Thank you all for the constant support! Please leave any comments, criticisms, or thoughts you may have! I appreciate every single one of you!

Curse of the Dragon
Chapter 3
Minuet

The air was stagnant in the darkness. Ahiru moved downward, shakily reaching out to grip the earthy wall to her right for balance. Around her there were only the shadows of the tunnel, and one wooden, unlit torch clinging against the dirt beside her on a protruding hook. She paused after the first five steps, glancing back uneasily.

The man, even taller now that he was above her, followed after her. He reached up with one arm and patted one of the roots that curled over the edge of the opening—as if greeting a comrade. Such a ridiculous notion, she thought, to think of a white oak as a friend.

He ducked his head, and the roots pulled forward, entwining together and sealing the hole, diminishing all possible light from above and drowning the tunnel in darkness. Ahiru squeaked, unable to even make out her hands in front of her. She desperately leaned against the wall, afraid to budge. "W-Wait, I can't see!"

There was an audible snort from him again, and then the sound of footfalls coming down the steps. They stopped just beside her, and in the cold shadows, she felt the warmth of his body. Her breath caught in her throat and she pressed herself against the dirt wall, knowing that he must've been right beside her. The brush of his robe against her arm made her shiver.

Her jaw fell slack when he suddenly released a deep, sighing breath, a gust of hot warmth fanning across her cheeks. A small stream of embers left his lips and ignited the torch. She flinched away from the flames, eyes wide.

He could breathe fire?

In the flickering light, the robed man's green eyes glimmered, his startled gaze meeting hers for a moment. He was just above her and he seemed as surprised as she was at their close proximity.

She shrunk away with a suspicious pout and he glanced uncomfortably to the side. His eyebrow twitched as he distinctly took one large step back. "Come on," he snarled, turning around to stalk off down the steps, keeping a hold on the torch, the embers licking upward and illuminating the tunnel with flickering light.

Unwilling to remain alone in the dark, she followed, keeping a safe distance between herself and the man in front of her. She didn't even know that he could breathe fire in that monstrous form, let alone when he was just a man. At this point, she shouldn't have been so surprised—it all suddenly made more sense. "So you did start that fire!"

He didn't respond to her. She sighed and kept on.

They walked for a while. Her frown deepened. They were going pretty far down. She kept a hand on the wall, carefully trying to keep up with the man's swift pace. It figured that he was perfectly balanced and at ease in the darkness. Jerkish monsters could apparently do anything when kidnapping people.

The air was thick and old. Just how deep underground were they now? She had half a mind to turn on her heel and make a break for the surface again, but she doubted she had the strength to pull the roots apart.

… Pique and Lilie would be very impressed if they knew how smart she was trying to be. Ahiru sighed audibly, shoulders slumping. "I wonder what they're up to now," she thought, "And Mytho must be so worried."

She glanced back up at the man, puffing out her cheeks. The silence made her antsy—it made her mind wander. She could hear each shuffling step along the ground, the swish of fabric brushing along the stone. With a shiver, she found her voice, unable to stand the quiet. "S-So," she began, her fingers curling and trembling around the ruffly waistband of her bloomers, "are you going to tell me why you took me here?" She tried to sound impatient, but it came out as a high-pitched stutter. She blushed with shame. She was trying to be so smart about everything, but now …

… She had to be strong! She needed to make Prince Siegfried proud of her. She wasn't just a simple young girl. She was fiancee to a prince. She was a lady of nobility and she had to keep her wits and her dignity about her.

When he didn't answer her, she took a deep breath and tried again, stronger this time. "Well?! Answer me!"

Her shrill insistence seemed to do the trick. The man's shoulders hitched up in a cringing motion, and he glared over his shoulder. "The further we walk down, the harder it is to breathe. Save your breath."

"Hmph ..." Ahiru trailed off, resuming her nervous fiddling of her ruffles.

The silence stretched on once more. And with the silence, her mind wandered again as it so often tended to do when she was alone. It wasn't a very becoming or ladylike quality of hers. She wondered how long it would take before they arrived in their strange destination, or what the place would be like—perhaps just a deep, deep cave. And if he was so worried about her losing breath, just how far were they even going to go? They'd been walking for so long. And there were a lot of steps here!

As her thoughts took her in dizzying circles, she didn't notice her misstep, and the slight narrowing of one of the steps below her.

Hair prickled at the back of her neck, the shock of imbalance struck her form, and the slide of her slipper-ed feet against the edge of the step overwhelmed her, her arms flying out on instinct. She was falling forward! "W-Wah!"

Her legs moved on their own for those brief, heart-stopping moments, her feet scrambling to find solid ground. Her center of gravity moved ahead of her lower half, and the sharp, stone stairs were quickly approaching her face—!

"Hey!"

A firm, bruising grip suddenly clenched around her wrist, jerking her backward before the ground could collide with her head. She released a yelp as she was swung back, landing painfully onto her rear. With a wince, she looked up, realizing that the man still had her arm in his grasp, his scowl shadowed in the dark. The torch had been dropped, rolling a few steps down, the fire flickering and reflecting off the walls. "Watch yourself, you idiot!"

Ahiru blinked up at him, trying to calm her racing heart as he all but threw her hand back at her, stomping away to pick up the torch. "Get up and this time, pay attention!"

She took a few deep breaths, holding her pendant for reassurance. He saved her again.

Come to think of it, he'd been very mindful with her. Aside from last night when he actually kidnapped her (and hurled her into the canal and ripped off her skirts and—!), he'd been rather conscious of her well-being. He had a penchant for manhandling her, but when it came to serious injuries, he paid attention. As a monster, he'd covered her head from volatile winds. He'd just now stopped her from tumbling down the stairs and breaking her neck.

She stared up at him as he retrieved the torch a few steps down and her eyes widened. After all this time, she figured it out. The reason he took her, but still treated her carefully.

Ahiru rose to her feet, fists balled up at her sides. "I'm a hostage!"

The man paused, once again glancing over his shoulder, his eyebrow lifted, but otherwise deadpan.

She was convinced that was the reason. If she was to be hurt under his watch, then her value went down and he would certainly get less of whatever he wanted from Prince Siegfried. Why didn't she realize it before? And if that was the case, then he probably left a note somewhere in the Grand Chateau for the prince to find, giving him his terms.

Now, she definitely had to find her way out of this on her own. She didn't want to trouble her prince. He would certainly save her and, knowing him, he would do whatever it took.

And that wasn't okay with Ahiru. She was more determined than ever before. "All of this! It's because you're taking me hostage!"

Meanwhile, the man just blinked at her new revelation. After a moment, he growled, his eyebrows furrowing. "... Sure. Just keep moving, idiot."

When he resumed his pace, her shoulders slumped. Sure? That was it? "... I'm not an idiot. And I won't let you use me to get to the prince!"

He ignored her. She took one last, longing look behind her into the darkness, toward the surface and toward what would've been freedom. Then, she turned away and followed the light of the torch he held.

Prince Siegfried ignored the strain on his body, leaning forward and gripping the reins of his Pegasus against the rough winds, his cape whipping about behind him.

His company of General Lysander and twelve other knights did not bode as well. They trailed after him in the air, discouraged by their long flight and the foreboding clouds that gathered above them. Their mounts were pushing exhaustion and the momentum that they started with that morning was quickly dwindling.

General Lysander's frown deepened, his fatigue finally catching up with him. A glance backward showed him that his men were even worse off. Some were slumped forward, relying heavily on the struggling steeds. Others gulped greedily from their waterskins. The extra weight of their full plate wasn't helping.

This was senseless. The sun was incredibly close to setting now, the pink and purple hue of the sky reflecting off of darkening storm clouds. Prince Siegfried hadn't even acknowledged them or given hint to stopping.

Lysander wanted so badly to just go home and back to his sculpting.

Bolstered and determined, he nudged the sides of his mount with his heels, spurring the Pegasus forward to flank the prince. He spoke, gruff voice attempting to conquer the winds. "Your Highness!"

Prince Siegfried merely turned to look at him. For a moment, Lysander was startled by the sudden sharpness in his gaze. The prince's eyes were usually so soft. He cleared his throat and continued. "Your Highness, we must stop; we've taken to the skies for an entire day. Our mounts can't keep up much longer!"

The prince, though, hadn't shown a hint of stopping. He kept his eyes trained ahead. Lysander thought it strange. "Your Highness," he continued, "please, it's almost sunset. Our men are tired, and I fear a storm is on the horizon. We must stop for the night and consider further action!"

Finally, Prince Siegfried glanced up, his expression softening. Around them, the air shifted, a rumbling in the distance that promised thunder and lightning. Prince Siegfried relented with a nod—a gesture that relieved and reassured the general. That was more like him. "Let us descend. We'll make camp down below."

They were met by sighs of relief from the men behind them, and they tugged at the reins of their mounts, making their way back to the earth.

It was apparent just how grateful the knights were to be back on solid ground. Immediately, they began setting up camp at the edge of the woods. No one quite knew where they were, but the idea of rest rejuvenated their morale.

Their encampment was strategic. The largest tent had been pitched in the middle, where the prince and General Lysander would be staying. The rest of the knights had encircled it, their campfires spread throughout as the sun began to set. To shield their mounts from the coming rains, they fashioned simple stabling with their extra canvas tent and nearby trees. It was best that they'd finish up before night fell. A storm was coming.

Prince Siegfried hunched over his bedroll in his tent, a lantern illuminating the expanse and the map spread out across the ground. They'd traveled an entire day and still had not seen any sign of a gigantic creature as described by the little girl in Vineta.

His general and another knight stepped inside, pushing back the opening flap of the tent. Lysander made his way to his bedroll, sighing as he began to unstrap and remove his armor with the other knight's help. "Your Highness," he began, shrugging off his pauldrons, "we didn't prepare for this. We simply do not have the supplies or the manpower to keep searching for more than another day."

The prince didn't glance up. "My fiancee has been taken, Lysander."

Lysander winced at his prince's firm, almost abrasive tone. Perhaps the Lady Ahiru truly had affected him so deeply. It was simply a marvel, though, at how suddenly the change came. "Of course, I understand, Your Highness." He paused, allowing the other knight to remove his breastplate. "Thank you, Demetri." Demetri began to set aside each of the metal components of the armor off in the corner of the tent as Lysander spoke again. "But if I may, we could return to Vineta and better equip ourselves before—"

"Before what?" Once again, Lysander was stricken by the prince's impatience. Though he didn't raise his voice, he was on edge, and biting in tone. Prince Siegfried still did not glance up from his map. "Before it is too late? Before she is perhaps killed or devoured by a nameless, monstrous beast?" Lysander watched as Siegfried's shoulders rose and fell with deep, composing breaths. "I will not wait. Every moment we waste is another moment in which she is in danger. We will continue northbound. Surely we can spot a creature of such a large size from the skies."

The general fell silent, meeting Demetri's uncertain gaze. With a sigh of resignation, Lysander nodded. "Aye, Your Highness."

"Good. Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we ride again."

"You know," Ahiru began, pouting at the man's back, "even after all this walking, I'm breathing just fine. I dunno what you were talking about earlier." Sure, the air was thick and warm, but she was doing decidedly fine.

He snorted. "I just wanted you to shut up. Worked until now."

The redhead was incensed, finally unable to keep herself from blurting out every negative thing she could think of. Gone was the demure, young noblewoman of Hedeby, making way for the young girl she truly was. She puffed out her cheeks, her hands clenching at her sides. "We have been walking forever! I have been patient and quiet and you've been just so—so mean this whole time, turning into big monsters and grabbing me and kidnapping me and being a terrible whatever-you-are and—oof!"

He'd stopped so abruptly that she didn't even realize she walked right into his cloaked back. She stumbled back, holding her nose. "W-What did you stop for?! At least tell me when—"

"We're here," he interrupted dryly.

"Eh?"

She sidestepped to look around his taller, shadowed form, blinking at the round, wooden wall in front of her. It looked like it could've been a door, but there was no knob or knocker to be found. And it was strangely out of place when surrounded by soil, dirt, and sediment on all sides.

He couldn't have brought her all the way down here for a simple wooden wall. There was bound to be something behind this. Ahiru glanced up at him with uncertainty.

Her answer came quickly. He stepped forward with his free hand outstretched and pressed his hand to it. With that contact, black markings immediately grew from where his palm met the wood, curling into intricate shapes and tendrils. Silently, the streaks began to meet, shaping itself with sharp, distinct lines in the flickering light of the torch. They formed an image—an insignia of what appeared to be the silhouette of a horned, winged dragon, its serpentine tail curling around a spherical shape.

When the image was complete, he removed his hand, and the sphere began to glow scarlet—not unlike the color of her own pendant. The eyes of the drawn dragon opened, golden and bright.

The earth shifted. Ahiru stumbled back, holding onto the wall as dirt and dust gave way, the wooden barrier splitting down the middle of the image and grinding open.

The doors were finally gaping wide, and the quaking settled. She pushed herself from the wall and took a step forward, oddly curious as the tall man took it upon himself to step right through the threshold ahead of her. "Let's go," he commanded over his shoulder.

Ahiru stopped at the doorway, her lips parting. There was cobblestone beneath her feet, and before her, a town.

Or at least a shell of what used to be one. It was small hamlet, if that, and she guessed that the Grand Chateau's grounds were more extensive than this. The huts were made from stone and rotting wood. They lacked proper roofing and doors, the openings covered by hanging, shredded fabric. What used to be roads were illuminated by crooked lampposts, embers flickering inside lanterns casting shadows over the dark town. She looked up, her breath catching in her throat at the high dome-like ceiling of earth, old roots, sediment, and rock, surrounding this little village on all sides. At the edge off to her right was what could've been a dock, or perhaps one side of a bridge, crumbled from deterioration and dropping off into the abyss.

It felt cold and empty. How long had this place been here, so deep underground? Ahiru bit her lip, frightened.

The man stopped a little way in, pausing to turn toward her and sneer. "Well?"

She hesitated with a shiver, stepping back, her eyes darting from him to her grim surroundings and then back. She hadn't expected something like this—perhaps a cave, or maybe his own home, but not an entire village so far beneath the surface. Was he the only one who lived here? And where had this place come from?

Were there more monsters?

Her lip trembled and she turned on her heel to run out through the threshold and back up the steps. However, her captive was quick, and in three long strides he was behind her, grabbing the long, red braid of her hair and yanking. She yelped from the sharp pain as he tugged her back toward him. "Ah—ow! Let me g—!"

"Shut up, you idiot." He growled lowly, clamping a firm hand over her lips as he pulled her against him. She flailed her arms and kicked her feet, struggling against his hold around her mouth and waist. Her screams were effectively muffled against his palm, however, and his grip had not relented. "You'll wake everyone up," he hissed, his breath hot against her ear.

Ahiru froze in his arms at his words. So there were more. And they were all asleep. She would be surrounded by monsters when they awoke, and there would be nothing she could do. Running away now and making a ruckus just wasn't the way to handle this.

Up until then, she thought herself to be so brave. So smart. But everything was beginning to hit her. She was miles and miles away from her prince, deep underground, surrounded by possibly more dragons that could breathe fire and no viable way to get word out where she was. She said she wasn't going to let this man treat her like a hostage. She said that she would find a way back to her prince on her own.

But how?

Slowly, she found herself growing limp in the man's arms, slumping forward and letting her eyes fall shut in resignation. She didn't want to lose hope. Not yet.

He slowly released her, letting her stand on her own two, wobbly feet. She allowed him to grab her forearm and drag her off, stumbling after his quick pace with her shorter stride. For the time being, she had to go along with this until she was left alone.

Her steps shuffled clumsily along the cobblestone, her eyes darting about. It was so quiet down here, without the rustling of the trees or chirping of birds. This place seemed almost frozen and stagnant. There was an air of sameness, as if it remained untouched.

She was taken to a sudden opening in the ground, a gaping hole in the stone floor with a wooden ladder leading down a tunnel. The man dropped her arm and moved to the ladder, easily and fluidly beginning to descend. He glanced up to glare at her. "When I reach the bottom, start coming down. Carefully."

With a sigh, she waited, leaning over the edge to watch him. It was about twenty feet down to the bottom, the tunnel ending about halfway down. Just how far did he plan to descend? And she couldn't very well just stay there. What if those "others" he talked about woke up?

He was quick to make his way down, and upon reaching the bottom, he looked up and gestured to her impatiently, expression deadpan. With shaking limbs, she slowly followed, her hands clenching the creaking wood and her feet struggling to keep a firm footing in the dark tunnel. When she descended far enough and the tunnel stopped, she glanced around. It was just the same as the level at the top, with stone and wood huts, crooked lampposts, and cobblestone ground.

This whole town was situated on platforms deep underground. It just didn't seem possible.

"Hey, quit dawdling!"

"Gah—!"

She slipped in her surprise, losing her grip on the wood and her slippers sliding out of balance. Ahiru felt a rush of air, her heart leaping into her throat, and she fell, her mouth open in a silent scream.

"I said careful!"

She collided into a warm, solid body, firm arms wrapping around her before she and her kidnapper both crashed to the ground. He grunted in pain, his expression twisting into a grimace as her elbow dug into his side. Almost as soon as the air rushed back into her lungs, she scrambled off of him, her heart hammering into her chest from adrenaline. "I-I'm so sorry, I—!" She stopped, though, realizing that she wasn't the one who was supposed to be apologizing. He was the one who took her here, and it served him right.

Part of her felt rather satisfied, seeming him on the ground with pain twisting his features. He deserved a little discomfort! Pouting and crossing her arms over her chest, she huffed and turned away, letting him adjust his cloaked robe as he stood up. "You're such a damn pain," he said from behind her, once again grabbing her arm and dragging her off when he caught his breath.

Though she didn't fight off his grip (he was too strong regardless), she sent him a dirty look of her own, her cheeks puffing out in a very unladylike fashion. "Then maybe you shouldn't have kidnapped me!"

"As if I had a choice," he retorted.

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

He didn't bother to answer her, leading her to one hut in particular. She fell silent, her nerves getting the better of her as he pushed back the fabric that covered the doorway.

It was empty—barren, even. There was barely anything in there. A small cot made of straw sat in the corner, with a thin sheet and pillow folded neatly at the head of it. On the opposite side sat a single chair and table, old and tilted, and there was a lone bucket and washtub right in the open. At the very end of the hut was what used to be a fireplace with a single cauldron hanging from the hearth.

Her kidnapper pushed her inside and released her. "You're staying here now. Get used to it." The man took a step inside after her, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

She frowned. To be frank, she had expected much less. Ahiru opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted when the cloth was pushed back again and a little, curious voice echoed through the hut.

"Ohhhh!"

Ahiru turned, blinking down at a little girl with pale skin and wide, blue eyes. Her mint-green hair was swept back aside from the tendrils curling up in two little cowlicks. She had tiny, doll-like, round features, expression full of wonder. She wore striped, colorful bloomers and a little waistcoat, an old drum strapped around her waist, a drum stick in each hand. The tiny girl was a piece of life in an otherwise dead village.

The last sort of person Ahiru expected. She was rather adorable, actually, and Ahiru's heart warmed just looking at her. She had almost forgotten where she was or the circumstances that brought her here. "O-Oh! Hello!"

The kidnapper seemed to blink in surprise, his harsh expression softening as he took a step toward the little girl and ruffled her hair. "Oi. You're up late. Go to bed."

"Fakir is back-zura!" She began to drum to a quick, loud rhythm, her tiny feet tapping with the tempo. It echoed through the hut and bounced off the stone walls. "And he brought a new friend-zura?"

Ahiru's eyebrows rose and her jaw fell slack as the kidnapper (the same who hurled her into a canal, the same who transformed into a grotesque creature that breathed fire, the same who kidnapped her from her fiance and planned to use her to get to her prince) knelt down beside the drumming girl and gently took one stick from her hand, affectionately pinching her cheek. "Hey, keep it down. You'll wake everyone up."

Another voice came from the entrance, sultry and feminine. "Hm. You're back. Ah—"

Once again, the fabric had been pushed back by a second arrival. Ahiru glanced away from the little girl and the kidnapper, turning her gaze toward the woman who just entered the hut. She was positively beautiful, her striking, crimson eyes finding Ahiru's blue. Full, dark hair framed her heart-shaped face, pale skin radiant and without a single blemish. She held herself elegantly, her chin lifted and shoulders back, her form lithe, yet shapely. Ahiru suddenly felt inadequate, both envying and admiring the woman before her—she could've been a princess far more fitting for a prince than the redhead ever could be.

Ahiru's cheeks warmed and she was driven to speechlessness. Indeed, the woman would look flawless in a proper gown instead of the stitched, rough dress she wore now. So beautiful.

Then, she was stricken when the woman's expression hardened, her crimson eyes narrowing. She stepped forward gracefully, reaching to take Ahiru's hand, her skin cool and soft to the touch. Ahiru didn't have a mind to pull away. "Fakir, you scoundrel," she began coldly, turning her glare (so similar to his) toward the man beside the little girl, "she is in nothing but her bloomers."

The man—Fakir?—scoffed, lifting the drummer girl into his arms as he stood. "I wasn't about to carry ten layers of wet lace—"

"What do you mean wet?"

"—and they were just going to get in the damn way."

"She looks indecent!"

"You," he spat, glowering at the woman in a way that completely contrasted with the gentle hold around the little girl, "should be thanking me. My job is finished; I'm done. You take it from here. I've had enough of this stupid girl."

"H-Hey!" Ahiru finally found her voice, pulling her hand away from the woman's hold. "I'm still here, y'know!" Her bottom lip trembled, and she felt overwhelming anxiety welling up in her chest. Just a few minutes ago, things had been simple. That man, Fakir, was the kidnapper and she had to escape from him. Now, there was a little girl with a drum and a beautiful woman scolding him about her bloomers of all things in the middle of this decrepit town that was deep underground and she was being kept prisoner here.

She blinked back her tears, willing herself to not cry in front of them. She took a deep breath, trying to meet their gazes head-on when they looked back at her. "Like I s-said, I don't know what this place is or who you all are, but I won't let you use me to get to the prince!"

The woman's expression softened. "Now, now, that's enough," she chided, taking Ahiru's shaking hands in her own, her crimson eyes landing on the red jewel hanging from Ahiru's neck. "I promise you. This has nothing to do with any prince." As if the pendant had confirmed something, the woman looked back into Ahiru's blue eyes and smiled, arresting and cold. "We need you. No one else."

Her words made even less sense than everything she had gone through so far. All of this, and it had nothing to do with the prince? So she wasn't a hostage? "W-What do you even want with me?" Ahiru's voice shook. "I can't give you anything. I didn't do anything!"

She was just a young woman. She wasn't even a proper lady of nobility. She was just … getting married. That was all she ever could live up to.

She felt small.

The woman turned toward the doorway, but stopped and glanced over her shoulder once more. "Rest for tonight. I'll have some proper clothing brought to you." She paused to send a scathing glare in Fakir's direction. "And food and drink. I expect you've had a long day. What is your name?"

She lowered her gaze to her feet. "... Ahiru."

There was a pause in which Fakir and the woman raised their eyebrows, sharing a quick glance.

The little drummer girl tilted her head. "Ohhhh … Duck-zura!"

Turning her gaze back to Ahiru, the woman's lips quirked up into a cool smirk. "That's right, Uzura. Duck. It's a fitting name, isn't it?" Ahiru blinked in surprise and confusion. Duck? "Ahiru, my name is Rue. We'll be getting to know one another very well during your stay here."

"How … how long will that be?"

Fakir made his way to the doorway, his green eyes lingering on her for a moment before he turned away. Uzura, the little girl, stared at her from over his shoulder with wide, inquisitive eyes before Fakir pushed back the hanging fabric and took his leave, cloak billowing behind him.

Rue simpered. "For the rest of your life. So, make yourself at home."

Lysander couldn't sleep. He ran a hand through his short, blond hair, blinking through the darkness across the tent. The prince slept silently, the steady rise and fall of his chest visible in the shadows.

The general sat up, hunching over and taking deep breaths. The storm had come upon the camp, raindrops pelting against the tent's roof. A gust of cold wind rushed through the small opening in the front of the tent, and though he shivered, the freshness of the air soothed him.

His muscles ached. The long day of travel had been taxing for everyone. He frowned, his large forehead crinkling, thinking on the men in the surrounding tents, hopefully getting the rest they needed—aside from the youngest, Demetri, who had volunteered to keep watch through the midnight hours. The young man would be awake still, he supposed, diligently and loyally making rounds. Now that the storm had arrived, however, he felt rather guilty leaving him out there alone.

Well, he was getting nothing done in here anyway.

Lysander didn't think to put his armor on. They were at the edge of the woods in the middle of nowhere. Keeping watch at night was little more than a formality at this rate. He merely donned his cloak, slipped on his boots, and grabbed his longsword and scabbard, belting it around his waist. The prince would be safe here—he wouldn't be far.

He threw on his hood and stepped outside with his lantern, immediately wincing when the winds and rain showered upon his face. Squinting against the storm, he spotted another glow of a lantern a bit of a distance away near the perimeter of their camp. Lysander made his way over to it, boots sloshing over mud. "Demetri!"

Demetri turned to his general, lifting his own lantern. The young man was in his full plate, his cloak soaked and clinging to the metal. "General!" he called in greeting over the rumbling thunder in the distance.

Lysander came to stand next to the knight, holding his hood down upon his head before it could blow off. "Uhh … how goes it? Do you need rest?"

"All's quiet, sir, but for the storm!" Demetri smiled despite the water dripping down his face beneath his helm and hood. "I have everything under control!"

The general nodded. That was to be expected. "Why not retire, then? The rain will not let up for the night, and I doubt we'll run into trouble out here." He awkwardly scratched the back of his head beneath the hood. "We'll need you in top shape for our flight tomorrow."

Demetri nodded slowly, but before he turned to head back into his own tent he shared with two other knights, he cleared his throat. "If I may, sir," he said, pausing at the flash of light that fractured the sky for a moment, followed shortly by the thunder, "I took inventory earlier. Do you know how long this venture will be? I also am worried for the Lady Ahiru, but ..."

Lysander frowned, his gruff expression falling, and lifted a hand to quietly silence Demetri. He understood. What good were the Knights of Vineta if they were starved and exhausted when they came to claim the Lady Ahiru back? This had been an extremely impulsive move on the prince's part, and oddly enough, Prince Siegfried was not listening to reason. "I know. But we answer to His Highness, no matter what. We will be at his side at all times, in support of every decision."

Demetri bowed his head. "Of course. Forgive me, sir. I spoke out of turn!"

"No, no." Lysander waved his hand before clapping it onto the young man's armored shoulder, giving him an awkward, shaky smile. "I'm in agreement. We just have to keep our chins up and our eyes forward! For the sake of the Lady Ahiru!"

"Indeed!" Demetri straightened and placed a fist over his heart in salute. "For the Lady Ahiru! Good night then, sir!"

The general returned the salute as Demetri made to take his leave, lantern swinging by his side.

Then, something in the air changed. The hairs at the back of Lysander's neck stood on end, his muscles tensing, his eyes narrowing. Demetri likewise stopped in his tracks, pivoting in the mud to turn back around.

There was a rustle somewhere behind Lysander, barely audible over the shower of rain.

And then, there were screams.

Lysander turned just in time to see two—now three of the tents suddenly tip over and cave in, the canvas splashing into the soaked earth, overrun by men in dark clothing pouring from the woods beside them. Several slumbering knights within, confused and in nothing but their drawers, stumbled out from under the flattened tents, scrambling for their swords. Frightened Pegasi kicked their hooves, wings flapping viciously sending feathers every which way within their stable.

But the men in dark clothing were upon them in the blink of an eye, daggers glinting in the flash of lightning as they struck.

Lysander acted before even thinking. The prince! He stumbled over his unlaced boots in the mud while unsheathing his sword, bolting toward the largest tent to awaken Prince Siegfried. Behind him, he heard Demetri slipping on the soaked ground, armor clanking, hollering over the storm, "We're under attack! Wake up! We're under attack!"

Scrambling into the tent and shoving back the opening flap, he called out, holding up the lantern. "Your Highness—!"

But the prince was already awake. He was hunched over in the darkness, reaching for his sword adorned with swans. With one, fluid motion, the prince swept his white cloak over his shoulders and unsheathed his blade. His eyes, usually golden and soft, were sharp and narrow, flickering a strange pink in the dim lighting in the tent.

A chill swept through Lysander's body at the sight of it, but he focused his mind. There were far more crucial things to think about.

Outside, the muffled sounds of metal clanging and the barking of panicked men continued. He turned back to the entrance, gritting his teeth, and called out over his shoulder, his voice gruff and rumbling. "Remain behind me, Your Highness! You must stay safe!"

His eyes quickly scanned the area, squinting through the thrum of rain. They must've come in from the woods. A swarm of figures wearing dark clothing moved with lithe and graceful steps along the muddy ground. At least four tents had been ransacked, his own men caught unaware, trying to defend themselves with their swords while stumbling about in nothing but their drawers.

Men—more his own than that of the intruders—were already face-down in the dirt.

Lysander's heart clenched, his brows wrinkling and jaw taut. He lifted his blade, lips curling into a snarl as the battle continued. Blades swung haphazardly through the haze of rain, illuminated briefly by the crash and flash of thunder and lightning. His knights slipped about, stronger than the attackers, but clumsy. The men in dark clothes were shadows, flitting in and out of sight, jabbing with their daggers and taking full advantage of the unarmored soldiers. In the corner of his eye, two intruders sifted through the fallen tents, grabbing items and sacks of belongings and supplies. Two others rushed to the makeshift stables, seizing some panicking Pegasi and leading them away and into the shielding woods.

The urge to jump into the fray, swinging and yelling, was almost overwhelming. They were outnumbered, ill-prepared, and his men needed him. But his loyalty and good sense kept him rooted where he stood, guarding His Highness's tent.

He would not leave his prince! Lysander's teeth ground together as he clenched the handle of his sword, knuckles white.

Then, he was brushed aside, His Highness, Prince Siegfried pushing past him with his sword in hand, leaping into the fray without a second glance.

Lysander's heart dropped, blood running cold. Once again, he acted before thinking and blazed forward to catch up. With movements more elegant and smooth than even the thieves who attacked them, Prince Siegfried's blade sliced through the air, drops of rain dancing and splashing off the steel as he scored one of the bandits in the side. The general skidded to a stop beside him, boots slick in the mud as he brandished his weapon with such brute force to the chest that his own attacker fell back with a splash.

They swiveled around, intercepting the strike of two daggers with their steel, metal against metal ringing with the rumble of thunder. Lysander easily overtook his opponent and pushed back, sending him off balance and into the mud, leaving him open for a swift, downward thrust to the chest. His prince seamlessly sidestepped, his blade slashing across his enemy's abdomen.

A sharp whistle pierced the air. Suddenly, their intruders began to retreat back into the woods, light feet tapping against wet soil, some with large bundles hefted over their shoulders. They moved with the same quiet fluidity with which they arrived, leaving Lysander panting and Prince Siegfried glaring off in their direction. They were in no condition to follow, and they must've known that.

The scrape of armor caught the general's attention. He turned to see his youngest knight tending to two other soldiers; all three were soaked through, Demetri's armor dented and a graze on his cheek, water and blood (that was hopefully not his own) splattered and dripping down his breastplate. The others were in worse condition, with crimson rivulets cascading from gashes across their shoulders and legs, one holding a cut on his forehead as Demetri reached out to wipe the blood from the man's eyes.

Adrenaline had run out and the general finally took a moment to survey the aftermath and catch his breath. There were seven Pegasi remaining in the broken stable, feathers dotting the ground and hooves pounding the soil as they neighed with desperation. A good half of the tents had been torn down, their camp ransacked, useless and marred with rainwater, mud and—

Lysander fell to his knees with a sludgy splash.

—blood.

Bodies were strewn across the miry ground, some in the dark clothes of their intruders, but most in their drawers, grips limp around fallen blades. Rainwater peppered across pale skin and reflected off soiled steel, intermingling with crimson and dirt. Aside from the two knights with Demetri, only three a small distance away began to stir, moaning pitifully and clutching their wounds.

Mouth dry and tears burning behind his eyes, Lysander turned wordlessly toward the woods beside them. He thought they'd be safe. He had no idea there were other settlements or encampments nearby. They were so far from home—this region was unfamiliar to them, and their exhaustion had clouded their judgment.

This was his own fault.

Demetri, shouldering one of his fellow knights, stumbled through the mud. "W-Where did they come from?"

Lysander couldn't bring himself to answer, his mind scrambling for answers. They were skilled and organized, so they couldn't possibly be just a simple group of thieves. Perhaps they spent too long in their peaceful Vineta. There was Rungholt, and now this. And on top of everything …

"We cannot—ah." Lysander's voice caught in his throat, grief-stricken and muddled by the downpour. "Your Highness, please, we cannot continue our search like this! The men—my men ..."

Lightning fractured the sky, his prince's eyes flickering a cold, pinkish hue before reverting to mournful gold.

Fakir was tired, hungry, and aggravated.

Rue wasn't doing him any favors by pestering him over the little idiot's clothing. All he wanted was a bowl of fruit and a damn good night's rest. Yet, there he was, holding neatly-folded cloth and a dish of food for someone else and trudging all the way down to the lower ground.

At least Uzura fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillows. He wasn't in the mood for bedtime stories. Grumbling to himself, he balanced the bundle and the bowl in his arms as he made his way down the ladder. And here he thought his job was done with.

His footsteps clicked over the cobblestone, echoing into the darkness. No one was up, and even if they were, he could probably still hear the steps over the hum of the town's villagers. This place had a penchant for being cold and empty, after all.

When he approached the prisoner's hut, he caught the unmistakable hiccups and sobs of a crying girl from outside the doorway.

To be honest, he expected her to break down much earlier. His harsh expression softened behind the hanging cloth. She held out this long. He supposed he ought to have given her credit for that much.

Unwilling to watch a young woman—hell, anyone—sobbing, he waited until he heard the cries subside a little, then pushed his way past the heavy, torn fabric. His eyes were used to darkness, and he found her curled form on the bed easily enough, her shoulders trembling from her previous sniveling. It was late, and he wasn't surprised if she just cried herself to sleep.

"W-What do you want?"

He raised an eyebrow. Perhaps not, then. "Nothing. These are yours." He kept his tone curt and even, because if all went as he planned, he'd be out of there in thirty seconds and never have to speak to the woman again. Crossing the room, he placed the items on the tilted table.

Part of him wanted to pity her. But the shine of red hanging from her neck reminded him that nothing she could do would make him think any better of her.

After all this time …

He turned to leave, but she stopped him, her voice gaining a bit more of that firm, annoying stubbornness that had bothered him for the past day or so. "Can you just please tell me … why?"

Fakir pinched the bridge of his nose. That wasn't his job. His part was done with. He found the girl, he brought her here, and that was that. He wasn't great with words. Not anymore. "Wait until morning. They'll decide what to do with you then. Just go to sleep."

There was a moment of silence before she spoke again. "Whatever it is … I'm not letting you keep me here forever." Her voice hitched at the last word, high and quack-like. Perhaps she truly did fit her namesake. "I'll f-find a way to get out! And Myth—Prince Siegfried will come and find me!"

"We'll see," he mocked with a snort.

She tried to assert herself on a sobbing hiccup. "... You'll see!"

Well, he had to give her credit for determination. Fakir smirked in the darkness before leaving her behind, satisfied that he could have very little to do with her from now on.

And then, freedom.

Beta-read by Docktor Locktor