Chapter 18

Crossroads

"On my two o'clock, Sentinel Rhambos," Alix murmured.

Behind her, the strongarm broke from the group and grabbed a fleeing Scarlet Guard operative by the skin of his neck. He slammed the Red to the floor, the tile spreading spidercracks beneath a bleeding head. Serves him right, thought the princess and moved on.

"Three on my seven, if you would please, Sentinel Welle," she continued.

The greenwarden kneeled to the ground and put her palms flat on the floor. A flurry of gnarling roots burst forth and entangled the Reds around the waist. One of them carried a gun and attempted to shoot down his assaulter. Sentinel Macanthos stepped forward in defense, taking the bullets in stride with his impenetrable skin of stone.

Watching with quiet satisfaction, Cal's bronze eyes shifted from one player to another: the princess would sense the fleeing shadows and pinpoint them easily to the Sentinels, choosing the most capable to counter the victims. In a battlefield, the prince found the ability useful. In a game of shadows and stealth, the ability might have won them a war. But Alix was no soldier; she was not half the fighter her elder brother Prince Umberto was.

Still, she was magnificent.

"On my ten, a tall man with a rifle." Alix lifted golden eyes, bloodshot from her tears, to Sentinel Samos. Something flickered in her eyes and Cal saw it. Sadness. Shame. Remorse, even. Ptolemus's death was something she did not take kindly. "Sentinel Samos," she said in a firm voice. "The rifle, please."

The magnetron stepped away from the group and stretched his right arm. His fingers curled, tight like an eagle's powerful talon. In the darkness, they heard the unmistakable clatter of metal pieces and a pained grunt as the man fell to the ground.

Alix pursed her lips, her ability in constant use. No more shadows up here. No more scrambling limbs and bodies squeezing into tight windows like rats in a canal. Up here in the alcove, the operatives were either killed or fled.

With a nod to the crown prince, Alix followed their group as they descended from the staircase. She could not bring it to herself to look around the ballroom, littered with countless bodies splashed with two colors of blood. Her Piedmontese Guards took care of downstairs, securing the area and all points of enter and exit. As firmas, they could track anyone on land as easily and deftly as Alix could sense shadows in complete darkness.

Something beneath them rumbled. Cal raised his fist, halting the group's descent. His eyes were sharp and narrowed, his nose up like a hound on a scent. Then, being the only one to realize what was happening, jumped back to the group and wrapped his muscled arms around Alix's smaller form. She fitted perfectly in his arms, like a doll, her head pressed against his broad chest. She could hear the wild thumping of his heart. If she were not in a battlefield, the thought of Tiberias embracing her thus might have made her blush.

She was not blushing now.

A bomb exploded like any other: searing with heat, destroying everything in its path, unforgiving. But in Cal's embrace, Alix need only to close her eyes and imagine being wrapped up in a blanket, in front of a fireplace, during the winter season. She closed her eyes and pressed herself closer to the warmth, biting back a scream as all the other Sentinels and Guards were doing. In their steel armors, the soldiers did not stand a chance.

The explosion dissipated with a hiss and a cloud of black smoke. Carefully, Cal let go of the princess and stared long at her face. Dark soot made its way to her pale face, her lips were parted for quick, shallow breathing. He wiped a thumb across the apex of her cheek, catching her attention. He smiled softly, brotherly, and she thanked him by cupping his cheek.

Her hold on his face hardened. She started, eyes darting around. "We have misses," she whispered. Despite her lack of formal military knowledge, misses was a word Cal understood.

"Where?" His voice was sharp. "Which direction?"

"On my eleven, a woman and a boy, escaping through the front door."

Cal stood amongst the black smoke. His flames exploded, hotter than the bomb itself. It grew like a fireball in his right hand, larger and larger until it engulfs his entire hand. Alix watched, fascinated. She had never seen him this angry before, or violent. It scared her; it scared her that her charming brother-prince turned into this frenzied beast during battle.

The prince hurled his fireball to the entrance doors, flames hot enough to melt the stone and diamondglass that designed them. The woman and boy screamed at the flames and stepped back from the molten mess.

"Sentinel Iral." The prince beckoned to the silk and they went to collect the misses.

"Are you all right, Your Highness?" One of the sentinels was offering a hand.

"Yes, thank you." She took his hand and felt the familiar firm grip. Looking up, she met the silver hair and dark eyes of Sentinel Samos. Guilt washed over her again. She turned away from his comfortable presence and turned for everyone. It appeared Cal's protection reached the Sentinels as well, suffering only minor burns that Sentinel Skonos effortlessly healed.

Not far from them, she could feel Cal and Iral's shadows apprehending the woman and boy. Yet something was still amiss. Amid the smoke and crumbling ballroom, there was one shadow remaining, sleeker and more cunning than the rest. Alix stiffened and looked around the ballroom; the smoke was thick and unrelenting, the scent of burned corpses putting her senses and ability into disarray.

When the shadow pulled out a rifle, Alix's head snapped upwards, to the chandelier.

"Die, Silver!" A scarred woman fired at their group, bullets ricocheting and hitting everyone.

Alix dived across the dancefloor and, ungracefully so, landed on her face first. The cameras. Are there cameras here? She scrambled back to her feet and felt the woman's shadow turn for her. Alix rounded a column and hid herself there. She peeked once, catching Tiberias hurling fireballs at the woman above. With light steps, Alix waved her hand and summoned the chandelier's shadow to curl around the woman's neck. The Red gasped and wheezed, clawing at the shadow yet it dispersed like smoke through her fingers. Alix did not want her touching her shadows.

Fueled with anger, the princess raised the woman from her hiding place and slammed her to the floor. At once, Prince Tiberias and the Sentinels swarmed around the woman. Alix stepped close enough to watch Sentinel Greco holding the woman's shoulder in an iron-grip. The shoulder blades shattered like thin ice under his strength.

Cal's lips were pressed into a thin line. He nodded to the Sentinels and they gathered their captives towards the underground dungeons. Four in all: the tall man Sentinel Samos injured, the woman and the boy, and this scarred woman, spitting redblood at the prince's feet like the commoner she was.

"Let's go," Cal said to no one in particular, but the Sentinels lined up. They dragged their prisoners like ragdolls on flimsy lines.

Without their guns and bombs, the Scarlet Guard looked weak enough. Their blood enough was distasteful, making Alix frown beneath a pleasant façade. She walked in stride with the crown prince, hands primly together, despite her bloodstained gown and wild mess of a makeup. Without proper makeup, she feared she would look as weak as the Scarlet Guard, pale and sickly and afraid. As they were now.

Evangeline crossed them on the way to the dungeons. She appeared both haggard and vicious, all damp black makeup and glossy purple lipstick. She bared white teeth at the prisoners, before turning her attention to the prince. "Where are you taking them?"

"Dungeons." His curt answer only told her that it was no time for talks. "Come with us."

"You should have killed them." She glowed at the idea, flanking Cal on his other side. She spared a glimpse at the wraith princess, drinking her entire appearance and somewhat reprieved that, like Evangeline, she was also bedraggled and in mourning. But her black eyes caught sight of a flower crown atop silver hair. Pink magnolias and purple bellflowers weaved together around a golden tiara.

The Sentinels threw the prisoners into separate cells. Evangeline herself caged them inside, reforming the metal bars to suit her tastes−thicker, narrower space. It was as if she wanted them to squirm with claustrophobia. At least that was what her cruel, pointed smirk suggested.

Alix stood straighter. She would do more than just let these prisoners squirm.

Cal was on his way back to the other cells, Evangeline in tow. When he realized that the Piedmont princess was not coming along, he blinked and turned back for her. "Alix, are you coming?"

"No, Tiberias," she answered in her soft voice. Eyes up ahead, on the prisoners. The scarred woman had the audacity to sneer at her despite her mangled shoulder. "I should like to stay here. I am tired."

"Of course." Cal had to bear in mind that she was not a fighter, and he had forced her to fight. He searched for the Sentinels. "Sentinel Osanos−"

"Alone," she interrupted. She blinked round golden eyes at his confused face. "Alone, Tiberias."

"Let her," Evangeline said, irritated at the exchange. "We should go ahead and fetch the King and Queen, especially the Queen. We will need her expertise on this matter." She swept well ahead of him, still in her ridiculous spiked gown, and flicked one finger. The metal door creaked open under her ability.

Cal gestured for the Sentinels and everyone went out of the dungeons. When the doors shut, the metallic echoes rang around the space and bounced back from the ceilings. Alix took her time studying the four prisoners, giving attention to the other three.

The other woman had her left eye swollen shut, the redblood evident beneath brown skin. The boy she recognized all too easily; he was the same boy with the lovely green eyes. Though he had avoided her gaze earlier, she still noticed the depth of his eyes. He was sneering at her now, not at all the meek servant he pretended to be. The last prisoner was a tall man, red-haired and long-limbed. He was suffering with a torn leg, wrapped poorly with ripped fabric. His eyes were closed, the pain written in his sweat-covered face.

Alix tipped her head to the side. "And behold the mighty Scarlet Guard," she noted, sarcastic.

The scarred woman grinned−a dark, amused grin. "I saw you in broadcasts before," she said. "Always surrounded by your brothers, always with your father. Like a doll, like a lapdog." Her voice hardened when the princess narrowed her eyes. She struck a royal nerve in there somewhere. "Tell me, what does it feel like to be paraded around like a bitch on sale?"

"Much better than what you feel, surely," Alix returned, her voice unendingly pleasant. As if inquiring about the weather, about the meadows back home. The Red chuckled at their verbal sparring. Her years of insults with Prince Maven finally paid off. "I might be paraded all the time, but at least I am not sticking my fingers into mud, suffering long hours of sweat and labor, and dislocating my shoulder after such a woeful attempt."

"Pretty words for a pretty girl."

"With a pretty ability."

The dungeons, already dark and imposing from one fluorescent light, grew darker. The shadows from all corners waved like sea breeze, circling the cages and slowly approaching. Alix motioned with her arms and the shadows swayed with her movements. The Reds widened their eyes and backed away from the cage. The shadow rose up, towards the bulb. With one flick, the shadows swallowed the light and the room was pitch-black.

Alix smiled then. Despite the crippling darkness, she saw how their jaw tightened. They were a stubborn bunch, this Scarlet Guard, thinking her game was over.

She had barely begun.

Her left hand moved in circles, the shadows forming into beasts familiar to her and the twins. She nipped at her lower lip. Belicos Lerolan. He was dead when she last saw him. The shadows danced under her will, and then took forms of wolves, black as the night itself, with black smoky fur and fangs. Yet their eyes were pale gold, glinting like a wildcat's eyes in a jungle.

Quietly, the wolves growled. They were parts of her imagination, soulless creatures of the night. The Reds could not know what would hit them. One by one, the wolves slipped through Evangeline's thick metal bars and started assaulting the prisoners. They snapped at their ankles and foot, ripped the fabric off their pants, dragging them across the small cage.

The woman and boy screamed and thrashed together, the scarred woman kicked the shadows away, and the injured man grunted in more pain.

Scream. Louder. Alix felt bile rising in her throat. When was the last time she did this? Only a month ago, when her lord grandfather tossed a pair of Lakelander spies at her feet and demanded her to break them. His words back then were still clear to her. Break them or you will not see Norta.

Break a pair of insignificant Lakelanders or never see Prince Cal on his Queenstrial? Or not see Prince Maven and banter with him? The answer was too easy. Before the day was finished, the Lakelanders were no more than a pile of soft bones, too weak in the knees to stand, surrendered to their childish fear of the dark. That same night, Alix had a merry time with her ladies-in-waiting, choosing gowns and tiaras to being with her to Norta.

Well, the Guard operatives were screaming now. Out of fear of darkness and fear of wolves. The creatures snapped and clawed at their feet, so as not to make permanent damage on the prisoners. They were still prisoners of King Tiberias, of Norta.

Finally, the darkness receded and the prisoners basked once more in the light.

"By my blood." The injured man's voice was weak. He chuckled at himself and scooted closer to the metal bars, dragging his broken leg behind. "Forgive me if I can't bow. I ought to kneel at your feet, Your Highness. Not once in my lifetime did I dream of meeting a princess royal."

"You're from Piedmont." It was not a question. His accent and bright red hair were common amongst his people. She approached him, looking down on her nose at him. "And you betrayed us," she hissed. Her fists curled and her own shadow swirled. "What is your name?"

"Tristan, if it pleases Your Highness."

"Where are you from?"

"Dad was from Ivrea, Mom from Sanctus. I grew up mostly in Ivrea though. Beautiful city. Very clean."

"My grandmother lives there."

"I know." Tristan chuckled. "My father was one of her stewards. He said she is kind and generous, if not a little sharp for an old woman. She gave out extra rations, too, for the loyal servants."

"What went wrong?" She still could not understand. "If my grandmother was kind to your father, why would you join Scarlet Guard and do this? Shouldn't you be focusing on helping your family?"

"Princess, no one wants to live in poverty forever." His voice was gentle, like an older brother reprimanding a younger sibling. He reminded her of Rainier. "There might always be food on the table, but no one wants to be in the same lifestyle as our ancestors suffered decades ago. We want change."

"And this−" She gestured for the three prisoners. "You think this is worth the trouble?"

"Yes. I am certain."

"Then you are a fool."

"A fool to die under my own free will. What about you, Princess?" Tristan levelled her with a critical stare. His lips curled downward as his leg spasmed with pain. "Will you die under your free will?"

Before she could answer, the metal door snapped open again. Cal, Evangeline−with Maven and Mareena and even King Tiberias himself. Alix narrowed her eyes at the sight of the Titanos girl, well aware of her blood. But for the love she had for the Calore brothers, out of her admiration and respect to King Tiberias, she would hold her tongue and lash at nothing. Evangeline Samos can do that for the both of them.

Maven's blue eyes searched for Alix's eyes, raking over the torn dress and the soot on her cheek. Not so perfect now. The Piedmont princess who strived her entire life for perfection was a shadow of herself, with bloodshot eyes and messy silver hair. He left Mare's side to comfort his princess.

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

"You are kind, Prince Maven." Her eyes flashed under her lashes. "I am well."

"Not hurt?" he pressed.

"No." Only in the heart, for Belicos Lerolan. For Ptolemus Samos.

Before them, the scarred woman provoked Evangeline and the magnetron rushed at her like a wild beast. Evangeline restrained herself, much to the woman's amusement.

Cal was far from amused. His face was darker and lined with darker thoughts. He pointed a finger at the green-eyed boy. "Mare, he's your friend. Explain this."

Then there was Evangeline screeching at Mare, shouting curses and implicating Mare to the plot. Mare, with a desperate voice, argued that she only tried helping her friend. They were in a flurry of arguments that seemed only to incense the King further. At length, he gave permission for the prisoners to be tortured while they were waiting on the Queen. The King's heated stare bore through Alix, and she stiffened under his gaze.

No more. I already broke them, she pleaded in her mind. If Elara were here, she would have heard her desperate pleads. Please. Look at them. They're tired and weak. They don't need more breaking.

Much to her relief, Cal summoned for Sentinel Gliacon. Evangeline giggled at that.

They picked the scarred woman for torture. Alix saw where her shadow wolves bit down on her feet and legs, punctured with deep holes and oozing redblood. Gliacon was freezing the woman's blood while Cal asked the questions. When she failed to answer, Sentinel Skonos healed the torn flesh and stepped back to let Gliacon work her wonders again.

Just then comes a loud, thundering voice. "WHERE IS SHE?"

Evangline perked up, as expected. Yet Maven did not expect his princess to perk up as well, relief flooding her pale face. He noticed how the colors rushed back to her cheeks as Ptolemus Samos himself thundered down the steps in a hurricane of rage.

In a moment of brief tenderness, he embraced his sister and checked at her face. Passing by both Cal and Mare, his steps considerably slowed upon sensing the princess. He was tall and heavily built, and it only took one mere nudge with his shoulder to push Maven away from her.

"My princess," Ptolemus murmured against her knuckles. Maven's eyebrow twitched at that. "Forgive me for a moment of incompetence. I failed you."

"No, no." Alix smiled into the magnetron's black eyes. "I am happy to see you well."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

As soon as his tenderness showed, it quickly melted. With a growl like the predator he was born and bred to be, Ptolemus sidestepped everyone and prowled to the cells. The prisoners scrambled backwards. The bars shuddered under the weight of his ability. His eyes ghosted on them, but landed on Tristan and his trail of redblood. Alix felt her own blood run cold−not for Ptolemus's murderous intent−but for fear of Tristan's life.

She blocked the magnetron from advancing. "He is mine," she told Ptolemus, seeing the quick flush of anger in his cheeks. He was holding back his tongue, his temper. She drew her gaze to the King. "Your Majesty, this man is from Piedmont and therefore my father's subject. I would ask you kindly to spare him from further torture. He can answer to the Kingwraith any time."

The mention of her lord grandfather made King Tiberias reconsider. Her father, now King Umberto, was half the king and man the Old Kingwraith had been.

Still, there was no stopping the storm that was Ptolemus. He brushed her aside and directed a metal bar into a thick spear. "You will not threaten my sister again," he snarled and drove the spear into Tristan's chest.

"You don't need to see this," Maven murmured in Alix's ear as blood bubbled from the man's mouth. She turned away as he bid, taking comfort in his warmth and gentle presence−something that Ptolemus could never learn despite being a skilled lair himself.

When the magnetron turned to the green-eyed boy, something snapped in Mare.

Lady Titanos gripped Samos by the neck and her sparks flew in a frenzy, purple-white streaks flashing in the dungeons. Ptolemus spasmed and fell to his knees, his steel armor smoking from within. To see him in such a state, to see him hurt again after suffering a bullet wound…

Something in Alix snapped, too.

Everyone's shadows swirled at her command and formed another creature of her imagination above Ptolemus's shaking body. The shadow dragon was gigantic inside this cramped space, baring its sword-length teeth at Mare's face. Its bat-like wings folded across its back, its spiked tail curling around Alix's body for purchase. A creature like this, it needed to be closer to be more refined. Summoning one already made her sweat break. Controlling it to threaten Mare was another effort.

Cal stood up for Mare before the dragon could open its pitch-black jaws. "Enough," he hissed at both of them, tired of their arguing. "Alix, that's enough. Put it away!"

"You're taking her side?" she rasped at him, incredulous. Wake up, Tiberias! She's a Red!

"Alix, please," said Maven in a milder tone. "Let's not shed more blood."

"No." Evangeline stood at her tallest height, taking the wraith's side. "She hurt my brother!"

"Out of Ptolemus's own disobedience!" Cal shouted.

"Lord Samos did his part," Maven said reasonably. "Mare, too. There should be an end to this."

The princess spared a glance at Ptolemus and decided to withdraw. The shadow dragon gave one last silent hiss at Mare's stunned face before dissipating into their shadows. She gestured with her hands. There. Gone. Maven just nodded and joined Mare's side. Alix scowled but said nothing.

"We can interrogate the prisoners tomorrow," King Tiberias ruled, after nodding in appreciation to Alix's outburst. In another world, he would have been glad to marry her to either of his sons. "We will address our nation and the prisoners will keep. And tomorrow, we will know the truth."

"Thank you, Father." Maven sighed in relief.

It was time to go. No need to linger in this space. King Tiberias led the pack, followed by his sons, then Mare, walking between the princes. Evangeline helped her brother up while Alix waited on them both. When Maven glanced behind, all three were walking together: Alix at the center, with the Samos siblings. The three of them together−all silver-haired, pale-skinned, scowling−was a frightening sight.

Back in the ballroom, King Tiberias addressed his Silver lords and ladies. The Sentinels, aiming their guns at the door and windows, manned the walls. The Piedmontese Guards stood by the door itself, the melted stone swept aside to make way for knights in golden armors.

While the King blathered a speech about avenging their fallen, Alix slipped from the group and rounded the crowd. No one noticed a wraith tiptoeing in the shadows. She went towards the group of Skonos healers trying to undo the damage. Many of the Sentinels were hurt. Moving along, she heard wails and cries of a familiar voice. She spotted Lady Diantha Welle, kneeling beside a body on a white sheet.

"Lady Welle, I am−" Alix stopped short. Her tears fell over flushed cheeks. Whatever composure and ferocity she mustered back in the dungeons were no more.

At her feet, flanking Belicos's already pale body, were Hunter and Trey. Their skin was burnt from the explosion, their chestnut curls burned to nothing but a charred skin tight over their skulls. Even in death, the boys were peaceful, innocent to the carnage and brutality in which they met their untimely end.

The princess dropped beside the weeping mother, put her arms around Diantha's shaking shoulders, and cried with her all night long.

But not long enough.

Jairus Lerolan passed by to collect his aunt. It took all his strength and another Lerolan cousin to pry her fingers from her husband's hands. When he managed to make her stand, Diantha came to him with another burst of tears and wrapped her arms around his neck. Jairus nestled back to her, rubbing her back. His green eyes are down on the princess, equally weeping, brushing Trey's cheek with her fingertips.

"Excuse us, Your Highness, but Lady Welle and I have to go," Jairus murmured.

"Yes. Of course." Without looking at them, Alix nodded. She felt their shadows recede along with the rest of the Silver families who came to enjoy dancing and partying, not to suffer fear.

She was alone at last. In this ballroom, no one was left but the skin healers trying to take away the dead. They were shuffling them bodies in white cloths, wheeled them out in stretchers like meat for sale. When a pair of healers tried to take Hunter and Trey from her, she scowled and the shadows swayed again. With furtive steps, the healers went away.

And returned afterwards, with Prince Maven.

He sighed to see her grieving alone. "How long has she been there?"

"Two hours since the King's speech," one of the healers answered. "Not one of the Royal Guard could make her budge an inch. That, and−" The healer shook his head. "And the wolves keep us from advancing. We could have asked for Prince Cal, but he has long retired for the night."

"I understand." Maven's face darkened. They thought of calling for his brother first than him. They thought Cal would solve their problems. Rolling back his shoulders, he would prove them otherwise.

Maven took careful approach. He knew wraiths were unpredictable, their abilities more so, but this was going off the charts. Summoning creatures was one thing, but giving them minds of their own was completely another.

The wolves Alix often used playing with the dead boys were back now, snarling their silent snarl, baring black teeth, surrounding the princess as she continued her vigil. The very wolves she used to play were now being used to threaten. Maven could not decide whether he should keep approaching or not. The wolves walked in circles, only stopping to glare at the prince.

Wraiths, manipulators of shadows and darkness. Damn them all.

"Alix?" he tried, voice soft and tender. She did not move. He dared to come closer. One wolf stopped in its tracks and barked silently at him. "Alix, it's time to go…"

"I can't."

"Of course you can. It's wee hours in the morning."

"I can't leave them," she corrected, her back turned to him.

"We won't leave them alone." Maven took more careful steps, his flame-maker clinking at every silent growl from the wolves. At last, he dropped to the floor next to the princess and took her face in his hands. Her tears fell to his palm, glistening under the dim lighting.

Her face was very pale, and there seemed to be dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. Maven was completely taken aback. He had never seen her so vulnerable and desperate. Her makeup was gone, already wiped away by the countless times she wiped at her tears. With her gown torn and her hair in a wild silver mess, he never would have thought Alix was capable of such an appearance. She was always meticulous when it came to appearances, so vain and prissy that it made Maven annoyed most of the time. Girls and their vanities, he would think.

She was not vain now. Instead, she sniffled like a helpless little girl and buried her face in the crook of his neck. There she sobbed all the more, fingers clutching tight at the lapels of his uniform. Inwardly, the prince thanked his colors that neither Cal nor his mother was around to see this. Especially his mother. Elara Merandus was fierce as she was possessive.

Behind, the skin healers worked as if the two youth were not locked in an embrace. The Sentinels did not mind, but the Royal Guard surely did.

Bryon Novara cleared his throat. He was a knight, a soldier, and most importantly−a babysitter for his royal cousin. It would not do well if she was taking comfort in someone else's betrothed.

"Your Highness," he called. "It is time to go."

Alix flinched in Maven's arms. Around them, the wolves bared black teeth. Novara was unperturbed; no doubt, this was a usual occurrence back home. He merely sighed and removed his golden helmet. For the first time in weeks, Maven saw the firma's face.

He had the bright grey eyes and auburn hair of House Novara. His skin was tan and almost golden from long hours spent under the sun during his Training days. Now his torso rippled with muscle, his arms thick and corded like iron rope braided together. Despite his imposing build, his eyes were warm as he looked down at his sobbing cousin, willing to comfort her but held back by his duties as a Guard.

Besides, Maven was already holding her.

"We should go, Alix," the prince whispered in her ear. "We won't leave Hunter and Trey alone, but we have to go. There's still business to be done in the morning." His words stirred her. Of course, she couldn't appear tomorrow as haggard as she was now. She needed to rest, an unspoken truth. His fingers combed through her hair, smoothing down the tangles, poring over his next words. "We can leave Guard Novara and Sentinel Merandus to watch over, make sure everything is okay…"

She mumbled something under her breath. He had to lean closer, his nose almost against her neck.

"What's that?"

"Bryon comes with me," she murmured softly.

Maven blinked up at the mentioned Guard. Bryon understood what the princess meant and called for another fellow Guard Novara−another cousin, older, with crow's feet under his grey eyes. At that moment, Maven also understood and remembered: that Alix was the youngest of them all, raised alongside her brothers, kept in close surveillance. In a time like this, she would certainly seek the support of a family member.

The lead Guard reassembled the group: two remaining to stay with the bodies, the other ten moving back to the residence halls with the princess. The wolves disintegrated after the announcement, and everyone, including the nearby skin healers, sighed in relief.

When the prince tried to make Alix stand, she tightened her arms around his neck. He blinked again and sought for Novara's help. With a sneer of his own, Novara gestured for them to take the front.

Maven smiled as he carried Alix in his arms, one hand behind her back and the other under her knees. She still had her face in his neck as he walked out of the ballroom, followed by Guards and Sentinels alike. She was light, barely needing half of Maven's strength to carry her. If there had been a windweaver amongst them, he was afraid that she might have been tossed about already.

On the way to the residence halls, she spoke again. "I wish this is all a dream," she muttered, her voice soft and feather-like against his skin. "I wish this is all just a terrible dream…"

He nodded, solemn. He shared her wishes.

But her lips were still grazing across his neck. It was hard not to blush, especially when Bryon Novara's critical gaze was boring through them from their backs. Despite it all, the princess still had something to say.

"And when I wake up, I wish we are back in the morning of Cal's Queenstrial and you are not yet betrothed to anyone…"

Maven nodded again. His lips brushed lightly on her forehead. Careful enough for Novara to miss.

"I wish that, too, Alix," he told her and she smiled.

Author's Notes: The release of War Storm warrants a new chapter! I'm halfway through the chapters, and I am already scared to continue. I can't imagine exactly how the story ends. So please! No spoilers, guys! I need to imagine that Maven is happy at the end of it all.

As for this chapter, things are (finally) moving again. We will delve deeper into the Piedmont and Caralis backgrounds in the next few chapters, since I love world-building as much as writing. Also, thank you very much for the previous reviews! You guys are awesome and I can't thank you all enough!

*Edenrose Antionette - Aww! Thank you, dear!

*Serenitia - Thank you very much! Your words are very kind and encouraging. I hope you continue supporting the story.

*hifivebuddy - Everything's going down for real so now I'm scared!

*Lovely- Thank you, Love!

*Guest- Oh no! Did you mean Ptolemus?! He's back now, don't cry!

*Tallulah- Ooh boy! Alix with Tolly? Or Alix with Cal? Which is it? Make up your mind! XD P.S.: Cal saved me. ;)

*TheBrightestOfBlues- Thank you for that wonderful comment! Ptolemus already survived, but what about marring Alix? Hmm?