Song of Escape

[Scriven]

“Oh god, ahh, this is so good. What-- how did you even make this? Did you... Did you sprinkle it with crack and then roll it in crack?”


Jolie raised a pale brow at him from where she stood over the stove on the other side of the kitchen. “Finn, it’s a brownie. It’s just butter and sugar and cocoa.”


“And crack,” he insisted stubbornly. “I’m serious, Jolie, these are incredible." He got a very serious, determined look in his brown eyes. "Will you marry me?”


Jolie expelled a huff of air. “My husband’s not going to like it too much when I tell him you’ve been asking for my hand again,” she teased. “Besides, it’s not you that loves me, just that bottomless pit you call a stomach.”


“Fastest way to a man’s heart,” Finn replied with a wide, toothy grin. He was wrapping up more of the gooey treats in a napkin for later and carefully tucking the parcel into his vest. He couldn’t be seen by anyone dubbed ‘important’ carrying around confectionery treats. He had to put on his most serious valet face, after all. He had a very important position to maintain as attendant to the princess. Sure, none of the other servants in the castle took him seriously, but his employers didn’t know that. The goings-on of the staff were kept a careful secret from those in charge. The royals had their little secrets and the servants had some too.


Finn was an open book though. He didn’t have any secrets to protect, per se, though he was diligent to keep up appearances while working. There was a whole group of people that thought he was dignified and serious and Finn rather liked that. Those that really knew him knew he was neither of those things. What he was was an incorrigible flirt, a prankster, and loyal to a fault.


“You’re going to get chocolate on your clothes,” Jolie told him, waving her spoon at him.


Finn grinned back at her. “You think I’d make the same mistake twice? Please. This time I used two napkins. I’m fine.”


Jolie gave a skeptical grunt and held a tray out to him for him to take. “Put these in the council chamber,” she told him. “And don’t dawdle!”


Taking the tray, Finn hurried away. “I never dawdle!” he hollered over his shoulder, moving too quickly. The teapot clattered against the china cups on the tray and tea spilled out of the spout. Finn forced himself to slow down. He was approaching the doorway to the kitchen and would soon be passing into the territory of all the fine lords and ladies. It was time to play his part. He schooled his face into a serious scowl and straightened his back. He passed Lucia in the dining room on his way to the stairs and she popped the tip of her tongue out at him, but Finn didn’t so much as twitch. He carefully ignored her, sufficiently haughty in his act.


The council chamber door was closed. When he opened it, Finn found the room to be empty. That was odd. Who had asked for a pot of tea? He frowned and closed the door behind him. At least now he had time to wipe up the tea he had spilled. Setting the tray on the roughly hewn, round wooden table, Finn began to look around for something he could use to mop up the spilled tea on the tray. He leaned past the bowl of fruit to pick up one of the handkerchiefs that father Earl was always leaving everywhere (he suffered from Spring fever year round, it seemed) and his elbow knocked into one of the apples, pushing it out. The piece of fruit rolled off the table, then rolled toward the window, disappearing behind the heavy velvet curtains that hung in front of the thick panes of wavy, leaded glass.


Finn groaned and mopped up the tea, then hurried to go pick up the apple. He bent, moving the velvet drapes this way and that, trying to find the fruit. Where had the blasted thing gone? Apples didn’t just disappear. Finn pulled back the curtains and slipped behind them, searching the voluminous folds from that direction. Ah, there it was! He picked the red and gold apple up off the floor and straightened, about to leave the heavy draperies when he heard the door open and click closed a second later. He froze, though he wasn’t sure why. He should have just come right out, but Finn felt a little foolish for being behind the curtains in the first place. By the time he realized he was being an idiot, he had waited too long. Two men had begun to speak in rough, gravelly tones. Finn was stuck where he was till they left.


“Do you have it?” one voice asked.


“Yeah, got it last night. Not an easy thing to find. Lots of questions.”


“You better not have answered any of them,” said the first man impatiently.


The second man laughed, though the sound was humorless. “This isn’t my first assassination.” Finn’s eyes widened and he tried to still his breathing. He didn’t think he wanted to hear this. He couldn’t come out though. They would know he had overheard...


“Good. After the wedding, when everything’s official, you put that in her drink, understand? It’ll look like she took ill, is all. Happens all the time. Then he’ll have the crown for himself.”


“You remember the bargain, don’t you? Half now, half when the job is done.”


Finn could hear coins being jostled, as if they were in a pouch and being handed off from man to man. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, trying not to make a sound. These were dangerous men and they meant business. If they found out he knew of their plan, he had no doubt they would kill him.


“You know what’ll happen if you fail,” one of the men growled- presumably the one paying the other. “I’ll find ye and I’ll kill ye myself. If you try to leave town, you won’t make it far. I’ve got spies in every town. You’ll find yourself with a blade to your throat before you can spend your first coin.”


“I ain’t gonna run, and I definitely ain’t gonna fail,” the other snarled.


Finn heard the door open, then heard feet shuffling, and the door closed again. Had both men left? What if one of them came back? Finn stayed where he was, too afraid to move. His heart was beating a fast, uneven tempo against his ribs, his thoughts racing. One thought was at the forefront though, unable to be suppressed.


He had to tell her. Someone wanted the princess dead.

 

[Mordecai]

Her high Princess Florence Lovell of the Kingdom of Thalamar was a quiet, pleasant woman with soft features and even softer voice; a woman with a face that the beauty of youth had added a certain splendour to. She rarely spoke, though when she did, her words were concise and direct, though somehow pleasing to the ear, like a Lute piercing through the deep rumble of drums. Truthfully, there wasn’t much to the princess that was all that remarkable as she had more or less accepted her role as an ornament of the stately royal palace, a mere accessory to her father’s arm, which would soon be replaced with her husband’s arm, seeing as they were quickly approaching the celebratory imperial wedding. Her future husband, a Prince of a far Eastern Kingdom, was a devilishly handsome with an equally devilish attitude to match. They were unalike in every way imaginable and while they had only met once, at a tea party hosted by his parents several weeks back, she had the sense that she would never love him. And that was perfectly fine. Love was not something she had ever really believed in to begin with, outside the pages of her favourite novels, and it was her duty to bind a truce between two great kingdom.


And Florence Lovell was sort of fine with all of that.


What she wasn’t fine with was how tight Beatrice, one of her many ladies in waiting but also her closest friend, was cranking in her corset for the day’s activities. She was slender enough, with a sort of boyish build especially across the trunk of her torso, but the corset built a more feminine figure, but God, if she didn’t believe Beatrice was her best friend, she would be convinced the raven-haired woman was trying to suffocate her.


“I think-“ Florence gasped, a hand collapsing against her chest as she fought for a breath that didn’t seeming willing to come, “I think that’s plenty tight, thank you.”


“M’lady, the prince is arriving today to have a feast with you, for you, don’t you want to look your absolute finest?”


“While I do, may I remind you that I won’t make it to the meal if this corset gets any tight.” A small laugh escaped her, turning to face herself in the mirror while Beatrice prepared the light summery gown that would be slipped over top. The corset certainly did do the trick, creating a bust and hips on her figure that weren’t there before. She probably would have enjoyed it a bit more had she the option of breathing. Alas, such was the sacrifice for splendour.


“Now, come here, let me just slip this on over your head—Oh gosh!” Beatric yelped, trying to drape the dress over Florence’s head, only serving to get the young princess all sorts of tangled up. After fifteen minutes of fighting, cussing in very unlady like fashions (Florence found herself to be considerably less proper outside the range of a man’s ear), and wiggling around, they managed, through combined effort, to get the princess dressed and prepared. “There we are,” Beatrice finalized, licking the tips of her fingers to help stick a stray lock of curled blonde hair into its proper place in the artisian bun, “Fit for a prince, if I do say so myself. I do good work with such a rough canvas.”


The two girls ended up giggling, their arms tangling together as they burst from the princess’ chambers and clamoured down the halls, the delicate clicking of their heels making a pleasant noise against the marble. It was still much too early for the prince’s welcoming feast, so the two women excused themselves to the outside gardens.


Sun broke across the rocky spine of the distant mountains to announce the arrival of late morning. It was a crisp and clear Spring morning, with blusters of cool air tumbling across the open spaces, swirling through the trees, shrubberies, and flower bushes of the palace’s gardens. Like women did, as there was nothing better for them to do, they chirped endlessly about the gossip, taking a seat knee to knee on one of the garden’s many marble carved benches. Florence’s delicate fingers, burdened by the heavy weight of her engagement ring, spread across the fabric of her dress in her lap, smoothing out the wrinkles in the fierce red silk fabric. The village surrounding the royal palace spiralled out below them as, naturally, the palace had been carved into the highest point of the surrounding area, and Florence found her eyes gazing over the thatched rooftops dotted between rivers of dirt paths that were populated by horses, carts, and people.


Thalamar was not without its problems and poverty, but it had prospered in recent years under the discovery of rich veins of gold, silver, and other precious metals that lined the mountains within its borders. Both her elder brother and mother had perished, leaving the palace empty in recent years, as it homed only her and her father, who was ailing in health.


It was that reason alone he had been so eager to wed her off without second thought. If she were to go unwedded when he passed, the throne of Thalamar would be jeopardy, as know woman had sat on the throne unaccompanied by a husband.


“So, what’s he like? Tell me everything.”


Beatrice’s voice caused Florence to stir, her eyes, two dark pools, blinked a few times as she returned to reality. “The prince? Oh, he’s fine. Stoice and proud. A bit dull.”


“That’s all you have to say about him?” the young woman next to her side with some exasperation, plucking a few blades of grass and beginning to weave them together, her eyes rolling so hard that Florence feared the poor girl’s retinas may detach.


“Actually, Bea, would you mind getting me a spot of tea? Maybe some fruit? I’m feeling a bit peckish.”


“Sure,” Bea chuckled, knowing the princess was just putting off discussing what she didn’t want to. Still, it was not her place, as a friend or as a lady in waiting to question her, so she simply took her hand, gave it a friendly squeeze, and stood to dismiss herself to the kitchen so she could fetch what was asked, leaving Florence to steep in the aloneness of the gardens.

 

[Scriven]

He had waited longer than was necessary, staying hidden behind the heavy curtains in the council chamber with his heart hammering against his chest, thu-thud, thu-thud, thu-thud, spelling out the danger the princess was in, and which he could be in if anyone found out he knew about the planned assassination. When he finally came out of his hiding place, the room was empty and the tea had gotten cold. He picked up the tray, glad that his hands weren't shaking, and left the room.


He hadn't seen the faces of either of the men, and he wasn't sure he could identify them by their voices. Every man he passed in the corridors brought a deep feeling of trepidation. Was it the steward, Charles Brownbeard? Could it be the stable master, Vincent of Granger? What about Anthony or Robert or Duncan? Any of them might be one of the two men that Finn had overheard.


He reached the princess' quarters without really knowing how he had gotten there; he had been so lost in his thoughts that his legs had somehow taken him there automatically. He couldn't recall the corridors he had tread or the steps he had climbed. He balanced the tray on one hand and went in, but found that the room was empty but for a single maid, who was washing out the chamber pot and putting fresh flowers in the vase on the little table by the window.


"Wh-where's the princess?" he stammered at her.


"Finn, are you alright?" the maid- Rosie- asked him. "You look like you've seen a ghost."


He tried to smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine. Just... just tired, is all."


"Come and sit down for a minute, then. You're pale as a sheet."


Finn shook his head. "I'm fine, really. Do you know where the princess went off to?"


"I think she went with Beatrice to sit in the gardens for a spell," Rosie replied, eyeing him skeptically.


Forcing himself to appear normal, Finn set the tray of tea and cups down and ruffled the young woman's hair, making a mess of her bun. She swatted his hands away, ducking away from him with a giggle. "Thank you very much," he told her primly. "Now get back to work. That chamber pot won't clean itself," he teased.


"How I wish it would!" she called to him as he took his tray up again and started walking determinedly in the direction of the garden. There were several that Princess Florence could choose from, but he knew which ones she frequented. He set off toward the one she and Beatrice spent the most time in, practically jogging.


He found her sitting amongst the carefully pruned flowers and shrubs, looking out at the town that spread out below the castle. She was blessedly alone. Finn forced himself to slow down, schooling his features into a practiced, placid expression. When he reached her he only looked the slightest bit alarmed- it showed in his chestnut brown eyes, but nowhere else.


"Your highness," he said, bowing his head. He still had the blasted tray of tea in his hands, which he had been carrying all over the castle and grounds. He lowered his voice and made sure there was no one around close enough to overhear him. "I have... I have something of utmost importance to tell you... I overheard something and-- and I think you're in danger."

 

[Mordecai]

With her back turned to whoever was approaching, Florence had assumed that the rustling of the glass and the soft clinking of ceramic could only be one person, so before she had even glanced back dutifully over her shoulder, she chuckled softly, “Beatrice, I never knew you to work so quickly,” her voice warm and inviting, only then glancing back over her shoulder and finding not beautiful, raven-haired Beatrice, but one Finn Blythe, a handsome man with a galaxy of freckles across his nose and cheeks, all of which were inviting. She never knew him to be anything but a well-behaved valet, though admittedly, they had interacted quite little during his duration in the palace, though she had not a single negative thing to say about him from the few instances they had exchanged words.


“Mister Blythe,” she received, her eyebrows arching up in surprise as she caught note of the tray of tea that was clutched between his firm grip, though his eyes seemed to betray some alarm, a small detail that did not go missed. “I’m surprised to see you here, how may I help you?” though she didn’t need to wait long before the words, like a river, spilled from between his lips. As a royal, Florence never really had the pleasure of seeing his more playful side, as he was always all business in her presence, so the words struck her quite deeply. This was not the makings of a joke, at least none she’d care to be participatory in, and the look in his eye informed her that he at least believed what he was telling her.


But Florence knew better than anyone that belief did not necessarily breed truth. She quickly wrote it off as a misunderstanding, but as a lady of her people, she never shied away from hearing them out, no matter how absurd their claims. That, and Florence did value her existence. She might have had very little control over it, she couldn’t even pick what she got to eat for her meals, let alone her husband, but life still had its pleasures. She enjoyed the gardens, the taste of sweet tea, literature, and it would be foolish to dismiss his claims entirely, even if they did sound a bit absurd (at best).


“Alright, calm down,” she quipped in a voice as level as ever, though there was a small twitch in the space between her eyebrows, a furrowing of sorts. She scooted on the marble bench and patted the space down next to her, an invitation that was not really all that acceptable for someone of her status, but all the men of the palace were in dull board meetings or were preparing for the evening’s feast, no one would pass an eye out to the gardens, of that she was certain. “And come join me, would you? Why don’t you tell me what is going on, Mr. Blythe.”


It was during that brief time after her invitation and before his response that Beatrice had appeared through the side door, slipping out into the garden and pausing a moment when she saw Finn.


“Finn?” she asked, stepping in behind them, “I thought… hm?” glancing between the platter of her tea and his, confused.


“Ah, Bea,” Florence chuckled softly, “I’m sorry, Finn was just about to tell me a few things about the dinner we’re hosting tonight, per my father’s requests. Unfortunately, it seems I’ll no longer have time for tea.”


“Oh right, of course,” Beatrice shrugged, though realized the gesture was inappropriate and straightened her spine. She and Florence may have been close friends, but in public, even if that public was just Finn, she was just another lady in waiting. “I’ll go dispose of this then,” she explained, spinning around to disappear once more.

 

[Scriven]

Finn could see the doubt that flickered in the princess's blue eyes. Maybe he had gone about this all wrong, but he knew no other way than to just come out and say it. He probably sounded mad. What if she told someone what he had said to her? If word of this spread, he could be in as real of danger as she was. Though he sometimes acted like a bit of a fool, foolhardy he was not. Finn valued his life far too much for that.


“And come join me, would you? Why don’t you tell me what is going on, Mr. Blythe.”


She patted the seat beside her, but Finn shook his head. It was unthinkable for a valet to sit beside the princess, everyone knew that. Luckily he was saved from an outright refusal by Princess Florence's lady in waiting, the beautiful Beatrice. She looked between the tray of tea in her hands and the one in his. If she had touched the pot she would know the liquid within was cold. Why was he even carrying it around? He had never set it down. At least it kept his hands occupied and made him look like he was working.


Beatrice left again, leaving Finn alone with the princess. He peered around the garden, making sure they were alone. There were others enjoying the garden and people occasionally coming and going, but none near enough to hear what he said if he kept his volume low. "Your highness, I know what I'm saying sounds a little, well, crazy, but... I-- Please, you must believe me. I was in the council chamber this morning, bringing up a pot of tea, and you see this apple fell off the table and rolled away and--" he was getting off track. He shook his head and tried again. "I was out of sight, looking for something behind the curtains when two other men entered the room. They didn't realize I was there and I didn't see their faces, but they spoke of... of... of an assassination. Yours. I think one of them had managed to get some poison somehow and intends to put it in your drink after you're married so that-" he realized that what he was saying could get him in a lot of trouble and stopped. Could this be considered treason? No, he had to tell her. She had to know what was going on. "They said something like.... 'then he'll have the throne to himself.' Your fiancee. They didn't say his name though. They didn't say your name either, but... but you're the one with a wedding coming up, so..."


His words trailed off, reaching no conclusive ending, but he didn't know what else to say. So that's why I think you're a dead woman walking, he could have concluded, but he ruled that option out. This wasn't a laughing matter.

 

[Mordecai]

Above all else, Florence had always appreciated the rational part of her brain. She enjoyed quiet activities, like board games and reading to more rowdy activities, and esteemed herself as a good judge of character so it came as quite a surprise to her to hear such an accusation and story to fall from Finn’s throat. She had never seen him as anything but sane and lucid, so surely his story must have some truth? And if not truth, then a rational explanation for what he had heard? Right? The one time she had met her fiancé, she had found him to be quite curt and aloof, finding no particular interest in her or her attempts to strike up conversation with him, but surely there was a large jump between aloof and cold-blooded killer. Nervously, her hands spread out across the knees of her dress, smoothing out the crimson fabric with something of a frown on her face. As anyone’s might when there life was possibly in danger, her heart knit. How absurd could it be? Thalamar was to be her kingdom to rule alongside her husband, but it was her blood, not the blood of her suitor, who held claim to the throne.


“I am the only one set to inherit the throne, and the only one in the royal family with a wedding coming up,” she commented idly, though the tone of her voice was wavering. It didn’t possess the same cool indifference, the sense of pride it usually did. If anything, she sounded like a scared child—which was absolutely silly, she tried to convince herself, she was probably getting all worked up over nothing, but she still couldn’t fight that little voice that kept whispering ‘but what if you’re not?’ in the back of her mind. Without even realizing she was doing it, she bit down lightly on her bottom lip in thought as Finn trailed off. Was Thalamar really worth that much? Worth killing and spilling blood for? Her eyes, a lovely shade of eggshell blue, darted up and the wealth of the kingdom below.


She supposed it was.


Anxiously her fingers twitched of their own volition, not sure where to even begin to process such information. Her gaze found him again, her brows still knitted together in a way that was not traditional for such a regal young woman. “I-“ her voice cracked and she found she couldn’t keep speaking for a moment until she swallowed. It was frustrating. All her life, she had been trained to handle every and all situations with grace and poise, yet she couldn’t barely breathe now below the pinching of her corset and her brain was a mess with all sorts of confusion.


“I’m afraid I’m not sure what to do.” What was one to do? Never drink from another cup so long as she lived? It was absurd. That was not a life worth living, or even possible to live, so what else could she do? Confront her fiancé herself? Surely, such unladylike behaviour would be met with a stern backhand, reminding her of her place. Refusal of her fiance’s hand in marriage was simply out of the question at this point and with their wedding only two more nights away, she had to think of something awfully quick.


“I find it absurd you’re saying these things to me, Mr. Blythe, but even more absurd I find myself believing them.”

 

[Scriven]

The princess's anxiety was a mirror of his own. Finn, who was not usually an easy person to work up, now found himself looking around in a paranoid manner, suspicious of every person that so much as glanced their way. What if someone found out that he had warned the princess? Would poison be slipped into his cup, unbeknownst to him? It seemed strange to think that only just this morning he had been stealing brownies from the kitchen staff (which were still tucked in his vest) and proposing to Jolie for the thousandth time. And now... now he was privy to an assassination plot, warning the princess that her life was in danger. He would have found it funny how quickly things could change if he hadn't been so damned worried.


The woman before him, fair and beautiful and poised, clearly didn't know whether to believe him or not. Finn couldn't blame her. What he was saying sounded ludicrous, yet it was the truth. He had no reason to make such a story up. Perhaps he had gone about this all wrong. Was there a way to ease someone into this sort of thing? Maybe he should have started off by asking her how her day was going.


Don't be a tosser, he reprimanded himself. This wasn't the time to be thinking stupid little thoughts, which he was so often prone to.


“I find it absurd you’re saying these things to me, Mr. Blythe, but even more absurd I find myself believing them.”


"I know it sounds crazy, Your Highness. I- Well, I hardly believe what I heard myself, and I was there, but... but I know what I heard."


His brown eyes were drawn up by the sight of a man he didn't recognize stepping through the doorway of the castle and into the garden. The man, tall and burly with black hair and a full beard, looked around before settling his attention on the princess, then Finn a second later. The two men locked eyes, though Finn was quick to look away.


"Your Highness, is there... might there be somewhere we could speak more privately?" he asked, subtly inclining his head toward the man.

 

[Mordecai]

The bow of her lips pursed, sucking in between her teeth as she bit down on the lower half in a very unfeminine fashion, but she was too lost in her own thought to be concerned with decorum in that moment. There were gears turning behind the darkness of her eyes, acknowledging every single word that fell out of his mouth as carefully as if she had been listening to her own father.


“Of course you do,” her fingers were pressed together in her lap, her eyes darting up from the patch of fern on which they had been focusing, reflecting back at him with something of a smile, though it didn’t look to be a very happy one. “I’m sure you know very well what you heard and I believe what you heard was what was actually said, but perhaps it was but a joke?” Not a very funny one, she might add.


And that didn’t excuse the question of: what if it wasn’t a joke? She felt nausea burning through her gut, creeping up her throat though she swallowed hard to keep it down, her lips falling apart to suck in a shaky breath. Perhaps the most frustrating part of it all was how concerned she was for her own life in all of this. A queen thinks only for her people, never herself her mother used to tell her when she was young and would play with her mother’s crown, trying to place it on her little head only to have it fall around her neck like a necklace. But what good would she be to her people dead? And truly, if her fiancé were scoundrel enough to kill his own bride for the throne, certainly he would think nothing for the lives of others? It felt a little selfish, all told, but perhaps allowing herself to be a little be self-regarding was not as terrible of a thing to be as her mother had always made it out to be.


Then, there was someone else, but not Beatrice this time. Instead, it was an unfamiliar man, with equally dark hair and beard settled his gaze upon her. All this excitement was quite trying and exhausting for the young woman, but she gracefully got to her feet and closed the distance between herself and the other gentleman. “Of course, sir,” she answered, extending her arm out to him as a young, proper woman should. She was to be led everywhere she went when in a man’s presence, even by one who was below her political stature.


“Finn,” she paused, glancing back over her shoulder to him, studying his face for a moment, “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Before dinner, come find me, will you? That will be all. Good day, Mister Blythe.”

 

[Scriven]

Something about the bearded man made the tiny hairs on the back of Finn's neck stand up. Something warned him that this man was dangerous, and there was absolutely nothing he could think of to do about it. The princess was standing and taking the raven haired man's arm, fulfilling her role as the perfect lady. Finn wanted to tell her to be careful, but he couldn't. Besides, she wasn't stupid. She knew to be careful, especially now. He was probably just being paranoid, he told himself. She probably knew this man, whom Finn had never seen before. There was surely a perfectly rational explanation for all of this.


Except, he knew somehow that there was no rational explanation for what he had overheard. Someone meant to kill the princess- that was the only explanation he could accept.


"Yes, your highness," Finn said, bowing over the tray of cold tea in his hands. Stiffly he turned away, walking back toward the castle.


The afternoon passed in a blur. He tried to act like his usual self, but those who knew him well kept asking him if he was alright, so Finn knew he was doing a poor job. He felt distracted and out of sorts. He tried to replay the conversation he had overheard to find other interpretations, but every time he focused on recalling the words that had been said, the more they tried to tip-toe away from him. He kept losing fragments, till soon he was questioning if he morning in the council chamber had happened at all. Maybe he had just created this bizarre fantasy, or he was recalling a dream. Maybe he hadn't even spoken to the princess. Nothing felt entirely real anymore.


The rational part of him, which admittedly didn't always see the light of day, kept telling him he wasn't going crazy, that what he had heard was real, and that he had a duty not only to the princess but to his country to do everything he could to prevent the assassination from taking place. If he couldn't convince her to act on what he had overheard, he would have to take the news to someone else who would. The troubling thing was that he didn't know who to trust.


Evening came much too quickly, yet the day had simultaneously seemed to drag along. He was no closer to knowing the right thing to do than he had been that morning when he had been hiding in the curtains like an idiot. Dinner would be starting soon, so Finn forced himself to concentrate. There was at least one task that he needed to focus his attention on, and that was finding the princess. He checked the garden first, then the solar, and finally went to her room. The door was open, so Finn let himself in, bowing low. He was glad for the first time in his life for their class difference. If he had been a man of noble birth all eyes would have been on him as he approached the princess. As a servant he was all but invisible. No one would think twice about him going into the princess's chamber; all would assume he was on some errand.

 

[Mordecai]

Florence had all but forgotten about her conversation in the garden due to the whirlwind that was her day. She was escorted into the castle by the foreign gentleman, whom she naturally assumed was one of her fiancé’s men (he had brought quite a number of his own guards and friends, it would seem). Her day was filled with some entertainment, mostly in the form of discussing her wedding day. There were few choices in life Florence was allowed to make, but her wedding day was one.


The color of the flowers, the types of decorations, her dress… it was the one time of a woman’s life where she was in charge and while many would have enjoyed the freedom of planning, Florence found it all to be a little bit dull. Gardeners from all across the royal city brought baskets filled with marigolds, and violets, and poppies, and hyacinths, and everlasting amaranths, and roses, and all kinds of bright flowers, some of them without a name, trying to entice the young princess to select their services.


Women, too, brought dress designs for her to pick from, and while she made all the choices that were required of her, she went about it with a rather blank expression across her pretty face. She had never once got the idealistic notion in her head of marrying for love, but without a lover’s inspiration, the tasks of planning a wedding were… tedious, at best. Thankfully, they made the day go by quickly enough, and she was allowed a one hour rest before Beatrice would return to spruce her up for the banquet that would be happening that evening. Retiring to her quarters for now, she bided her time by sitting in the windowsill overlooking the gardens and cracking open a book. For all the things her life lacked: excitement, love, adventure, books made up for in droves.


It was an escape, as books were meant to be, and she was so engrossed in her current tale she nearly lurched out of her skin when someone swept in through the cracked door. “Oh, my heavens,” she shut the book in her lap, “Finn,” a soft laugh escaped her as she brought a hand to the space between her collarbones, as if to try and settle her quickly beating heart. Immediately, she moved to get to her feet as his body bowed to her social superiority.


“I hate to say that I nearly forgot you were planning on stopping by. Now, I wanted to continue our conversation from earlier, regarding what you heard.” Her hands clasped together in front of her delicately as she moved through the room to close the distance between them somewhat. “Are you certain of what you heard?” she inquired, though not at all maliciously. Instead, it more sounded like she was asking if she had heard and understood him correctly, though truthfully, she had no reason to doubt him.


She had no reason to doubt her fiancé’s intentions either. His attitude towards her had always been brisk but, well, she had already been over that thought many times. “And does anyone else know? Or hear of this?”

 

[Scriven]

She had forgotten? Finn was stunned. Didn't she realize that this was a matter of life and death? Hers, to be exact? When the stupor wore off he wanted to shake her and ask her if she had a brain in that pretty head of hers. Of course, he did nothing of the sort. He couldn't shake her- she was a princess. And he couldn't go mouthing off to her with impertinent questions, because again, princess.


"Your Highness, if I wasn't entirely sure of what I had heard, I would not have approached you."


Because facts were facts: he was a bit of an idiot and prone to thinking and doing idiotic things. If he hadn't been altogether certain that what he had heard wasn't some kind of hoax or just his ears being full of wax, he would have chalked it up to the fact that as far as people went, he wasn't top tier in terms of seriousness or intelligence.


He couldn't help it though. Even though they were about as far apart in terms of social status as two people could be, he was flabbergasted and just a little salty over the fact that she wasn't taking this seriously.


"You realize we're talking about your life, right? You don't seem to care that there are people plotting to murder you. You forgot about it. I'm not quite sure how to drill home the fact that this is real and that if you don't take it seriously you're going to die." He blinked. Shit, perhaps he shouldn't have phrased that quite so bluntly. "... your highness," he added lamely, as if the lack of proper address in that statement was really the issue.

 

[Mordecai]

Her eyes sharpened on the man who dare have the spine to speak to her in such a venomous manner. She had never known Finn to be the disobedient type, so hearing his words caused the hairs along the back of her neck to spine. The gentle bow of her lips went rigid as she sucked them in against her teeth, her shoulders broadening with her straightening posture, as she stared him down—entirely unsure of what exactly to say to him. No one had spoken in such a cruel manner to her before and his lame attempt at making up for it by tacking on ‘your highness’ after a few moments did nothing to soften the glint in her eye.


She deliberated for several moments, a pregnant silence spanning between them, her hands balling into fists at her sides before she let them relax with a comfortable sigh. “What exactly do you expect me to do, Finn?” she barked back, surprised by the lack of femininity in her own voice, pausing a moment to properly clear her throat and swallow down the coolness that had edged in on her words. A lady never raised her voice, so the force of her tenor had nearly caught her off guard. Oh, how her mother would have scolded her had she heard the distinct lack of feminine tenderness in her voice just then.


“Do you expect me to pack up my bags, depart for the country, and live out a life in a humble shack? I’m not sure what you expected, Finn.” She sighed, a breath that dragged from deep within her lungs as she ran a frustrated hand through the soft curls of her hair, pushing them aggressively away from her face as she turned her back to him for only a moment, her feet carrying her several paces in a small circle about her dormitory, not entirely sure what to do here. She had half a mind to take the news to her family, but who would believe a princess?


Don’t let your imagination get the best of you, Florence, her father would tell her. We have the finest security in the kingdom, m’dear. Fret not! her mother would shrill. No one would listen to the wild imagination of a young princess. Truthfully, she had no reason to doubt Finn—no one would have stood up to her in such a way if he didn’t at least believe what he heard to be truth, but what more could she do?


With these thoughts swirling about her mind, she turned her head to face him again, “What do you think?”

 

[Scriven]

He had known the moment the words had left his mouth that he'd made a horrible error. He was talking to a princess, not to a fellow servant. Her gaze was icy and her eyes were tight. Finn felt a tingle of intimidation and cowed under the power of her withering scowl, his eyes sweeping to the floor.


"Well, I mean- no. I just--"


He didn't know how to answer her. How was he supposed to know how she should react? Honestly, hadn't he done his due diligence just by reporting it to her? If he'd been just slightly cleverer, he would have left well enough alone, backed the hell off, and let her handle things however she liked, even if that resulted in her getting murdered. Unfortunately he wasn't very clever and he just didn't have it in him to let her die without doing his damnedest to stop it. The moment he had heard the two unseen men's plot, he had been ensnared. He was involved, like it or not.


"I think... Well, shouldn't you tell the king and queen?" he questioned. "And... I dunno, call off your engagement? I would at least do those two things."


Yes, that seemed like the most logical thing, didn't it? The king and queen were the most powerful people in the country. If they couldn't protect their own daughter, who could? And if she called off her engagement, the two men would hit a fatal snag in their plan: they couldn't kill her after her wedding, because there would be no wedding. Finn couldn't help it, he smiled in success like a big idiot.

 

[Mordecai]

“My parents? Oh yes, of course, they’ll believe the whims of their child who has promised them that all of their guards have been fooled and will allow a perpetrator to slip passed and murder me.” It sounded a bit absurd, “And it’s not my place. I can’t call of my engagement. The only people who can are the King or my fiancé,” she pointed out rather dismally. The truth of the matter, for all the power people believed a royal should yield, Florence possessed very little. She wasn’t even allowed to choose her own dresses, or how her hair was to be styled, or what flowers would be put in to decorations at her wedding. She was allowed to give her opinions on these matters, but at the end of the day, the decisions settled with the King and her fiancé, for they were men, and men were the decision bearers.


A nervous hand tugged, yet again, through her hair, beginning to step nervously in circles around her chambers, her eyes raking across her window, staring out at the beautiful day. “I’m awfully sorry, I didn’t mean to sound crude,” her tone lightened again, softening back into what was proper for a young lady. Truthfully, she hadn’t mean to snap, least of all the young gentleman standing awkwardly in the port of her door. She knew his intentions were good, she could see it in his face with the way he brightened up when he had come up with his solution.


A sweet, genuine smile crossed his face and she softened at the appearance of it. It was hard sometimes, for her, because she never quite could tell who was playing in her corner. She was a priceless bargaining chip, nothing more, and her value was all summed up by her hand in marriage.


Carefully, her fingertips of her left hand brushed across her lips, engrossing herself into her own thoughts. “Killing me for my kingdom? How dull,” she flipped a hand, “At this point, I’d be inclined just to give it to him, if he asked, but I suppose a legitimate, living claim to the throne is something they don’t just want floating around in the world, now do they? No,” her head shook, long curls tumbling across her shoulders, “The King and Queen will do nothing in this situation. If I want to survive, I must think a little more creatively,” her eyes strolled over to him, giving him a careful once over before offering a touch of smile.


“Finn, dear, I appreciate your time coming forward with this to me. Your job is done and you have done your just duty. You really don’t need to stay here with me, if you don’t feel so inclined.”

 

[Scriven]

Finn's eyes stayed planted on the floor, his heart sinking. He didn't know what to do. The princess thought her parents wouldn't believe her, and for that he would just have to take her word. So what was there to do? Was he going to be counting the days till her wedding, dreading the news that she had been found cold in her bed?


He looked up to watch her drag her fingers thoughtfully across her lips, her perfectly formed blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders when she shook her head. Though she smiled at him, the expression was faint. Her smiles usually suffused her, lighting her up, but this time she seemed distant and distracted. Finn couldn't really blame her.


She dismissed him, but still Finn hesitated. "Your highness," he said tentatively. "If there was anything-- that is to say, if you think of any way I could help... I would. I don't know what use I might be of to you, but... The truth is, I feel involved at this point. I'd do just about anything to help you if you asked it of me."


He had said too much. The back of his neck felt hot and he took a step backward, looking away. "I'll, um, just get going. Your highness," he said, ducking his head, then turned and trotted away down the hall.

 

[Mordecai]

Florence watched him leave with all the same poise and grace as she always carried. The column of her neck kept her head high; her lips slightly parted smoky red with balm and dye. She followed him through the door and watched long after he was gone. An uneasy bubble of naseua gripped her gut, though she couldn’t honestly ascribe it to the news he had reminded her of or the tightness of her corset. It was then she realized the time. It was growing dark, dinner was to be served and, for the first time in months, she was to meet her fiancé. They would dine together with both families present but she was hardly dressed for such an affair. In a bustle of thoughts, she shook her head, cleared her mind, and had half a mind to wonder where her most trusted handmaid had scampered off to.


Silly Beatrice, a woman of absolutely no propriety, though she had a lovely heart.


“Bea?” The princess called, sweeping down the hall from her own chambers, down the stairs, and swinging around the corner to the maids rooms. It was unusual for a royal to venture this far, but time was ticking—dinner was to be hosted in two hours, and Florence was expected to be dressed, made, and prepared for the engagement. The door to Beatrice’s chamber was cracked just a sliver, candlelight spilling out from the small slit in an angled beam of light. Normally, Florence would have called out for her maid once more, but something possessed her tongue.


Her heart thud, thud, thudded in her chest as she found her weight poised on her tippy toes creeping closer, her hand coming to rest on the door. A male voice caught her attention, the blood draining into her ears as she pulled away, clutching her hand to her breast.


“You are her most trusted ally, Miss Fundel,” the man explained in a crisp voice, addressing Beatrice… Beatrice Fundel, “She will trust any drink you serve her.”


“Will—“ it was Beatrice’s voice responding, the accent unmistakable as Florence stepped away from the door even farther. She wanted to flee, but her feet couldn’t find the energy. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes—surely, Finn had just been a fool, but did her own ears deceive her now too? “Will it cause her highness pain?”


“No, Miss Fundel. It will be quick and painless. She won’t even know—“


It was more than enough, swallowing down the bubble threatening to come up from her stomach, Florence darted away as quickly and quietly as she could, back up the stairs. Finn—she had to find Finn. Who else could she trust in such a dire hour, when her own maid, her best friend, was a part of this? Forgetting all about dinner, she tumbled through the servant’s corridors. Which one was his again? Why hadn’t she taken the time to remember rooms? Curses.


“Finn?”

 

[Scriven]

"Your Highness?"


Lucia had popped her head out of the room she shared to see what the noise was all about, and she was shocked now to find none other than the princess Florence looking wide-eyed and panicky in the servants quarters. Lucia slipped out into the hallway, curtsying, a curious expression on her tanned face.


"Are you looking for Finn? He's just down--" she stopped, because his door had just opened. The tall, freckled valet stepped out into the hall, his mouth agape.


"Princess," he said in surprise, looking between Florence and Lucia with raised brows, clearly unsure exactly what to say.


Lucia was hedging away, even though she was dying of curiosity to know what the princess wanted with Finn. "Please excuse me, I've got an errand to attend to." Clearly Finn wasn't even paying attention to her. His wide brown eyes were singularly on the princess. Lucia darted away, intent on interrogating Finn for answers later.


Finn took a few steps closer, head cocked to one side. "Princess, is everything okay?"


He knew somehow that it wasn't. She wouldn't be here in the servants wing of the castle looking for him if it was. Had she thought of a way he could help her? Maybe she had gone to her parents after all.

 

[Mordecai]

Lucia was a nice woman, but certainly not the face she hoped to see. In fact, when the young woman popped out from her room, it gave Florence quite the start, nearly losing her balance in a very unladylike fashion because of the surprise but she maintained her poise. Yet it was awfully difficult, all considering. It felt like everything was beginning to crack away: her safety, her comfort, her best friend, even her grace and nobility had just been compromised for a fraction of a second as a scared expression dusted across her face, but she quickly pulled it away and replace it with resigned indifference, just like a woman ought to.


Thankfully, Finn appeared a moment later so she didn’t have to continue making a fool of herself. Instead, Lucia stepped away, though not without passing them both a curious glance. One that, mind you, Florence quickly brushed off. Hair, in wild blonde curls, tumbled across her shoulders and a single thread falling across her forehead that she anxiously brushed away. She did watch, however, for Lucia to be fully returning her gaze back to him. He looked frightened to see her here, his eyes wide with confusion, though a handsome color of coffee brown, she noted. Still, the color of his eyes was no matter.


“I—“ she fumbled for her words in a way no princess should, her hands balling into fists at her sides, “I doubted you, and I’m sorry for that. “I brushed you off because I thought you had misheard, I thought it was impossible but—but it’s not. Beatrice, I heard Beatrice talking to a man. Can you imagine? My best friend?” her voice went soft, and quiet, though she wasn’t looking for his pity. No, she kept a straight face, her lip firm even if all she wanted to do was allow the tears burning behind her eyes to fall. For once, she felt like she truly had nowhere to go. Except there was Finn.


“I am not sure where else to go,” she admitted, “Except to you. If I told the King or the Queen,” he parents, “they would never believe Beatrice to be involved in such a plot. They would think me crazy—or trying to get out of my arrangement with the prince.” Her hands swept together in front of her, wringing her fingers together as she averted her gaze, “Finn, I don’t want to die, but I- mm- I don’t know what to do.”


Admitting she was lost and confused hurt her pride a great deal. She was a royal, for goodness sakes, and meant to deal with her own problems, not go cowering to a swab, yet there she was all the same.

 

[Scriven]

Finn's gaze turned from wide-eyed shock to soft-eyed compassion. Though he wasn't sure he entirely understood the situation, it sounded like she had just learned she was being betrayed by her best friend. Beatrice... wasn't that the lady in waiting she had been with that morning? He couldn't always keep all the courtiers straight, but Beatrice was one who was usually right next to the princess.


He looked furtively around the corridor. "Maybe we should talk somewhere else," he told her. It was the time of day when maids and valets would be coming and going from their rooms, and this wasn't a topic either one of them needed people overhearing. "Come on, I know a place that's a little more private."


Instinctively he reached for her elbow, his fingers brushing over the fabric of her gown, but he realized what he was doing a heartbeat later and let his hand drop away. Just because she was associating with him didn't make her any less of a princess, Finn reminded himself. The look he gave her was as somber as it was apologetic. He lead her down the hallway and out of the servants wing, in the direction of the kitchen, though he veered to the left and instead lead her out to the stable. The large wooden structure was empty of people, though horses filled most of the stalls. Finn walked to the back and ducked into an empty stall, ushering Florence in after him.


"Think- is there anyone you know who would believe you? Who would help you? Do you have family somewhere outside of this castle where you could flee to?" She needed to get away. If her own handmaid was involved in the plot to murder her, who could she trust? It wasn't safe for her to confide in anyone.

 

[Mordecai]

Letting him coax her away, though it was entirely inappropriate, Florence wiped a hand across her eyes and dragged with it a smudge of kohl against the back of her palm. Hideous, she thought internally to herself—what sort of person would enjoy the presence of a sniveling princess? On those thoughts alone, she felt a little pang of pity for putting Finn out, but she had neither time nor latitude to brush him off again. In whatever capacity he was willing to help her, or at least hear her out, she was eternally thankful and when his fingertips brushed against her elbow, she didn’t so much as flinch and burst into a quick pace at his side.


Florence was careful not to fall a stride behind, to be led, or a stride in front, as she had no idea where they were going, of Finn. He led her through the parts of the palace that were most unfamiliar to her and she was very nearly surprised to find they had somehow made their way to the stables. It brought a first hint of smile to her face to see it and to smell it. She always loved the horses and had been riding since she was young, though always at a slow, ladylike pace. Carefully, she reached her hand between the wooden slats of one of the stalls and found a velveteen muzzle snorting hot air against her hand before the horse’s nose dropped into her fingers and she gave the animal’s lower lip, just behind his whiskered chin, an adoring scratch.


It was a little reprieve she needed it would seem, for her face seemed a bit clearer than it had been before. The quivering fear was replaced with adamant determination as her eyes turned back to Finn as he addressed her. “I—“ god, who did she have in her life if not Beatrice? Friends weren’t exactly things allotted princesses. Aside from the king and queen, and her fiancé, her contact with others was fleeting and superficial, Beatrice being the exception. Unfortunately, the woman was going to attempt to poison her. Truthfully, the question brought something of sadness through her. How had she not noticed how empty her existence truly was until now?


To have people out for your life and no one to turn to? Pathetic.


“I have cousins… The royal family of Uldrich, though that’s a four day ride from here on a horse made of wind. I’ve made the trek several times, but never alone.”

 

[Scriven]

The stable had always been a soothing place for Finn, and it seemed that Florence felt much the same. There was just something about the smell of hay mingling with the slightly damp scent of the wood beams that was calming. He could hear the horses breathing around them, giving the occasional snort and shifting around in their stalls. Florence was scratching under one of the beasts' chin, at ease with the animal which was so much bigger than her.


"Do you think your cousins would hear you out? Maybe if you had their aid, they might be able to convince your parents to listen to you too." Sometimes being too close to the source made it difficult to see the problem; her cousins in Uldrich might have more perspective on the issue. "We could go there," Finn told her. "Together. I could take you."


The offer left his lips before he had really even thought about it. His brows drew together as he reconsidered the offer of help he had just extended. Was that really a wise decision? He tried to consider the repercussions, though foresight had never been his forte. What could happen if he helped Florence flee her homeland? He might be charged with treason, but surely she would speak on his behalf and those charges would be dropped. He could lose his job, but while that was no small detriment to Finn, it paled in comparison to the princess losing her life. Last, but certainly not least, those who wished to assassinate her might discover that she had left and that he was helping her, which might very well put a target on his head too. Though he wanted to help her, he didn't fancy the idea of winding up dead because of it. Brave and selfless he was not.


"If we do this, it might be wise to take someone with us who could offer some kind of protection," he said slowly, the thought still formulating in his mind. "Only, there probably aren't many people here you can trust absolutely. Maybe... maybe you could disguise yourself as a commoner and I could hire a sellsword under the guise of wanting protection on the road to Uldrich."


That could work, couldn't it? He could say that Florence was his sister (he didn't think he had the gall to pretend he was her husband) and that they had business in Uldrich, but feared thieves and highwaymen on the road to their destination. It seemed a plausible enough reason. Hopefully they wouldn't need protection at all, but if someone did show up after the princess, their hired sword could protect them.

 

[Mordecai]

“Maybe,” she answered idly, not turning back to him as her hand still below the horse’s muzzle, enjoying the velveteen softness of it against her fingers, “I’ve only met them a few times but they seem to be very kind and reasonable people.” Truthfully, she would have said the same thing about Beatrice too, up until that afternoon that was. But anyone had to be better than staying here. She was not a weak woman, Florence, not like she probably ought to be, but trekking alone was dangerous, especially for a lone woman who had little to no survival skills, so it was with some interest that she seemed to perk up and glance back at him with interest.


“You? Together?” She couldn’t even really begin to understand what he was saying. People had always been so willing to help her because of her status or her family’s money, but there was nothing that could drive him to want to help her. She had never done anything nice for him, never even glanced his way all that often. Sure, she had always been polite and nice to him, like she was towards all people, but to say she had been friendly would have been a stretch.


It felt so unnatural to hear his offer that her eyes began to sting and she blinked hard, trying to bat away the tears that were threatening to spill over. Above all else, she hated crying, and her hand balled into a little fist. “You—you’ll help me?” Her voice was considerably more fraught with quivers than she would have liked and she quickly sucked in a few deep breaths to try and regain her composure, but nothing was helping. Truthfully, all she wanted to do was throw her arms around his neck and sob into his shoulder because she was just so damn terrified and confused and hurting that his small act of kindness almost felt overwhelming.


And she might have done, had she not forced herself to swallow down the bubble of tears churning in her gut and busied herself with straightening out the front of her dress.


“Do you think it really will work? Disguising me as a commoner?” That would be the easy part. There were tons of spare dresses left behind from maids that were no longer with the royal family. She was sure she could find something, “I uhm,” oh lord, she needed to get herself together. She scolded herself in her own head. “I don’t have much I can offer you right now—I uhm, I can find you some money—for all that you’re doing.”


Her fingers fell together in front of her, tangled together messily, “I can prepare from here, if you could hire the sesllsword?” A small, almost pleasant smile breached her face as a hand came up to wipe away a few tears that had collected in her lashes. “Thank you Finn, I promise I will find a way to repay you.”

 

[Scriven]

Did he really think it would work, she asked him. He couldn't honestly answer that with 'yes'. Finn frowned contemplatively, his freckled face much more grim than usual. All of his slightly goofy, trying-too-hard-to-be-serious-and-usually-failing-miserably countenance had disappeared, replaced by something more unavoidably mature.


"I think it's worth taking the risk," he told her, and that was the honest truth. The princess stood to lose a whole heck of a lot if she stayed. Whatever repercussions they might face if they failed paled in comparison to that. He sucked in a deep breath, his brows pinched together as he concentrated on concocting a plan.


"So, we've got to get you out of the castle. Do you think you could sneak out at night if you were dressed like a commoner?"


Getting her past the courtiers she knew, the men and women who served her, and the guards who patrolled the castle was going to be the most difficult part, at least tonight. On the other hand, the princess had always been a well behaved young woman. No one would ever suspect her of trying to fool everyone and sneak away, so the element of surprise was in their favor.


"I think once we get in town, it's a lot less likely you'll be recognized. I'd have no idea what you looked like if I didn't work here, and common folks don't really think about the royal family more than they have to." Finn blanched, realizing too late how offensive those words sounded. "Begging your pardon, your highness. I just mean... just that..." his voice trailed off as he struggled to come up with a reasonable explanation. After a moment he gave up and just grinned apologetically, bashfully scratching at the nape of his neck.


"It'll be better if we can hide you at an inn while I look for a swordsman to hire, I think. I reckon it'll seem a little suspicious if I tell him we have to pick you up from the castle. Oh- which reminds me.... I think... I think... Well, IthinkitmightbebestifIsaidyouweremysister," he said very quickly, face burning. "Just to, y'know, make it seem less suspicious that we're together."


The recommendation felt like he was seriously crossing a line, but facts were facts: Florence was an exceedingly pretty young woman and people would be looking at her. Once they finished staring, they'd probably look at him, then wonder what the heck they were doing together. It was what he would wonder, at least. Having a story from the get-go seemed like a good idea, especially if they were laying their faith (and possibly their lives) in the hands of an unknown person.

 

[Mordecai]

“You’re not the only one who has ever caused a little trouble around the castle, Finn,” she explained with a soft smile, almost mischievous in nature. Everyone thought Florence was such a well-behaved young woman and, by and large, she was, but she had snuck out before—just to let her bare toes sink in the grass of the garden, something that would be quite frowned upon if anyone found out. She had never gone beyond the garden before, so sneaking past the guards would be the most difficult part of the task, but sneaking past the courtiers? That would be easy enough. Getting through dinner with a pleasant expression on her face and trusting Beatrice to tighten her corset for the meal was going to be the biggest obstacle for her to overcome.


“I can sneak out, yes. Shall we meet by the front gate?” The front, Easternmost gate was the central threshold separating the palace from the commoners below. She had never made it that far before, not unaccompanied anyways, but what choice did she have? Yes, she’d have to do it and do so on her own—all she had to do was fool people that she was genuinely excited for the wedding at the dinner party that evening, but Florence did that every day of her life. Emotions that weren’t pleasant were unbecoming on a princess. She was not allowed to be anything but graceful, poised, and even—no matter what she had to endure.


She could lie to a mind reader, if asked. Fooling a disinterested fiancé would be easy enough, though it made it significantly more difficult knowing he was out for her head on a stake.


A soft smile possessed her, “It’s alright, Finn,” she dismissed him with a soft laugh, a weak noise, “I’m not blind to the rest of the world. I know me and my family are not—mm, how shall I say? Well liked. We are not well liked and I understand that.” A brow raised below her bangs as he fumbled awkwardly, trying to make his words sound a little less offensive, but Florence could only laugh a little, clearing away the corner of her eyes and relaxing the tension in her shoulders. She had to get back soon, Beatrice was certain to be looking for her now as dinner approached.


“I quite enjoy your company, Finn,” she slipped a hand on his shoulder and giving it a friendly squeeze, “Now, I best get back to preparing for my dinner party. Gracefully, she swept up her thunderstorm of emotions below the rug as her exterior went even and calm.


“Shall I see you tonight, brother? At the Eastern Gate come nightfall? The guards switch at nine o’clock. We shall have about a twenty minute window.”

 

[Scriven]

Finn's quiet laugh was just slightly uncomfortable, his eyes averted. It wasn't so much that people hated her family, he thought. It was just that royalty and members of court seemed to have this belief that the world revolved around them, and that wasn't really the case. He decided against trying to explain himself though; he had already managed to put his foot in his mouth enough for one evening.


He was still a little surprised that the princess wasn't a stranger to sneaking around (and he was a little impressed, too), but even more impressive was the fact that she was familiar with the rotations of the guards. He realized he had always thought of her in a very narrow capacity: a figurehead, a demure young woman, and just one of the many people he served. He had never stopped to consider what she was actually like.


"Sure, I'll meet you here at nine," he agreed with a bob of his head. "I'll have horses ready for us in town. If you can get a hold of it, try to bring enough coin to hire a swordsman."


He certainly didn't have excess money lying around to hire a sword with, that was for sure. He started to bow, but caught himself and stopped. No, he needed to very quickly get used to not bowing to her and addressing her as 'highness' if she was going to pass as a commoner. He gave her one last rueful smile and turned to leave.


He still had to make it through the rest of his duties that night before he could begin preparations. Finn carried out his duties distractedly, glad that no one seemed to notice that anything was amiss. When he was done for the night and given leave to retire, he slipped out of the great hall, past the gate, and into the town that was built around the castle. They couldn't stay here for long, Finn realized. As soon as morning came (or possibly sooner), someone would discover that the princess was missing. They needed to be out of town before that happened.


He jogged down the roads, darting between people, animals, and carts rolling past. He looked for a tavern where he might be able to hire a sellsword and found a likely enough one in one of the seedier districts. The building was two stories, though the second story looked tipped precariously toward the fuller's workshop next door. The first floor was crafted of stone that bore the marks of fire, while the second floor was wooden in construction. There was a trellis against one side of the building that black-eyed susans grew up in a vine. The yellow flowers seemed far too friendly for the sort of people he saw coming in and out.


After working up his nerve outside the tavern for a few minutes, during which he paced and rehearsed the lines he might need to say, Finn finally jogged the three short steps and entered the establishment. It was loud inside from the din of voices; people spoke over each other, men yelled for more mead and ale, and the women who served slammed down heavy metal mugs and pitchers on the uneven tables, making them rattle. He realized instantly how out of place he looked and did his best not to look like a scared pup. He sidled up to the bar, looking around him at all the different sorts of people. He saw several men with swords at their hips, which seemed promising. People didn't normally go about with swords on them, did they? Finn realized for the first time just how very sheltered he was by the walls of the castle that he rarely left.


"You lookin' for a drink, boy?" a woman asked from behind the bar, giving him an assessing look. "I'll give you somethin' that'll put some hair on those peaches."


"--hair?" he repeated, then flushed. "Um, no..." Oh lord, his ears were burning. "I just... I was wondering a couple of things..."


She let out a hearty laugh, reaching back behind her to grab a mug. "Put your coin on the counter, boy, and have a drink. Then I'll see if I can't help that poor, little baffled mind of yours."


Reluctantly Finn reached into his pocket, coming up with a brass coin. "Is- is this enough?"


She eyed the coin, picked it up, and after a sly look around to make sure no one was watching her stuck it right between her breasts, where it disappeared into her cleavage. "Sure, kid." She poured him a glass of warm beer and pushed it toward him. "So, what are you wondering?"


He put his fingers round the handle but didn't pick the heavy metal mug up. "Erm, well... first, is there a chance I could rent a room for a couple of hours tonight? Say, between nine and eleven?"


His question evidently surprised her, though he realized too late why.


"I wouldn't hire one'a them street walkers, if I were you. They'll rob you blind, or slit that skinny throat of yours if your purse isn't heavy enough. You're better off finding a brothel."


"Oh, but... but no, it's not for that. I just... It's for something else."


She regarded him for an moment before answering. "Sure, hun, you can rent a room for a few hours. 'S cheaper for a whole night, but we'll give you a room for two hours for, oh... six brass."


"Six?!" Finn asked in shock.


"Fine, three," she amended quickly, and he realized the woman behind the bar had been trying to take him for a ride. "What else? I get this feeling that's not all you've been 'wondering' about."


Nervously Finn took a sip of the beer, which was too warm and definitely watered down. "Where can I find a hired sword?"


She leaned forward, her forearms on the bar, till her face was only a few inches away from his. "You going to cause trouble here?" she muttered darkly, and Finn gave a quick, emphatic, negative shake of his head. She leaned back, smirked, and straightened. "Yeah, didn't think so. Y'see that man right there?"


She pointed one dirty fingernail at a man sitting on the other side of the room, off by himself next to the hearth. He was quietly eating his supper, a glass of red wine in front of him. There was a sword at his side.


"The one with the long brown hair?"


"That's the one, kid. He's the one you want to talk to. You come back tonight and he's still here, that's the sword you want to hire."


"Thank you," he said in relief, stepping away from the bar and his almost untouched drink.


"You done with that?" she asked, looking down at his beer. He nodded and she picked it up, throwing back a long swig. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and winked at him. "See you tonight, kid."