Mark agreed he had a slightly solemn nature. But that didn't mean he was "old" at heart.

Marilyn said he was. The last night, he had been leaving for Idgard - his last year in the Council and he would spend it nestled in Akwanda? No chance. But when he had sat down for a minute, to relax, he had slipped into deep memories from long gone days. Until Marilyn had shouted right into his ear, "are you alive?!" and shook him out of them. Then she had claimed that she had been calling out his name for the past five minutes.

'If you squeak, Mary-' He had begun, but she had interrupted him.

'I've been shouting, Mr. Fannel!' Marilyn had informed. Since she had never appreciated the idea of them staying apart for a whole year - even if Mark pointed out that he would be back every weekend - he had decided to take a step back.

'Alright - I'm sorry, guess I was too lost in thought.' He had ceded.

'You'll make a fine spy. Lost in your own thoughts.' Marilyn had grumbled, 'it's a sure sign of aging.' She had added. When Mark had reminded her that she was only a few months younger, she had waved it off. 'I'm young at heart.' She had claimed.

'You mean I'm "old" at heart?' He had demanded.

'Spot on.' Marilyn had replied, cheerfully. At least she was "cheerful" - that was always a big relief.

But right now, sitting in the Council Office alone, he wondered where Kane was. That man was never late - unless he was doing some "work". And if he was, Mark could just as well turn into a skeleton sitting there all his life, but Kane Alden wouldn't arrive.

He wondered what Diana could be doing. His eyes travelled to the Council's training grounds. Somewhere there, Aaron Watson - in his second year right now - would be learning combat.

Time flew.

But Mark still wondered how that imp of a man had won Diana over. Right from when he had seen Watson for the very first time - Mark had been sure that they wouldn't see eye to eye. And then his skirmishes with Alexandra, the worst of all being that it was his plan to tip her off in the Second Year's test. But Alexandra had forgiven and forgotten - and over time, that had become a joke.

Mark had thought Alexandra would be the one to fall for unusual men. He had thought she would be the one to need some sense hammered into her. He had thought Diana was sensible enough, while sometimes fearing that Alexandra would end up with Watson - but...

But things had turned out vastly different. Somebody named Liam - who Mark had earlier thought was miles above their ordinary lives - had made a dazzling entrance and booked Alexandra. What was more, he wouldn't stop there. Mark knew he had been doing that upon Alexandra's insistence. Whatever the reason had been, that king had had a way with words. For approximately three hours he had pointed out how Diana and Watson made a perfect pair - when even he knew they didn't. 'He's got no maturity!' Mark had argued, pointing to Watson who had taken the disparaging rather meekly, 'they will fall apart within two months!'

'If he is ready to bear a hostile and near-to-abusive brother-in-law like you, Mark, just for Miss Diana's sake, I daresay that is mature enough.' Liam had shrugged. That night's scene had been as if they were gambling - and needless to say, Liam had had better cards. Mark had turned to look at Alexandra once, who had sat perched upon the arm of Liam's chair. She had had a slightly sorry expression, as if she had wanted to tell him, come on, Brother, surrender! You can't win this.

Of course he had given in. The alternatives hadn't been appealing. And the times he had spent with Diana in Vellesmere had been enough for him to know that whatever else she showed, Diana had kept the softest corner of her heart for him.

When he had been eleven - a momentary calm had engulfed Vellesmere. For the previous two months there had been no attacks. So then, everybody had become bold enough to let the children wander in the streets.

One day, he and Diana had been wandering through the streets of the town - the dull, half-hearted rays of the sun beating down upon them. Diana had reached her full height at fifteen, so she had towered over him like a huge palm tree. She hadn't been the best sister out there - they had had at least six clashes each day and she won all the time. The clashes had been upon the tiniest of things. "Green eyes are better," "Blue eyes are better". The usual.

And when she had slapped him across the face after Alexandra had come out as a princess, Mark had secretly felt good. Even after twenty five years, her blow had had the very same, painfully intense effect.

But that day in Vellesmere, as they had crossed several stores, Diana hadn't looked in the temper to conflict with him. In fact, she had looked at a particular store's counter wistfully for almost five minutes - so long, that he overtaken her and walked on for hundreds of yards before realizing that Diana was still by the outlet.

'What's the matter?' He had demanded, jogging back to her. She had pointed to the counter of the shop.

'That's lovely. Wish I could have it.' She had declared. Mark's eyes had travelled to where she had been pointing. On the sideboard of the shop, a pendant had been hanging mutely. Its chain had been like any other in Vellesmere, but the pendant had been the true bewitchment. An arresting shade of blue, milky edges and a glowing surface.

It had been mirroring into Diana's eyes. But Mark had crossed his arms, 'it's cheap.' He had clucked.

Diana had rolled her eyes, finally walking on, 'do you even know the spelling of "cheap", Mark?'

'C-h-e-a-p.' He had replied, smirking. Diana had stared at him, eyes a little disbelieving.

'What?!' She had demanded. 'Say... conspiracies?'

'C-o-n-s-p-i-r-a-c-i-e-s,' he had replied, shrugging. Diana had stared at him some more, as though it was a crime to be literate.

'Mark...' She had begun, then raised her hand almost instinctively, to deliver a blow on his face. But having a fratricidal sister had given Mark enough training. He had ducked just in time and then straightened up. Knowing very well that he didn't stand a chance against her, he had done the only sensible thing: raced down the street as fast his feet would carry him.

If the Losianish had been fast runners, they hadn't met Vellois. But Diana had had longer legs, more murderous tendencies and higher adrenaline coursing through her veins. She would have been sixteen in three days.

And that was the reason, after running around the whole of Vellesmere, when Diana had shaken her head and declared that she would be waiting at home to teach him a lesson, he had gone back to the store.

The owner and his assistant, who also happened to be his wife, hadn't been doing much business that day. He had rambled over to their counter and stopped for a second, making sure that they were in a good mood.

'... this place is going to the dogs!' The annoyed Miss Durose had barked.

'What else can you expect?' Durose had replied in a lower voice, shaking his head. 'Why is that mad king still alive?' He had added, in the lowest of whispers.

'What is the point, even if he dies?' Miss Durose had said, 'Andrea says that the heir is a hot-head. He does only what he wants to. And he hasn't got a grain of respect for his father. I tell you, nothing will be better in his rule. Our son now,' she had then nodded all of a sudden, with the proudest glint. 'He is a true prince.'

Mark had snorted, which had drawn their attention to him. As far as he had known, Jacob Durose was a boy of nine who dug his nose, ate whatever came out of it, and had drool perennially plastered around his mouth.

'What are you doing?' Mr. Durose had thundered at him, red-eyed. 'Eavesdropping?'

'And what is funny, boy?' Miss Durose had demanded. Faced with two angry adults, Mark had decided to get a check on his tongue.

'Nothing - nothing is funny. And I'm not eavesdropping - I just came now.' He had added, trying his best to keep a straight face. 'Would you sell that pendant?' He then asked, pointing to the bit of jewelery.

'Why do you think we've kept it here, otherwise?' Mr. Durose had asked back, still red-eyed.

'And the price?' Mark had ventured.

The couple had looked at him, disbelief etched across their faces. They perhaps hadn't been able to believe that somebody would buy it. People in Vellesmere were worried only for food - because even the basics were severely scarce. An eleven year old buying a locket? It was a like a rain of fire.

Just to send him away, Miss Durose had opened her mouth. 'Six silver coins.' She had uttered. Mark had known it was unjustifiably high. But he had simply nodded.

'I'll be back, so don't you sell it - or I will set this shop on fire.' He had warned. Before they could say another word, he had rushed to the richest estate in Vellesmere. The owner of it had been paying the terrorists handsome amounts so that they would leave him alone.

He had felt a little guilty pushing himself into the house through an unguarded window. It was a crime he had been doing - but practicality had preceded honor. And six silver coins had been easy enough. He had reminded himself that it wasn't exactly stealing - both his parents had worked in this house for measly sums.

And he had had no way to earn the money. Who in Vellesmere would give a kid six silver coins? And that too, in only two days - since the third was Diana's birthday.

Rushing back to the store, he had shown the rude couple the sparkling coins. Mr. Durose had been stunned.

'Where - how...' He had begun, in a stammer. But Miss Durose had been more sensible. She had snatched the coins out of his hand and pushed the pendant towards him.

Mark had smirked. And he had then had a better look at the thing - realizing that it truly was lovely. Mesmerizing.

'Thank you,' he had told them, pocketing it. 'And by the way, the prince might be hotheaded - but I'm sure he at least doesn't eat muck like Jacob.'

Mr. Dubose had swung out an arm to smack him, but by that time Mark was almost a hundred meters away from his reach. Then he had had another worry - Diana would have been waiting at home to murder him.

'I just spelled out cheap.' He had muttered to himself. 'It is not a crime.' Still, he had been a little scared. Diana wasn't all together as logical as him.

But when he had entered the narrow lane leading homewards, he had had a clear view of her sitting on the porch, her arms around her knees with a displeased expression.

It had almost been sunset. Vellesmere hadn't ever been safe that way: it had been common consent that someone who stayed out after sunset, wouldn't be heard from ever again.

'Where in the world have you been?!' She had demanded, getting up. Her face had flooded with rage as soon as she had seen him. Nevertheless, it had been a different anger. Not the usual one which Mark had grown to fear.

'I was ... waiting for your temper to subside.' He had replied, in the lowest voice possible. Had Diana's lower lip quivered at that?

'Look at this.' She had told him, bending to show Mark her right cheek. Beyond the dark hair, there had been clear, red fingerprints imprinted upon her Olive skin. 'I got this for leaving you behind.' She had enlightened, not sounding impressed.

Mark had been sure that she was going to avenge herself.

'One slap from Mother, one from myself.' She added, in the guiltiest voice Mark had ever heard.

'Wha-' He had begun, but she had pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Diana never cried, but she had been the closest to it that day. 'I'm sorry.' Mark had said, instead, surprised by the sudden display of affection.

And then he had realized that though she would kill him if possible, Diana wouldn't allow anybody else to so much as touch him.

Mark shook his head with a slight grimace.

He had thought Diana had a good taste. Until she went ahead and tied the knot with Watson. Mark was no longer grumbling about it - it was fine. They had lasted together for twenty years, he was sure they would last another thirty. But it was annoying to have Watson become his older brother-in-law.

Heights of it.

When he had first seen the boy, would he have in the wildest of dreams, foreseen that this was the one destined to marry his scary sister? On top of everything else, Marilyn adored Watson. She claimed he was the "perfect person to have around". And if Mark had any objections to that, they were overruled with, 'you just hate him blindly.'

No, Mark didn't hate Watson. He honestly did not. He just preferred men like his younger brother-in-law. 

'Mark, if you want to sleep - you can go to one of the empty dormitories.' Kane's voice advised.

'I am not sleeping!' He replied instantly, dropping out of his reverie. 'How can I sleep with my eyes open?' He added. Then registered that Kane wasn't alone, the Great-Elder-Brother-In-Law was here too.

'You can do anything. You are Mark Fannel.' Watson replied, sitting down next to him. 'And before you ask - Diana's as loud as she has always been. So you don't need to grab my collar today.'

'I never grab your collar, dear brother.' Mark replied, savoring the aftereffect of that word on Watson's stunned face.

'Please, Sir,' he shook his head, 'call me Watson. Anything else sounds like a curse.'

'And "Sir" from you, Watson, sounds worse than a curse.' He informed, as Kane pulled back a chair and sat down. Mark wondered if he had heard from Alexandra - oh, Alexandra. That lass was the most incorrigible of girls there ever could exist. Sometimes she annoyed him, nobody could say she was stupid, but she was a little slow. Not physically ... slow the other way one could be slow.

'If you haven't heard yet,' Kane then began, folding his hands on the table and looking around for a while before staring at his own knuckles, 'Ophelia is the heir.'

'Wh-' Mark began, his mouth falling open, 'Ni-' he began again, changing tack at once, because he had found something graver to say than the customary "what?!".

This time, Watson interrupted him. 'It isn't permanent.' He clarified, 'I - we - have no idea what our king and queen are playing at. Nicholas got an invite to Doveland, and Ophelia's named Heir meanwhile. It is not permanent, again. But - yes, giving him the credit, Liam's not someone to take back his decision.'

'And if he ever wants to, just in case, there's our old Lady Stubborn waiting to smack the idea out of him.'

'How can you joke, Kane Alden?!' Mark demanded, looking at the pair of them incredulously. And then he remembered that they hadn't been with Alexandra when she had got that letter about "trouble with Nick and Lia". They thought it was laughable, perhaps, because of a long-standing, inside joke about Liam never vacating the throne.

'Sit down, Mark Fannel.' Kane replied, calmly, 'there's nothing we can do.'

If only he hadn't said something so practical. Spies could never do anything - that was, until they found a king to marry - or until they were an exiled prince or princess in hiding.

'Say, I th-' he then began, to ask if they had any knowledge of when Alexandra would be coming. The sun was well up by now, and it could have been eight.

'Which of you's Mark Fannel?!' Demanded a tall, slender man, cutting him across. They watched as he flew across the length of the dewy grass, and up the four stairs to the Council's Office.

Watson stood up, and stretched his arms out. 'Why, I am!' He exclaimed, with a straight, sober face, as if he had just said the truest thing on the planet.

'Shut up,' Mark told him, pushing him back into his seat with a push. 'What's the matter?' He then asked, turning to the man, whom he now recognized to be a royal messenger. And he knew, that trouble was round the corner - it could be called intuition, or common sense.

'Are you Mark Fannel, Sir?' The man asked back, looking confused, and throwing Watson an uncertain look.

'I am.' Mark assured, 'don't mind this one, he was born with his brain in the kneecaps.' He added, throwing Watson a look of warning that he had been throwing him for the past forty years without any visible improvement.

'I repeat the Queen's words to you,' the messenger said, really not minding Watson. '"Mark, it is highly likely you will not appreciate this, but it as urgent as it can get. I await you in the Palace, sixth floor, Princess' chambers. Please ask no questions, do not make a second's delay - it is the humblest request."'

If it was not something utmost serious, Mark was going to throttle that couple for giving him this ominous message.

'I guess,' he said nevertheless, tilting his head and turning to look at the other two agents. 'That is as clear as it can get.'

It did.

Problems were here. Trouble had begun.

* * *

The mere fact that Alexandra's face was set and she spoke not a single word on his arrival, proved to Mark that matters were the worst they had been for quite many years.

'Now,' he began, entering Ophelia's bedroom. Why they were here, he had no idea, and he intended to ask. 'what is the trouble?'

One look around the room, and he saw that there stood a cross armed Liam, a single lady he didn't recognize who could be the trusted head attendant, Alexandra with her jaw uncharacteristically tight and her fists balled, Ronald leaning against the wall and looking like he had thrown some formal wear upon himself in a complete haste.

Liam answered, 'Ophelia is missing.'

Mark didn't catch that. 'Repeat?' He asked, frowning.

'Ophelia is missing.' He repeated, stoic.

How could a princess and a heir, be missing? 'What do you mean?'

Liam exhaled and glanced at Alexandra before replying, 'Our daughter, the crown princess of Idgard, sister to the princes of Idgard, niece to you and the monarchs of Doveland, as well as to the monarchs of Akwanda, and to Mr and Mrs Derk, Ophelia - aged seventeen, is nowhere to be found - not in the city, not the Palace. It means that she is missing, Mark and it will be in your best interests to not ask me to repeat that.' Liam said, in a single breath, his voice mounting higher and higher until the threat came, which he pronounced rather patiently, in almost a hiss.

And now, Mark could believe him. But he was suspicious more than worried. The security of Ophelia had been quite maximal, and she herself was no fool. How could anybody abduct a warrior like her, with the fastest reflexes he had come across?

Unless...

'Missing.' He repeated, 'you are hinting at abduction. And capturing - while she was asleep...' he continued, and then knelt down next to the bed. Its creases were rough and scattered. The pillowcase was not smooth either. 'Was this bed touched? A single time? By anybody after last night?' He asked.

Everybody turned to the attendant - who stood up straight in a second. 'No.' She said, dutifully.

'Very sure?'

'Yes. It was not,' she said. Mark opened his mouth to confirm the fact once more, but he caught the stare Liam was giving him, and he decided that it was best if he didn't ask.

Mark turned back to the bed. There was no sign of any struggle - and he knew that either some tranquilizing drug had been administered, or Ophelia had got up from the bed with her own free will - and was captured later on.

'No struggle.' He announced, 'it was-' his eyes fell on the sandals next to him. 'Interesting.' He said, changing tack. 'So her footwear is untouched. Which means, she was picked up from bed. And no struggle - I am very sure Ophelia would not allow anybody to touch her - let alone lift her - had it been in her control. Was,' he turned to the attendant once again, 'was everything like this? Completely like this, before?' He asked.

Again, everybody turned to the attendant - everybody except Ronald - who turned towards the exit of the room and announced - or perhaps questioned. 'Adam Phillicks...?'

The attendant was forgotten within a moment. And Mark was left wondering what the retired commander's grandson had to do, in all of this. Except that his role was a gray one, perhaps, because Liam rounded up on him. at once. Ronald was turning from side to side with his mouth hanging open in disbelief. Alexandra was muttering under her breath something which sounded like, "shouldn't have let them, in the first place!" And Mark himself was doing something in between the two, because he was looking around confusedly and muttering.

When all that confusion was sorted, Mark found himself next to Alexandra. Ronald was back against the wall and Liam was already shooting questions at Adam.

'What has this one done?' He asked, leaning towards Alexandra.

'Was the last person with Ophelia last night.' She replied, in a low, unimpressed voice.

'And...' Mark ventured, 'anything more than a friend?'

'Could be.' She replied. And that she didn't throw him a burning look, or roll her eyes or wave her hand, confirmed the fact.

'How long were you both in the gardens?' Liam shot at Adam meanwhile, who seemed to have received a gist of the problem at hand. And he seemed to know that he was suspected to have a hand in the problem.

If Adam Phillicks was surprised at the fact that Liam knew of his "garden stroll" with Ophelia, he had the common sense to not show it.

'Till one,' he replied, and Mark saw a single bead of sweat race down his temple.

'And what were you doing for so long?'

'Er - walking.' Adam replied - and Mark knew he was not lying.

'Only walking?' Mark asked, interrupting. He had quite given up tousling his own hair, but when he was using his brain a lot, his hand went to that action inevitably. His eyes met Liam's for the minutest of seconds, and thankfully, an understanding passed between them. A spy better do the questioning - even if the spy was quite sure that Adam Phillicks was not guilty.

'Only walking.' The commander's grandson confirmed, getting accustomed to the fact that the sooner he replied, and the crisper the reply be - the better.

'So then, Mr. Phillicks, you should tell me why you were only walking for so long.' Mark replied, leaving Alexandra's side to look into the man's gray eyes.

'No particular reason.' He replied, 'one can say we did it because we wanted to. And-'

'And that walking is no crime.' Mark completed, he didn't think he was anything scary, but Adam took a step behind. An involuntary step behind. 'You did nothing other than walking?'

'Nothing.' He said, his voice steadier than his feet seemed. 'I wouldn't dream of doing anything else. I know - my limits.' He exhaled.

'And, Adam Phillicks, despite knowing your limits, do you love Ophelia?'

The question seemed to hang like a poisonous blade on everybody's neck. Why he had asked that question, Mark didn't know, except, that it was needed - and a few things were best clear. 

But Adam shook his head. 'I do not.' He said, in a straight manner. The manner Mark would have appreciated, in any case. 'I like the princess, she is,' he looked at Liam for half a second and then looked down instantly, 'beautiful,' the word was almost inaudible. 'And perhaps very soon I would have grown to-' he said "love", but it was inaudible, 'her. But I don't do so, now. Neither do I think she does. And,' he looked up with a lot of effort, 'since the day I was born, my grandfather, my mother, my father - everybody I know of - all they've taught me is to remain loyal to the king. If the need be, I am prepared to behead myself at your single order,' Mark realized he was speaking to Liam. And that all this while, he had been speaking to him, only. 'But I wouldn't so much as dream of touching a single hair of Princess Ophelia's head, My Lord.'

Not a single lie.

And Mark was very sure Alexandra knew too, that Adam Phillicks had spoken but the truth. There was nothing left, no reason left, to hold him back. He was beyond question - and the most practical course now was a single one: to call the spies who had been posted around the city the previous night, and from them, get the closest information they could.

This was a mystery tougher than anything Mark had encountered.

* * *

After having questioned at least a hundred spies, and it being five in the evening, Mark was sure he was going to either fall asleep, or fall dead.

Alexandra and Liam - not so much.

'We checked out a hundred and thirty three. That leaves only two. One appointed on the way to the port - and the other near Muriel's Fountain.' Alexandra informed, closing her hand on Moira's edge absentmindedly.

'The one on the way to the port.' Liam nodded, leaning forward and gently pulling the blade away from her. It was common consent that Alexandra could not be trusted near weapons.

'Tristan Pendrick was posted. Oh,' Mark blinked, 'this one dueled...' his memory was deceiving him. 'Just forget about it. I've sent a summon.'

'How can it happen.' Alexandra then shook her head, looking down and voicing out the thing that they had all been wondering. Just this once, nobody had any answer. Mark himself was wondering what this was all about - but whatever it was, the public couldn't know just yet. Ronald was away, doing the "acting normal" part, so that at least the common citizens didn't get any intelligence of a heir vanishing. Mark saw him slip into the chamber once again and unfasten his cloak. He wondered what the youngest son's thoughts on all this were: for he was somebody who had seen everything happen without playing any significant role into it. The "narrator" of the story, perhaps. Why, Mark could feel he himself was one such "narrator". But Ronald looked rather calm with it all, almost like he had expected it.

A lot of gloomy silence and morose speculations later, Tristan showed them his awaited face. And once they had explained the matter, for the hundred and thirty fourth time, realization dawned upon his face - and a hand reached his mouth as he swore audibly. Despite that, happiness must have dawned upon all the other's faces.

'I didn't know it could be the Pr-' he began.

'Tristan.' Mark interrupted, hurriedly. 'To the point, please?'

The spy shook his head, 'oh I am to the point, Mark Fannel!' He exclaimed, 'not in my wildest of dreams would I have thought that it was the Princess! It was rather dark, and we have many dark-haired ladies around. But now when I think of it, the robes were definitely luminous, the scabbard and the sword hilt. It would be around three, a horse of quite a modest breeding and upon it, there was a short - and lean man. Longer than usual hair, it was flying all round - and it was mere luck I saw them, for I had decided to leave by then. In front of the man, leaning on his chest - visibly unconscious - a woman. Yes, straight, dark hair. And she was bare-footed. They rode by in quite a hurry and it was all I could catch. But oh that it was-!' And he shook his head again, looking ready to slam his head to the wall.

Alexandra melted onto the nearest chair, her head in her hands. Mark knew she best left alone, because dagger or no dagger, an Alexandra who was not speaking was planning murder. Or murders.

They would have to see what all this was about. But before that, if the man was Idgardian - they needed him. 'Anything to - identify the man?' Mark asked. And Tristan stared at a blank spot in the wall for six whole minutes before answering.

'A bracelet. A silver bracelet that shone in the dark - with crescent moons.' He said, without blinking. 'And he wore it on his right arm.'

Mark slammed a hand to the arm of his chair. That was something very difficult to associate with - they couldn't simply go and check everybody's right wrist. Nevertheless, Tristan was thanked and seen off. And then Liam got up to leave - to where, none knew. It was unfortunate that Ronald chose that very same moment to get up himself - and the father and son collided with unforeseen grace.

'Sorry,' Ronald said, taking a step back and rubbing his forehead. And perhaps Liam would have taken a step back too, had his eyes not been fixed on Ronald's right arm with a frown.

When Mark followed his gaze, he saw the eye-fixing truth for himself. It was unbelievable that the bracelet had been in the room all along.

Finding two unmoving stares on it - Ronald himself looked down, towards his right wrist and he seemed the most shocked of them all. As if it was poisoned, he wrenched the bracelet off his arm and flung it aside, to where it landed just in front of Mark.

'I don't-' he began, shaking his head. 'That isn't mine!'

Liam was too stunned to speak. Alexandra was too frustrated. But Mark - neither. He bent down and picked up the bracelet.

'Why, Prince Ronald, if for once we do believe that this isn't yours,' he said, staring at the crescent moons dangling from the silver, 'then what about your "short", "lean" and "longer than usual hair" appearance?'

Ronald took a step back, his eyes wide - like a cornered prey. 'There can't be any other man like that?! Am I the - the only-'

'No other such man would have an easy access to a princess' chambers!' Mark shot at him, and Ronald turned to his father for support - who simply averted his gaze. The prince turned to his mother - who shook her head, with a look of betrayal.

'And you know what is more, Prince Ronald?' Mark asked, taking a step forward - for he was sure of it. 'Nobody else has got more reason that you have - to side with your brother - Prince Nicholas!'