Cedar's ears flicked forward and backward uncomfortably, while he shifted uneasily on the bench.

He was torn between equally valid moral imperatives, that were sadly, all mutually exclusive, and he was unable to make a determination which one he should act on.

Should he give the confused and clearly forgetful girl some of his bread? No-- That would be an insult to the baker, giving away his own goods, inside his own store.

Should he simply keep the bread all to himself? No-- That would be insufferably and criminally selfish....

Should he give the bag to the baker, and let him decide? No-- That too, would be an insufferable insult to the baker, and his hospitality.... Returning a gift was not acceptable.

Unable to come to a decision, he simply twitched uncontrollably like a fidgety child, while blinking and looking around the room with increasing levels of unease.

"If you need to use the privy, Mr bear, I am sure the proprietor would not object--" hazarded the prince helpfully, further flustering the bear.

"n.nah..." he stammered, fidgeting more obviously, until the girl left--

Finally, he worked up the resolve to address the baker. "I'm surry I cost ya a sale jus' naow..." he stammered. "---.... Still has some bread left.... I's sorry..."

The elven man frowned only slightly, not because he was offended, but because the stammerings bear in front of him make him kinda flabbergasted.

"What are you talking about?" he groaned. "You worried over nothing. I sold the stuff to you because they were simply what you asked for, a bag of old bread. Even if I still have the stock you have now, I would not sell my inferior produce to them, or let them have it. Nah, I'd rather let those York kids come back tomorrow, buy the freshly baked ones, and undoubtedly be satisfied with what they get rather than having them go home now with stale bread."

Yvonne wasn't there for most of the conversation, but she stared weirdly at the bear. What the heck sets him off to that rant? Half of it flew right over her head with the accent too, but he certainly wasn't too pleased with the two elves... oh well, none of her business as of now.

"Sure doc, right behind you." Strolling straight for the good doctor, the mercenary spared one last glance to the occupants of the room before shrugging. "So, what did I missed? Sounds a bit heated just now."

Maybe a little more than just a bit.

"Yes, what was that all about, Mr Bear?" asked the prince, with a somewhat concerned expression.

"Oh, Ain't nut'in all 'AT serious!" he cat called back at Yvonne, before realizing how foolish, or worse, 'behaviorally unstable', he must have just looked. He cast his head down a bit, then muttered a sheepish response to the prince.

"S.. sorreh. I tries suh hard tuh always does deh right thang.. sumtimes I dunno what's deh right thang tuh do. Sumthin' big like meh, peoples often 'lookin' fer sum reas'n tuh boot meh out deh door, ya knows?... 'Em folks.. Dey dun seem da quickest, ya asks me.. but lossa people dun think 'at 'bout muhself, ya know? -- 'ey jus' wan'ed sum bread, like any odder custom'r would... So dey came a bit late?-- So'd I-- Baker sol' me a big ol' bag a bread. Why I any bett'r 'an dey is? Just acause I gots 'ere firs? Ask'd nicer mebbeh? 'At ain't right, now is it? But 'en, if'n I gives 'em sum, dis here be da baker's place! What it say, I given em folks da baker's own bread, in is own damn house, fer free? Ya dig? Some folks'd say I should jus' not care, but at aint da way it is... I cares 'bout evry-buddy, e'en peoples as 'a bit slow on deh uptake', ya unnerstand? An on toppa dat-- My poppa taught meh tuh not be stingy, an' shares what I gots, cause livin' hard fer everybody."

He made a sheepish smile then flicked his ears.

"Lissn' tuh me.. Prattlin' on. Talk'd moar tuday an I norm'lly does in a month."

His head swung just a little toward, and down, toward the prince sitting next to him.

"How 'bout you, li'll fellar? You e'er get dumbstruck by no-win sit'yations?--What yer homelife like? (but keeps discreet, 'cause we in public.)--Say? Ya wan' sum bread? Likes uh said-- got sum lef'!"

His eyes practically sparkled with the offer, while patting the coarse vegetable sack just behind him with a free paw.

---

“Just some minor squabble about morality.” said Solomon as he led Yvonne up the stairs. “As Cedar says, nothing too serious.” Solomon chuckled. He found the vacant room and held the door for his injured ally. After she went in, Solomon followed, closing the door behind him. After making sure he had all he needed, he was ready to get to work.

“Now, we just need to remove your garment and take a look.” Behind the closed door, Solomon did what he needed to. After several minutes, he was done. The wounds properly cleaned and the bandages changed. Hopefully this meant no further itching. At least not until they reached Rascade.

Jazdia stood idly in front of the crackling hearth, sipping the last portion of the tea. Everyone else was talking, some else were tending to injury. It was Matilda who remained in silence, sitting alone without uttering a single word, keeping an eye at the prince who was currently exchanging banter with Cedar.

Pouring another cup, Jazdia moved to the counter and sat on one of the stools.

"Greetings, what can I... oh it's you."

"Were you expecting somebody else?"

"In this premises? Probably more 'usuals' sent by a certain stubborn patriarch, but that seems like a stretch. I think he is currently more concerned with an escaped royal rather than a small business run by a single father. What about you? Done with the words of wisdom already?"

The elf shook her head. "Did you not see who just entered?"

"The old you wouldn't care.

"The old me huh--" For the first time in a while, Jazdia raised her voice as if a surge of emotion overwhelmed her. But it quickly faded, and her composure returned.

"People changes, Dwain. It would takes more than a bunch of verbiage to change minds. That 'something more' is what I don't have now."

"You still have. Maybe not as convenient as it used to." the elven man shifted to the edge of his long table, picking a pinch of thyme, dropping it into the cauldron, then back to her again.

"Sizeble enough to run an entire mafia. Don't count me on that though..."

Jazdia lets out a half-hearted chortle. There was a long pause after that until Baker started again.

"Do you regret it?"

That was a question of the decade. The question that she could never answer with words. She remembered when she decided to retire, she was tired and weary. Justice could never be perfect, that was one thing, but the endeavor to get there was usually full of people squabbling with each other to uphold their own version of justice. Then you have politics that demands leniency and deception on the enforcement of the law, all in the name of stability. Her heart could not stand it anymore.

But here she was and she wondered what kind of answer this would be. It was said most elves had given up their canonical role as the enforcer of the celestial law since the time of inception, yet the impulse still remained within her, and it felt like an addiction.

"I am not sure."

"The uncertainty that is only on words, and not in action."

Baker's smugness became more intense Jazdia quickly realized what happened. That her musings had allowed him to read her mind. Blushing, she turned away and reached for her purse, smacking five coins on the counter so hard it made a loud thud.

"Oh shut up already!"

Dwain took the coins without counting them. Still smiling, but this time combined with a mischievous head shake.

"Won't feel bad if I were you. The way I see it, this time it was the trouble that finds you. And your 'addiction' simply kicked in. Can't say it was a bad thing. To have one peaceful nation is a blessing. It makes everyone, including you sleep better at night."

Suddenly Jazdia was lost for a word. He glared at Baker, glared so intensely this time he should be able to read what she was thinking. To say interventionism brought peace was a simplified outlook at best. Did he not remember what they did at Tretagor?

"On the flip side, The decision to not give a damn is still up to you." Baker avoided eye contact with his former boss, sighing before continuing in a more apologetic tone. "Fred will ask for more favor, sure but you have the capability to tell him to shove it. Pardon my words. You will still suffer a loss from your investment though."

Simultaneous steps could be heard when Solomon and Yvonne made their way down from the second floor. Baker shrugged one more time before telling Jazdia that he was out of words of wisdom to prattle. Of course with his sarcastic humor and all.

[GM Post]

For lack of better things to do, the prince simply sat along and listened to the bear. The others seemed to be busy with their own thing, and this place... likely was secure. Elves were a rarity outside their territory, and for the two of them to be under this roof? What's with one being apparently the local baker? Why, that didn't sounds like a coincidence.

"Well, the baker said that you paid for it. So it's yours, is it not?" The little prince may not have much worldly experience, but he had enough lessons and practice to draw from. Indecision was indecision, whether it stems from overthinking or not thinking enough. Decide firmly, and deal with the consequences as one should. "What you do with it is not his business any longer. Well, I suppose reselling or gifting it in his presence is rude but if you're really willing to you could chase them and make the offer outside." A glance to the door. "You can probably catch up with them still, if you hurry."

As if putting the advice into practice immediately, the bear made the offer right off the bat. The boy grinned approvingly at the improvement, nodding in acquiescence at the offer.

"I've had a lot of dillemas presented as lessons. Sometimes one can only choose the least bad option and deal with the problem that comes with it, but that's life isn't it?" Clear eyes scanned the vegetable sack, recalling how the baker described the bread as. On the other hand, hunger was a powerful motivation... "I've never eaten stale bread before, but there's a first time for everything. I'll have one, please. And thank you."

Cedar smiled with amusement and satisfaction.

"Naww-- All thangs bein' equal, I'd go offer like ya says, but at door dun closed. All 'a us gots ta stay righ' 'ere, (wit' you), until we gits ya home. Ain't no 'mount a bread wort' 'at kinda risk. S'like muh poppy tol' meh, 'oppurtun'ty only knock onced.' "

He perked up and smiled pleasantly-- just the faintest bit of teeth showing.

"Naow, wut's dis 'bout ne'er havin' ol' bread? Ya family not e't it, like mine er summat? Hell-- E'en 'en, I's 'as had ol' bread afore. At's silly talk. Ain't nuttin' special naow, but it ain't all at bad ei'er, --when done up righ' at is. Takes fer instance, ya heats it up in da oven, after yas cuts it in half, and slathers it wit' butter 'n mushed up garlic. Mmmm.. Good stuff. oooh! Or yas soaks it in eggs 'n milk, and bakes it wit' honey. Mmmm. at's good tuh.. Heck, jus' a bit ago, me an a nice ol' fellar from taown wuz eatin' it wit' some nice hot soup-- Sadleh, we dun e't all da soup.... But I bets da baker fellar here gots butter 'n garlic. Dun hurt ta ask--"

He beamed excitedly like a child, then whipped his head around (the other way, away from the prince) to catch sight of the baker.

"I dun wanna be a pest, but could we gits sum butter 'n minced garlic, Mr Baker? Won't ask fer nutin' else, promise!"

The baker raised his fingers. He was chopping assortments of boiled cow skin and tripes when Cedar came up with a new request.

"A moment, okay."

Baker was very detailed when it comes to a proper kitchen protocol, down to the smallest detail. No contaminations allowed even if it was just the aromas. A butter should smell like butter and Garlic should smell like garlic. So when they asked for garlic and butter, he first set aside his current chopping board, get a new one, wash the knife, and only by then he could start chopping the garlic. After securing the minced herb into a small glass saucer, he washed his hand again, kneeled, and brought up a small block of butter from a container and place it in a different sauce.

Such an elaborated procedure understandably makes the process quite long, but thankfully the patron this time was very patient.

"Here you go, pal." he chimed, exchanging a glance toward the young blonde boy who seemed to be getting along very well with the beastman.

"And you must be Alec." he said with a playful smirk, handing the boy a clean spoon. "Well of you go before that shieldmaiden of yours noticed."

"ooh-- Ya in fer a treat!" tittered the bear, as he slid off the end of the bench, scooped up the bag over his shoulder, then gently took the saucer of butter and small condiment dish of minced garlic (along with the spoon it contained), and playfully swayed as he walked over to the fireplace.

"Pardon meh Ma'am!" he said jovially to Jazdia, working around her while setting the dishes on the mantle temporarily while he worked with the bread, tearing some of the nicer looking baguette loaves down their center, then dressing them with the condiments with care, before placing them on the wrought iron log rack that held the logs safely within the fire pit; Just close enough that the heat of the embers would be sufficient to toast the bread, if monitored carefully, but not so close as to get ashes on them, or to fall into the fire.

After a few minutes, he fished them out again. He tore a generous slab free of one of the toasted baguettes and offered it to her, but she politely declined. 'Full of pirozhki' she explained politely. Unphased, he offered the same slab to the Baker, who smirked, but graciously accepted the morsel, before he returned to the table, and started handing out slabs of the prepared treat.

"'Ere ya go, li'll fella." he said with a smile, handing the hot treat to the prince, before moving down the line. "An' you too ma'am" he said to Matilda, continuing the procession down the table.

Soon everyone who wanted a piece had taken one, and he returned to his perch at the table with the remainder, where he sat it down, then returned to the fireplace to collect the dishes for their return to the Baker, before finally returning to his seat.

Almost two hours had already passed, and Matilda seemed all too eager to get back on the road. Jazdia agreed with that proposition and asked everyone to be prepared.

Still using the same formation, the party continued their journey with moderate alertness. The road between Hdur and the capital city should be considerably safer now, though Jazdia wouldn't discount a potential ambush no matter how small that was. She instructed Kaito to maintain the usual speed.



00:20 A.M.
Rascade City Outskirt, Kingdom of Kindeance.

It was well past midnight now and nothing unusual was afoot. The dimmed light from torches and lamps adorning the city battlements could already be seen from the distance. The wagon slowed gradually and stopped in front of the city gate. There, no less than ten men manned their stations, four blocked the way. The others stood in the battlements with muskets and crossbows

"Halt!' commanded one of the soldiers toward the already halted convoy. He had his pike pointed diagonally toward the incoming stranger. And there he came forward, a herald of the bone-grinding bureaucracy. "The city's closed, no passage!"

"Good night! We are here for official business." reasoned Jazdia, who had positioned herself between the carriage and the line of guards. To her, their cautiousness was understandable.

"Official business you say? With a bear? Elf? And that funny-looking foreigner over there? So a wandering circus is an official guest now?"

"Yes. That's our pet bear, our ringmaster, and that lady riding behind me is our tumbler." Jazdia paused for a breath and winked. "While I am the juggler."

"Yeah, you don't say!" said the other guard, glaring at her condescendingly."Like I will buy that bullcrap. Juggler my arse, don't even have enough tits to juggle."

Before Jazdia considered blasting these grunts to pieces. the first guard interjected. "What, ow who's inside the carriage?"

"Our mime artist and the manager."

"Come now, ma'am, do you want to enter or---"

"Hey, what's the holdup!?"

Like a roaring lion, Matilda's helmeted head emerged from the carriage window and shouted. It took some time for the stationed guards to realize who was that before hurriedly retreating aside. The rest was scurrying for a gate lever.

The metal portcullis rattled as its chains came to life and lifted it upward. The wagon immediately rolled inside. Jazdia however stayed behind to pester the frightened guards some more.

"No need to apologize. I see that you are still maintaining the old standing order. I assume Your Highness hasn't elected anyone to replace Lord Aaron Delving yet?"

The guard shook their heads. Some said they don't know, while others commented that no further order was coming from the top since three days ago, which was not only strange but also resulted in the day-to-day routine going into disarray.

"The bombing case too." added one of the guards right before Jazdia set off. "The investigation was stopped, and it makes people kinda riled up."

Still behind the wagon, Jazdia took a rather sharp turn at the next crossroad. Taking a longer and more scenic route to see the state of the city for herself. She had to accelerate her horse in a constant gallop in order to arrive at the palace in a timely manner.

The streets were calm, almost peaceful and no strays could be seen. Even the famed Black Swan Tavern was deserted, its dazzling lights radiates throughout their closed windows and the only soul there was a seemingly immutable bouncer guarding their front door.

When Jazdia reached the Plaze, it was again, empty and it was not supposed to be like that. The darkened interior of The Angel's Share and a CLOSED sign on its door would warrant Lucas a hefty penalty this morning, and she was sure of it.

Calm, peaceful, and normal. As she rode straight through the main road, she wondered how far she would go to do her part to maintain this normalcy. The stability of the land that was not her own. And for that bried while Jazdia forgot that she was retired.

Jazdia was just a minute late when she reached the palace. The carriage had just been taken off somewhere with all its passengers already climbing the stairs toward the main door. The elf followed suit. No welcoming ceremony, and no flowers or yells or anything. And no spies as well as far as her eyes could see. They returned, in silence, like thieves, and ironically with the next crown walking with them. What an interesting turn of events it was.

Matilda led the group, and Fredricus' personal chamberlain received them once they entered the main hall. Some servants followed the man and quickly flanked Prince Alec with Matilda closely guarding him.

"His Highness will be eternally grateful." said the man pompously. "But I am afraid your rewards will have to wait for his Higness' wisdom. You will be summoned when the time is due. Please follow the servants, they will take you to your chambers."

The castle was a different place at night, for sure. His muscles ached from riding the top of the carriage the rest of the way here, but the short walk from the royal stables, where they had disembarked, and the carriage parked, provided a moment of succor. The plantlife he had sewn to test out the mysterious seeds Henry had given him were still healthy and verdant, draped over the far side of the structure, and over the nearby fence, just where he had left them. For some reason, this was calming and pleasing to him.

Groomsmen had been alerted to their approach, and stood by to claim, brush, and wash the animals (as stabling them hot and wet with sweat was a great way to permanently damage their health), and to unfasten them from the carriage. As Cedar climbed down from the top, he overheard this initial reception speaking with Dame Matilda, the latter cold, and sharp eyed as always. He had come to recognize a look of exhaustion and weariness about her movements that was subtle, and only a predator like himself would notice. The woman would deserve several days of leave after this, possibly more.

"--Your bear will have to.." a bearded and mustachioed man in groomsman's livery was matter-of-factly recounting to the exhausted orcess, as he clamored down, then started collecting his clothes and other belongings.

"Hafta whut?" he interjected curiously but pleasantly, while leaning over "schnitzel"'s saddle bags, collecting his boots-- The horse giving him unpleasant and frightened eyes with him back there.

The man stopped talking abruptly, blinked in the dark, shook his head and upper body in confusion, and made no effort to conceal his attempts to look harder.

"Thought I were a reg'l'r bear now, didn'tcha?" he chuckled, before extracting the very large beating stick out from under the travel roll, beside the left-flank saddle bag. "Nearly e'rybody at sees muh nekkid does. Don' feel tuh bad, come in handy sumtimes--- It allright I sits 'ere, an' gits dis clean?" He patted the robe slung over his left shoulder with the massive pair of leather boots he had in his right hand, while leaning on the oversized staff in the left. "it way tuh dirty tuh wear righ' naow, an' we dinn'a have time tuh wash up proper afores we book'd it up 'ere."

He started his slow, somewhat hobbling walk back toward the carriage, taking a short moment to look at the horse he had been interacting with to retrieve his belongings, then giving it a gentle nuzzle. It planted all four legs, threw its ears back, and snorted indignantly at the contact--Head jerking up and back in alarm. "Oh lay off-- Ain't as bad as all 'at." he drawled testily, before giving its neck a pat. "you knowed it were commin', an' at I aint gunna e't ya.. ..calm daown yous... 'Ats it.. Good poneh.."

The heavy-set groomsman just stood slack-jawed and flabbergasted, while blinking incredulously at what he was witnessing. The very idea of a bear trying to act like groomsman, or a loving owner, for the horse -- combined with the fact that it had just talked (at some length), while carrying items like a man would had him questioning reality, and wondering if he needed to check his ale cup for black mold or not.

"Ignore master Cedric" intoned the orcess frostily, and completely unphased by the display, as the bear-man sauntered up to the small meeting.

"..Whuy e'erywun keep callin' meh 'Cedric'?.." he muttered out loud. "..Muh name's Cedar..."

He shook his head in idle confusion and amusement as he began to close in.

"---He's a bit, 'Rustic'.." she finished coldly, despite the interjection. The mustachioed and bearded man closed his mouth, and re-centered his attention on her then stood to attention. "Ma'am." he said with something resembling forced bravado. "Master 'CEDAR', shall accompany us to the castle, and 'SHALL NOT BE TARRYING HERE.'.. " she rounded her attention and part of her gaze at him, as he approached and fell in on her left side. "His majesty shall not be kept waiting, and certainly not on the whimsy of a naked bear in the garden, do you understand?" she said flatly at him. He wasn't sure he liked this side of Matilda. Regardless, the statement seemed to give the groomsman a noticeable degree of relief, and to be perfectly honest, it left him with hurt feelings. He didn't mean any harm to anyone, why did people always act scared of, or at least, very tense with him around? "You and your belongings shall get clean at the castle, as befits a royal guest. Anything less would be an insult to his majesty's courtesy, and shall not be suffered. Do not dally, and proceed with the others."

"..y... Yes ma'am!" he stammered, now his turn to blink and gawk confusedly for a moment, before following alongside Solomon, Yvonne, and the others further up, and away from the stables. He was very sure he did not like this 'strictly business' side of the orc woman, as he left her and the groomsman behind.

He looked over his shoulder, seeing the two converse tersely, before the man sharply slid his boots together, stood at attention, bowed, then set about his tasks as the other dismissed him, then rounded up the rear.

He noted that Jazdia had not met up with them yet, and he wondered what she was up to, after splitting off from the carriage upon entering town.

The prince seemed relieved and eager to be home, despite the peasant clothes he was wearing. He actually looked rather good in them, as he carried himself with a stance of dignity and poise not normally seen in someone so dressed, giving it a dramatic and impactful grace.

Cedar fell in behind the prince, Solomon and Yvonne at the front with Veronica and Kaito beside, leaving himself and and Matilda at the rear-- a veritable wall of bodies around the prince, as they walked in the dark toward the castle.

There wasn't much conversation, but he wondered just what kind of greeting he would get at the enormous and ornate doors, as they walked.

They were just approaching when Jazdia arrive out of the gloom, and seamlessly inserted herself toward the back with him, as Matilda silently advanced to the front at the last minute, as they went inside the strangely deserted, massive home.

Footsteps echoed off stone flooring when it wasn't muffled by carpets. He wasn't being shuttled in and out through service corridors this time, and saw more of the excessiveness of the edifice. The grand-hall, especially, left him feeling very strange and confused about the minds of full-blooded humans. The sheer amount of work and effort it would take to keep even just this one room clean, tidy, and in good repair, left him with a shiver. The thought of having that many people around, all the time... It made his skin crawl, and his fur to poof out impulsively. He struggled to contain the display without saying anything, but no small part of him was on high alert, wondering where all the necessary people were hiding. Further, the construction of the room was excessively ornate and polished-- Smooth marble walls and flooring, glossy finished wood working on the furnishings, colorful cloth banners hanging from far overhead down the walls, a massive fireplace that would take at enough wood to drive his own for a week.. Everything about it was alien, confusing, made absolutely no sense to him. It was like walking through a fever dream. Did the prince REALLY live here? He struggled to keep his ears forward, and his fur smoothed, focusing his concentration on that effort.

Finally, after what must have been going through half the massive home, the Chamberlain greeted them. Matilda and he did all the talking. Honestly, inside this place, he did not feel at all comfortable with talking anyway. Thankfully the meeting was brief.

Once again, he felt a pang of melancholy and anxiety as another member of their number took their parting way from them. First Reinhold at Hdur, and now the young prince, Alec.

He reminded himself that he really had not had time to properly get to know the boy, but pangs of worry and doubt still assailed him, with the boy leaving the safety of his sight and presence... He could not help himself. The impulse to care for children had been growing on him over the past few years, and along with the above reminders, he had to remind himself that the prince was not really a child anymore either, any more than Jorry really was. Still young, and in need of guidance, but not a child. The silent, internal self-admonishment did very little to curb the pang of almost parental concern and separation anxiety. He boggled at himself inwardly for having such feelings, then studiously suppressed them.

"His Highness will be eternally grateful." said the man pompously. "But I am afraid your rewards will have to wait for his Higness' wisdom. You will be summoned when the time is due. Please follow the servants, they will take you to your chambers."

... Quarters? ...

The thought danced through his head like a splash of cold water. Were they REALLY going to make him sleep, in.... this place? what did that even MEAN? Where? How?...

His attention to the here and now snapped into place like a steel trap around an unsuspecting leg. There was a cluster of about 8 or so women in brown woolens over white linen undergarments, each sporting a linen apron, in uniform, tidy attire. They almost seemed like part of the furnishings of this place, and the thought of that sent a chill through him.

Humans as furnishings.

His thoughts immediately flicked back to Jorry, and the words she had used, calling him 'master.' His stomach turned. He knew rich people liked to show off, but this... this bothered him deeply, and was a thing he could not at all comprehend being considered normal, let alone right, proper, or decent.

The group of women seemed to effortlessly part, each splitting up and adjoining beside one of their number, before the final set seemed to have a subtle, but still noticeable disagreement or squabble. The one on the left purposefully stepped on the foot of the one on the right, before gliding off to adjoin Doctor Solomon, leaving just him and the last of the women to look at each other nervously.

He could tell from her expression that she was tense, and she reeked of fear and apprehension beneath a strong smelling rose water perfume.

"If you will accompany me.. Mister.." she intoned demurely, but guardedly, as if unsure he would even understand being spoken to.

"Cedar, ma'am."

She froze for only the tiniest fraction of a second, brown eyes widening then returning to normal in the tiniest fraction of a second. His own apprehension had his senses keenly in sharp focus, and he noted everything about her. She moved stiffly, and with trepidation. The corners of her mouth were downturned and a bit stiff with a clenched jaw, her movements were fluid, but the tenseness of her muscles showed through the shape of the sleeves of her gown, all adding to the scent of her fear. This woman was terrified of him, and doing everything she could to not show it.

"Master Cedar." she recovered gracefully, before making a gentle bow. "Your quarters shall be in the East wing, in one of the garden green rooms. If you will accompany me, please."

Worriedly, he fell in behind the woman, struggling to contain his own instinctual fear and uncertainty about being led away from the others in this unnatural and labyrinthine house, alone, isolated, and potentially outmatched-- Thoughts of being jumped, subdued with a blunt blow to the head, and being drug to the dungeons scurried like rats behind his eyes. He decided that it would be prudent to break the tension with his escort as they walked.

"Uh apol'agize fer arrivin' in such a state uh.... 'undress.'.." He timidly ventured. "Muh clothes got tuh dirteh tuh wear... Truth be tol', I ain't much cleaner... When we gits where'er we goin, .. Kin I get 'is wash'ed?"

Humans tended to fare better mentally around him when he wore the robes his father had made for him for that purpose, and almost always confused him for a wild bear from out in the woods that understood even LESS about what to do or how to act inside a person's house than he did. At least he knew that you shouldn't just take stuff that smelled like food, or to damage the walls, floors, or furniture out of curiosity. Attempts at dissuading such actions, or in convincing the beasts to leave, almost always degraded into 'standing your ground' instinct from them, and then to open confrontation with the humans, who really just wanted such bears to "go away." For some reason, wearing clothes was sufficient to override these deeply ingrained behaviors in humans he met, and made interacting with them much easier, and much more pleasant-- but much like he knew he should not be a poor guest inside somebody's home, he knew that meant not wearing or tracking in mud, dirt, or grime was simple courtesy-- leaving him in just is fur, in the here and now, which was sadly, NOT simple courtesy.

The woman hesitated a moment, then stopped, and turned to address him in the hall.

"You... You are concerned about your attire, sir?" she asked, struggling, as if searching for the correct words to say.

"I's moar concerned 'bout you lot..." he said gently. "I dun esactly look like no 'guest' witout muh clothes on.. an 'ese is too dirteh tuh wear inside. Would git dirt 'ereywhere." He made a plaintive expression; head tipped forward and down, ears, half-mast, with a slight frown. "I's sorreh. .. I ain't dang'rous... Dun want no trouble..."

The tension radiated from the woman was palpable. He could tell she was looking at him with a renewed interest, quickly scanning him top to bottom before meeting his worried gaze, and perhaps for the first time, noticing it was worried, and not vicious or bestial. It felt.. Unsettling.. to be taken in like that.

Abruptly she smiled.

"A bashful bear? That's a new one. Clarissa will be speechless."

His worried expression instantly became one of confusion. He felt his head turn slightly to the right instinctively, before he could press his eyes shut, his head straight, and his fur and ears forward and flat again respectively. He opened them again, and once more felt his ears flick back in worried bewilderment as she started chuckling at him.

"You are not at all what I expected." she said pleasantly, as she resumed walking in front of him. "Your quarters are further this way; Down the corridor, then to the right, then left at the intersection. They overlook the gardens, and have a lovely view of the sunrise."

She chortled bemusedly, but discretely. "you attire shall be attended to. If you will follow me please."

His feelings of trepidation renewed, but he could not fully ascertain why. For some reason, she was giving off an aura of mischief now, rather than stark terror. It reminded him of his sisters, and that worried him, but he said nothing.

Silently he followed her down the maze of halls and doors, before stopping outside a large one with a white enameled wood finish and a large brass handle.

"This is your quarters, Master Cedar." she said professionally, with just a hint of mischievous smirk, before motioning gracefully at the door. "Please, step inside."

He double-taked, looking at her, then at the door, then at her again, before cautiously reaching for the large handle. It felt small and fragile in his hand, as everything human-sized did. Carefully, so as not to break it off the door on accident, he gave it a very gentle turn, until he felt the latch pop, and the door come free.

The room inside lived up to the earlier description-- "Green room". Rather than being filled with plants, it was a wash of bright green wall papering, carpets, and drapery, splashed with cream colored sheets and upholstery on the furnishings. Ornate illustrations in a very stylized rendering dominated the paper on the walls, only adding to the 'fever dream' quality of the building. It took him a moment to determine that they were supposed to be the leaves of plants and flowers, even though they bore only the faintest resemblance to the real things.

Inwardly, he commented that he much preferred the real things.

"We would normally draw up a bath for you, as our guest--" said the woman with a slight flutter of trepidation at the departure from obviously well-rehearsed protocol. "However.. There were... Difficulties in appropriating and stationing suitable.. accommodations on short notice. The green rooms are among the largest, but they are .. private.. and at the ends of long halls, like you saw outside. This poses a challenge to getting sufficient water and an appropriate basin drawn up. I was just informed by the grounds keeper before your arrival that he had been able to acquire a suitable basin, but the head-maid and the butler are .. not in agreement.. on how to deliver it to your quarters at this time. I can however, accept your garments for the laundry, Master Cedar."

"... aright.." he nodded, still bewildered and completely unsure of the room, or even how he was intended to sleep in it. The bed was large enough, but he had never used sheets before. His own "summer bed" at home, was essentially just a beaten and fluffed up mass of bedstraw, stuffed to the top into what could best be described as a "Bear sized corral" built into one of the corners to keep it contained. He changed out the bedding yearly in the fall, when the straw was fresh. In the winter months, he slept in the den under the flooring; essentially a large hole packed to bursting with dry papery leaves. They too, got yearly changing. He had no idea at all how to sleep on this pressed linen sheet with matching duvet and pillows ensemble he was presented with. Without looking, he handed the maid his folded over robes, which to her stature, was more like handing over a very large tarp, or an oversized quilt blanket. She opened the folds and winced at all the mud ground into the coarse linen.

"..And you were wearing this?" she asked, a bit unprofessionally. He paid it no mind-- he rather preferred it when she broke routine with her mannerisms.

"Wer' e'ery bit as dirty as it is--" he muttered. "Used a liv'ry brush ta gits most a it offn' meh... but I still real dirty. Havin' fur be right shit some times. I's afraid ta e'en touch da furn'chr."

Visions of having to perform a "Grand Laundry" of all the linens in this room after his stay danced like demonic spectres behind the woman's eyes, as she looked down at the "Thoroughly soiled" mountain of fabric in her arms, then at the worried looking bear. Abruptly, she realized he was worried about the same thing-- forcing her to have to work like that.

Bashful AND Chivalrous..How quaint! --But the vulgar language was definitely not a plus in his favor. Coarse and common. 'Very rural.' It reminded her of...

She smiled wickedly. "I believe there may be a solution to our predicament, Master Cedar, if you are willing to forgo the wait on the grounds keeper delivering your basin."

He looked at her confusedly. "While ... Not at all protocol... Since I must deliver your garments to the laundry in any case, it would be possible to get you clean and presentable there, just as easily as here, and have less.. 'Collateral damage.'"

She looked at him with a smug, but well suppressed look of bemused mischief, masked with the most studious outward presentation of perfect propriety. That feeling of being reminded of his sisters once again ruffled his fur.

"Unless you would prefer..." she continued, noting the involuntary fur fluff.

".. N.. .Naw... The sooners I gets 'is shit offn' meh, de less likely I is ta leave a mess." he stammered, before finishing with some degree of resolve. "Af'r you ma'am." he said, leaving his boots and the large stick propped against the wall just inside the door.

The chambermaid clucked an amused chuckle, then motioned for her charge to follow her back down the hallway, taking an entirely different path this time. Respectfully, Cedar closed the door to "his quarters" behind him, as they set off.

"The laundry is in the servant's quarter." said the maid matter-of-factly. "Through the Eastern service hall, then down the stair. There's a seep-spring fed from the garden above that feeds the laundry, so there's always a trickle of water. Useful in the winter, when everything's froze over."

He nodded in appreciation-- it was indeed a clever idea, though he himself never had need to do laundry in the winter months, his dad did, and he had been regaled numerous times about how "Complete and total horseshit" it was to "Haul buckets of freezing cold water through the snow" just to "get your underwear clean." (or to have to boil that much water, and or, melt that much snow or ice, to do it with.) Sadly, a seep spring underneath the house would be "wholly incompatible" with having a den under there. --A most unfortunate fact of ursine existence.

Going through one of the smaller doors, that was built and designed in such a way as to not draw attention to its presence (as he had come to learn ALL of the service access ways were), the grand and high ceilings of the hallways suddenly became cramped, and almost squalid in comparison. The contrast was shocking; Guests were never meant to go through here.

After a few attempts at staying upright and crouching to avoid dragging his head on the ceiling, he apologized to the woman leading him, then resorted to walking on all fours, much like he had been forced to do in the access ramp in the cellars at Fanghorn keep just hours prior.

"probably for the best" the woman quipped. "The stairwell is lower yet than the halls. You'd hit your head for sure, master Cedar. This way."

This was not his first time in the service corridors of the castle, but every time he had been through one, it had been a different place each time. This time was no exception, and he found he could not keep track of the twisted maze of corridors and stairs. Without the maid leading him, he could get lost for days in this place.

In time, the hall crossed two others, then down a rampway, then went past a set of unappealing stone steps next to a large, square wooden door.

"That is the stair to the laundry." the woman said, indicating the entryway. Cedar sniffed at the large square hatch, trying to identify its purpose. It had.. a large number of human smells all over it.. More than easily discernible. The woman seemed a bit cross at his hesitation, before grasping that he was confused by the laundry chute. "--That is for dropping soiled linens to the laundry." she said. "Unless you want a hard stop at the bottom, I suggest you not be too curious about it, Master Cedar. Please follow me."

As the pair descended the very narrow stairwell, the ceiling was indeed, very short. He could NEVER have stood upright when using it, and in honesty, had a fair bit of difficulty descending it. It was steep, and narrow, and if he was even just a bit wider, he may well have become lodged between the doorframe. This stair was meant for humans, and no added expense had been taken in its construction. The stone steps had worn divots in them from what was surely many many years of hard service. People had been using this stairwell for a VERY long time. A noticeable, and continuous swath of each wall was worn smooth where hands had touched it for support over its lifetime, further speaking of its ancient-ness. At the bottom, was yet another narrow constriction where the stone masonry let out into the laundry below.

"Good Evening Agnes." the maid called somewhat loudly. There was a cacophony of loud women's voices, the sounds of wet sloshing, repeated loud slaps, and an oppressive reek of ammonia in the laundry. Over the din, a loud and deep woman's voice boomed orders.

"Mind the silks Jamie, If you scrub them you'll ruin them-- Just let it sit--- DO NOT USE HOT WATER on that Candice-- you'll set the stain-- -- Oh-- Hello Melody, what brings you down to our little pit of despair?"

'Melody' was just about to introduce her 'guest', who had followed her down into the lamplit and humid laundry room, and was squeezing through the tight constriction of the doorway when a woman bumped into him carrying a load of soiled undershirts and frocks, then shrieked profoundly when she noticed 'what' she had run into.

"Th.. THERE'S A BEAR IN THE LAUNDRY!" she cried in a shrill, high pitched wail, dropping her burdens, then skidding backward away from the stairwell on her butt in dismay.

"Quickly Melody, Over here behind me-- I'll deal with it!" bellowed the woman who he assumed was 'Agnes'-- a burly, almost manish looking boulder of a woman who rippled with muscled arms and calves, with a wide face and jaw dressed in servant's livery hiked up around the knees and pulled back around the shoulders. Her apron and dress were saturated with moisture, and she reeked of ammonia. She had a rather imposing looking wooden paddle in her hands that she picked up without hesitation as she commenced closing in on the stair. Trapped in the doorway as he was, there would be no way to evade the woman's assault, if she followed through with her obvious plans to use the laundry bat on him.

"Agnes, STOP!" the maid pleaded, throwing herself in the way of the imposing woman. "This is a GUEST."

The activity of the laundry had come to a screeching halt with his arrival, and he felt a multitude of stares beating down on him. He contemplated if it was prudent to try backing up and withdrawing up the steep narrow stair behind him (as there was certainly NOT enough room to turn around, and he was still stuck halfway through the narrow 'door'.)

"THAT'S a GUEST?!" came the incredulous voice of an unnamed woman among the number, someplace out of Cedar's line of sight.

"So, Let me get this straight Melody-- You not only bring a 'GUEST' into the laundry, but a BEAR at that? What ARE you thinking?!" came another.

"... Perhaps dis be a bad idear..." he drawled mostly to himself, while struggling to determine what the proper strategy for this situation was. ".. I... I thinks I shud be goin'..."

"Oh my GOD! IT CAN TALK!"

---"I had heard rumors..."
...".. Is it really true they had a talking bear up there three days ago?"
"IMPOSSIBLE."

"SILENCE" bellowed Agnes, stifling the furtive and naked gossip. "Explain yourself, Melody. Make it good."

"This is Master Cedar." she said coolly and forcefully, still blocking further movement toward the stair behind her. "He is one of the 'people' that were involved in 'that matter we are not to discuss.'"

"Which one Melody, we haven't got all night." said Agnes crossly, now folding her huge and muscled arms over her square and blocky frame. Cedar made note that there must be a fair number of 'things not to discuss' in this place; a concept that gave him worried pause. What manner of secrets and plots were hatched in this huge house?

"The one involving the young master, of course, or did your slip and hit your head on the scalding pot again since two days ago? SURELY you heard---"

The imposing woman frowned and tightened her grip about her bustline menacingly, clenching her jaw as color stained her square cheekbones.

"--And why is he here?" she demanded.

"--He needs a bath--" she said flatly "--and his clothes washed." She held out his soiled robe like it was something that should have been clearly self-evident. "He says he is every bit as dirty as that-- and I have no reason to question him on it-- UNLESS OF COURSE, you WANT to do a Grand Laundry on the Huntsman's green-room on the Eastern wing?"

("it wears clothes?")
----("They're keeping it indoors?")
-("I for once actually feel sorry for the chamber-girls.")

"SHUSH."

Agnes leaned to the side, then uncrossed her arms to lean on the laundry bat to look around Melody, who was still blocking the ingress to the laundry, before leaning forward and taking the horribly soiled garment, and examining it, making a disgusted face, then addressing cedar directly.

"What were you doing to get this dirty, 'Master Cedar?'-- Nevermind-- Get in here, let's have a look at you."

He hesitated a moment, then very carefully twisted to one side, then the other to get his bottom through the narrow constriction, before turning, leaning on the stonework of the door, and standing upright. The laundry at least, had a high ceiling to control the dampness. After a moment, he turned, and carefully walked into the room and toward the large and imposing woman with more than a fair share of trepidation, taking in the previously obscured visages of more than a dozen similarly muscular women wielding large laundry bats. All eyes in the room were on him, and he felt more naked than ever. He and the woman exchanged eye contact for several seconds, her face an inscrutable mask of weighted calculation. Abruptly, she smirked, chuckled, then addressed one of her nearby staff.

"Back to work girls-- The washing wont wash itself!" She turned back to Cedar. "And you-- I assume you, at least CAN?"

"Y.. Yeah, I can." he stammered nervously, still eyeing about the room as the scary women resumed their work, beating on laundry, and gossiping a bit more furtively.

"GOOD! You-- Get him some soap and take him to the Rinse. If the head-maid finds out about this, it'll be all our heads. Be quick about it. Melody, we need to talk."

One of the laundresses dropped her bat against the wall, grabbed up a large yellow bar of lye soap, then pointed in the direction that must lead to 'the rinse.' She had a worried expression as though she was very unsure of this sudden change in her occupation, and did not seem at all eager to lead him deeper into the laundry. Others kept him fixed in their gaze, as they continued their dipping, squeezing, beating and scrubbing. He followed her through the large room to a place where the water collected and then fed out of the laundry through a large grate in the floor. A steady stream of water trickled over the side of a large cistern to join the flow. Several more laundresses were there, dunking clothes into the water then wringing them out again. "You three, out-- Agnes said. You- In." She handed him the block of soap, and pointed toward the cistern. The far wall was old and discolored, with a steady trickle of water running down it, and into the cistern, keeping it constantly fed, and flowing. The laundry women collected their burdens with confused looks, alternating between his 'guide', himself, and their business, as they hurriedly collected the washing they were rinsing out, then sploshing out of the cistern. At no time did the feeling of being studiously watched ever stop. At least 'the rinse' was in a tucked away portion of the laundry near the back, but he had a clear view of the rest of the laundry from there, and the converse was equally true.

He accepted the soap, then nodded understanding to the woman, before entering the cistern, sitting down in the water to get himself wet all over, then starting the process of lathering himself up to get clean. He was not really keen the ever-present sensation of being watched, however. She heaved a sigh of relief, then resumed her own duties among the throngs of women, quickly being lost in the jumble.

"...Better jus git dis over wit..." he muttered to himself before standing, leaning against the wall, and lathering himself up from head to foot. The suds were a profound brown color from the dried dirt stuck to his skin. It would take several washings to get actually clean. He contemplated if it would have been wiser to wait for "his basin" in the privacy of that overly large room, but the thought of getting this dirt on the plush cream carpeting in there, told him it would not have been appropriate to have done.

At the other end of the laundry, Agnes and Melody were deep in their discussion of the interruption to the laundry, and the entirely inappropriate nature of taking a guest into the servants quarter.

"--Olivia and Hudson are at logger-heads, Agnes. Hudson wants to drag in an old winepress to use as a bathtub, given the.. Proportions.. of our guest, and the old biddy will have nothing of the sort. You should have SEEN her face when the butler told her where he was going to be staying. He'd have been waiting a week, at least, to have his bath. Can you imagine what a week of his sleeping on the duvet in his current state would have done? -- Something HAD to be done Agnes."

"Bringing a guest, no matter how unusual, into the laundry is forbidden, Melody. We have ENOUGH problems trying to deflect certain.. Accusations.. about me and my staff down here from those harpies upstairs already, we do NOT need this."

She looked up and toward the rinse. The bearman was leaned against the wall, leaning down in a rhythmic cycle of washing and scrubbing on himself. The water and soap had flattened his fur, revealing that he was not at all what one would expect from a bear underneath, but also not exactly man-shaped either. He was some eye-wrenching admixture of the two, with a long torso and chest, combined with short, thickly muscled and oddly human-like arms and legs,heavy wide shoulders coming to a thick knot in his back, and a powerful looking wide bottom featuring a prominent nub of a tail, among other anatomical features that, minus the concealing fluff of the fur, were now prominently on display. Her cheeks colored indignantly. They would be gossiping about this for WEEKS. The implications of such talk were scandalous. He practically rippled while washing himself.

"STOP GAWKING." she barked. "IF YOU'VE SEEN ONE, YOU'VE SEEN THEM ALL." Dirty giggles and snickers met her stern directive, and she sighed. This was insufferable. Silver linings-- Yes, at least he did not need any help getting cleaned. At least that insult to the dignity of she and her staff had been avoided.

"I'm sorry Agnes, I really am." pleaded Melody. The look of a woman caught between a rock and a hard place plastered her otherwise prim, and proper face. "I wouldn't have brought him down here if I felt there was really an alternative. What would you have me do? Take him to the fountain outside? Have him dirty up a months worth of clean linens, just because Olivia cant pull her head out of her own ass? You tell ME what I should have done different, Agnes. You and I both know that sometimes, things just need to get done."

The huge woman leaned against her washing bat with one arm, then cradled her head with the other. She suddenly felt very tired. As much as she hated to admit it, Melody was 100% right. She looked back down toward the rinse. The bearman had dunked himself back into the cistern, and had started lathering a second time. She shivered; this was incredulous. Might as well have brought a burly, naked man down here. How many times was he going to wash? Silver linings-- At least he was being thorough. Yes. There was that. There would not be a sudden increase in laundry tasks with heavily soiled sheets or carpets.

Exasperated, she returned to her duty, directing the laundry's activities.

--

It took three passes with the soap to finally get properly clean lather. Cedar had never felt more naked in his life, and was very eager to get the hell out of here, as soon as possible. The feeling of eyes all over him was relentless. Taking a final plunge into the now dingy brown cistern water, he rinsed the last charge of soap from himself, stood back up a final time, leaned against the wall then shook the water free, relieved to feel his fur poof back out again. He looked down at the edge of the cistern, and noted that it had a metal flood gate built into it. Politely, he raised the gate, and the dirty water rushed out, then down the gullet of the iron grating, before timidly toddling back up to where Melody and Agnes were standing.

"About time." scoffed the heavyset woman. "Melody, get him upstairs, quickly, before anyone else sees. You there-- go rinse out the cistern, we're behind as it is."

He gave his chaperone a wide eyed and plaintive expression of unease. He was VERY eager to be out of here.

"This way Master Cedar." she said stiffly. "We apologize for the circumstances, and hope you wont hold it against us."

He shivered, but did his best anyway to soothe her clearly shot nerves. "Dun wurry 'bout it. A' leas' I's clean naow. At all I really wan'ed. ---Af'er you, ma'am." and with that, the two disappeared back out of the laundry, and back up the stairs.

"Did you have a look at that!?" said one of the washer-women incredulously after they had left earshot. "Would you have ever guessed that was under there?"

"I'm QUITE SURE that was not a BEAR at all!"

"HUSH!" bellowed Agnes, her head starting to throb. This was a miserable end to a long day indeed.

"He was positively FILTHY!" came a voice from the far end of the laundry. "There's dirt stuck to the floor!"
"Just like YOUR husband, Melissa-- Hair and all!"
"SHUT YOUR FACE, TIFFANY, What are you doing looking at my husband anyway!?"

"I SAID SHUT IT!" bellowed Agnes. Oh gods, the rumors were going to be thick as fleas. By noon tomorrow, every servant in the building would know what that poor bear keeps in his trousers.

--

Melody led Cedar back up the stairs and back the way they came, completely uneventfully, and parted ways as soon as he was safely obscured within the excessively ornate room.

"Your clothing will be brought up as soon as it is cleaned and pressed, Master Cedar. Until then, please remain here, and enjoy yourself, and enjoy our hospitality this evening." she said, bobbing a curtsy before departing. That had been some time ago. A gentle ticking sound emanated from a strange wood and metal box with numbers and two completely unusual metal blades at bizarre angles on it. He had no idea what its purpose was. It was just one of many such oddities in the room; It was a completely alien environment, and he found it next to impossible to relax. He felt trapped inside it. This was a madhouse.

His fur was still a bit damp, and he was still unsure of how to use the bed. He walked to the large window and looked out into the darkness. Someplace out there was his cozy hovel, with its bedstraw mattress, and cozy bed of leaves concealed below. Someplace out there was the familiar world he knew, with wolves, owls, and rabbits in it. He'd have paid handsomely to be there instead of here. Exhaustion wracked his head, and he yawned.

He felt he'd had his fill of human company for one day.

He knew about what oil lamps were, at least, and he turned the wick down, raised the mantle, and puffed it out. Curls of smoke drifted up where the yellow flame had once been.

In desperation, he climbed into the bed, and tried to get comfortable.

The following few hours was a bit of a blur. The short rest and resupply was over in a blink, and then the party continued their way back to the capital. Normally Yvonne wouldn't have any issue keeping up for a day or two, but she saw fiercer combat and injuries in the last few days than in the last year combined. She stayed awake, of course, however the body's need to shut down and heal wasn't something easy to fight off.

It felt like she'd briefly nodded off a couple of times before finally arriving at the castle, dead in the night like a group of rogues. Well, clandestine jobs were nothing new. Brief interlude between the bear, Matilda, and the chamberlain, then it's finally time to rest. Props to ol' Freddy, he had staff up and ready even at ass-end o'clock in the night. One of them ushered Yvonne to a suite, the splitting of the party raising some alarm in her mind, but considering the capabilities of the members... it's probably safe enough.

Her eyes were on the maid as they walked past dim hallways, though soon enough the attention was shifted to the surroundings in a brief moment of clarity. The place's familiar, yet foreign at the same time. The mercenary had been to the castle several times before, and the Rosenving estate itself bore similar display of casual opulence in every corner. Or at least before its fall, back in the days. No other footsteps could be heard, no assassins jumping out to silence the hounds now that the hunt was over.

Click. The door opened, oiled hinges swinging noiselessly to reveal a well-lit room larger than most commoner's house. The color theme was burgundy, splashes of dark crimson and gold linings decorating every corner of it. Yvonne knew of this place. The Rosenving's crest was almost identical in their palette, and the rare times her family was hosted in the palace this was the room reserved for their stay. She frowned slightly, betting to eat her boots if this was a coincidence, but exhaustion handily won over aesthetic disagreement. At this moment, the glaring light was a larger annoyance than the jab at her lineage.

"Fuck's sake, dim the light. It's past bloody midnight." She strolled in, surveying the room for anything amiss. "And since you're already here, draw me a hot bath. And a light meal too." Might as well peruse the room service while she's at it.

"Of course, milady. It will be done."
The next fifteen minutes was spent examining every corner of the room, from the massive curtains to the walls whose she tapped with the pommel of her sword. Yvonne had found the concealed servant's passageways by the time her request was completed, ignoring the way the maid stared at how she devoured the platter of bread, smoked meat, and blue cheese. Next was the bath, though this time she stopped the maid from following in.

"Leave me."

Alone with her crimes, Yvonne saw her sorry reflection in the bronze mirror. The chain hauberk and gambeson was no more, replaced with bandages and a plain shirt taken from Baker's establishment. Her hair had seen better days, bits of dried dirt and blood sticking to the sorry bun. Sighing, the mercenary unsheathed her sword and went to work as bandages fell off her figure in long strips alongside flakes of scabs. The skin underneath was pink and tender from recent healing, the potion doing wonders in accelerating the process. At least she'll look presentable tomorrow, if she could get her hair in order.

Perhaps she shouldn't have kicked out the maid, but pride dictated that she's now stuck with her own self. Besides, she's not giving an unknown entity the perfect position to strangle and/or slit her throat.

A prodigious amount of shampoo and soap usage later, the now lukewarm bathwater had turned murky grey from all the dirt extracted from her. Clad in only a long bathrobe and a towel around her hair, Yvonne exited with her sword in hand and her rondel dagger strapped unseen at her ankle. The rest of her stuff... nothing irreplaceable. If the castle staff took it away, they'll provide replacements in order to ensure she's presentable to meet the king. The maid remained standby in the room, so Yvonne gave her the permission to clean up. That done, there's finally nothing left to do but rest.

But first, another lap around the room. Didn't seems to be anyone or anything nefarious hidden, so that's good. The mercenary sat at the edge of the bed, laying down and closing her eyes... before promptly opening them wide again. She twisted left, right, then sat up straight with an annoyed sigh.

"Gods damn it. I dont remember this thing being so bloody soft-"

When the maid returned, she'll find one of the chair dragged to the corner of the room - the Rosenving heir seated and fast asleep on it, an ornate sword cradled in hand.

Awkwardly, the prince had himself ushered away by his myrmidons, he only spared a glance once at the group, who soon will be escorted to their own room. A glitter in his eyes showed many untold words, but it was already late, and he had to be mindful of he would conduct himself in the royal palace.

And so they went, ending the brief but very important handover ceremony. Fredricus would want witness, and so did those who were expecting the reward.

In her entire career as a representative and persecutor, this was the first time Jazdia will be spending a night in a royal palace. And of course, the reason was obvious.

She would rather go back to Angel's Share, but the place was closed, making the irony twofold. First being locked out of the establishment she owned, and the second having to sleep in the 'belly of the beast'.

Swallowing her pride, Jazdia decided to make peace with the situation and be friendly to the maid.

"Please lead the way."
She didn't know the others, but the servant who escorted her was not very friendly. After uttering a glorified but rather standard instruction to follow, she led Jazdia toward a very large corridor. At first they were still with the group, until each one of the disappeared at every subsequent door. Cedar was the last to be directed into another corridor and seemed to be very enjoying the conversation with the staff. Good for him.

"This will be your room, Ma'am." said the maid flatly. It was a nice room, as expected from a royal palace. The bed was big, the air was fresh and the floor was clean. Three most important criteria for her, and she would not peruse the other details.

Unbuttoning the admiral coat and threw it on a nearby chair, Jazdia then realized that the Maid was still there.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" asked the maid in an irritated tone.

There was a pause when a rather-unladylike exclamation came from the next door. Complaining about the light that should be dimmed. Not sure if the maid could hear it too.

"No, thank you," answered Jazdia, calmly walking toward the door and reaching its knob before gradually closing it. Indirectly asking the maid to leave. It won't be open until the next morning.

[GM Post]

Prince Alec seemed to have rediscovered hunger by the time the scent of toasted butter and garlic wafted out, belatedly realizing that he only had breakfast this morning and nothing else. The boy was poised enough not to let it show, though he perhaps finished the entire portion a bit faster than he otherwise would. Being a prince, hunger was something he never became intimately acquainted with. Even his captors had treated him well.

He strike conversation when he could, getting to know the rescue team, even if most of them remained relatively quiet. Tired, perhaps. Some even had signs of injuries still apparent on their person. Exhaustion caught up to him soon enough, but not before committing every single person to memory.

Matilda was Matilda, gruff and straightforward and loyal to the end of the earth. She wasn't talkative, the very act of breathing seemingly causing her pain. Substantial enough, if someone as inexperienced as Alec could tell. He stayed close to her, an extension of complete trust rarely displayed by a member of the royalty.

Jazdia the elf, an enigma that frankly intimidated him a bit. She's clearly a lot older than she looks, though if it's by decades or centuries the prince couldn't quite tell. Thankfully socializing was optional, thus he's spared another awkward conversation considering what had happened earlier in the keep.

Then there's miss Yvonne, someone Alec deem his childhood crush at a point. He had thought of her from time to time, over the years, but the reunion wasn't anywhere close to what he expected. Facing reality without the rose-tinted glasses, he finally could let the whole matter rest. Brave, heroic, and adventurous? From a different perspective, it's running away from one's own responsibilities. He admired her resolve still. Not just anyone can throw away everything to forge one's own path. But that's where they part ways, and if Alec were to be honest? It's an amiable end to their story.

Mister Bear, or Cedar. Alec had heard stories of half-beasts, admittedly rare things but still common enough for one to pop up from time to time. Brutes with the intelligence of man but driven by the desire of their animal half, the story says, but after meeting one he had to redact that particular judgment. There's an inkling of truth to that, of course, but as far as he can see Cedar's fully in control of the bestial instincts. Either he's genuinely good and pleasant, or he's skilled enough to pretend to be. In the end, just another person. For wasn't there plenty of humans who behaved no better than a beast? Never judge a book by its cover.

He didn't get much chance to speak with Doctor Solomon, after the latter broke him out of his cage. Evidently the old man was a mage of some sort, though what school exactly Alec had no idea. So far he had seen shadow-form and summoning a shadowy creature, perhaps something in that line? A question for Duchess Antigone in the near future. And how did it tied to the medical skill? There's a lot of mysteries surrounding the man. Nevertheless, he's grateful for the rescue even if the good doctor's presence felt a bit unsettling at times.

As for the youngest-looking member of the rescue team, Alec failed to get a word out of Veronica. Even her name was heard secondhand from someone else. Matilda seemed familiar with her, but was rather tight-lipped about it. From Alec's own observation, she's out of the way and unassuming in a way that made her presence easily overlooked. There's no sign of scuffle, so either she's highly skilled or did not join the fighting. A scout, perhaps? Though in that case, the horses disliking her would've made it difficult to do her job... oh well. He wouldn't force an interaction if the other party didn't want to.

The last two, one was an unassuming man that seemingly followed Jazdia's beck and call. Kaito was his name, the foreign pronounciation rolled weird in the tongue. Alec had reasons to suspect if it's a real name or not. He looked just like any random man from the street, and his speech was perfect without any accent. Plus, he speak a lot but gave out very little informations. Almost like a noble in the court. The other was apparently a local hunter, who had left for home not long ago. Alec will ensure that the man received his due reward in time.

The ride back was smooth enough. The prince had dozed off, barely able to recall some shouting halfway through, but eventually he roused to the sight of a familiar scene - though for some reason there's an overgrowth at one side of the stable. He hadn't been gone for that long, had he? Rampant vegetation aside, Alec's attention was soon enough taken by the castle staff. A lot of this and that formalities, Matilda asserting dominance, and then the fast-ish shuffle inside.

It soon came a time to part with the rescue team, Alec doing his best to exude the air of a prince despite his rather humble clothing. They'll get the treatment befitting guests of the royal family, as they deserved. Perfect. It wouldn't do to mistreat his saviors, after all. Even if it's strictly business exchange with his father.

"Rest well, ladies and gentlemen." Said the prince with a smile. "We shall meet again soon."

Alec was ushered away after that short interlude, resisting the urge to look back. As he said, they'll meet again soon. Here in the castle, he need to play his part as a prince. No need to show too much attachment to outsiders. It felt lonely at times, but he's long since used to it.

Normally he would've need to clean up and dress appropriately for the occasion, but it was immediately apparent that they're heading to meet his father immediately. Alec smiled to himself, knowing that it's a rare moment where the father won over the king. Otherwise, Matilda alone will suffice to debrief. That suited him just fine. He, too, had missed his father oh so terribly.

Only Alec and Matilda entered the private chamber. There they saw a figure hunched over on a chair, Fredricus seemingly aged ten years backward as he laid his eyes on the newcomers. He stood, striding briskly through the room as Matilda tactfully turned aside and momentarily pretend she's both blind and deaf as the father and child finally reunited at long last.

"I have returned, father."

Royal Apothecary Roland hurriedly strode through the deserted corridor, bringing only a dimmed lamp with him. In every step taken, he silently cursed his colleagues who failed to inform him about their arrival. Petty imbeciles, they were, did they not have any inkling how important this matter was now not only for him but also for the entire branch?

In front of a door, Roland stopped, wondering if this was the correct room. Earlier he had asked around, looking for the maid who brought in the particular guest he was looking for, adding more lapsed time to his already tight schedule. If this was the wrong room, who knows how many more he would have to knock. Or if the Man was in this corridor at all.

Deciding to set aside his worries for later, he knocked on the door.

He didn't have all night.



Inside, Solomon sat at a table. He looked at the candle, its flame flickering, and the wax slowly dripping down the side. He was in contemplation. So far, everything was moving according to plan, but surely whatever opposing force keeping the country in turmoil would not let this go on uncontested for much longer. Something bigger must be at play. Petra coughed, and Solomon turned his head.

A polite but hesitant series of knocking could be heard. Solomon stood up from his chair, disengaging the latch, and peered out.

A man stood in front of the door. He looked average if not bookish, wearing a robe dyed in yellow and white and wearing a pair of glasses that seemed too small for his wide face. When their eyes met, the man flinched, seemingly intimidated by Solomon's presence, but then he quickly regained his composure.

“Well met to you, Sir. My name is Roland, Royal Apothecary.” he introduced himself, bowing and speaking at the same time. “Sorry for disturbing you at this hour.”

“That is quite alright. I find myself not quite ready to shut my eyes. What brings you so late? Is it something urgent?” asked Solomon. His eyes narrowed, looking directly at the man, “or is it something you wish to keep discrete?”

“Indeed, sir. The matter that I am about to disclose is sensitive. What I am allowed to tell you is we need your expertise to ‘prepare’ a very important individual for tomorrow's occasion.”

“Oh? Then I employ you to enter.” said Solomon

“I must refuse, sir.” insisted Roland, “If you would come with me. More will be explained once we’ve arrived.”

“Very well. Then let us be on our way.” Solomon took a step out of the room, the door drifting to a close behind him.



"I am going to tell you that this is the order from the king himself. Sir."

Roland, who had been silent for the entire walk from the guest house to a secluded antechamber in the west wing, now started to speak again as they began to descend spiraling stairs to the Royal Palace basement. "I assume you are already familiar with this individual. We found him in the ruins of Black Serpent headquarters...."

They finally emerged into a room that seemed like both a mortuary and a laboratory, buzzing with activities. Several apprentices could be seen mixing potions, weighing ingredients, jotting notes.

On the large table, lay a corpse of a middle-aged man with white hair. An apprentice was busy sewing his abdomen close, and it seemed that both the staff and the time itself had done quite a number on him; when they get close, the smell was a mix of putrefaction, chemicals, and curiously, an incongruous strong scent of herbs. The eyes were wide open, looked dull and blackened. Despite he heavy damage on his torso, his face was intact, save several scrapes and the contortion in the muscle that made his general expression looked like he had met his demise in terror.

That said, the corpse was still missing a substantial amount of flesh and bones around his sternum, leaving a large fleshy crater on his torso, revealing the seared heart and lungs within.

"We will need you to wake him up." said the apothecary animatedly. Behind him, a masked being approached, inserted himself into the group, then spoke in a demanding tone.

"And talk. We will need him to be alive so folks can hear him screeching when the horses pull him apart."

The additional person introduced themselves as the Jailor. Man or woman, nobody can tell what form behind their heavy coat and cowled head, and plague mask. The voice seeped out from the metal mask was determined, if not irritated, and distorted.

---

Solomon kept his eyes on Roland the entire journey through the castle corridors, gates, and rooms. They walked in silence, not because of how late in the night it was, but because of the weight of the yet to be revealed request. At least, that is what Solomon assumed. To be called for at night, surely when the other’s would have fallen asleep by now, the matter must have been severe. Not urgent, but certainly not something one would reveal lightly.

Once the silence was finally broken, Roland mentioned the Black Serpent Guild. Solomon recognized the name. The altercation had not only drawn Henri away from his group, but had left him missing, presumed dead. The fighting ring, the multiple houses involved, slavery, arms dealing. The group was far reaching and notoriously devious. Though they had fallen, they had certainly left not shortage of trouble behind.

Roland stopped in front of a heavy door. Upon opening it, Solomon could see the extent of the King and his men. Solomon knew that the king was holding the body of one of his would be assassins somewhere, but the extent to also restore the corpse of the black serpent guild was equal parts impressive and concerning. Despite the grisly scene and the mixture of chemicals in the air, Solomon felt himself at home. This was a lab, and one Solomon would find great use of.

Solomon meandered towards the table on which lay the body of a man once torn apart, put back together. The man sewing the abdomen was focused on his work, not reacting to Solomon’s presence. Solomon’s gaze drifted from the middle aged corpse’s abdomen where the apprentice was working up to the open chest cavity, the heart and lungs destroyed beyond function, but still recognizable. His eyes then landed on his face. The man’s eyes were open, but his face showed a clear sign of terror and pain. Time may have removed the shine of his eyes, but there was no hiding the recent history they witnessed.

“Tell me. What have you endured.” whispered Solomon softly. Roland hesitated, but otherwise approached Solomon’s side from behind. He pinched his nose as the intensity of the smell increased. Solomon head hovered over the corpse’s face, his eyes closed, but his hood concealing his own head completely. As Roland spoke, Solomon did not respond. Solomon stood almost completely still, unsettlingly so. Another in the room also came beside Solomon and the corpse.

"We will need you to wake him up." said the apothecary animatedly.

"And talk. We will need him to be alive so folks can hear him screeching when the horses pull him apart." continued the larger figure . He was more demanding compared to the apothecary's request. Solomon slowly straighten up, at least as much as he could given his age.

“Tell me, why do you believe I can do something like that?” he asked. The question sounded genuine. Roland’s eye’s widened, and the larger armored figure appeared further irritated.

“Surely the rumors are not entirely false.” said Roland after a little of a stammer, “His highness wouldn’t have requested you specifically if you couldn’t. Look at the woman who arrived with you and your group. I’ve never seen anything like it before. A half ghost. Who would have known such a creature could exist?”

“Who indeed.” Solomon chuckled, despite the setting and seriousness of the other persons working inside the laboratory mortuary. “Very well, I will see what I can do. You should know, my well built friend, using my methods means he will talk, but he will not screech. There is no pain among the deceased.”

The well built person was even more incredulous upon hearing the news. From the armor attire, helm and the ring of keys and manacles, Solomon could tell he wasn’t paying about being the jailer. “Unacceptable. We won’t get the people’s attention if we just quarter a dead body.”

“He is a dead body.”

“That’s not the point. We need the people to believe he is alive and that he is being punished for his crimes.”

“Being killed once isn’t enough?”

“King Fredricus has a plan. We need this to work. I need him to scream.” the jailer raised a fist. If it wasn’t for the apprentice working, they might have slammed it down on the corpse. They were adamant about this. Solomon could see his drive wasn’t sadism, but loyalty. It looked as though the king did have a plan, and he needed to flow flawlessly. This jailer was keenly invested in this operation. It wasn’t just them either. The others had various looks on their faces, expecting this outcome. Solomon took another look at the corpse, though Roland and the jailer could see his mouth move beneath his mask, no words escaped it.

For Solomon, he was making a few further inquiries with the body. Free of restraint, but still unmoving, it gave all of it’s memories willingly. He was Gerralt, a leader of the Black Serpent Guild. The pain and suffering this man helped facilitate was staggering. The fodder he provided ruthless fighters for the entertainment of the few. And the suffering he put those he had trafficked for measly profits. He caught glimpses of Jormungandr, and how she was isolated for weeks at a time, left to beg for this man’s touch. A thought touched his mind. Perhaps, there was a way to give everyone what they wanted. This was an opportunity he might not see for a long time.

“Well?” spoke the jailer. Solomon’s demeanor changed. Though it was hard to see given his cloak, hood and mask, there was something different. It was as if the room felt noticably darker, and Solomon’s presence more sinister. He turned to face the jailer properly.

“I might have a way. I recommend you stand back.” Solomon then turned to face the apprentice who was just finishing up, “that includes you.”

Solomon looked at the body again, holding his hand out over his chest. This was an opportunity, and for a first time experiment, this was probably the most exceptional person to preform. Solomon thought at least Cedar was not here to witness this. He would be all kinds of against this. It was a pleasant thought, given the unpleasant circumstance. It could even be considered mad, but his theories needed to be proven.

The lanterns within the roomed dimmed, and even the smell of herbs and chemicals subsided, replaced with that of the smell of death. Black energy with silver wisps seeped from between the pages of the large tome, fastened near Solomon’s lower back. The belts unfastened, magical auras became visible and dissipated, the two metal plates fell to the floor with a short clatter. It drifted in front of Solomon’s face, angled towards the ceiling, it’s pages fluttering as though they were blown by the wind. The pages kept turning until it reached on near the very back of the book, a singular inscription placed in the center of both pages.

While the energy still flowed from the book to Solomon, and then to the corpse of Gerralt, stray tendrils began to spread out in all directions centered from the two small inscriptions within the book. While it was hard to make out, with enough focus, these stray tendrils appeared to take the form of hands. Those of black seemingly reached out towards the ceiling, while those of silver reached down towards the floor. As the spell commenced, these tendrils reached wildly, gripping at the air until one seemingly snagged something. Since beginning his cast, Solomon spoke audibly, though still barely more than a whisper.

“Rise again. Your death I suspend. Your time among the lived has yet to end.” The vaguely hand shaped tendrils pulled back towards the book, and a new flush of energy poured from the book down into the body like a liquid. Tendrils rose out of the body, and turned back diving back into the pool with vigor. It almost looked as though the magic was sewing something in place. Muscles began to twitch, and Gerralt’s wide open eyes shifted back and forth. His heart even beat once, and his lung inflated with air. Gerralt’s head turned slowly to face Solomon’s, the look of horror remaining. His face actually contorted more, revealing further anguish. Visibly, the man’s lungs inflated as much as they could in their damaged state, and he released a pain riddled howl.

“Cease your screams, ignore your pain.” commanded Solomon. Though Gerralt’s face remained in a state of agony, his scream stopped instantly. With his spell finished, the book closed, drifting back to it’s place belted to Solomon’s person, the other safeguards levitating and resealing the book under their protections. He held out his hand, stopping the others from approaching.

“I’m not quite done.” said Solomon, not turning his head. He kept his eyes on the newly raised Gerralt. Normally the dead raised wouldn’t feel pain. Even those special he had summoned were incapable of it. Solomon himself couldn’t feel pain either, not that any of his allies would know. But here, Solomon violated the space among the afterlife. He had in a way resurrected the soul of Gerralt into the body of a dead man. Were it not for the damage that could not be repaired, there might have been a chance the pain he experienced would be minuscule. Solomon needed to know just how successful such a blasphemous alteration of his raise dead spell was in its purpose.

After an uncomfortably long time of watching Solomon’s unmoving figure and the frozen anguish of Gerralt’s features, Solomon stepped back. He motioned for the other’s to approach if they wished. Some were curious, the apothecary among them, while other were horrified. No doubt they also heard the stories, and knew of a potential chance, but to see it actually happen. It was hard for some of them to believe that any forces within nature even allowed this. For Solomon, he had gotten some answers. Some promising, others less so. It was a start, but there was still much to learn, much to figure out. In time, Solomon’s hoped his next attempt would yield better results.

“Gerralt. Compose yourself, speak the truth, and continue to ignore your pain. You will obey what is asked by those appointed by the king." commanded Solomon. Finally, Gerralt’s face relaxed, but the shaking of his eyes could not hide how much pain he was enduring. His chest was exposed, and his body was in stitches. If it were not for his now undead state, he surely would have gone into shock if not having perished a second time.

Roland the apothecary prepared his note, while the Jailer stood beside him. With Solomon's permission, they walked closer, observing the twitching corpse with great interest. The face of the undead contorted, his head tilted sideways, and his shoulder locked in a way that made both his cheek and his shoulder collide with each other.

Other than that, the violent spasm has ceased. Like some sort of disgusting contraption, Geralt gradually levered himself up, sitting with legs still outstretched.

Then he turned at them. Red eyes surrounded by dark sclera. His lips twitched, mumbling inaudibly as if his soul was in a process of readapting with his own motoric movement.

He spasmed once more before vomiting a mixture of blood, pus, and chemicals. His black, disgusting teeth bared wide when he finally made a noise.

"Morggg Fregricuz ratss," It was barely what you called speaking, what the undead did was spit more substance and forced his bowels to make a contraction to his vocal cord. But that alone seemed to be sufficient for the Jailor, who stepped forward gripping their weighed baton and brandished it on their side.

"Geralt of Black Serpent, you are guilty of the crime against the King of The Nation and The People. Who was the architect of your vile scheme?!"

A twitch, and nothing else happened, as if the harsh declaration had banished the Old Geralt's consciousness back to etherealness. But he was 'present', eyes opened, mouth agape, but his physical form was still.

Roland suspected that the necromancer played a role in this one. And he hoped it would be some sort of dark version of hypnotism. To command the undead to answer the question, and tell the truth.

Finally, the undead turned his head, to this and that. And Once again, through the ghastly wound, they saw his lungs expand, they wept a frothy mixture of blood and pus.

"Delving." he said in one full breath, the smell was almost unbearable, yet the undead repeated the name in utter mania. "Delving! Delving Jonas...Jonas Delving!"

His entire body spasmed, but he grinned when the tremor struck back and caused his head to fall back, mouth opened in a
soundless cry of joy and pain, the muscle and veins on his neck standing out like wire.
His right hand raised, on the back of his palm, a fiery marker emerged from his tattoo, glowing like a fiery iron brand.

Then something happened, he seized the pencil from Roland and stabbed the apothecary in the shoulder. Geralt's sudden mastery of precise movement stunned everyone, allowing the undead to roll down from the table. Turned out for the entire ritual, the dead bastard had taken his time to feel his upper body, reclaiming full control. What he did not calculate was the wound caused by Jazdia's arrow had damaged a portion of his spine, partially paralyzing the lower part of his body.

"Delving! Cheatin fuckwiz! I did all I could for the cause. Why should I suffer alone? Out of my way!"

The undead lurched forward, mustering every will to direct his erratic gait toward the exit, but was quickly stopped by the jailer, who had rushed to ambush the undead and swung their baton at Gerralt's knee.

He screamed, but not because of the supposed pain the jailer just inflicted. "I lent them my merchandise, my tool, my plaything!!!"

The stitching was undone, and his rotten entrails spilled out, blood and foul ichor dripping profusely, yet the dead still marched, slower this time, until he finally stopped dead on his track. Shackled by shadow and an ethereal chain cast by the necromancer.

"Eeverything!" he growled, the frustration was almost humane but turned into a terrifying howl when he screamed a name.

"Joormungand!"

The brand on his hand emanated a crimson smoke, the glow intensified and Geralt was spasming again. The second time he screamed that name, the desperation bled into his voice and it echoed with power that reverberated in the very air.

"Joormungand! Why have you forsaken me!?"

The third time he called the name, the voice was almost as broken as he was. The old bastard hunched, the glow on the tattoo gradually wanes as he slumped on the floor. Eyes opened, lungs-- contracting as if alive, yet he was lying still.

When the morning came, everyone was summoned.

From their room to the designated place, it was no longer maids that accompanied them, but rather, royal guards led by Matilda herself. And so they followed, politely, for they have reason to object. The reward has been prepared.

The room was not the chamber they entered when Fredricus summoned them for the first time, but rather, a seemingly old hall located on the Palace's westernmost wing. Laid in front of them were four ornated containers that looked like large briefcases with handles on top, not too small to be considered austere and not too big it would render the carrier hunched.

Behind the formations of packaged reward, the chamberlain stood firmly next to Matilda who herself preferred to lock her lips tight. Poshy as ever The Chamberlain waved his hand airily.

"His Highness... asked me to send his regard. The rewards have been prepared by the Crown himself, and he regretted not being able to personally award them. Please be assured that His Highness's absence does not diminish the gratitude he and Young Prince feel."

For someone so sophisticated, his choice of words was deliberately insipid. As if indirectly telling the group to just get their reward and leave.

He regarded five royal servants, who then brought the briefcase before every agents present. When Jazdia activated her eyes, she saw gold nuggets arranged neatly, and a smaller wooden box containing uniformly white diamonds.

"His Highness had also arranged a noble steed for every each one of you. They are waiting for you to claim at the stables. The groomsman will guide you."

There were murmurs, yet nobody opened their prizes yet. Jazdia could almost see the bear Cedar expressing his personal concern, but the Chamberlain quickly silenced him with more poised words.

"A royal party will be held this evening. His Highness hopes to see Lords and Ladies attending the soiree as well. If Gentleman found the prize lacking, be delighted to know that there will be a special audience held when the party has ended. His Highness Fredricus had personally asked me to describe the event as a casual meeting."

It was a long word to describe a secret meeting. Jazdia blinked once, certainly, she was not the only one who thought that the nationwide hurdle had ended with the return of the prince, but she wondered why would Fredricus employ them again. Suddenly she remembered Baker's word and the prophecy didn't look very good.

But she said nothing for now, and let the rest interpret it their own way. As far as the law was concerned, there was nothing stopping them from leaving this palace with their just reward.

"Again, on My King's behalf, I thank you all for your service." said the Chamberlain finally, bowing just slightly. "Feel free to go back to your room or enjoy the rest of the day in our Capital City. Everything has been prepared for your attendance this evening."