Cellars, as many people imagine them, take place underground. North of the Odranic border in Inveralwyn, though, cellars could be above ground for the better part of the year. Inveralwyn was a glacial tundra wild and ripe with conifers shaped like icicles. In the imperial city, however, cellars were indeed underground.

Princess Morrow's designated room was adjacent to her mother's within a wing dedicated to the imperial family. As a child, full moons were somewhat of a family reunion—she could play with her relatives, run amuck up and down the torch-lit tunnels, and have slumber parties with her cousins. When she outgrew the familial affairs, the full moon just became another night to shut in and shut everyone else out.

It could have been relaxing.

Dev had seen the princess' gate from across the sitting room between her and her parents. There were barriers between the sitting room and the rest of the cellar as well, which ultimately cut the Empress and her daughter off from the shallowest side of the cellar. They were as far from the entrance as anyone could get.

The door clanked shut with a resounding echo. The guards at either side of the main exit were just far enough apart to fit Dev and Zoyla between them while Princess Morrow stepped ahead.

The room rang with the long, shimmering chords from the hired entertainment. They were all cast in the hearth's warm glow—a hearth that could easily burn a log from the largest white pine Dev had ever seen. That night, however, it occupied a humble and ambient crackle.

In some worlds other than their own, the relationship between the Emperor and the Empress could be described as a mutual roommate arrangement wherein politics involved delegating tasks like sweeping, cleaning the dishes, and who was the last person to open the back door because it isn't locked anymore. They were and always had been friends who were blissfully unaware of their families' intent to wed them until long after they had their social circles slyly collided by a higher power at play (the Emperor's mother). Before long, they were acquaintances, and then friends, and it was decided that the arranged marriage wasn't such an awful idea after all.

Morrow was, in most respects, a younger version of the Empress herself. It was difficult to see this beyond the differing fashion senses, as the Empress' makeup camouflaged any resemblance to her daughter, and her hair was styled appropriately for the trends of that year—up, with an elegant golden pin pinched through it.

While the younger folks preferred to follow Morrow's stylistic mark of long elegant hair, Dev often saw older women aligning their looks more similarly to the Empress.

The Empress met Morrow at the center of the room, holding two ends of a gilded neckless up. Her daughter was already studded with gold from her ankles to her ears, and even as she half-heartedly protested, the Empress said, "One more won't hurt, dear."

Morrow breathed in her reservations, which were worn plainly on her whitened knuckles. "Thank you for the gift."

"Won't you have tea with me?" she said, tipping her head curiously to catch her daughter's eye.

Morrow caught herself glancing back at Zoyla. Whether or not she made eye contact, though, was to be debated as her mother herded her along to the table where the music was brightest and the tea was smokey from the fire.

The princess could be rest assured knowing that Zoyla was the only participant privy to her anxieties. She feigned indifference, though, with two purposefully steady hands on her cup as she paced each sip. Not too eager, not too slow, but just right—lest her mother accuse her of trying to leave early.

Her mother, ever the gossip, perfected the art of eavesdropping early on in life. The art worked both ways—to eavesdrop, and to prevent eavesdroppers.

"Your father was both brilliant and foolish when he assigned Sir Cormaic to your post," she whispered just below the musician's decibel.

Princess Morrow blinked down at the flower glazed at the bottom of her cup. She looked up. "Pardon?"

Her mother took an idle sip of tea as if she had said nothing nefarious. "That Sir Devesh. He's handsome, isn't he?"

It was the first—and if Princess Morrow could help it, the last—time her mother made any teasing comment about a crush. She only ever had one crush, after all, and the fact that her mother clocked it within seconds of seeing the two of them together was embarrassing.

"I—don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"Oh, of course you do."

Princess Morrow turned her chin away. "I don't. I don't have eyes, you see."

"Ah. We should have the physician take a look at that for you."

Her mother offered her a small finger cake for troubling her. Princess Morrow took it only out of politeness. Her stomach was twisted in too many knots to digest such a thing.

In passing the cake, though, her mother was close enough for her to clearly hear, "Let us finish up here so you can spend more time with the knight."

Blundering a public speaking presentation at the academy couldn't compare to the red-hot embarrassment Princess Morrow felt in that moment. She writhed uncomfortably in her seat, all but pouting as she inadvertently downed the rest of her tea like it was straight whiskey instead.

Before the princess was dismissed for the night, Dev was prodded in the left rib by one of the guards on duty. It was Elan, who had graduated from the academy three years before Dev. Like all of the guards in the room that night, they donned a full set of gear like they were charging into war, down to the firearm tipped over one shoulder like a replica rifle.

"How's the transfer?" Elan whispered out of the corner of their mouth.

Dev leaned ever so slightly toward them to whisper back, "Good. Is that a new rifle?"

Elan glanced down at it and back again. "Yeah. Cool, huh?"

From Zoyla's other side, the neighboring guard Alea, hissed, "Can you two pretend to pay attention?"

Between them, Zoyla rolled her eyes and straightened her shoulders back.

"I was just telling him how we got new rifles," Elan whispered over both of their heads to Alea, who half-glared at them until registering the topic.

"Oh. Yeah, Faro's new model," Alea said, and gave a discrete twist of her wrist to show Faro's brand stamped at the base of the wooden stock. Alea winked under her visor. "It's limited edition."

Dev couldn't help but utter an amazed gasp. "Incredible!" she whisper-shouted.

Firearms were reserved for the Emperor's closest ranks, as they were expensive to build and even harder to come by. Faro was recruited during the Emperor's travels and was the only smithy in the town that was licensed to make firearms.

Dev was still too fresh to General Alberos' command to be permitted one, but she had always dreamed of it.

The only times she used one was during the Emperor's hunts and for a brief while during training. The Grand General expected all of the Emperor's closest soldiers to know how to use one.

Just then, the princess rose from her table and Zoyla's boney elbow bit into Dev's right ribcage. She narrowly winced, but recovered when the princess left for her gate where the adjacent guards unlocked it for her.

Dev and Zoyla followed in silence, bidding the Empress a low bow as they passed. They were stopped by a soft, "A moment, Sir Cormaic."

She froze. The princess had turned back at the request and was now staring at her from over the gate threshold. Ever so slowly, Dev rotated on her heels, hands clasped behind her back as it occurred to her that the Empress was rising to talk to her.

As the Empress approached, the last thing Dev expected was for the Empress to lay her hands on Dev, which she did—delicately, with a subtly threatening grip on her shoulder. It was all the Empress needed to do to convey the message, but it was further punctuated by:

"I have high expectations for you."

Such words were as good as saying, "I have the resources to kill you here and now if need be. Don't make them needed."

Dev gave a stern, low nod as the Empress' hand fell away. "Your Imperial Highness," she all but croaked, breathless, but the Empress was already walking away. When her eyes weren't on Elan and Alea, the two guards gave an encouraging thumbs up at their hips to avoid detection.

Dev didn't feel all that encouraged.

She gravitated back to Zoyla and the princess in phantasmic fashion—ghostly, and not all there. Of course, Dev had calculated the probability of the Emperor and Empress finding out about all of Dev's dreams of courting Princess Morrow, but before she even confessed?!

The gate locked behind them and, at the following door, the princess waited as Dev pulled it ajar. The door itself was heavy, fortified metal with a timber drop bar inside to lock it. The bar itself was the weight of two human bodies combined, of which Dev hoisted off the ground in a daze and let settle in the iron pockets on either side of the door.

With the bar in place, Dev panted, hands on her hips. It wouldn't register where she was until she turned around, which took an awful long time for her to build up the courage to do.

The princess' room was cocooned in warm tapestries. The curtains gave the impression that there were windows just beyond, and that the bed was completely hidden by them. There was a lounge at the farthest end of the room where Zoyla took her place one of the velvet cushions. In the dim lighting, Princess Morrow was only momentarily visible by the gleam on her adorning jewelry.

Seized by her panic, Dev put her back to the door, only to have the timber log threaten to give her a lumbar readjustment.

"Devesh," the princess started, lowly, her back to Dev, "I need you to listen carefully. I have something... very personal to share with you."

This can't be happening, Dev thought in time with a second thought, This is happening?!

She cleared her throat and wrangled her nerves into a neatly compressed box at the base of her chest. With a deep breath, she pushed into the room, saying, "I have something to share with you as well."

Both parties had, for the moment, forgotten they weren't alone. Zoyla, distracted and only just putting the kettle on the fire embers, nearly burnt her hand, which she never did.

Princess Morrow faced Dev with wide eyes reflecting the gold in her hair, her piercings, and the necklaces crawling up her throat. "You do?"

"Yes," Dev said. "And if you don't mind, I'd like to tell you now before I lose my nerve."

The princesses reservations vanished. She was enthralled by the firmness of Dev's gaze, and how unyielding her presence was now. Confidence was Dev's strongest suit, and one the princess always admired.

"Okay," Princess Morrow said. "You speak first, then."

Every world Dev constructed in her dreams couldn't prepare her for the true test of her affections. The countless, fictitious proposals felt flat between them.

"I am a coward," she said instead.

Princess Morrow's brow twitched into a flat, confused line. "You aren't. Quite the opposite, actually—"

"No," Dev insisted, shaking her head, eyes to the ground. "I've... spent my entire life chasing after what I want. The reason I'm here is because my ultimate dream was to work and study for the Emperor and the hunt. I didn't rest a single day until I achieved that, and yet I waited like a coward for the perfect opportunity to approach me when I should have just done this—"

Devesh Odrasi pulled her golden sword from her scabbard. She dropped to her knee and there, the princess stared down at her with her mouth ajar.

"When I came to the capitol... and I saw you for the first time—" An accidental, breathless smile touched Dev's lips, "—and you dropped an encyclopedia on your own foot."

The princess let out a startled, giddy laugh and cried, "Because you surprised me!"

"And Tove had to carry you to the nearest chair," Dev went on, beaming now. "You captivated me. You continue to captivate my heart's desire, because I love you, Princess Morrow."

The princess' eyes shone with moisture, turning her irises into liquid gold. Her hands were shaking all the way up to her elbows.

"You... love me?" she whispered, and if it weren't for the perfect smile on her lips, her watery voice would have been nothing but distressed.

Dev straightened her posture, the tip of her sword spearing the rug between them. "I do, princess."

"You..." she repeated, only this time her voice hitched. She clutched at her arms with a pained gasp. "I—"

At the opposite side of the room, the kettle fell with a scorching hiss on the stone and let out a splintered crack! Princess Morrow and Dev both jumped in fright, eyes shooting over to see Zoyla cursing under her breath.

"Zoyla!" Princess Morrow cried, running to her aid.

"I'll be fine, princess," Zoyla said, shaking her skirt out. The steam emitting from the hem looked and smelled like smoke.

The princess snagged her by the wrist, jerking her across the room. "In here, quickly. The water will be cold."

The bathroom door slammed shut with Dev still on her knee.

Dev remained there for several long, painful seconds in silence. When it was clear the bathroom door wasn't opening again, she looked down at her sword and sighed. She sheathed it in one fluid motion until the guard thunked against the padded hem of the holster. Try as she might to view the princess' reaction positively, it didn't change the fact that Dev was left hanging.

Well, at least I said everything that needed to be said, Dev thought pitifully.

A valiant effort to keep her spirits high.

Dev circled the room, slowly, so as to investigate all of the trinkets and books on display. The princess was a fan of literature and from what Dev knew, had commissioned her favorite author to write a book. Dev had attempted to read it, but reading wasn't really her forte, so she settled with picking up the first edition from the shelf and reading the note the author left inside the leather-bound cover.

In dedication to Her Imperial Highness, the Princess of the Holy State of Odrana.

Dev snickered, just a little, and considered giving the first page another try when a muffled scream seized her attention elsewhere.

Dev snapped the book closed and straightened, lungs frozen in her chest.

It was such a sharp sound that it took several seconds for Dev to know that it wasn't just her imagination, because it came again—this time in a petrified groan.

From the bathroom.

Dev abandoned the book at the shelf, hand to her sword.

"Princess?" she called, to no answer.

The door loomed ahead with its faltering, fiery light split by moving figures under the door.

Dev's heart swelled up from her chest and rose into a deep, deafening pulse in her throat.

"Princess, can you—"

She recognized Zoyla's voice behind the startled scream that came next, followed by a clash of metal.

Politeness be damned, Dev surged to the bathroom door and yanked at the handle. It gave in the frame, just enough to confirm that a solid kick could bust the bolt through the wood. Dev crossed the sword over her chest and reared back to drive her heel into the wood.

The bolt cracked through the doorframe. Dev swung the door ajar, her eyes following a smear of fresh red blood from the stone floor to the tub.

Zoyla was in the brass tub, her eyes barely visible over the rim. Dev's brief view of her was obscured then by a shadowy mass, bristling into view with spikes of fur crackling over the candlelight. It rose past the height of Dev's chest, but stalled below her chin with its eyes reflecting Dev's own horror back at her.

"Holy Mother of—" Dev started, and promptly got her shit together enough to brace her sword up.

At the flash of gold, the beast clawed toward the door with its lips pulled back. Dev took a calculated step back on her right foot, bracing it against the rug.

"You here to dance, demon?" Dev sneered at it as the beasts eyes roved over Dev, circling her. Dev took every angle with a side-step, for if she took her eyes off those fangs, she could expect to find one through her throat.

Dev spun her sword back, swapping the pommel to her dominant hand. That motion alone rocked the hellhound back, its eyes now pinned to the blade. Of the wolves Dev had fought, none were as focused on the sword as this one here.

"That's it," Dev taunted with a haughty grin. "I cleaned this just for you."

Her first swipe at the beast was met with a pathetic whine. The wolf scampered back, trotting around the lounge and tripping over the shards of the broken kettle.

Dev put herself in front of the bathroom, the sword tracking the wolf as she called over her shoulder, "Is the princess with you?!"

The wretched beast let out a guttural sound akin to a kicked puppy before Dev registered that Zoyla had yet to speak.

"Zoyla!" Dev shouted.

"She—! She isn't here!" Zoyla cried out, voice warped in the metal tub.

At this, Dev's shock led her to commit the worst sin imaginable: turning her back on a monster.

She lunged into the bathroom, heart racing. The blood, which was nearly black on the stone and red on the bronze, led to a trail of tattered fabric and the remnants of the golden neckless that had been in the Empress' hands just minutes before.

Dev nearly lost her grip on her sword.

"She—" she started, but her lungs couldn't take it. She was hyperventilating.

In her bleary, tunnel vision, she whirled on the monster as it slunk toward the timber latch. It was all Dev could do to stop herself from seeing red and turning the room red.

The most important task of her life, to keep the princess safe, was soiled. Devesh Odrasi would forever go down in history as the idiot guard who let the Emperor's daughter be eaten by a wolf.