Now I see you, trouble.

It's coming up ahead.

Black dogs running, through the fields.

They're dripping red.

- Moon, Foals

The smell of spices and perfumes permeated the air of the great market of Medeia, the aroma almost overwhelming in the summer heat. Many a foreigner has lost his way in the numerous and winding streets of Medeia, and perhaps that is why there are not many foreigners found in Medeia, and even Illyria. Indeed, Illyria is a place that is infinitely difficult to find and then infinitely more difficult to remain in. That is not to say that the Illyrians are unwelcome, no, simply suspicious of anyone who is not Illyrian.

Cesare Vasari scanned the city streets, his gloved hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. He began to walk purposely through the crowds of people, his guard straining to remain with him. The crowd thinned and the street became narrower before splitting in two and then splitting once more until the prince came to a large ornate door the colour of the Sunset Sea.

"Search the premises," he gave the orders with a flick of his wrist. The soldiers flooded through the blue door, each clad in armour the colour of polished silver. Cesare trailed behind them, eyes darting in all directions; the air was scented and the faint sound of flowing water could be heard. The prince and his men continued to search the bathhouse before they were interrupted by the sound of laughter coming from the furthermost bathing room.

Cesare strode towards it, flinging the door open to discover the scantily clad form of his elder brother surrounded by an array equally sparsely dressed women. He made a sound of disgust as he picked up a towel and threw it at Lysander:

"Get dressed, you're late." The women gasped at the intrusion, desperately trying to cover themselves before fleeing from the room.

"Look what you've done brother!" cried a rather disgruntled Lysander, "What is the meaning of this?"

"For Gods sake cover yourself and I will tell you." The irritation in his brother's voice was all too clear, "We have been summoned by father. He has something that his wishes to discuss with us of the upmost importance." Cesare's impatience was building steadily as each second passed.

Lysander laughed, "always so serious little brother."

"That is the worst charge isn't it Lysander." Sarcasm dripped from his words but his face remained stern and devoid of humour unlike his brother who continued to laugh inanely, the cause of which being evident from the empty goblets that littered the room.


Lysander sauntered into the great hall, Cesare trailing behind him like a dutiful watchdog. But as they took their places Cesare began to become aware of the uneasiness that filled the large room, a sense of anxiety that seemed to hover above them like dark cloud. No doubt they've heard the rumours then.

Several of the King's courtiers were talking in low tones as they waited for Claudio to arrive, that is until they realized that he was already among them. They weren't used to this. Kings were supposed to sweep into a room majestically, not suddenly appear without anyone seeing their arrival.

All eyes were fixed on him as Claudio settled himself in his chair, readying himself for what was to come:

"There is a darkness in me, in all of us, probably. Guilt I have kept caged away for a long time now. But I fear the chains that once held my shame have grown weak. I can no longer keep the damn beast at bay."

The whispers began to rise in volume as the nobles looked from the King to each other with confused glances. Only Prince Cesare's face remained stoic and unmoving, his dark eyes locking with his fathers, silently willing him to continue:

"Killing wears all possible costumes, and in our society there is no death, no murder that is better than any other. If you can kill a man, the manner hardly bears consideration. But if you kill a King, as I have done… you think it will make your sleep easier for the next ten years if you can say you did it honourably. But your honour is blackened by regicide, and no amount of high-sounding formalities will make it white again."

Claudio sighed deeply, his face showing the age and weariness of a far older man. These thoughts were no new revelation, at least not for him; they had always been there, ever since he saw the blood gushing from Menelaus' chest.

"I wish to find forgiveness in the eyes of the Gods by the only way I know how: by terminating the banishment of the Lady Luciana Vasari." Startled cries reverberated around the room as some nobles wept for joy while others shook their heads in dismay. Lysander laughed loudly, his still drunken mind unable to see the seriousness of the matter while his brother remained close by his side, silently reeling from his fathers' declaration.

Of course there were rumours, there always were and Cesare made it his business to know them all. Yet nothing had quite prepared him for this. Some of the braver courtiers would say the King was mad, bringing back a girl who was the undeniable yet unacknowledged Queen of Illyria. No one knew anything about her besides her age, name and birth right; her character and looks were totally unaccounted for. Perhaps she will be a plain and meek little creature. I fear for the kingdom if she proves otherwise.

Hi, sorry that it's been a while and that this chapter is a bit short by my standards. Hope you liked it though and I'm going to try to update a bit more regularly :) I will be crossing over into Westeros soonish, so hang on in there, just need to build up the story a bit more here in Illyria :) Review please! xx