"Just keep going with the story Papá."

"Okay, okay, where was I?"

[-Story Time-]

As he spent more time with the prince, Héctor began to see why his parents hid him away. Most of the time, Ernesto was his usual artificially charming self. While this wasn't bad for a start, Héctor hoped the longer they knew each other, Ernesto would relax and drop the act. As it was, being around the prince felt more like work than being with a friend. Héctor had experience hosting foreign dignitaries, and while he loved dealing with new people, there was always the underlying pressure to impress and not accidently say or do the wrong thing. That was the way it was with Ernesto. While it was fine most of the time, the smallest perceived slight sent him into a foul mood or a jealous rage.

Héctor had to walk on eggshells to avoid inadvertently insulting the prince. It was a learning curve at first. If he acted too chummy with the servants, if a lady looked too flirtatiously at him, if he played his music a bit too well, he had deal with either a sulking or raging prince. There was no predicting what reaction Héctor would get. It simply depended on Ernesto's overall mood that day. But Héctor knew the dungeons were littered with failed Royal Companions and he didn't want to join them. So, he developed some unwritten rules to always follow no matter how much they hurt his heart. He behaved curtly toward the servants, coldly polite to the ladies, and kept his talents to himself.

But tip-toeing around Ernesto's moods was like tip-toeing around the world; it was exhausting, tedious, slow-going work. Constantly watching his every word or move took an emotional toll. Sometimes he just had to get away to give himself a break. He jumped on every opportunity to take care of something back in the Southlands. He didn't care if he was just jumping into more work. Sometimes he just needed some space, miles and miles of space.

One such time, he returned to the Southlands to sort out some a trade dispute with the neighboring country, Santa Anthony. As Lord of the Southlands of Santa Cecelia, he acted as diplomat to all countries along the southern border. It didn't take long to reach a compromise and the Santa Anthony dignitary was on his way. With that taken care of, he decided to stay a couple of extra days to relax before returning to his demanding prince.

One morning, he took his horse out for a ride near the coast. Some guards tried to join him, but he rode ahead, preferring some peace and solitude to clear his mind. As he rode, he'd occasionally hear a something rummaging through the brush, but assumed it was just an animal and paid it no mind. He kept going, trying to rid himself of the dread of returning to Ernesto, until he came across three men waiting along the path.

On the left stood a tall, large man with pointy ears and a thin strip of spikey gray hair on top of head. On the right was a round-faced teenage boy, some sparse scruff attempting to hide his youth. In the center, stood one of Héctor's old friends.

"Chicharrón," Héctor said, dismounting his horse. "What are you doing here?" He and Chicharrón went way back. They met as children when Chicharrón was page boy for a Santa Anthony diplomat who often passed through the village Héctor grew up in. Chicharrón became a messenger when he got a little older, and now was a dignitary in his own right. They got along well despite Chicharrón being a few years older than Héctor. However, their friendship deteriorated once they grew into their new roles in their respective kingdoms. It didn't help that Héctor always lost or forgot to return everything he borrowed from Chicharrón.

"I just finished dealing with one of your colleagues," Héctor continued. "I didn't realize you'd be here too."

"I'm here on a different matter," Chicharrón answered. He looked around and asked. "Shouldn't there be guards on this path as well?"

"Oh, I left them behind," Héctor said. "I'm afraid I prefer to be alone these days."

"Left them behind, eh? Haven't misplaced them?"

Héctor laughed nervously. "Misplaced? What do you mean?"

"You know, misplaced. Like you did to my saddle bag?"

"Oh, well…"

"Or my good riding boot?"

"You see…"

"My red jacket? My dog whistle? My favorite quill? My uncle's peg leg?"

Héctor pressed his palms together, put them to his lips, and took a sharp breath. "Cheech," he said, putting on his best diplomat voice, "I promise I will pay you back for everything you lost."

"Oh you most certainly will." Chicharrón snapped his fingers. He waited for something to happen, but nothing did. Irritated, he snapped his fingers again and looked pointedly at his two companions. The two glanced awkwardly at each other and their boss, but again didn't make a move. Chicharrón snapped again and commanded, "Miguel! Dante!"

"Oh, that was the signal?" The teenager asked. "Sorry, boss."

The two men marched up to Héctor and each took him roughly by the arm. "Woah, Cheech, what's going on?" Héctor sputtered out, struggling to pull his arms out of the two men's grasp.

"I'm sure the prince will pay handsomely to have his little friend back," Chicharrón answered coolly.

"You're kidnapping me because I lost some of your stuff?"

"Wait, wait, kidnapping?" the teenager asked, relaxing his grip a little. "I thought we were just going to rough him up a bit and get your stuff back."

"Yes," Chicharrón groaned as if it should have been obvious. "What do you think we got the fast boat for?"

"I don't know." The teenager shrugged. "Convenience?"

"Cheech," Héctor interrupted. "You don't have to do this. I have my own money now. I can pay you back myself."

"Sorry, no deal. We'll see how you like being stolen, Héctor." He turned to the teenager and said, "Miguel, do the thing."

"Alright." Miguel pinched a nerve in the back of Héctor's neck, causing the young lord to fall unconscious.

[-]

"Lord Héctor's going to be alright, m'ija," dad Héctor said, putting his book down.

Coco clutched and twisted the covers in her hands. "I'm not worried."

"Oh, I thought you might be worried," Héctor said, readjusting the book. "My mistake."

[-Story Time-]

"Cheech, is this really necessary?" Héctor asked, twisting his bound wrists in an attempt to free himself.

Héctor was stuck on a small sail boat with his captors headed for Santa Anthony. After they knocked him out, they attached a ransom note to his horse, boarded the boat, and went on their way. By the time Héctor woke up, they were already too far from the shore to make a swim for it.

"Cheech, listen to me," Héctor said, turning to his supposed-friend at the helm. "You don't want to do this. Just turn around and we can forget this whole thing."

"Well, you are good at forgetting," Chicharrón answered, pretending to think it over. "Like how you forgot to return everything you ever borrowed from me."

"I'm telling you this as a friend. You need to turn around right now," Héctor warned. "You don't know Prince Ernesto like I do. He'll take my kidnapping as an insult. He'll come after you. If you take me back, I'll just tell my guards I got lost in the woods and no one will ever need to know."

"It's too late for that," Chicharrón dismissed, keeping his eyes level on the sea. "I already sent your ransom note."

"Then if you let me go, I'll convince him to drop the charge," Héctor pleaded. He had to make Chicharrón see reason. A life was in danger here, but it certainly wasn't his. "Look, Cheech, when he comes after you, he's not going to pay up. He's going to kill you."

Chicharrón's eyes widened a bit and a bead of sweat formed on his brow. "Not if we threaten to kill you first," he blurted out in a panic.

"Wait, we're going to kill him?" the teenage boy, Miguel, asked from his place by the sails. "I'm really not on board for that."

"What? You're afraid of killing now?" Chicharrón growled, forcing down his fear. "You're a swordsman, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah, but not so I can kill innocent people," Miguel answered.

"Listen you," Chicharrón began, marching down from the helm and up to Miguel. "When I found you, you were just a grubby little run-away. You said you wanted revenge, so I got you trained by the best swordsmen in Santa Anthony. I didn't do it so you could moan over who is and isn't innocent."

The larger man, Dante, made a sort of disappointed sound and Chicharrón turned his scorn onto him. "And you. You want to go back to where you were? Unemployed? Chewing bones like a dog?"

Dante frowned but made no other sound and Chicharrón stomped off. Miguel placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and said, "It's okay, Dante. He doesn't mean it. I think he's just stressed out right now."

Dante smiled a bit and went back to work fastening the sails. Héctor turned his attention to Miguel. He wasn't sure how the boy got mixed up in all this, but Miguel seemed like a nice enough kid. Maybe, if Cheech wasn't willing to listen to him, Miguel would. "Why are you after revenge?" he asked, trying to get to know the kid a bit better.

Miguel looked startled at being addressed. Apparently he hadn't given much thought about how to interact with his captive. The boy cast an unsure glance up at Chicharrón who was back at the helm. When he didn't receive any sort of guidance, he hesitantly walked over and sat on the bench next to Héctor. "Well, my parents were killed when I was 12 and-"

"Miguel! Stop talking to him!" Chicharrón scolded.

Miguel quickly shut up, leaving Héctor with only half an answer. "I'm sorry to hear that," Héctor said, genuine sympathy in his voice. "My family was murdered a few years ago as well. My parents sent me away long before it happened, but the assassin killed everyone else. I even had a kid brother I never got to meet."

The boy's eyes widened a bit. "I had an older brother I never met."

A thought started to come to life in Héctor's mind. He lost his little brother, Miguel thinks he lost his older brother… Miguel did look about right age and did he see his mother's eyes in the boy's face? He shook the idea from his mind. He couldn't let himself hope. The assassin killed his little brother along with his parents. His advisors told him that when he arrived back at his family's estate. But then again, the bodies were already buried by the time he made it home… No, no, it was just wishful thinking, a foolish idea. Besides, this kid was from Santa Anthony, not Santa Cecilia. There was no way this was the same boy.

Héctor shook the idea from his head. "So what's his story?" he asked, nodding toward Dante.

"Oh, I don't know," Miguel answered with a shrug. "I just met him when Chicharrón hired him for the mission."

"Does he talk?"

"I don't think so. I think he's mute, but he's really nice once you get to know him."

Héctor nodded then quickly turned serious. "Listen to me, Miguel," he said in a low whisper. "You and Dante seem like good people. I don't know how you got caught up in this, but believe me when I say this won't end well once Ernesto gets involved. If you let me go, I can tell the prince that you and Dante were unwilling participants and he'll pardon you."

"I don't know…"

"I know Ernesto. I know how he'll react and I know how he'll try to get me back. Ernesto hunts with poison-tipped arrows and he's very good. Once he catches up to us…"

"Don't listen to him, Miguel," Chicharrón barked from the helm. "He'll tell you anything to save himself."

Miguel's gaze shifted between Héctor between Chicharrón. Héctor gave him a pleading look and a half-smile. He didn't want to see this poor young kid getting hurt and he didn't want Cheech to wind up dead either. He just needed someone to listen and turn this ship around.

Finally, Miguel let out a breath and went over to Dante. He hoped this was a good sign. Maybe the boy was just talking it out with his friend. Maybe they'd take him up on his offer. If Cheech was too stubborn to give up, maybe they wouldn't be.

Héctor watched the two of them go back and forth. Miguel would say something and Dante would respond with facial expressions and hand gestures which the boy seemed to read pretty well. Suddenly, Dante stopped as his eyes fixed on something in the back of the boat. He pointed out at something in the distance. Miguel blocked the sun with his hand and looked out at the spot where Dante pointed. "Hey boss, what's that ship out there?" Miguel asked.

Héctor turned to look behind them. In the distance he could see a larger ship with black and purple sails. It didn't look like a ship from the royal navy. Those ships were marked by their sky blue and white sails. It couldn't be Ernesto, could it? How would the Prince have received the ransom note already? How long was he knocked out for?

Cheech looked at the ship and let out a curse. "The Prince already? ¡Inconcebible!"

As Cheech turned the ship into a sudden swerve, Héctor kept his eyes on the mysterious ship in the distance. Could it be Ernesto? It was possible a guard found the horse with the ransom note and sent word to Ernesto via carrier bird. But would this be the rout he'd take? Would he disguise a ship to follow Cheech in secret? Something told Héctor no. He imagined Ernesto going out with at least a few navy ships with the royal colors waving proudly. The prince would want Cheech to know exactly who was coming and who had the stronger force behind him. So who was on this ship?

Cheech attempted to shake the ship, but to no avail. If there was any doubt that it was following them, it was gone now. It chased them well into the night. Chicharrón and his tiny crew took turns steering the ship while the others slept. Chicharrón whispered directions to Miguel before he took the wheel, then Miguel whispered them to Dante when it was the other man's turn. Héctor tried to sleep himself. He didn't feel he was in any real danger despite his position. Chicharrón was stubborn and irrational at times, but he wasn't violent despite what he threatened. But sleep refused to come for Héctor. Other worries kept him awake.

This stupid stunt could cost Cheech his life. He didn't want to see his old friend get hunted down and executed. And those two people he hired didn't seem to deserve it either. Miguel was just a boy and Dante didn't seem to have any ill will toward anyone. He'd have to get free and get to Ernesto first somehow. He could tell Ernesto that Miguel and Dante were unwitting accomplices and deserved a pardon, community service at the most if they really needed to be punished. It might be too late to get Chicharrón off scot free, but maybe he'd be able to convince Ernesto of a reduced sentence. Maybe banishment? Sure, Cheech would be barred from ever setting foot in Santa Cecelia again, but at least he'd be alive. It was odd, he realized, to be more concerned about the lives of your kidnappers than about your own life, but he couldn't help it. Cheech was an old friend who Héctor really did wrong and Miguel and Dante just signed up for the wrong job, a job they apparently weren't told the details of.

Then, there was that ship which became less distant with each passing hour.

The ship caught up to them by morning, not close enough to see who was on board, but close enough to make Chicharrón to spit out a string of curses. "¡Inconcebible! How did they gain so much?"

Dante made a series of hand gestures and Miguel shook his head. "No, I don't think wind witches exist," Miguel said.

"Whoever they are, they won't be able to keep up for long." Chicharrón pointed ahead and their destination showed through the fog.

The Cliffs of Hysteria. It was said men can go mad just by looking over the edge. Héctor wasn't feeling any less sane himself, but he was worried Chicharrón might be. "You can't mean for us to climb up that thing." It was a bad idea for several reasons. For one, the cliffs could only be scaled by the most skilled and daring sportsmen and Héctor was sure neither he nor Chicharrón fit the bill. For another, the cliffs were Santa Cecelia territory, not Santa Antony like they originally intended. Even worse, this was not far from the Prince's favorite hunting grounds. It would only make it all the easier for Ernesto to find them.

"We are not climbing," Cheech said, gesturing to Héctor and himself. "Neither one of us is falling to our deaths before I can collect my ransom. They however…"

Héctor looked over at Miguel and Dante who were preparing a climbing rope.

"You can't be serious. Miguel's just a boy and Dante…" Actually, Dante looked like he could make the climb, but he shouldn't be forced into doing something so dangerous for someone else's gain.

Chicharrón ignored Héctor's protests as he pulled the ship along the side of the cliff. He anchored and Miguel stepped off onto a flat rock at the base of the cliff. Carrying the rope diagonally around his torso, Miguel made the climb up. Héctor couldn't help but be impressed by the boy's agility and fearlessness, even while feeling his own palms sweat. Was Miguel wearing gloves? He hoped Miguel was wearing gloves.

Miguel crawled onto the edge of the cliff and disappeared from view. After a few minutes, he appeared again, a length of rope in hand, and shouted "I got it secure!" He then tossed the rope down. It unfurled until it reached the bottom. They all stepped onto the same flat rock. Chicharrón slung Héctor's bound arms onto Dante's shoulder then clung to the other shoulder himself. With his two passengers as secure as they could hope for, Dante began his climb up the rope.

Héctor kept his eyes shut for about the first half of the climb. He'd heard multiple times to never look down when a great height off the ground and this was the only way he could resist the temptation. Besides, if he was going to fall to his death, he didn't want to see it coming. Some morbid part of his imagination wondered what it would be like to throw yourself off a high place and put yourself back together after the initial splat.

"What? He's gaining? ¡Inconcebible!"

Héctor couldn't help but take a peek after Chicharrón's words. There was, in fact, someone climbing up the rope after them. The mysterious person was dressed all in black. It certainly wasn't Ernesto. The build was too slender and a long black braid waved in the wind. Could it be a woman? It was either a woman or a slim, shapely man with unusually long hair. Either way, who would spend a day and a night chasing their ship and then brave the Cliffs of Hysteria? And for what purpose? Was it someone Ernesto hired? Or was there something else going on here?

Héctor was so busy pondering this question, he barely noticed when they reached the top. Miguel helped Héctor over the edge and then reached for his boss and Dante. As soon as Chicharrón's feet hit solid ground, he ran for the rock which the rope was fastened to and began to cut it with his dagger. Strands snapped one after another before it finally severed and slithered over the edge. The four men looked down only to see the figure in black clinging to the cliff side.

"He didn't fall? ¡Inconcebible!"

Miguel turned to his boss and furrowed his eyebrows questioningly. "You keep using that word. I don't think it means what you think it means."

Chicharrón hand waved this statement and grabbed onto Héctor's bound wrists. "It's no matter. Miguel, you wait for our friend to climb up. If he falls, fine. If not, kill him when he reaches the top."

Miguel grimaced, but didn't argue with the order. "How will I meet up with you again?"

"You're a tracker. Track us. And don't come looking for us until that guy is dead."

"Cheech, this is a mistake," Héctor interrupted. They were running out of time. He needed to end this nonsense and fast. "We're right next to Ernesto's hunting grounds. Let me go, and I can make it to the palace from here."

"Quite, you."

"You're only getting yourself in deeper. You can't force Miguel into being a killer, and-"

Chicharrón yanked painfully on Héctor's arms. "Enough of your stalling. Dante, come." Without another word, Chicharrón ran off, pulling Héctor by his wrists. Dante hung back and gave Miguel a pitying look.

"I'll be fine, Dante," Miguel said with a half-smile, but his fidgeting fingers revealed his nerves. "I'll meet up with you later. Go."

Dante nodded then, with one last look, ran after his boss leaving Miguel alone to deal with the mysterious figure in black.

[-]

"Sword fight!"

"What?"

"There's gonna be a sword fight!" Coco beamed, practically bouncing in her bed.

"Now hold on, m'ija. This story isn't all about swordfights. Miguel has a dilemma, here. He doesn't want to kill, but his boss just ordered him to-"

"Swordfight!"

The door opened and the girl's mother, Imelda stepped in. "Are you still reading that story?"

Héctor glanced at the clock on the wall. It was already a good hour past Coco's usual bedtime. Oops. "Sorry mi vida, it's getting late."

"Noooo!" Coco flopped dramatically against her pillows. "We were just getting to the good part."

"Tell you what, we'll read the story again tomorrow night. We'll pick up right where we left off. Won't that be fun?"

"No, now! Papá, read it now!"

Héctor and Imelda exchanged a sly look. "Hmmm…." Héctor hummed, stroking his goatee in faux contemplation.

"What?"

"I was just thinking, this book is too exciting for bedtime." He placed a bookmark between the pages and snapped the book closed. "Maybe we should try reading to again when you're older and know how to wait."

Coco sat up, eyes wide. "No, no Papá. I'm ready. I can wait."

"That's my big girl!" Héctor leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. Imelda stepped in and did the same.

"Good night, mi vida," Héctor said, wrapping his arms around his wife.

"We love you," Imelda cooed in her gentlest voice.

Coco laid down on her side and snuggled into her blankets. Despite her protests, she really was tired. "Night, and remember Papá, sword fight."

Héctor laughed as he and Imelda stepped out of the room. "Sword fight. I'll remember."