When. A word that had haunted the Ghost for nearly a week. When. The first word in that accursed book Ilios had thrown at her on the first day of lessons. When. The word that had trickled into her nightmares, chasing her down until each letter would have a turn rip her to shreds. When. The first word that Ghost had spoken without a stutter.

     The two of them sat on the small bridge in the gardens. The constant access to the cold water made it Ilios' favorite spot. Whenever the Ghost would make a mistake, she'd be rewarded with a cold splash to the face. Ilios would only ever smile at her before telling her to try again.

     That had been her routine for the past six days. She would wake up, have her breakfast early and meet the prince in the gardens only to return to her rooms soaking wet within less than two hours. When she'd accidentally over-slept after her spending the night in Fengari's apartments, Ilios had filled a bucket in the stream and dumped it on her the moment she'd arrived to her lesson. The Golden Prick would not even let her change clothes before throwing the same, stupid book at her and telling her to read.

     Their lesson for the day hadn't been different from any of the others. Ghost awoke, ate and came to lesson. The prince, however, seemed to be in rare form. No sooner than she'd arrived had he begun to throw insults at her. He'd taken one look at her in the dress he had given her and sneered. "Maybe I should stop sending the dresses. Seems a waste to put such fine fabric on the body such an undesirable wearer." Ghost had decided to ignore his remarks. They did not surprise her. They had begun to not even phase her.

     As the lesson went on, the insults grew more and more irritating. Whenever he was not insulting her looks, the emerald eyed Blackcoat settled on ridiculing her intelligence. Ghost did not know if it were possible to hate someone so much. Usually, his jabs at her ego were something she could ignore, but she was only human, and she had her limits. And it appeared as though Ilios knew exactly what to say to test them. She'd been trying to read to him when her temper finally began to break.   

     Ghost had attempted to sound the word out, leaning into every letter. "Wuh...Wuh...Eh-" Her attempt was recognized with a splash to the face. "Again," Ilios has said, acting as though he were bored, "You sound like a blithering oaf." Another insult thrown her way.

       Ghost could feel the inky heat once again lingering at the back of her throat, snaking its way towards her mouth. She took a deep breath and tried the word again. "Weh...En" Splash. She raised her hands to her face, aggressively wiping off the liquid. The water's biting cold did not extinguish the heat within her, it only served to make it burn all the hotter. She thought that attempt had been one of her best, but clearly the sentiment was not shared. She tried again.

       "Whe..n. Wh...e...n—" Splash.

      Ilios laid on his side now, lounging on the bridge, his hand resting in the water beneath him, waiting for her to fail yet again. Ghost gritted her teeth. He did not care how well she did or how hard she tried. He would longue around splashing her in the face all day because he found it amusing. Whether or not she actually learned to speak seemed to be of no consequence to intolerable royal. Ghost found herself wondering if splashing her in the face had not been the true purpose behind his approaching her. This "kindness" as he had called it was nothing more than a farce that he had concocted to torment her all while being deemed compassionate. He lay without a care in the world, insulting her at every opportunity. Should she learn to speak, it would be because of his teaching, should she fail, it would be due to her imbecilic nature. She would not win no matter how hard she tried.

      When she was splashed another time, the blackness within her had come to rest on the tip of her tongue. It burned—burned so badly that the Ghost thought her tongue might blister from the heat. The dark wormed behind her teeth, coiling tightly within itself. It waited for her to open her mouth so that it might jump out and attack the prince that was causing so much grief. She would not let it out. She would will it into submission.

       "W...Wh..." Splash.

       "Wh...e..n-" Splash.

      "W-"Splash.

       The prince beside her groaned dramatically. "It is not that difficult!" He sat up, looking her in the eye. "You see the word, you open your stupid mouth, and you read the word without sounding like a drooling buffoon. That is all there is to it. If you cannot even do something as simple as that, what good are you?" He scoffed out a laugh, slapping his hand to his forehead. "Perhaps I truly have wasted my time. If Fengari cannot even get the mute to speak, it is entirely possible that this task is unachievable." Ghost blinked in surprise when Ilios stood to his feet and stretched his arms over his head. "We have been at this for a week, and you've made no progress. Seems as though my efforts would be better used on some other venture." He walked past Ghost without even glancing in her direction. "My cousin should have never taken you in. I'm sure, if we tried hard enough, we could find out who's problem you were before and send you back to them."

      It might have been the constant insults or the never-ending stream of cold water to the face. It might have been that the prince's last sentence had struck a chord within the Ghost's heart. It might have even been the suggestion that Ghost was nothing more than a worm in the sight of the Golden Prince. Whatever the reason, Ghost found herself, grabbing the bucket that rested on the side of the stream and filling it with water.

     Ilios had already begun to walk away, his back turned to her. The lesson was over. But Ghost was not finished. She marched towards the royal and the blackness that had burned within her throat was finally given the release it craved so desperately as she opened her mouth. Her grip on the bucket tightened and she screamed the first word she could summon—the only word she'd read for the past week; "WHEN!" The bucket's chilled contents splashed across the Golden' Prince's back, soaking it.

     Ilios was stunned. He hadn't expected her to fight back—hadn't thought she would, but Ghost had heard enough insults. It was time that the prince received a taste of the medicine that he so generously dished out to the white-haired ward. Revenge was sweet. 

     The Blackcoat turned slowly—so slowly that Ghost wondered if he would pass out from the shock. His green eyes were wide in surprise when they finally met hers. Though the assault was on his back, the water had seeped through the front of his cotton shirt as well, the black material clinging to his admittedly well-defined chest. He stared at her as though she'd just committed an act of the highest treason. She supposed that she had. Throwing cold spring water at the heir to the Onyx Throne must have been high on the list of what was not permitted.

     Ghost knew she should have been afraid of the consequences that were certain to come, but she focused solely on the satisfaction that she received from seeing Ilios covered in water. All the insults to her status, her intelligence, and her appearance were in that bucket of water and she took great joy in propelling them right back to their owner. She wanted him to feel the cold water and remember every brutal word he'd ever spoken to her. This was her retribution.  

     To the Ghost's surprise, the prince did not immediately break out in an Under-shaking temper tantrum. She did not know what over-the-top reaction would follow the stillness, but she was fully prepared to cut out into a sprint and hide herself for the next few days. Perhaps Fengari would vouch for her life to be spared from the chopping block that she was certain to face for her act of treason.

     "Did you just..." The royal's words died in his throat. He continued to stare at her for a few seconds, and then he laughed—A long, booming belly laugh that had Ghost flinching in surprise. Ilios wrapped his arms around himself, bending at the torso. He acted as though he'd just heard the funniest story of his life. For a moment, Ghost wondered if her sudden act of defiance had driven the Golden Prince to madness. She would certainly be executed if that were the case.

     "In all my years of living," He gasped out between fits of laughter, "No one—No one has ever dared to pour water on me!" Another booming laugh followed his statement. The prince raised his hand to his head, as if he had trouble fully processing the situation. "I could have you executed for this!" He kept laughing, but Ghost froze. He was right. All it would take is a single word of her actions and she would be done for. When Ilios managed to regain composure, he sent her a smile. 

     The Golden Prince was in front of her in a flash, his hands resting on her shoulders. Ghost could feel the coolness of the water dripping from his digits and seeping through her navy, blue dress. His grip was not hard or painful. It was as though he were merely using her to prop the appendages up. The prince's smile never left his handsome features. Water dripped from the ends of his dark hair onto the tanned skin of his cheeks. Ghost's eyes watched the single drop as it descended over his jaw and down his neck, falling just beneath the too-thin material of his shirt. She swallowed.

     "You spoke." His voice was light with laughter, "The speechless Ghost has truly spoken for the first time in her life!" He glanced down at himself. "And she has soaked me to the bone!"

     Ghost was bewildered by his sudden outburst of laughter—the stark change from his earlier countenance. He was happy that she'd yelled at him? Was this some kind of trick to make her feel at ease before sending down his wrath?

     She instantly jerked away when he moved to embrace her, her eyebrows furrowing. Her hands shot up to push him away should he try again. Had he planned to squeeze the life out of her himself?

     Ilios tilted his head, amused. "I guess you aren't one for joyous embracing. Never mind." He cupped her face, leaning in so close that Ghost thought their noses might touch. She could not breathe. "I still think you may be an imbecile but there may be hope for you." Relief washed over her when he pulled away.

     The crown prince patted her head as though she were a pet he'd just trained, then declared that celebration was in order. Ghost was hardly surprised when a handful of servants showed up carrying a short, wooden table and baskets of fruit and bread. The two ate beneath the large apple tree that grew within the center of the garden...the same place Fengari had found her five years ago.

                                                                                                ☼

     "How is this any concern of ours?"

     Queen Laena Imera's voice was cold and demanding. Her silver-blue eyes were hardened on the Redcoat Commander, watching him as though he were an insect she could squash at any given moment. Sunshine gold hair streamed past her shoulders in loose curls, stopping just before reaching her midthigh. The Light that streamed in from above gave the queen an ethereal glow that had caused many people to mistake her for a goddess in years past. She was beautiful—the kind of beautiful that one would read about in stories—the kind of beautiful that could start and end wars.

     She had been beautiful her entire life. When Laena was brought into the world, her golden hair and bright eyes gave her every ease that her older brother had been denied. The two siblings were similar in nearly every way, but she'd been lucky enough to have hair like the sun while her brother—older than her by ten minutes—had ebony hair, darker than a world without Light. Laena was named heir to the throne only two hours after her birth. And she'd been fighting ever since. 

     "Majesty," The Redcoat—Haephlon—started, "The Blind have breached the Outer City and they become bolder with every passing day. I fear that, if we continue to disregard these incidents, the beasts will make their way to the capitol."

     Laena waved her hand boredly, clearly uninterested in whatever the dark-skinned commander had to say. She was in no mood to entertain the general. Her head ached already. She did not need to add to her stress. "The Blind always grow restless when Winter approaches. Anytime the Light dims, they stir." She leaned back and tapped her fingers against her golden chair. "Why must we have this conversation every year?"

     "The man is only trying to do his job, Laena." The blue-eyed queen looked towards her husband. Solomon gave his wife a wide grin, showing off the crow's feet on the sides of his golden, brown eyes. Eyes that the queen loved dearly. The tawny-haired man grinned at her. Ilios had that same, handsome grin. "No harm will come of us listening to him."

     Laena huffed and rolled her eyes but did not protest her husband's decision. The queen waved again, this time as a way of telling the commander to continue. Solomon grabbed his wife's hand, placing a chaste kiss atop it. "You may continue, Haephlon."

      The Redcoat nodded before speaking again. "The queen is right by saying this is an annual conversation, however, this Winter is sure to bring about its own set of challenges." He paused for a long moment, something resembling sadness flashing across his face. "My men have counted forty Unnamed dead within the last week and a half."

     That had everyone in the throne room catching their breath. The Blind hardly ever ventured into The Outer City and, when they did, they would typically rampage for a few hours before eventually slithering back into the holes they had climbed out of. The largest body count that Laena had heard of was twenty-three within the span of a month. But forty? Forty was an ungodly number of dead...even if they were Unnamed.

     "Forty?" Solomon breathed the word out, stunned. "Can you be certain? Surely an error was made while counting-"

      "I have triple checked the numbers, my king. They are not erroneous...high as they may be."

     "By the Light above." The Graycoat Lord, Geralt Smithe covered his mouth with his hand. The white diamond on his ring was a symbol of his great power, yet his eyes were full of fear. As Leana's gaze scanned across the room and she watched each of the Four Lords process the information in their own ways.

     The golden dais on which the two thrones sat rested in the center of the large room. Built to resemble the sun that had been lost centuries ago, it was lifted from the ground, putting the king and queen a head over all their subjects. Four rays had been engraved into the onyx floor at the base of the dais. Each ray of light extended outwards, stopping at the four, smaller thrones that the Four Lords occupied. Each Lord bore the stone given to Aeron's generals. The ruby—strength and bloodshed—rested on the hilt of Haephlon's sword. The sapphire—kindness and love—was placed in the center of a great medallion that Trystan now wore around his neck. The white diamond—purity and healing—was in the ring of Geralt. The onyx—burden and loyalty—was what rested on her brother's brow. A ringlet of silver was its home.

       Whether or not Heron deserved the honor of wearing such a stone, she was not sure. They had never been close as children. That is only to be expected when one child is being groomed for the throne and the other is seen as cursed. On the day she was crowned queen, Solomon had brought up the notion of naming her brother as Black Lord. He claimed it would be an opportunity for the two of them to grow closer. "Nothing is as important as family, Lae. One day, Heron may be all you have left and, if that day comes, you will want him on your side." Laena did not fight him on the matter. His wish was granted the very next morning. She didn't much care for the former Black Lord anyway.

     The queen found herself wondering how Heron would manage this situation. It was not the first time that he had come against difficult topics in Council and, during those times, he's always managed to keep his head above water. If he was struggling with the weight of his position, he had never shown it.

      Solomon leaned back in his throne, his grip on his wife's hand tightening. He looked at her, searching for some kind of hidden wisdom within her silver-blue eyes. She wished that she had some to offer him.

     "The Blind have never killed more than three people at a time," Laena mumbled, "How have the numbers leapt so high in such a short period?"

      Haephlon shook his head. "I do not know, your grace." His eyes rose to meet her, his gaze steady and firm. "My scouts have reported no new feeding habits and no knew migratory routes. By all accounts, they have been moving normally—as normally as monsters can, anyway."

     Laena's chin tilted upwards. "And the nature of these attacks, do they fall in line with normal Blind attacks?" Haephlon frowned in confusion. "Your grace?" The golden-haired queen leaned forward, eyeing the commander. "Do the attacks resemble the Blind onslaught that we are accustomed to?"

     "You are suggesting that these deaths are not a result of Blind?" Heron's voice had all eyes falling to him. The first time he'd spoken up since Council convened. Laena shook her head. "Is it not possible? Their change in behavior is certainly something that should be called into question. The Blind have existed in The Under since the time of Aeron the Light, never once has there been this drastic of a kill count. It leaves one to wonder whether those hideous creatures are the true threat."'

     The Gray Lord stood to his feet, offering a small bow before speaking. "Your Grace, the behavior of the beasts is not something that can be researched or followed. Even the most docile of animals can go rabid and lash out."

     "A disease? That is your hypothesis?" Solomon sent another look to his wife. Geralt nodded slowly. "All it would take is one oddity amongst the hoards. It would spread to the others quite quickly then, the beasts would grow excessively violent, all sense of self-preservation would be nonexistent. That could be why they ventured so close to The Light."

      "And you've seen it before—This...disease of the mind?"

     "Rabid is what my teacher called it," He shook his head slowly, "I have never seen it firsthand, but when I was a boy, my teacher told me a whole pack of hounds had been infected. Apparently, one of the dogs had gotten into a scrap with a bat and the creature bit him. It was nearly seven days before he began attacking the other dogs for no reason, even tearing the throat out of one of them. By that time, it had been too late. The entire pack had to be put down."

      Laena straightened herself in her throne. Rabid? She supposed it was possible. It would do a good job of explaining the out-of-character behavior of the Blind and the fact that, according to the Red Lord, the monsters took no bodies...they did not even leave bite marks.

       "How do you suggest we go about dealing with such a threat, Lord Geralt?" Solomon asked, "It is not as though we can cure the beasts."

     "Then burn them." Heron crossed his arms over his chest, an unimpressed expression on his face. The Gray Lord swallowed hard but nodded in agreement. "Burning them would be an assured way of clearing out the diseased."

     Laena scoffed at the suggestion and crossed her arms, mirroring her twin brother's posture. "And it should be so easy." Her eyes narrowed. "The Blind have dwelled in those Light-cursed caverns longer than you or I have drawn breath, brother. We've no way of knowing their numbers. How should we know which hoard is diseased?"

     "Does that really matter? A Blind is a Blind. We see one, we dispose of it and rid the world of one less mindless animal." He tapped his fingers on the arms of his onyx seat, the sound causing one of Laena's brows to jump. "And you, dear brother? Will you be the one to embark on such a journey?" Heron shook his head. "I've duties to attend to here."

      "Who then?"

      Heron moved to look at Haephlon, his brows raised in silent suggestion. "How many Redcoats are currently under your command?" The Red Lord paused, confused. "Altogether, I'd say about a hundred, should we include the youngsters in training, it would be about double that." The raven-haired Blackcoat shrugged. "It would only take a team of seventy or so. You could arrange the company and leave out at dawn."

     "Have you lost your senses, Heron? The Winter Solstice is nearly upon us. The Onyx Palace will be filled with people noble and common alike. We need every Redcoat here. You may send out some Watchmen, but-"

      "With respect, dear sister, the Watchmen are lowborn and, as such, they have all the training of a brothel attendant. Sending Watchmen to handle the problem will be sentencing those men to a painful death. Surely you do not believe your little party to be worth that."

     Laena clenched her jaw, biting back the poisonous comment on the tip of her tongue. She would need to handle him undermining her at another time. Now, she must present herself as the calm and cool-headed queen she was meant to be. "This 'little party' will be a hive of opportunity. Lowborns could start riots, thieves could run amuck, an insurrection could take place. It is too much of a gamble not to have the Redcoats." Heron gave his sister a bored look. "When was the last successful insurrection, Laena? Or the last time one Redcoat was unable to handle lowborns at once? You fear the hypothetical, but the Blind threat is real—very real and, if you do not put a swift end to it, the next blood will be on your hands. Tell me, is that what you want, Laena?"

      "Enough."

       King Solomon's voice was not a loud one. The sandy haired man had always been soft-spoken and gentle. He'd hardly ever raised his voice but, when he did, it was a sound that could cause the world to cease moving.

     Solomon's amber eyes drifted to Heron. His expression was unreadable, but a dangerous light glinted behind his firm stare. He released his wife's hand, raising it to point an accusing finger at his brother-in-law. "You will watch your tongue, Heron," He began, "Queen Laena may be your sister, but she is also my wife and the next time you speak to her like that, I will cut out your tongue and gift it to her." The golden-haired queen sneered at that. Solomon could keep her brother's tongue. She'd no desire for it.

     "You have all made your positions on the matter clear. The queen and I will discuss the matter, and you shall have our decision by the next Council."

     The Four Lords took those words as a sign to vacate the throne room. Each Lord stood before the queen, offering her a bow before taking their leave. Heron's mouth was a thin line as he bent at the waist, silver eyes catching his sister's for a few brief moments.

     The doors to the throne room slammed shut. Solomon looked to his wife. She looked to him. The weight of the decision that was to be made hanged over their heads and, if they made the wrong choice, it would fall and destroy them both.