiosity than disgust.

As if he had heard every word, her father suddenly threw his head back in a whooping laugh so loud, he bellowed into it. "Aha ha ha ha ha ha! That was spectacular!"

Critias and Cristina both stared at him in shock. The sheer confidence of it stole their breath away. "This could not have worked out better if I had planned it! I'll send a bird to the Pharaoh on the morrow! Doubtless he will be just as delighted!"

"Ki—I'm—my lord—um—Basileus..." Critias stumbled over his words like his tongue had caught fire. "What… business is this?"

Cristina looked just as baffled.

Her father turned to them over his shoulder, his smile patient and his chuckle brief.

"You mean it is not obvious, Critias?" It was Hermos who answered. His notoriously neutral mask arched a curious brow and he smiled as if they'd missed the heart of an obvious joke. "Because it became abundantly clear to me."

Cristina watched as Critias' eyes bulged with disbelief—then slanted in angry refusal. "Oh no, not you, Hermos! Don't you dare tell me Timaeus is in love with that brat!"

Leviathan forbid… Cristina thought in horror.

"No," Hermos began, calm and collected as he always was. Then added matter-of-factly, " 'Twas always clear that Timaeus was in love with him. What I meant was that he is finally in love with Timaeus."

Cristina stumbled as if she had been slapped. The worst part was that her father did not deny it.

"Indeed, it does, my good Hermos. Indeed, it does." He threw his head back with a laugh.

"B-B-But Father, you can't—" She stumbled for words.

"And you," he cut her off, all humor gone from his face. He looked at her sternly, unblinkingly, then shook his head with an emotion she had never seen him use when he addressed her: disapproval. "We shall discuss your behavior later."

He left without another word. Hermos and Critias followed him loyally, though she did not miss the arch of rebellion in Critias' step.

Left alone on the dock as the entourage followed the King and the parade parted for their Magister and his consort, Cristina spun towards the sea and screamed.

Releasing all her rage and frustration into the road of sea, air, and ocean waves, she gasped in a relief so forceful, she nearly slumped to her feet. But she caught herself and stood tall against the might of the sea.

This could not go on, she decided. One way of another, this silly infatuation of Timaeus', this farce marriage for politics and peace… She had to end it.

For her sake, as well as his.

Phew! Hope that was worth the wait. Good news the next chapter is DONE just needs to be edited so HOPEFULLY that will be up faster than this one (all depends on my and my Knight's schedules)

Now...I know all of you probably have formed your own opinion on Christina right now, but PLEASE do not judge her too harshly...she DOES have a reason for the way shes acting. Think of it like that Taylor Swift Song speak now...only Cris is Swift and Yugi is the bitch bride who has Timaeus so wrapped around his fingers he can;t see the truth though he is clearly unhappy-or at least that's Cris' opinion. Ah, the wonders of perspective.

Notes on Atlantis Culture:

To differentiate Atlantis from other ancient cultures now, I created a few new rules and customs:

To recap:

- Sleeves are a sign of status in this society. (I didn't even make this up, apparently, it was the custom in ancient Venice back when the Medieval Pope thought it was "sinful" for woman to show parts of their body) Anyway, the longer one's sleeves are, the higher their status. Since Yugi is the Magistrate all his garments would be long-sleeved, but since his status is not the highest in Atlantis, he would still need certain outfits adjusted for greeting, entertaining, and addressing royalty, such as King Dartz, Princess Cristina, and the Royal family, so his sleeves would either have to be three-quarters or down to his wrists but expose his shoulders as an acknowledgement of one's status as higher than his own (this was borrowed from Cristina's outfit in Dartz' flashbacks in the show, I noticed how everyone wore long-sleeves but Cristina and her mother wore outfits that has their shoulders bared, which I loved so I figured why not? This is also why Cristina used this against Yugi when his sleeves fell back down.

- Dartz's title "Basileus" is the equivalent of the throne name of the Pharaohs, so as a sign of respect, he is referred to this at the meeting as opposed to "Your Highness" or "Your Majesty" which is usually used by servants or during matters of business. Dartz also speaks with a royal plural, this is when monarchs refer to themselves in the plural "We", "our", etc. It's mostly used in public, at court or during business meetings (usually of two or more people) and then they only refer to themselves in the singular in the presence of family or if alone with someone else, which why Dartz speaks with the plural to his Knights but the singular when speaking to Cristina.

- The order of departure/arrival I made up: since in all other countries, the way a procession works is first Royals, then their family members, then courtiers and nobles, then servants, then armies. With Atlantis, I decided to reverse it so the soldiers come first, then Rhebekka (cause she's second-in-command with her husband on the island), then finally Timaeus and Yugi—I though it added suspense and made Atlantis different. This is also why Timaeus addressed the Knights first, then Cristina and finally the King himself. Yugi performs a slight breach in etiquette by addressing the King before Cristina but he did so purposefully to acknowledge her separately.

Did I miss anything?

Glossary:

Basileus - "king" in Mycenaen Greek; in the context of this story, it's the Atlantian title for King Dartz; like the throne name of the Pharaohs.

As Always, read, review, reply, critique, comment, rant, ask questions, suggestions are always welcome and flames will be ignored.

NEXT TIME: In which there is a Procession, the new Magistrate is received by the people, a boat ride occurs and Yugi is finally introduced to his new home.