The door to the Court of Crowns stands tall, thrice our height and twice our combined width. The great oak things swing inward, revealing the smooth and polished stone floor and the ceiling so high that not even the largest giant could reach it. Rows of long pews form two columns, an emerald rug bordered in crimson separating as it stretches from the doors to the elevated thrones. We follow the rug to its end, finding a gaggle of guards cooing over something. Each adorn simple leather armor, a green cape like Captain Hunt’s and mine covering their backs. A cough rustles among them, sending them straight and to attention. From within them steps a woman draped in an elegant dress of many colors. A gold crown with pieces of jade embedded in the short spikes sits atop her hazel head. A warm smile greets us as she approaches, a mother’s smile. Her tan cheeks can hardly contain the grin.
“Captain Hunt,” she says, looking to him and offering her hand. Several rings clink on her fingers as he takes her hand and presses his lips to the largest one, a silver band with a black diamond.
“Rokkoh.” She turns to me, offering the same hand.
“I don’t do sloppy seconds, your Majesty,” I joke with a light chuckle. She returns a breath of a small laugh, but the hand remains in the air. I take it and, like Captain Hunt, kiss the black diamond.
“Ever the charmer,” Queen Mathilde smirks. Remarks of how that charm used to work on her in the past comes to mind, but I hold my tongue. No matter our history, she wears a crown now. The trouble my tongue could get me into now is far more perilous than when I was a young man. Say the wrong thing to the wrong lady and it meant a hand across the face. Say the same wrong thing to the same wrong lady now and it could be a day in the stocks or a date with the hangman. Then again, Mathilde was only ever bloodthirsty on the battlefield. The real trouble would be if King Domhnall caught wind of my flirtations.
“I try my best,” I offer. “How can I be of assistance, your Majesty?”
That warm smile of her fades for a moment. Her bright, green eyes flicker to from where she had come forth. I follow her gaze; behind the guards, laying on a chaise, is a thick white blanket. It sits like a tiny hilltop on the soft seat, a round head and soft rolling ripples on the way down. At the bottom, though, the fleece is tucked. From under the material, some small thing moves. A nearby guard looks to the little snowy hill, a delighted grin spreading on his baby face. I step toward the bundled blanket. The guards come together, shoulder to shoulder and blocking the way. I peer over their pip-squeak forms, finding a pink face wrapped in the white. Eyes closed, lips sucking on a pacifier, she sleeps.
“Mattie,” I say low, our eyes meeting again, “did you kidnap a baby?”
“Please,” she scoffs, turning away from us all and taking her spot in the row of thrones. She sits in the seat to the right of the center-most royal chair, the polished iron back as tall as me. “I had Captain Hunt do it.”
An arched eyebrow questions him as I turn to face him. That rugged, tough-as-nails scowl breaks into a humored grin. He lets out a single chuckle, his eyes averting my attention. The red carpet suddenly seems intriguing beyond measure. My look remains unchanged when the carpet becomes uninteresting and he looks up again.
“It wasn’t me personally,” he waves me away. “Found someone who would do it for me.”
“Hm,” I nod, slow. “Someone from the Syndicate?”
“The Syndicate?” he laughs, a short roaring sound that proves he is still, at least in part, human. “I wouldn’t ask one of them to steal an apple from the market.”
Something whimpers. All eyes turn to the girl. She sits up, the blanket falling to her shoulders. Her hair, golden silk, is held in a bow at the top of her head. Her eyes blink open, the bright blue orbs still full of sleepiness. She looks around, going from the guards around her and finally finding Queen Mathilde. Tiny arms stretch, the blanket falling around her as she crawls off the chaise. She drags it behind her as her little legs carry her to the Queen. She holds out her arms in a half-asleep request to be held. Queen Mathilde’s heart melts as she obeys, wrapping the girl back up as she picks her up.
“Hey there, beautiful,” she coos, lightly bouncing the tyke on her knee. “Would you like to meet my friend?”
The little bow bounces as she nods. Queen Mathilde smiles to me again, beckoning me. I approach and kneel before them.
“Evalina, this is Rokkoh,” she says to her. The girl holds up a hand and wiggles it in a wave.
“Nice to meet you, little one,” I smile to her. “How old are you?”
She curls three fingers down for a short moment before her eyes close and she latches onto Queen Mathilde. Back to sleep she goes, and I don’t have the heart to wake the sleeping angel.
“Stealing babes from their cribs,” I muse, rising to my feet. With slow steps, my attention goes to my commanding officer. “That’s a new low. I thought you knights had honor.”
“Like I said, they weren’t my hands,” he reasons.
“But it was your order.” We stand toe to toe. Unblinking, we stare at each other. A smug little smirk spreads on his lips, and I answer it with a scowl.
“Boys, play nice,” Queen Mathilde warns. “Besides, Rok, Captain Hunt is just a middleman. If you wish to unleash that holy rage on someone, direct it toward the King. It was his idea.”
My gaze refocuses onto the Queen. She watches in wonder as the child sleeps, gently rocking her. After a long, silent moment, her eyes rise. Her words, incriminating as they were, hold little burden for her. She looks at me, not a care in the world. Well, maybe one. Evalina. She treats the child like her own flesh and blood. That, however, I chock up to her desire for a child of her own as opposed to her love for this child in particular.
“I trust there was a good reason. She some special child of destiny or some bullshit like that?” I ask.
“Not quite,” she answers, growing bored of my image and going back to the ever-intriguing babe. “Mostly just a special child who needs help getting home.”
“Not keeping her, eh?” I chuckle.
“No,” she says, soft. “Her parents cooperated. It would be unwise for us to go back on our word.”
So many questions sprout from the seedlings of her simple phrasing. She says it like I know what she’s talking about. Am I supposed to? Did she slip me some information on crucial kingdom business during our last encounter? There were plenty of drinks involved that night, and I unfortunately cannot recall the entirety of the evening. Or, more likely, she is being cryptic on purpose. I, or someone in this room, am not privy to all the details. Thus, secrecy is a must.
“And to where am I to deliver her?”
It’s the the only question I know she will answer. Anything else could be laughed off as wild, paranoid speculation. Anything else could be conspiracy. Anything else could be the crazy thoughts of a drunkard. Yet, she offers no reply. She remains in her seat, fawning over little Evaline. Captain Hunt, on the other hand, steps forward and appears at my side. He presents to me a small square scrap of paper, folded and sealed with a green Oakwing stamp. I eye it for a moment; if it’s a contract, it must be a simple one. A blend of the old and new ways. I kind of like it. I accept the message and break the seal. A short note is scrawled in the center:
Bring the princess to Vicar Senthia
Lower Yellowberry
Walteria
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I grumble under my breath.
“Something the matter?” Queen Mathilde inquires, looking up once more.
“You kidnapped a fucking princess?!” The words come out loud and fiery, echoing off the high ceiling. All eyes go to the little one and wait for her to wake up as before. Once the ringing fades into silence and she does not stir, focus shifts back to the Queen and myself.
“Again, I did nothing,” she says in a hushed tone. “It was Captain Hunt’s contact who did the deed. I simply passed the message from the King to who I knew could handle the job. Much like what I’m doing now.”
“Why?” I groan, covering my face with my hand as I heave out a heavy sigh.
“You might need to be a touch more precise, darling,” she says after a quiet moment.
“Why did you kidnap the Princess of Walteria?” I clarify, hand unmoving and exasperation unyielding.
“Since when are you interested in politics?” she asks, humor playing in her tone.
“Ever since you and your husband decided it was okay to steal our neighbor’s daughter,” I answer in a quick second with a glower aimed at her.
“I don’t want to bore you,” she says, trying to evade the subject. That humor has dissolved into the light tremble of nervousness.
“I’d rather be bored than pissed,” I tell her, taking a step toward her. Captain Hunt plants a firm hand on my shoulder, a silent warning to stay put. With a grunt, I obey.
“Then be pissed,” she shrugs while dismissing me. “I’m not telling you. It’s royal business. You’re not royalty. So, not your business.”
The Court of Crowns is overcome by quiet again. The gaggle of guards cast worried looks from Queen Mathilde to myself and back again. Captain Hunt keeps his hand on me, making sure I don’t make any sudden and violent moves. The Queen ignores us all, making sure Evaline sleeps happily and soundly. I roll my eyes with another sigh, this one softer and calmer.
“Fine.” The word comes in that bitter breath. Queen Mathilde offers a small smile, and the hand on my shoulder disappears. A wave of relief washes over the guards.
“Good,” the Queen grins. “You are to keep an eye on this precious angel at all times. We have already arranged a driver for the two of you. Torvald should be waiting for you outside the tower. He has been given instructions, of which he shall inform you.”
“Torvald?” The groan that escapes me is loud, bitter, deliberate. “That blond bastard can barely keep his boots tied, let alone lift a sword if the situation calls for it.”
“But he can drive a horse,” Captain Hunt steps in. “And that is all you’ll need him for. The road to Walteria has been safe and clear for quite some time now.”
“And if they are suddenly not so safe and clear?” I turn to him, sharp and with a furrowed brow. “That boy will be butchered.”
“But that’s why we’re sending you,” Queen Mathilde attempts to soothe me. “You’re more than capable of defending not only the little princess but Torvald as well.”
Silence envelops us once more until a heavy sigh fills the space.
“Alright,” I say. “Give me the princess.”
A single footstep closer to her, arms outstretched and ready to accept the child, is met with recoil. Queen Mathilde turns her body away from me, shielding the sleepy girl. She screams with wide eyes but a mute tongue, telling me not to come closer. Protective, instinctive, almost animalistic. I watch her for a long moment, arms relaxed back at my sides, curious.
“I’ll bring her down,” she says, composing herself. Eyes drifting back to the princess, she becomes calm. A small smile returns to her face. “Just one more moment.”
“Whatever the Queen wishes,” I breathe with a slight bow. I follow the long green and red carpet back to the enormous doors; they open for me without assistance and close as I exit.
Tyler Gohde 
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