Thanks to everyone who has been reading.

Please R&R!

Chapter 3

If the Asturian nobility were stuffy, their accommodations were doubly so. Even in the vast space of the banquet hall, Van Fanel felt claustrophobic. Formalities on top of formalities. Forced conversation with anyone of rank. Torture upon torture. They had all been quite intrigued with him but all too proper to ask anything to his face, so the young king had been subjected to any number of comically discrete stares and whispered conversations.

It didn't help that he felt like a poor country boy in the presence of the infinitely more sophisticated aristocracy. He couldn't remember any occasion in Fanelia that ever called for such overdone formality. Who the hell in their right mind got so dressed up for supper? Even an important supper…

Thank God for Dryden. If there was ever a man who refused to conform to the horrid fashion of high society, it was Dryden. The former merchant had been quick to rescue Van from an overwhelming sea of whispers only to deliver him into the only possible place that promised to be even more awkward. The supper table.

It seemed the Asturian king took great pleasure in offering Van his seat… a seat at the side of one Celena Schezar. The girl had giggled at his blushes and poked fun at his manners, trying in vain to force him to crack a smile. But how could he smile at her? Even if it was foolish, he still could not help but feel on edge in her presence. Even two years had not cured him of a healthy sense of paranoia.

As soon as the dishes had been cleared, he managed to slip through the crowd and make his way into the gardens. No lanterns had been lit that evening for it had been anticipated that the nobility would remain inside, away from the chilly night air. It was just as well. Van needed no further spotlight that evening. Once he had rounded the large hedges that hid the main gardens from the sight of the palace, he took hold of his collar, undoing the laces so he might breath with more ease. Damn the Asturians and their demands on fashion.

He had only lingered at the edge of the fountain for a few moments, one foot braced against the damp stone when he felt the familiar tingle of nerves that often accompanied that awful feeling that one was being watched.

"I do believe you are afraid of women, Van Fanel." A pair of black ladies dress shoes stepped up onto the cold stone of the fountain and proceeded to prance their way around the rim, heedless of the slickness brought on by the splash of water.

"Pardon?" The word was nearly choked out when he realized who had followed him, dark eyes lifting slowly, almost fearfully to meet a pair of laughing blues. "Afraid of women?"

"Don't bother to deny it." Celena dropped back to the path after having ringed the fountain once and began to stroll at a leisurely pace, gloved fingers reaching out to caress the rose bushes as she passed. "I watched you. When Lady Florae's daughters greeted you, you turned as red as flame." She turned to pace back the way she had come, fingers still dancing over the flowers. "And you refused to look at me throughout supper. You still won't look at me. You're afraid."

"I'm not afraid of women!" Van hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but he very much disliked this girl speaking to him as if he were no more than silly boy trying to play at being grown.

"Then why won't you talk to me?" She had closed in on him so quickly, Van had no hope of turning away without ultimately proving her right. Perhaps that had been her plan. Perhaps she meant to look at him in just such a manner that would make him feel sick with guilt.

When she received no answer, the girl rolled her eyes, giving a sigh meant to sound exaggerated. "You know, onii-sama told me you were still too immature for me to expect much, but I didn't believe him. You know how he is. He thinks all women are in love with him. But I told him he was wrong. I told him that Van Fanel was charming and chivalrous in his own right and just because he didn't want to make women swoon didn't mean he wasn't just as worthy of them."

"Onii-sama talks about you a lot. He tells me in Fanelia you don't care so much about rank. That you'd just as easily talk to your laborers as you would the nobility. I'm not allowed to talk to anybody. Just the other day I talked Gaddes into taking me down to the harbor and we sat down in one of the taverns for a little while. Onii-sama was furious with him for exposing me to that. Of all the ridiculous things to worry about, ne?" She paused a moment, then, flashing him a bit of a smile. "But all that aside, you shouldn't be scared of me. I'm not going to bite you."

Despite her best efforts, Van had still only managed to stare blankly, wondering just how he was expected to reply to such a barrage. "Ah… I never thought you would… I just…" Just what? Thought she was going to shove a dagger in his back? Thought she was going to somehow become that monster again and…

"I'm sorry, Van… I probably shouldn't have come out here to bother you. I just couldn't stand to be in there a moment longer and I thought, where better to go than the gardens… with you…"

The awkward silence that followed only served to make things worse and so after a few moments, Celena smiled brightly again and started to step backwards towards the palace. "I should probably get back before onii-sama tears the place apart looking for me." She started towards the door, but paused for a moment just before she would have passed him.

A gloved hand came to rest against his cheek for a moment, a tender, affectionate gesture before it turned teasing, patting his cheek twice as if she were scolding. Then she grasped her skirts, retreating to the palace at a light trot.

One of the monotonous duties often handed off to the youngest of the Knights was that of pointless guard. At least such boring assignments were only dolled out to the Knights on the advent of important diplomatic occasions. Mostly they were there as a living decoration, a display of all things Asturian: power, grace, and chivalry. So then, Baedan wondered, why wasn't that god among men, Allen Schezar forced to stand outside a door for hours on end and look pretty?

Talks had begun just after breakfast, meaning that Baedan had been expected at his post before breakfast. This had left him time only for a small bite to eat and a few minutes to wash his face. Sure, he could have gotten up a bit earlier, but who wanted to do that? He would only have to look alert when the nobles were looking his way, though he was certain their thoughts would be too busy with that morning's talks to notice one of the knights looked slightly scruffy.

It had been a challenge to hold back his yawns as the parties filtered in. It had also been a bit of a challenge not to smirk a bit at all the passing dignitaries. There had been Dryden Fassa, far too cheerful for such an ungodly hour. Just on his heels came the King of Fanelia, not even bothering to hide his yawns. Baedan guessed kings had the luxury of yawning where knights did not.

Behind Fanelia came a trio of men clothed in the traditional black cloaks that designated them as Madoushi. With them was a lone representative of the Zaibach military. It would have been an understatement to say the men gave Baedan the creeps. More specifically, they made his skin crawl. He had never seen one of the Madoushi before, and though he'd heard tales of secret experiments conducted in dark towers, he still hadn't expected them to be quite so… menacing. For once it was a pleasure to keep his eyes straight ahead. So intent was he upon avoiding the gaze of the Madoushi, that he failed to observe their figurehead military escort, who cast a rather curious glance at the young knight.

He was young, as far as generals went, the youngest member of the former ruling tribunal. Only in his mid-thirties and still in his fighting prime, Turi Esteban was useful not only as a figurehead, but also as a reluctant bodyguard. The Madoushi would only accept such a young man on the promise that he would ward them should Asturia prove to be traitorous. While he would have much rather put his sword in their backs, Esteban agreed to their terms, if only because the Madoushi were something akin to roaches. It never mattered how many you killed, for they multiplied at an exponential rate.

The head of the Madoushi delegation, in fact, the head of the entire order called himself Aldon. Like many of the elder Madoushi, he was secretive and mysterious, though as time progressed and the tower filled to overflowing with students, more and more of his pupils thought it nothing more than an act. Aldon liked the idea of power. He liked having knowledge no other living man possessed and more than anything, he liked holding back from the greedy minds of his colleagues. He maintained an aloof air, only speaking when spoken to and all but ignoring his two younger companions.

The Madoushi Emil was only just past his thirtieth year, but already looked well into his fortieth. He had never quit been as skilled with fate as Dornkirk's chosen few and though he made heartfelt attempts at improving his performance, it was only after many senior Madoushi died in the Fate Wars that his effort was recognized. Of course, this was mainly due to the lack of remaining Madoushi to carry out the tower's wishes. Still, he had a knack for certain menial tasks and was as dedicated a follower as one could wish. His high rank was tentative, at best. It would have been even more so if not for the support of his colleague, Corbett.

Corbett was young, just past his twentieth birthday, but already high in the Madoushi chain of command. He had entered the tower only three years prior and already his ambition and quick mind had put him in reach of even Aldon's much exalted position. Of course, he had never openly claimed to be pursuing rank, yet oddly enough he had supporters throughout the various ranks of the tower, a secret which the Madoushi kept tightly under wraps. Allowing their enemies to see any fracturing in their ranks would prove disastrous for either faction. Of course, this also prevented Aldon from seeking outside allies and thus his position, though still official, grew more precarious by the hour.

Baedan's avoidance of the Madoushi set his gaze much more quickly upon the next party to enter. The young Duke of Freid was exchanging whispered words with an advisor of sorts, a man cloaked in the ceremonial robes of the Freidan priesthood. The boy, though he looked very familiar, was only granted the briefest of glances. His attention was focused instead on the advisor. There was nothing unusual about the man on first glance, just a typical member of the priesthood, cloaked in orange, but the mere sight of him sent Baedan's stomach into chaos.

The churning was followed by an overwhelming stench, forcing the young knight to raise a hand to his face, covering mouth and nose. Vision blurred and the last thing he recalled was the startled voice of the young Duke, startlingly familiar for a boy he'd never met. "Are you all right? Sir Knight?"