Unknown Person

An evening. A dingy study. A lone, exhausted man.

Wringing his hands in agitation, he paced back and forth restlessly. His mind was swirling with turmoil despite the countless bottles of whiskey he had consumed to numb his heated thoughts.

Curse those useless men!

All he had asked of them was to sneak into Derelia Manor through the cellar, lure the two Lords of Derelia up to the bedchamber nearest to an exit, and murder them both silently and swiftly.

A simple plan. A simple plan that he had paid them handsomely to execute.

And what had the airheads done instead? They had murdered the elder and foolishly left the younger in the hands of the Lady Knight herself!

In a burst of mounting frustration, he grabbed the empty chalice from the oak table, refilled it for the umpteenth time that night with dark, amber whiskey, and gulped down its contents in one swift motion, wincing at the feel of the scorching liquid rushing down his throat.

The pain offered him a momentary respite from his mental torment, and for that, he was grateful.

But Lord, what in the world was he going to tell his Master? That his men had left the job incomplete? That the younger Lord of Derelia, a good friend of the Lady Knight, might just pour out the truth to her once she began her investigations? That all of his Master's hard work throughout the last decade might soon go to waste because of this one, critical folly?

Nay. He could not let that happen. His Master would have his head in every sense of the word.

He had to do something.

In that precise moment of indecision, almost like a godsend, his eyes fell on the latest scroll that had arrived from some of his spies abroad earlier during the day. Although they sent him regular reports from time to time, this particular scroll, compared to all others before, held intriguing tidings.

Rubbing his eyes, he set his chalice down on the table, and picked up the scroll, contemplating.

According to his spies, Crown Prince Nicholas Seymour of Monrique had set sail from the shores of Osterlund a couple of days ago, upon the completion of his studies - in secret.

Apparently, His Royal Highness intended to surprise his father the King and the people of Monrique with his return to his homeland after a decade.

The Crown Prince was coming home at long last.

The middle-aged man twirled the scroll between his fingers, his mind racing ahead. The whole country would rejoice and celebrate the return of its much beloved Crown Prince in the weeks to come - with balls, parades, and endless revelling, in Bordeux Castle and on the streets and taverns alike.

He was certain of it.

He was also certain that no one would pay too much attention to the prisoners in the Bordeux Dungeons during these celebrations.

A slow, sinister smile spread across his face. He knew just how to remedy this situation.

***

The Lady Knight

"Captains Dupont, Evans, Morrison, Everard, Percival, fall in!"

Riding furiously fast into the courtyard of Bordeux Castle, I jumped off my mare Aurora and turned around to face the five men who dismounted behind me at once, dragging a groggy Lord Lucien down with them.

"Lock him up within the Western Bordeux Dungeons," I ordered coolly, "interrogations will begin in two days, when Lord Lucien's accommodation conditions have eroded his will to keep his silence."

My captains stared at me in shock, while Lord Lucien's countenance still showed no emotion.

The Western Bordeux Dungeons were usually reserved for the most hardcore prisoners, who were unwilling to cooperate during investigations regardless of how harshly they were treated. Housed within four, bare walls that had no windows and offered no protection against the cold during Monrique's freezing winters, they were provided with very little food and water to barely keep them alive.

Indeed, one could lose all sense of time and reason once locked up.

In conclusion, it packaged the most unbearable physical and psychological torture Monrique had to offer for her most heinous traitors and criminals.

Looking at Lord Lucien now, however, none would ever believe that he would put up any resistance to interrogation. The man was extremely weak and clearly exhausted from the few days of continuous riding.

But I knew better. Lord Lucien Havelock possessed a ferocious will that was unmatched by almost everyone else I had ever met. He had to be kept in those dungeons. It was the only option.

I raised my eyebrow at the five of them, and snapped my fingers twice. "Well?"

They snapped out of their shock at once. "Yes, Ma'am," they saluted and marched off with their prisoner towards the Bordeux Dungeons.

Grimly pursing my lips, I watched them leave, unease brewing in my stomach. Lord Lucien seemed drained of all energy, and yet, he had shown no signs of fear throughout his journey here.

Not one. And that disturbed me more than I cared to admit.

It was common knowledge that punishment for murderers once proven guilty was death. Was he not supposed to be thrashing and fighting to live in every way possible, for his wife and his unborn child in Derelia?

The Lucien I had known all my life would have.

But then again, the Lucien I had known would have never gone so far as to murder his own brother - and his fellow peers of the nobility - whatever his circumstances may be.

Did I truly know him as well as I thought I did?

Shaking my head clear of such conflicting thoughts that only went around in circles, I glanced up at the remaining group of captains perched on their stallions in front of me. "The rest of you may proceed ahead and wash up for dinner. There will be no training for you today."

"Permission to leave, Ma'am!"

"Permission granted."

Offering me a synchronised salute, they rode off towards the stables, leaving me alone in the unusually busy courtyard. I took hold of Aurora's reins and began to tug her towards the Castle stables.

Before we could reach the stables, a voice called for my attention. "Lady Knight, Ma'am!"

Pausing in my tracks, I turned around to find a training Cadet hurrying towards me, his face red and almost out of breath in his haste, before he skidded to a stop and executed a flimsy salute before me.

"Ma'am."

I frowned in disapproval.

The young lad flushed in embarrassment. "My apologies, Ma'am." With that, he took a deep breath to steady himself and repeated his salute properly.

I nodded curtly. "Better."

He heaved an audible sigh of relief. "Thank you, Ma'am. I have come to inform you that His Majesty has requested your presence in his study upon your arrival."

"Thank you," I answered him quietly, "I shall go at once. Would you be so kind as to bring Aurora to the stables, please?" I handed him the reins and sprinted off towards the North Tower of Bordeux Castle, without waiting for his assent.

I did not need to. I was not often disobeyed.

Much to my chagrin, it required a considerable amount of effort to weave through the crowds of people in my way. Adults and children alike were hurrying in and out of the castle, each absorbed in his or her own haste, and dressed much too grandly for such a dull evening.

The womenfolk's dresses of all imaginable sizes and hues glittered beautifully in soft glow of the evening sunset, complimenting their expensive sets of jewellery, as they went about their work. Even the menfolk seemed to have taken care to groom and attire themselves well in glossy new suits, trying to remain calm in their movements, but failing miserably.

My forehead creased in bewilderment. Why were there so many people milling about the castle at such a late hour, on this bitter cold day?

Why, some of them did not even seem Monriquan!

With the exception of state events, festivals and of course, the odd few popping in and out of Court every now and then, the castle was usually very much deserted. Only the royal family, the crown councillors, the resident knights and the training army populated Bordeux Castle permanently.

So where in the world did all these people come from?

I took in a deep breath and swiftly manoeuvred through the throngs of people, dashing headlong into the North Tower and up the spiral stairs, reaching the King's study in no time at all.

"Corporals," I nodded at the guards by the study door, "I understand that His Majesty has summoned me."

Corporals Piers and Hawkins executed salutes. "Ma'am," they murmured, "please wait a moment." With that, Corporal Piers made a sharp turn and knocked on the study door thrice.

"Yes, come in! " the King's voice came from within.

Piers opened the door and escorted me inside. "Your Majesty, the Lady Knight," he bowed, as I entered the huge room.

Endless rows and columns of books lined the walls, as did several maps and paintings of Monrique's natural landscapes. At the end of the room was a huge, full-length window misted with frost, and framed by old, amethyst velvet curtains.

Beside it hung a formal portrait of the royal family commissioned several years ago. King Frederick and Queen Consort Eleanor were seated on their gold thrones, and their four children -former Crown Prince James, Princess Charlotte, present Crown Prince Nicholas, and Prince Richard - stood around them with serene, but blissful smiles on their countenances, as they held their parents' shoulders.

One big, happy family.

Little had they known then about the tragedy that would strike them mere days after that portrait had been hung on that wall.

I swiftly looked away, not wanting to remember. Instead, I gazed down at the mahogany table below it, where a slightly greying man in his early fifties was seated. His forehead was creased in concentration, and his grey eyes were set against puffy eyebags and dark circles, as he focused on the stack of parchments in his hands.

King Frederick V of Monrique was he, overworking himself to oblivion as usual.

Beside him sat an equally tired looking man deeply absorbed within his thoughts. His hazelnut brown eyes, exactly like mine, were out of focus.

"Your Majesty," I bowed to the King once Corporal Piers had left the room and closed the door behind him, "Your Grace." I bowed once more to my father.

I was not allowed to call my father Papa under any circumstances. It made him very furious.

The King looked up at the sound of my voice, his countenance lighting up like a candle in darkness. On the other hand, my father's was the exact opposite, as he kept his gaze firmly averted from me.

"Jules, my dear," the King beamed, gesturing to the chair in front of him, "come forth, and take a seat. There is much to discuss."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I inclined my head, obeying him.

"First of all," he cleared his throat, crossing his arms, "was your mission in Derelia successful?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," I answered quietly, "Lord Lucien was caught red-handed and is being brought to the Bordeux Dungeons as we speak. He will be questioned vigorously, as he should be, before he is brought before the Court of the Lady Justice."

The King nodded in approval. "A job well done, my dear," he praised me, "it was most clever of you and your team of captains to discover that it was indeed Lord Lucien who has been murdering so many innocents in secrecy."

I nodded, biting my lip. "Thank you, Your Majesty," I sighed, "we may not have found him at all, if not for the fact that the daggers that he used to murder all the victims thus far were made by the same bladesmith in Derelia - who could recognise his own craftsmanship and the customer who bought them from him so often."

For the first time that evening, my father deigned to look at me. "What of the Earl of Derelia?" he queried coolly, "was Lucien truly intending to murder him?"

"Yes, Your Grace," I answered him, "and he succeeded before we could reach him."

There was a small beat of silence. "I am sorry to hear that," the King let out a large breath, disturbed, "a good man, and a brilliant scholar he was, Lord Lucas."

"Yes," my father agreed with him, looking genuinely pensive as he glared at me, "it is a pity."

The silence stretched on, with the King fiddling with his thumbs, and Papa continually offering me one of his most ferocious glares - for failing to save Lord Lucas, and for other reasons centring around my very existence - altogether making me feel extremely uncomfortable.

I could not bear to be stifled by this atmosphere. "If that is all, with your leave, may I be excused, Your Majesty?" I stood up, bowing deeply, "I will keep you updated on Lord Lucien's progress in the Dungeons."

Alarm flashed in the King's eyes. "Oh, nay, Jules dear. There is much more to discuss," he was startled, "pray, please be seated."

I frowned. What else did he wish to talk to me about?

"Yes, Your Majesty?" I queried curiously, sinking back into my seat.

Taking a deep breath and shaking his head, the King turned to exchange excited looks with Papa, who returned his smile almost with sincere happiness.

My eyes widened in shock. Papa never smiled these days.

"Well," the King leaned back against his chair, relaxed, "let me ask you a question. Did you notice an unusually large group of guests at the courtyard on your way to my study?"

I nodded, mystified. "Yes, I did, Your Majesty. Who are they?"

And why are they all dressed up like pastries? I wanted to add, but I doubted Papa was in the mood to appreciate my sarcasm at the moment.

"They have been invited to attend a Ball this evening. It is being held to honour someone very special to us who reached the shores of Monrique with his entourage earlier today," the King beamed, "would you like to hazard a guess on who it is?"

The King and my father exchanged joyful glances again, and I swear, my father chuckled.

"Is it His Majesty King Giovanni of Osterlund?" I attempted.

I would have been delighted if my guess had been correct. Osterlund was Monrique's closest neighbour and her strongest ally, and King Giovanni of Osterlund was married to King Frederick's only daughter, Princess Charlotte.

The both of them were very good friends of mine, and had been two of the very few who had supported me when I had first wanted to become a Lady Knight all those years ago.

The King laughed, his eyes twinkling. "Nay, my dear," he looked like a little child unable to control his excitement, "although you are close. He is from Osterlund."

My forehead creased. "Who else would arrive with an entourage except royalty?"

"Who else, indeed?" the King mused, pointedly looking at his family portrait hanging on the wall behind him.

My gaze followed his to the portrait, and I stared at it in puzzlement. Whatever could he mean? It was not as if anyone from the portrait were returning -

And that was when it clicked.

The door swung open almost at once, and I turned around to face the newcomer, desperately hoping that my sudden burst of realisation was gravely wrong.

Unfortunately, Lady Fortune seemed to have vanished from my life this evening.

On the threshold stood a young man, around three and twenty years of age. He leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed, towering above all of us in the room. His dark brown hair gleamed in the candlelight, as he smirked at me in particular, his grey eyes shining with malicious delight.

My blood almost froze.

"Your Majesty, His Royal Highness Crown Prince Nicholas of Monrique," Corporal Piers announced and bowed behind him, before exiting.

I clenched my fists. Nay, nay, nay. Please, anyone but him.

The Prince's smirk widened, almost as if he could read my thoughts. "Greetings, Julie. It has been a long time."

Irritation bubbled vigorously within me at the very sound of his deep voice. A lengthy, well appreciated period of peace, prosperity and happiness in my life has now come to a firm, absolute end. Please observe a moment of silence for the Golden Age that has fled as swiftly as it had entered my life.

Gritting my teeth, I bowed to him as low as my pride would allow me to. "Your Royal Highness."

Shock briefly registered across his face. I had never called him by his title before he had left for Osterlund. Indeed, I had been of the firm opinion that he did not deserve it.

Ten years on, at this moment, I still did not think he deserved it. However, now that I was a Lady Knight, I had no choice but to pay him the respect that I owed to his birth right.

He began to laugh. "I see that you have learnt the way of the world at last, little Julie."

Breathe, Jules, I repeatedly warned myself, breathe. It is not worth the trouble at this point in your career to murder this infuriating fool.

Taking a deep breath, I forced my lips up in an artificial smile. "Of course, of course, Your Royal Highness," I shrugged, "may I say, your arrival is an unexpected, but such a pleasant surprise." Sarcasm dripped from my sickly-sweet voice, but it was fully lost on the King, as I knew it would.

Indeed, His Majesty was often so dense about the world and his people around him, that I was certain that he would not notice any change in his surroundings even if an earthquake occurred and reduced the Castle to rubble.

Papa and the Prince caught it, however, and identical frowns formed on their countenances.

"Yes, indeed, Jules dear," the King grinned from ear to ear, "quite a surprise he gave us with his arrival this morning. The whole of Monrique rejoices."

The whole of Monrique rejoices? I most certainly did not. In fact, I wanted to break something huge, beautiful and expensive for having to hear this news, and for having to witness one of my worst nightmares manifest itself physically in front of me.

"As do we," Papa shot me a pointed look, willing me to agree.

I ignored him, and glanced at the Prince instead, who seemed rather smug at my being subtly admonished.

Even during our childhood, he had loved to get me into trouble with my father - especially during the years before I was accepted into the army, when I used to attempt to learn to duel and to fight on my own after watching the lads of my age train to do the same.

Papa was of the opinion that women did not belong on the battlefield. Not only was he of the mind that their place was only within the household, but he also felt that they were frail, foolish and fickle-minded creatures whose indecision during the most crucial of times could prove costly during a war.

And the Prince was well aware of that. As a result, telling tales on me and watching me being yelled at by Papa in front of the whole castle used to be his favourite childhood past time, merely to make my existence a misery.

In addition to that, I also suspected it was because he admired Papa greatly, and looked up to him to no end.

I could not blame him for that. I was also guilty of the same.

My father was Lord Henri Van Helsing, Lord President of the Crown Council of Monrique. A few years before I was born, he had lead the Monriquan army alongside the King in a five-year war against our long-time foe, Vantauge, when the latter had laid a surprise siege to our country.

Due to the many years of peace and quiet that had preceded before the siege, our army had been unprepared and slow to defend. Indeed, we had been this close to losing our sovereignty and dignity to those good-for-nothing Vantaugians.

Had it not been for my Papa's quick thinking and his leadership, Monrique would now be under Vantauge's rule. Fortunately, Osterlund had intervened after a few years to force both countries to observe a ceasefire.

However, till today, Monriquans sang praises of my father's military prowess, and he was still known as one of the greatest Commander Generals in Monriquan history, even after his retirement from his post in the army a few years back.

It was true that I aspired to be like him.

So did the Prince, who always received Papa's approval and affection that I myself did not receive whenever he reported to him the countless instances of my attempting to train by myself.

And without a doubt, he loved it.

It seemed that nothing had changed in these ten years that he had spent in Osterlund, and I doubted anything would ever change.

"As do we," I echoed Papa distantly, "as do we."

***