Once Upon a Time: Chronicles of Acharn.

By Sealie

filled with fond respect for Hans Christian Andersen, the Grimm Brothers and a dollop of Terry Pratchett

The story came about simply because a little friend wanted a night time story…

Once upon a time a long, long time ago, the Chieftain of the Northern Lands faced down the evil Magician Brack with the help of his Sentinel. After aeons of oppression the people of the Land celebrated their deliverance by elevating their chief to King. The Sentinel stood by the King’s side and protected him as he sought to secure their new Land. Together no force of evil could defeat them. And the House of Sandburg ruled with honour and a caring hand with the assistance of the Sentinels of d’Ellison for a millennia.

Until…

Chapter I.

Presenting His Royal Highness, Prince Blair

‘Blair was a very lonely little prince. Plenty of people wanted to be his friend but only because he was the prince and not because he was a nice person. When he grew up he was going to be king; and he knew that it would probably be worse then.’

Blair rubbed his nose with the cuff of his worn tunic. He snuggled further into his alcove with his book. The small nook was a perfect size for a small prince, and if he retreated to the right and to the back of the alcove by the loophole windows, it would take a man with a long arm to winkle him out.

His D’neirf kit, ‘Leya, cuddling close into this hip, purred. Absently, Blair scratched the kit’s ears. ‘Leya was his one true friend, a little jet-black catling. The D'neirf could almost be considered a kitten since she didn't seem to be growing up. It probably had something to so with the fact that there was only one family of D’neirf kits in the castle... inbreeding don't’cha know. His Royal Mother, Queen Naomi, said that the kits were a symbol of what happened when you married too close within the Royal Family -- that and your teeth dropping out.

Blair burrowed further into his pile of cushions listening with half an ear for the librarian, Seah, who had popped out of the library for a moment. He liked books, especially the fantasy series about the strange warrior in the mythical city of Cascadia, even if there were some big words he didn’t quite understand.

In honesty, Blair was the loneliest of princes, but he didn’t know enough to understand loneliness. All he knew was that there was something missing and he hadn’t found it in his books.

A light cough interrupted him and Blair looked up into very icy blue eyes. He stared up at the stalwart man through a veil of tumbled curls. Blair gnawed on his thumbnail. His ever-so precise tutor had taught him the heraldry of the Land of Acharn’s Clans when teaching him his letters. The motif brooch on the laird’s kilt was wolf rampant guardian of the Ellison Clan. The big man standing over him had to be Lord d’Ellison’s grandson and heir, James. Jamie was big and loud and raucous and almost, but not quite, a bit of a bully.

"The librarian went to the privy," Blair said tremulously. "Seah will be back in a little while."

He stuck his nose back in his book and pretended to read until the big man went away.

He was such a little bookworm that he probably would have missed the attentions of a possible friend.

Pensive, Blair carefully stroked his kit’s ears. The young laird had retreated from the library, his eyes flashing glacial fire. Blair could not guess why the big man was angry. All he had said was that the librarian was away.

"What do you think, ‘Leya?" he asked the kit.

She batted her good eye as she essayed a shrug, her other eye had never quite worked properly.

Blair struggled to his feet, kit in one hand and massive tome in another. He was at a quandary. The library no longer seemed like a refuge – since big burly lairds could come in and interrupt him. They never normally came into the bastion of study. The morning sunlight shafting through the library’s stained glass windows beckoned. On tiptoes, he crept to the bookstack beneath, and then viewing the heights with trepidation, he set ‘Leya on the highest shelf he could reach. Painfully, he climbed up the stacks moving first kit then book until he reached the top.

Determined, he crawled across the stack, opened the small window and crept onto the garret. It was precarious. Heart in his mouth, he inched towards a flat piece of roof, partially protected by an overhang. The morning sun had warmed the corner to a comfortable temperature. ‘Leya mewled once and then settled down purring contentedly.

~*~

He was engrossed in his book – happily lost in the whimsical story of a Giant called Fi-Fie-Fum when he heard shouting. Carefully, so as not to damage his beloved book, he set it down.

Cross-legged, Blair viewed his domain. He could spy on the entire castle. It wasn’t the highest point in the castle. The turret towers afforded a better view, but he could see straight into the courtyard. The great hall and the kitchen windows were on the south and west walls. In the hall, through the windows, he could see the maids bustling through their day.

The castle was a sprawling warren built over a thousand years. He knew from his lessons that the castle sat atop of a mountain called Goodrich. The castle stood sentinel, protecting the Gateway Mountains to the Highlands. In the early morning light, the heather on the sloping hills were a burnished gold. He had never left the castle. He did so want to explore outside, perhaps visit the citadel on the western slope of Goodrich. Down on the plains he could see the Great Forest of Acharn where elves and wolves and faerfolk and wolves and bears and more wolves lived.

The ladies were sunning themselves in the solar watching the young Lords practising armed combat in the central courtyard.

That must have been where the shouting came from.

Into their midst strode Laird Jamie.

Tiny squires scattered before him as he arrowed towards Lord Lash. His sword flashed in his hand promising murder.

Prince Blair’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like Lord Lash; he was too proud of himself. He always wore the most fashionable of clothes and he liked to tease. And he was two-faced. Blair blushed; when he had been the most littlest of princes toddling in the great hall looking for his mummy, Lord Lash had caught him up in the folds of a smelly bag and locked him in the dungeons. He had eventually managed to crawl out of the bag. Scared and faced with the old spider bewebbed rack, he had wet himself.

Lord Lash got yelled at after the bodyguards had found him. But everyone had looked very disappointed when they realised that he had soiled his nappy.

A howl echoed off the castle walls. Laird Jamie stood over Lash who was coiled in a ball at his feet.

Blair was too far away to hear anything other than overtones of anger. Laird Jamie jabbed his sword at the prissily dressed Lash.

‘Wow,’ Blair thought. ‘The laird is big enough to pick on bullies.’

He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Blair crept forwards over the roof, trying to overhear. The tiles under his fingers were wet and slimy. The D’neirf kit at his side meowed a question.

"I just want to see what’s happening. I am the Prince, you know. I’m supposed to know what’s about. Well, that’s what the tutor says."

He crawled forwards another step.

It was inevitable.

With a single ‘eeeeeeeeeeeek’ he tumbled head over heels and over the edge of the roof.

Curiosity killed the cat

Scrabbling as if a kit he managed to grab the sharp edge of the gutter. He swung helplessly, unable to reach up and grip with his other hand.

"Mama!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

There was a horrified shout from beneath him. Staring transfixed down between his little narrow feet he could see the palace militia looking up at him, horrified. For some weird reason Lord Lash held his sword point upwards.

Jamie growled at the man and smacked him over the head. Lash dropped to the ground poleaxed.

Frightened out of his wits, Blair froze. His fingers locked.

~*~

He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, he was so scared. The D’neirf kit meowed and batted his hand with a delicate talon. Then with an elegant sniff, ‘Leya turned and left.

He was abandoned. His heart sank to new depths. Nobody loved him.

Beneath him the guards ran backwards and forwards trying to figure out what to do. His Grace the Duke of Rafe ran into Sa’Leem Henri and they fell over each other squawking. Librarian Seah with the Duchess Michelle were fighting with an unwieldy ladder while the men were beside themselves.

There was an ominous creak and the gutter gave way.

Rock hard fingers wrapped around his wrist before he had fallen even a hairsbreadth. He was suspended, the wind whistling in his ears. With the kind of strength that bordered on the supernatural, he was hauled upwards. Dangling by one arm he stared into the concerned blue eyes of Laird Jamie. A slow, devastating smile crossed the laird’s face. Timorously, Blair smiled back at his saviour.

‘Leya was perched on the top of Jamie’s head, clinging to his ears with needle sharp claws. She looked very satisfied with herself.

"I’ve got you and I won’t let you go," Jamie promised.

~*~

Strong arms held him against the expanse of a broad chest. Prince Blair lay, quiescent, as the laird made his way back over the roof. He was tucked in the fold of plaid over the laird’s chest, safe and secure as Jamie made his way, sure-footed, over the rooftops.

Jamie crouched down next to the library window. "Here he is…"

Blair didn’t protest as he was passed through the window into the waiting arms of the librarian. Her soft curly hair smelled sweet against his cheek as she held him. But it was for just a moment and then he was passed down into the care of the physician.

The physician didn’t give him a cuddle. She set him on the library table and then shook her finger under his nose.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

Meekly, Blair held up his hand showing her a scrape.

"Poor thing." Cynthia Louise patted his face and neck and ran her fingers down his arms. He had another scrape on his knee.

Blair submitted to her poking and prodding.

"He’s fine," Cindy announced to the throng of people staring at them. "Nothing that a bath and a good night’s sleep won’t cure. Where’s his nursemaid?"

"I’ll take him," Duchess Michelle said. She was one of Queen Naomi’s ladies-in-waiting. She normally looked after his mama. "When the bodyguard saw his Highness in danger, one guard went looking for Lady Cassandra. Cassie turned out to be asleep in her bed, when she should have been watching his Highness. She had been drinking."

Everyone oooohed in mannerly dismay. Rafe said something behind his hand to Sa’Leem Henri, who nodded wisely.

‘Leya, sitting on top of one of the stacks, meowed as she licked her paws with a forked tongue. For some peculiar reason she looked very pleased with herself.

~*~

Everyone sitting comfortably? So where were we? Why was Cassie being so nasty to the young prince? Would you be scared in a castle where Lash lived? Questions, questions, questions.

~*~

Prince Blair sat waist deep in warm soapy water. He grabbed a handful of bubbles and blew. Perfect spheres floated through the air. One touched the Duchess Michelle’s hair and disappeared in a sparkle.

Cassie always gave him cold baths. Warm baths were much more fun.

"Where’s mama?"

Duchess Michelle knelt beside the bath and rubbed a soapy flannel over his face.

"Your mama’s in conference with his majesty, the Wizard Sultan Simon Siddiq’Banks."

"Oh." Blair let the bubbles fall back in the water. "Will she be finished soon?"

"Soon," Michelle soothed. She dropped a kiss on his head, just like mama.

The D’neirf perched on the edge of the bath, reached down and patted the water. Her face screwed up and she jumped off the bath and disappeared.

"‘Leya!" Blair howled but she was out of the door and away.

"Shush." Michelle stroked his cheek. "Cats don’t like water. She’ll be back."

"Milady?" An unfamiliar voice called from the other room. "The Queen requires your presence."

"One moment, Maya. I’m seeing to Prince Blair."

Blair wiggled a wet, soapy, slippery ball as the duchess lifted him out of the bath. She set him down on a fur in front of the glowing log fire. He laughed as she tickled him with a soft towel.

"You’re much nicer than Cassie," he said as she dried his curls.

"Why’s that?" Her Grace asked as she knelt beside him.

"Cassie wasn’t nice," Blair said with typical childlike non-explanation.

"Your Grace, the Queen insisted. She wants you to ‘read’ his Majesty Siddiq’Banks."

Lady Michelle rubbed him dry briskly and then directed him to sit on the footstool beside the fire. The poultice that she smeared on his cut knee and hand smelled of milt and spiders’ webs. She carefully wrapped both in white cloths.

"Time for bed."

"NO!" Blair objected. It was not time for bed; even if he had had an exciting day. "’Leya’s not here."

"Your Grace!" Maya sounded upset.

"Tell her majesty that I will be there as soon as I settle her son. It will have no impact on when I read the Wizard Sultan – assuming that I can. The treaty will not be signed until tomorrow."

She wrestled him into new soft, footed pyjamas, picked him up, bracing him against one hip and then carried him to his suite.

~*~

Gather around the campfire and cuddle up close. Are you listening? Well, if you remember, the evil Cassie had been ousted and Blair was safe and warm with a new caregiver. But who or what is responsible for this horrible state of affairs...?

~*~

The Story continues….

Blair bounced on the bed. He looked up through curling lashes at his new nurse. He essayed another little bounce.

The Lady Michelle’s eyebrow rose and a smile skipped across her lips. She squashed it.

"Bedtime, Prince Blair."

"D’neirf’s not here. Can’t sleep. Simply, can’t sleep. No ‘Leya. Sad turn of affairs." He sighed dramatically.

The Duchess pulled back the covers. Reluctantly, Blair crawled over the quilt.

"Oh, by The Sentinel!" the Duchess blasphemed. "You cannot sleep in this bed!"

Blair was plucked from the grimy blankets, braced once more against her hip. He looked down at the bed, trying to see what had upset her. Her hand was clasped over his eyes and he was carried from the room.

"What’s the matter?" he asked plaintively.

She set him down on his feet outside in the corridor. The cold stones bit his toes. The duchess looked annoyed but almost hurt; what was the matter?

"My Lady, what is the problem?"

Both prince and duchess turned to see Laird Jamie striding down the corridor. His hand rested casually against his sword hilt.

"James, my boy, will you look after the prince? I need to speak with the Queen."

Blair allowed himself to be picked up and passed over to the tall Lord. The warrior held him easily with one arm beneath his legs, keeping his other hand free. Blair fingered the gay plaid wrapped around the Lord’s shoulders. A bright brooch caught his eye. The wolf motif was beautifully wrought from a juniper’s horn.

"What is the problem?"

"Prince Blair’s had his bath – he just needs to sleep in another room." She stared at him pointedly.

Confused, Jamie nodded. Seeing his acquiescence, she briskly bounded down the corridor, holding her skirts high (displaying her ankles – shock horror). With a frantic skip step, she turned down another corridor and was out of sight.

Jamie shrugged, moving Blair. He had never been part of a shrug before; he liked it.

"What happened?" the laird ventured.

Blair shrugged and was disappointed when the laird didn’t move.

The warrior cast a, quite frankly, curious look into the room….

"If I put you down, could you just stand here for a moment?" Jamie crouched, setting him on the floor.

"Yeth," Blair said at his beguiling best. Projecting utter innocence, he clasped his hands behind his back and stared into the crouching laird’s eyes. The warrior’s eyes were a blinding blue like the glacial lakes in the kingdom of Chun. Blair deliberately widened his own eyes.

Incredibly, the laird fell for it.

Blair crept behind him back into his bedchamber. The four poster bed was hidden behind the royal purple drapes. Laird Jamie had his sword out. Blair’s soft footie pyjamas made no noise. He kept his hands clasped over his mouth, holding his breath.

Jamie moved forward with cat-like precision. Gingerly, he pushed back the blankets with the point of his sword.

"UGH!"

Jamie leapt backwards, barely missing the prince.

"What? What? What is it?" Blair said eagerly.

"How did you do that?" Jamie demanded. "I should have heard you."

Blair blinked, confused by the question.

The laird scooped him up, and swung him over one shoulder. Blair got a clear view of the bed from his perch as they bolted from the room.

It looked like a large black spider’s web.

~*~

They ran pell-mell down the corridor. Maya squealed and fell back into the privy as they pushed by her. Blair could hear her yelling very long, convoluted words long after they should have been out of earshot.

Indefatigable, Jamie dashed up a spiral staircase, taking the stairs three at a time. A door swung open before them and then slammed shut a hairsbreadth behind them as they slipped through.

Blair was dumped on the spartan bed in the corner. It was so hard he didn’t even bounce once.

"Lock the door!"

Blair watched fascinated as the key turned in the lock of its own accord.

"Thanks, Becky."

There was a whisper of an answer that Blair didn’t catch. He listened with all his heart and soul and heard…

::…you’re welcome::

Jamie was breathing harshly and there were bright pink spots high on his cheekbones. And he was standing very, very still.

"What’s wrong?" Blair asked, very quietly. He clambered off the bed and stopped beside the deathly still laird. He was staring away into the faerie lands. Blair patted his protector’s hand, but he remained stock-still.

::He’s in the Goddess’ hand:: came the whisper.

"I don’t understand." He looked around for the source of the voice. "Are you a ghost?"

::Yes::

"What’s it like being a ghost?"

::JIM:: The spirit directed his attention back to the frozen warrior.

Blair reached up and rubbed the laird’s stomach. There was no response. "Is he poorly?"

::The Goddess has taken him away to soothe his hurts. You can bring him back::

"What’s hurt?" Blair said practically.

::His ears. He listens too hard::

Blair mulled over that for a heartbeat. Then his practical nature at the fore, he pulled across the only chair in the room to the young laird’s side. He stood on it, reached up and clasped his hands over the warrior’s hurting ears.

"I had earache once," Blair said conversationally. "Mama gave me a cuddle. She put warm oil in my ear. Do you have any oil? Should I give him a cuddle?"

::Talk to him::

"But I’ve got my hands over his ears," he said logically.

::Talk to him the same way you’re talking to me::

::HIYA:: Blair thought loudly.

A pain filled shudder passed along the laird’s long frame.

::Hullo:: he modulated his ‘voice’. ::Can you hear me?::

"Whrrr?" the laird breathed.

::You ran away? Why did you run away? Why are we here?:: Despite his best attempts he couldn’t help a tiny whine.

"Ssshhhh." The warrior focused on him immediately. His pale blue eyes softened.

Blair pulled his hands down and nibbled on his thumbnail, waiting for the laird to speak.

"You’re fine."

Since he was standing on the chair, Jamie didn’t have to crouch to look at him. It was nice the way that Jamie looked at him when he talked to him.

"You’re safe here. I’ll protect you and Becky will help."

An ethereal kiss touched his cheek.

Jamie picked him up and set him on the edge of the hard bed. He watched as the laird pulled back the old, soft sheets.

"Ups a daisy." Jamie smiled.

Obediently, Blair climbed in. He allowed the big warrior to tuck in the blankets.

"Why?" Blair twisted his fingers through the laird’s jerkin and gripped. "Why are you scared? Why is it bad? What’s the matter?"

"Shush."

"NO," Blair said defiantly.

Reluctantly, Jamie settled beside the bed, still allowing Blair to hold onto the sleeve.

"Sometimes people want to hurt princes."

"Like the elves?" Blair questioned.

"Elves? Elves don’t hurt people. They’re step beyond and to the left. Might tease, might be hard to understand…" Jamie shrugged, confused.

"Bad elves?" Blair clarified.

"Beansidhe?"

Blair nodded eagerly.

"Who told you about the DhuSidhe? The Bad Elves," Jamie clarified.

‘Oh, dear.’ Blair curled up in a ball. Cassie had told him never to tell mama about the stories. Did that include big warriors?

"Blair? Your Highness?" The soft entreaty made him uncurl.

"Cassie made me promise! She said I shouldn’t tell. She said bad things would happen!"

Jamie went as white as a sheet. His eyes narrowed. There was dark cloud of fury hanging over his head. Blair watched it seethe with wide scared eyes.

"No, no, no," Jamie responded instantly. "I’m not annoyed at you. I’m annoyed at Cassie."

Jamie’s teeth ground together audibly in the tiny chamber.

"Blair." With a single finger, Jamie gently touched his chin and lifted until their eyes met. "Cassie was bad. She shouldn’t have told you scary stories. You don’t do that to little boys…"

"I’m almost six!" Blair pouted.

Jamie nodded and the dark cloud lightened.

"There are certain things you don’t do until you’re old enough. I haven’t been told the keywords to the d’Ellison’s archives – I’m not old enough." Jamie thumped his chest. "When I’m twenty one, my father will pass on the magic that Grandfather Ellis passed to him when he was twenty one. If I was given the keywords now, it could be very dangerous. My father has the responsibility not to tell me the keywords no matter how much he wants to give up their weight. For Cassie to tell you about the DhuSidhe meant that she disavowed her responsibilities. And that means that she was bad."

That was a lot to think about, Blair reflected pensively. Robyn said that he was cleverer than the humans would guess, and all they would see was a little boy.

"Robyn said that Cassie was rotten. I told the bodyguard but he laughed. Cassie spanked me."

"Robyn?" Jamie’s brow furrowed as tried to remember the names of the castle maids and other staff.

"The oak in the courtyard," Blair supplied.

"You talk to trees?" Jamie said incredulously.

"Nobody believes," Blair said petulantly. "I *talked* to you."

~*~

Ooooh, the plot thickens. Who set the Veb in the prince’s bed? Why did Cassie tell Prince Blair nasty stories? Well, if you all snuggle down and listen I will continue the story…

~*~

Presenting Lord James, Laird Jamie of the Ellison Clan

James William Forest d’Ellison heir to the House of Ellison was as sublime as a dagger’s blade. Trained in his responsibilities by his Grandfather, Lord Ellis, from the day he had left his nanny’s grasp, he had a self-assurance in his position which bestowed an unconscious arrogance.

Tutors from far flung corners of the lands outside the fealty of Queen Naomi had taught him such diverse topics as astronomy to the physicians’ doctrines. He had little inclination to learn the arcane and mystical, but he had achieved a measure of competence, otherwise he would not be a d’Ellison.

He had been twelve years old when the Queen had gifted the Land with an heir. At the time, page in her service, he had watched over the royal crib while she had dealt with affairs of state. Nanny Pill, the royal nurse, had been getting on in years, and had been essentially useless.

With her cackling advice he had learnt to change breech cloths, soothe greeting babies and, when the prince had started to toddle, develop eyes in the back of his head. Watching over his younger brother had not prepared him for looking after an active toddler with the curiosity of a bag full of kittens.

Then Lord Ellis had called him back to the estate to continue training under his vigilant eye. He had no qualms about speaking to the Queen on the eve of his departure. Informing her majesty of the borderline senility of the young prince’s royal nurse had been a necessity, since he was leaving. The Queen had been beside herself, retiring the nurse and assigning the trainee chatelaine, Cassandra, to care for the prince. The laird had left for home without a backward glance.

His Lord had decreed that he should return to court and learn politics at the heart of the Land after his eighteenth birthday. Dutifully, he had obeyed. Members of the court flocked to his side, drawn to his confidence and prospects. They meant little to him. They didn’t want him, they only wanted pieces of him.

The young prince didn’t remember him. In fact trying to get a word out of the prince was a bit like trying to get blood from a stone. The only thing that the prince talked to was the warped little D’neirf kit, ‘Leya. How the prince had found and been adopted by one of the habitually secretive kits was a mystery. That the crown prince was a repressed mouse was disturbing, more so was the fact that this was unremarked upon. The Queen had been distant since he had returned from the highlands. When the Wizard Sultan arrived, she had practically entered solitude. A few of the wags in court had spoken about the uncommon amount of time the two rulers had spent together.

There was something amiss in the court. His nascent gifts made his skin crawl as if spiders walked over his skin. When he reached his prime, he would be initiated into the Sect of the Sentinel. That was three years hence. Three years before he would take on the mantle of The Sentinel, protectors of the lands of Acharn. As ancestral protectors of the kingdom it was the d’Ellisons’ responsibility to get to the root of the evil hanging like a sword of Damocles over the Queen and, of course, the Prince. Most disturbing was that his father, William, and his Grandfather, Ellis, had not returned to court. If something threatened the Land they should have been aware of the menace.

Troubled, he had taken to walking the corridors at night and interrogating the servants at every opportunity. On one hand he was sure that there was evil afoot, on the other he knew that if the Queen, and by default the Land, was in danger, the d’Ellisons should have descended on the court. Their very absence meant that there was no threat. His senses told him otherwise. And the conflict disturbed him.

~*~

Everyone comfortable? If you remember Jamie had rescued the prince from something horrible – even though he really shouldn’t have gone into the room... But I digress... The boys had ran pell-mell to the Laird Jamie’s strangely spartan room.

~*~

Now the laird sat beside the young prince trying to soothe the child when he felt little more than a child himself.

Blair’s truculent pout, verging on the edge of tears, touched his quick.

"I believe you." He did, he didn’t understand but he believed the young prince.

The glistening eyes brightened. Blair shifted on the bed. "Robyn is very wise. She tells me lots of stuff. Maybe she’ll know what the black thingy was?"

"Black thingy?"

"In my bed."

The blood turned to ice water in his veins. The Veb had terrified him, and he had run like a rabbit. At least he had protected his charge. A Veb – he had believed that the art of creating the blood curse had been lost when the Mage Brack had died a thousand years past.

"Why were you scared?" The innocent question emasculated him.

"I wasn’t scared," Jamie said tightly. "They make you sick if you get too close to them."

"Oh," somehow the child put a wealth of meaning into that single utterance.

"The duchess told me to look after you. It is my duty to protect you. To stay near a Veb would have meant that I would have failed my duty."

"Oh." Blair cocked his head to the side and peered up at him through a veil of tumbled curls.

"Stop that!" Jamie said indignantly.

An incredible grin crossed the prince’s face. All teeth and gums, there was a luminosity in the smile that he hadn’t seen in the weeks since he returned. The child had smiled like that when he had been a toddler, getting into new things, teasing the cats and playing in the armoury with the model siege engines.

"JIM!" Blair shrieked.

Blair stood up and planted his chubby hands on Jamie’s lightly stubbled cheeks. The prince leaned forwards until their foreheads almost touched. The dark blue eyes scrutinised his face. Memories flared in the little round face.

"You’re Jim!" The voice turned soft and hurt. "You went away."

"My grandfather wanted me to go home." Arrogance warred with discipline and bowed to truth. Thirteen year old heirs weren’t supposed to nanny baby princes, even when the heirs’ grandfathers taught them duty and honour at the knee. A portion of his soul railed against his grandfather’s order to return, knowing that his place was at Blair’s side, another portion had enjoyed returning to the classroom and the company of his peers.

"You left me with Cassie," came the accusation.

"I didn’t know," Jim whispered.

Blair released him, and folded back onto the bed. "I want ‘Leya." He turned to face the wall.

"I’m sorry." He said to the hunched back. Tentatively, he reached out. The prince shrugged away from his touch. Carefully, he gripped a tense shoulder and drew Blair onto his back. Tears streaked unchecked from the corners of the prince’s eyes, flowing into the hair at his temples.

"I’m sorry." Jim pulled the resisting body into his embrace. The child’s fists drummed against his chest. The laird allowed the abuse. Blair sobbed wildly – heartfelt, soul destroying sobs. The thumps became gradually weaker as the prince exhausted himself. A final wail heralded his collapse against the neophyte sentinel’s chest.

"You went away," Blair whispered.

"Shush." Jim stroked the prince’s hair. Hot tears soaked his tabard. Slowly, the cold and tense body warmed. Snuffling softly, Blair fell asleep, pillowed on his shoulder.

~*~

A soft knock interrupted his reflections. Carefully, Jim settled the child on the bed. Blair murmured fitfully and then snuggled down. Cat soft, Jim padded to the door, drawing his sword with a silent whisper.

"Becky?" he hissed.

He felt a cold breath of wind pass his cheek and ooze through the door.

"Eeeek." Rafe’s distinctive accent identified him. "Someone pinched my bum!" He sounded very affronted.

Smiling, Jim threw open the doorway. Unnerved, Rafe was on his tiptoes scanning the staircase for his attacker. Sa’Leem Henri had draped himself decoratively over the banister watched his antics with a superior, knowing smile. Henri put on airs and graces as he had a few years on Jamie, those seven years brought maturity, he proclaimed.

"Greetings." Henri performed a sweeping bow. "The small prince is in your care?"

Jamie nodded into the chamber, but did not step away from the doorway.

"The duchess said that you were looking after the prince. Inshalla. She said to tell you that the webs had been severed." Henri shrugged, apparently unaware of the ramifications of the message, and unconcerned. The laird saw through his façade. As adjutant to the Wizard Sultan, the heir to d’Ellison knew that the same tutors had taught them. One did not survive the lessons of Kelson and Wolfe without learning; they would have taken it as a personal affront. During his lessons, Kelson and Wolfe had often held up Henri’s expertise in the mystical arts, conversing with low elementals or high elementals and command of alchemy as an example for Jamie to attain.

"And?" Jim drawled. His sword tip bobbed with an easy, snake-like rhythm.

"New rooms have been set up for the prince. You are to take him to the Rose Suite."

Rooms hereto reserved for the prince when he came of age. They had been King Bran of the House of Sandburg’s personal quarters before his death. They stood in the heart of the castle. Bespelled and protected by enchantment they provided a formidable refuge. The inner court was taking the threat to the prince seriously.

"So be it."

Trusting Henri with his life, Jim turned his back and re-entered his quiet, stark, peaceful room. His small sojourn was over, he would have to take his place at the prince’s side before he reached the age of consent – at least until his father arrived.

The child was deeply and profoundly asleep. Jim lifted his charge, holding his sleep-limp body against his chest. Blair’s head rolled neatly into the crook between Jamie’s shoulder and neck – warm, moist breath brushed his skin. An involuntary smile touched Jim’s lips.

"He’ll get cold," Henri said, concerned. He was such a sop.

Jim endured as the Sa’Leem tucked a worn blanket around the prince’s shoulders.

"How do you expect me to use my sword?" the laird said practically.

"That’s what we’re here for." Rafe spun his assassin’s blade in the air. Little would get by the Duke of Rafe.

~*~

Rafe sauntered down the corridor, swinging his hips. His stiletto danced across his fingers, gleaming in the guttering torch light. A dashing figure, swathed in black velvet, he was an assassin of the finest pedigree. His crushed velvet jodhpurs moved seamlessly into his black suede thigh boots. His tabard of finest velvet was scrolled with black embroidery. Many seamstresses had been driven insane to sew the intricate stitches. The ruff at his throat was dagger silk. He was an artist’s vision.

"Rafe?" Henri, keeping watch at Jamie’s back, spoke.

"Yes, Sa’Leem?" The assassin scanned the corridor.

"You’re prancing."

~*~

They passed through three guarded doors into the private suite of rooms. A balcony in the bedchamber overlooked an arboretum. The inner garden was a peaceful place. It drew the nascent sentinel, still holding his charge, to the sugar glass window. A cherry tree, heavy with pollen, filled the air with its scent. Elaborate patterns were combed in the sand beneath the central tree.

"James?" Rafe whispered softly.

The laird smiled as the deadly assassin opened the drapes surrounding Blair’s new four poster bed. Rafe, Duke of Rafe, assassin to the council of Acharn, fluffed up the pillows and pulled back the quilt. He patted the clean sheets enticingly.

Henri prowled around the room, his scimitar poking into wardrobes and beneath the bed. Eventually he withdrew to the far corner of the room and sheathed his weapon. Crossing his arms he made like some kind of exotic statue, his silk caftans flowing against his trews.

"And he calls me a poser," Rafe muttered.

"I heard that, Bertram," Henri said mockingly.

Jamie managed to twist off the worn blanket, allowing it to fall to the floor. Prince Blair was a dead weight on his shoulder. Only his chest moved as he breathed deeply and rhythmically. Practised, Jamie shifted him into his arms, supporting his head. The child mumbled, flinging an arm against the laird.

"Feck!" Rafe swore. He yanked the quilt back further.

Jamie saw a streak of black. Moving without thinking, he somersaulted backwards, tucking and rolling with the prince clasped firmly in his arms. The Sa'Leem flowed across the floor, standing between the laird and the bed. His curved sword carved elaborate patterns in the air, part magic and part defence.

As sinuous as a snake, Rafe pursued the flash of black. He flowed over the mattress, daggers poised. Lithely, he dropped onto his stomach and slithered beneath the bed.

Swear words echoed from under the bed.

Blair mumbled and awoke. He pushed sleepily against the laird’s neck as he stretched.

"’Leya?" he grumbled.

Rafe erupted from beneath the bed, missing a black tail by a fraction. Almost faster than the eye could see, the black shape streaked by Henri, avoiding the downward stroke of his sword with a taunting hiss.

The D’neirf launched itself into its pet’s arms.

"’Leya!" Blair squealed, rocking and hugging and squeezing his companion. Sighing deeply, Jamie found his feet and stood, lifting both Blair and the kit.

"Some assassin," Henri said teasingly as he helped Rafe to his feet.

"I saw a black thing move – what did you expect me to do?" Rafe defended himself.

Blair was wide awake, regarding him with inquisitive eyes. He twisted in Jamie’s arms, demanding to look around. Jamie kept a firm grip. The kit leaped from the prince’s arms onto the bed. Its tail held high it padded over the bed, sniffing. Once it had completed a circuit it settled on one of the pillows curling up into an impossibly tight ball. The D’neirf exuded utter superiority.

"Down?" Blair requested.

"Bed," Jamie responded.

Blair’s face screwed up. Before he could protest the laird dropped him in the centre of the quilts. The child looked up at him sullenly.

"Not tired," he whinged truculently. The way he rubbed his eye with clenched fist, said that he was telling an untruth.

"Not tired?" Henri plumped himself down beside the prince. "But you’ve had such a long day. You were on the roof and you hung on the gutter like an acrobat." The Sa’Leem touched the light bandage protecting his scraped palm. "Then you went on an adventure with a sentinel – all the way up to his eyrie."

Henri now had the child’s complete attention.

"Oh, you didn’t know that Big Jamie here is a sentinel? Well, he will be when he grows up. He’ll be able to see better than an eagle, scent prey like a wolf, have hearing to listen to a seamstress’ pin drop at the other side of the castle, taste poisons floating in the air and detect the finest weaves by a simple touch."

James William Forest d’Ellison heir to the House of Ellison rolled his eyes heavenward.

"A sentinel?"

"If you lie back I’ll tell you a story," Henri bargained.

The prince weighed his options, perceptive in the face of Henri, Rafe and the laird standing over him, he settled for the story.

Jamie set himself next to the balcony windows and half listened to the improbable story about a sentinel and a dragon who breathed chocolate fudge sauce. The young prince seemed to be enjoying it, seemed because Jim was pretty sure that whatever anyone saw in the prince was exactly what the prince wanted them to see. Where the five year old had learnt such manipulation was a mystery, although Jim put the blame firmly in Cassie’s lap. Being opaque to that degree implied a certain level of intelligence that was rather scary in a child. Even now, although Blair seemed entranced, he had not clambered onto the knee that Henri so blatantly offered. Instead he settled back on the mound of pillows, his arms wrapped around ‘Leya so that the kit was impossibly squished. Despite the abuse, the D’neirf wasn’t complaining. She should have rendered his skin with her sharp claws. Jim’s ears attested to how sharp those claws were.

If Jim could convince Henri that evil was afoot, then Rafe would follow just to make sure that he wasn’t missing anything. With both the Sa’Leem wielding his mystical abilities and the assassin’s stylish method of dealing out mayhem, Jim was pretty sure that he would be able to get to the bottom of the mystery. Or maybe he could convince the pair to watch over the prince while he investigated? It was his mystery after all, wasn’t it – he ought to find the evil doers?

"Finally," Henri exhaled.

Blair slept with the utter relaxation that only the very young could display. Head tucked down, he melded into the pillows. His grip on the kit had loosened. Unwisely, Henri reached down to remove the D’neirf.

"OW!" A narrow line of red rose on the back of his hand.

The kit licked its talon with a forked tongue.

"By the Goddess," Rafe exclaimed, flapping his wrist foppishly. "Do you *have* a death wish? The damn thing will take your head off, as soon as look at it."

"So what next?" Henri rubbed his hands together ignoring the scratch.

"Next?" Jim echoed.

"Yes. What is our plan of attack?"

"Uhm," Jim muttered intelligently.

"I assume you have one. You’ve been trained in strategy." Rafe balanced his weight on one hip and crossed his arms, posing.

Jim refused to react to the blatant body language. Rafe was in a snit because he hadn’t caught the D’neirf.

"I…"

Henri raised a finger.

"We," Jim amended, "go and talk to the Duchess. She found the Veb. I assume that she dealt with it when she returned to Blair’s rooms with the required paraphernalia. She might have an idea who set it."

"We should also find out everything that we can about the woman Cassie," Henri added.

"Why?" Rafe’s voice whined.

"Good point, Sa’Leem. Why, Bertram?" Jim focussed on his peer. "Because I think that she had an agenda that involved corrupting the prince in the long term."

"Intriguing." Henri turned to look at the innocent figure sprawled over the pillows. The D’neirf stared back at him, daring them to come any closer.

"What do you mean?" Rafe’s stiletto was now dancing over his knuckles, as he pretended to be upset.

"If she hated her position as Royal Nanny she could have easily delegated her duties to a junior nanny and simply managed the Royal Nursery. Yet, she didn’t and based on what Blair has told me, and what I’ve seen since I returned to court, she did not like her charge. In addition," Jim was in his element, controlling the situation, "she’s been deliberately telling him nasty stories, stories that gave him nightmares and stories he’d been told not to tell anyone about."

"Black tales?" Henri queried. He was still staring at the prince.

"The blackest."

"We should talk to her," Rafe offered. "I know that she has been dismissed from service to the crown. But surely she can’t have gone far?"

"Good idea. You, Rafe, talk to her, play with your stilettos while you do it." Jamie bared his teeth.

"Hmmm." Henri moved back to the bed. The kit rose, its back arched, hair spiking. "I’m not going to hurt him."

‘Leya simply spat.

"I promise. You may sit on my shoulder while I cast the enchantment and then you can inflict… grievous bodily harm if I do anything against the prince."

The kit seemed to consider the option, then with claws extended she ran up his silk robes. She paused a moment at his thickset waist hissing derisively, and then continued her pin sharp way up to his shoulder. Talons extended, she settled comfortably. Tears welled in the Sa’Leem’s eyes.

"Remind me never to do that again."

"All right," Rafe’s voice smiled.

"What *are* you going to do?" Ellison gritted out.

"I’m going to see if the darkness has claimed his soul."

Henri gestured and the room’s oil lamps darkened. He brought his other hand up, curled as if around a ball. Head bowed he began to chant. The D’neirf sat on his shoulder as still as a statue. The laird followed the spell, he knew it, but he could not wield it with the grace that the Sa’Leem was displaying.

A crystal white light shimmered over Blair’s body. Jim watched entranced as it coalesced over his heart. The ball of white flame expanded into an ethereal figure. The androgynous form wavered and then changed, wrapping itself in a cowled robe. Long, shoulder length curls framed a pointy face. It was difficult to judge any colouring since the figure was translucent. But warm cerulean eyes watched them. The laird recognised those eyes.

Henri aborted an automatic bow, curtailed by a sharp claw settling on his ear.

"Greetings, My Lady," Henri intoned.

"Eh? Who is it?" Rafe muttered.

"It is the Earth Mother," Henri said quietly before Jim could speak.

"But it’s a *boy*, isn’t it?" Rafe asked befuddled.

"But it’s Blair, sort of?" Jim was frankly confused, he thought that the spell was supposed to bring forth a representation of the child’s soul.

"Everyone has a feminine and a masculine side. It’s not always so obvious. But the King is tied to the Land in ways that we can’t understand. Naomi would have offered his afterbirth to the Earth on the day that he was born. The Earth recognises him."

"Surely it’s a good sign that she’s made an appearance. She’s hardly going to appear if he’s been corrupted," Rafe said winsomely.

The form wavered again, filling out subtly and growing a few inches. Between one blink and another the narrow face was defined by a goatee. The hair took on a lustrous sheen reflecting the low lights in a myriad of browns, honeys and chestnut. The robes glowed richly. This was a magician of the highest calibre. Winds caressed the form, tossing the hair aside as if a thousand air sprites played. Air elementals paid homage to the man. A storm wizard.

‘That pointy beard looks positively machiavellian,’ Jim thought.

*¿What?*

Henri gasped; the representations weren’t supposed to speak.

Jim stepped forwards, literally and figuratively. "We called you forth to see if the child has been affected by the machinations of Lady Cassandra Wells."

The storm wizard looked down and his face softened. The sharp chin melded into a more blocky visage and the beard whispered away. The curls shortened, gaining life and energy. The very image of the late King Sandburg smiled paternally at his younger self.

*Nothing that the love of a good friend can’t cure*

The old king changed into a younger more elfin version. The androgynous form played just beneath the skin. Abruptly it froze and raising an arm threateningly, it intoned,

*¡Watch him!*

The white light flared and in its place stood the young prince. Still dressed in his purple footie pyjamas, he floated above his recumbent body. His thumb crept into his mouth, slowly he curled sideways and drifted down to join his body.

The threesome stared, stunned into silence as Blair slept the sleep of the innocent.

"Er, so, like, what did that mean?" Rafe volunteered to break the hush.

"That did not work the way it was supposed to," Henri said indignantly.

"’Nothing that the love of a good friend can’t cure’," Jim said getting straight to the crux of the matter. "So Cassie has hurt our prince’s soul. Bitch."

"Yes, but he has not been turned to the darkside." Henri kept one eye firmly on the D’neirf, still sitting with feline superiority on his shoulder. She rested a sheathed paw on his ear.

"We’ll just have to make sure that the evil ones don’t get their claws on him," Jim growled.

"I don’t think that it’s that simple," Henri said wisely. "The seeds have been planted. We have to make sure that they don’t grow in fertile ground."

"Very profound," Rafe snipped, tossing his ponytail over his shoulder. "What the feck’s that supposed to mean?"

"I prescribe doses of tender, loving care."

"Oh." A blush touched Jim’s ears. "Who?"

Henri’s face screwed up in concentration. "His mama would be the obvious choice. But she’s busy being mother to the kingdom."

"Surely this is more important," Rafe objected.

Henri’s eyes darted this way and that, before he spoke treason. "I would have thought so. But who are we, as mere serfs to our respective monarchs, to understand their responsibilities? The Wizard Sultan rarely sleeps and has little time to spend with his son, Daryl."

"The Duchess? She’s very nice?" Rafe smiled widely.

"I think..." Jim began. "I think... that I... No... Yes, the Duchess is a very good idea. I think that she has taken him under her wing." Stumbling to a halt, he gazed at the sleeping boy.

"Yes, let’s go and talk to the Duchess." Henri stalked towards the doorway, muttering under his breath. Jim should have been able to hear, but he wasn’t listening.

"We can tell her," Rafe caught up with the Wizard Sultan’s adjutant, "not to let him grow a beard when he gets older. It does absolutely nothing for him."

~*~

Gather around the campfire. So more nastiness is afoot. But we’ve met some new heroes: the Assassin Rafe and the Adjutant to the Wizard Sultan, Henri. And we still haven’t found out what Cassie’s evil plan was. But more importantly, where is Blair’s mama?

~*~

Blair finds a new niche

Blair awoke in an amazingly big bed. The D’neirf was asleep on the pillow next to his head so everything was fine. He pushed back the quilt and sat up. The early morning sunlight shafting through the balcony windows had woken him.

The bed was gianormous. The quilt, properly covered in Royal purple, felt like a cloud. The sheets were crisp and embroidered at the edges was the same royal crest that adorned his pyjamas. Cassie had never let him wear the proper pyjamas because he was naughty.

‘Leya opened her good eye and yawned at him.

"Look!" Blair caught the kit up in his arms and showed her the rest of the room. There were eight windows leading to the balcony, which was covered with flowering vines. The velvet drapes on either side of the windows reached the floor. There was a massive fireplace, filled with pot plants in the summer rather than glowing flames. Warriors were carved into the fireplace stone. On top of the mantelpiece was a large music box.

Blair clambered off the tall bed, and dropped to the carpeted floor. He crossed to the fireplace. A large portrait hung over the fire. A benevolent looking man smiled down at him – Blair was sure that he winked at him for a moment. A cascade of curls was pulled back from the man’s face, but a few escaped. Blair pulled at his own short bouncy curls. They were the same colour. The man wore the royal purple, so he had to be a king. He had also added a yellow sash and bottle green and cobalt tunic.

"Are you my Daddy?"

The portrait didn’t answer. He’d have to go to the library and ask the librarian, Seah. Bored with the painting, he turned to the wardrobe. It smelled a bit strange, sort of sweet and spicy. Clothes were hung high up, but yanking at their hems pulled them off their hangers. They fell on his head. Swathed in lots of clothes, Blair began to play.

‘Leya thought that the brown ochre tunic with the intricate knot work worked with the purple sleep suite, especially when coupled with the red short boots that went past his knees. The plumed hat drifted over his eyes. Blair pushed it back, blowing the peacock feather out of his face.

"I’ve never seen anyone with a feather in their hat."

‘Leya meowed.

"Oh, a long time ago?"

He looked at himself in the mirror that covered the entire back door of the wardrobe. The green tricorn hat looked great.

"I’m hungry, shall we go get something to eat?"

The sun had lifted its skirts completely over the west wall so the castle would be starting to wake up. That meant that someone would be in the kitchen. Stumbling a bit in his large boots, Blair studied the door. The doorknob was, of course, out of reach. It yielded to the chair trick. Jumping down from the wooden chair, Blair pushed it out of the way and dragged the heavy wooden door open.

There was a short, panelled corridor leading to another door that had no handle. Stymied, Blair glared up at it. How did you open a door without a handle?

The D’neirf hissed and spat at the door. Raising her tail at the locked door, she padded back down the corridor. Blair obediently followed her into the bedchamber. He watched as she jumped onto the mantelpiece and pawed the music box.

The entire fireplace swung backwards out of the room. A black, impenetrable shadow appeared on the east side. The kit leapt down, and with a beckoning meow disappeared through the crack.

Blair paused a moment, chewing his lip, and then scurried after her.

The fireplace closed behind them. It was pitch black. The D’neirf brushed against his legs soothingly. It was dark, really dark; he didn’t know if he liked it really, truly and absolutely dark. Globes of light flared.

"Wow!"

The lights hovered above the floor, interspersed along the corridor at regular intervals. It was a soft yellow light that made the secret passage look a lot less scary.

"Did you do that?" Blair toddled after the kit in his over large boots.

::Hello, Prince Blair::

"Becky!" If he squinted he could almost see a young woman. She seemed to be wearing a cuirass and a metal breastplate. Squinting he could just about see pteriges--leather strips sewn into a protective skirt--overlying a pristine white tunic. No matter how much he concentrated he couldn’t make out her face.

::What are you doing here?::

"I want brekkie."

::Oh, well, the kitchens are this way::

An ethereal touch gripped his hand. Skipping – as best he could in his new boots – Blair danced along at her side.

"Are you a warrior?"

::Yes, I keep watch over the castle::

The ghost passed through a stone wall, and then stopped before Blair could be dragged after her. She poked her head out of a brick.

::I forgot, we have to go the long way ‘round::

"We can try it that way," Blair said eagerly.

::I think not::

"I’m never allowed to have any fun."

::You’re investigating the secret passages, isn’t that fun?::

"Well, I suppose so," he said reluctantly. "It would be more fun to walk through walls."

A shimmering laugh passed through him--it tickled.

::Where’s Jamie?::

"Dunno," Blair said absently. ‘Leya had turned down a flight of stairs. One of the lights floated away from the wall and dogged their footsteps, illuminating the steps.

"That’s clever, how does it know how to do that?" He squatted down and poked the cool light with a fingertip.

::It recognises the grandson of its creator:: Becky explained.

"Who?"

::Your grandfather, for whom you were named after. King Blair was a wizard. He used to explore these passages. He always complained about his torches going out so he magicked up the glows::

"Don’t they get bored sitting here waiting in the dark?"

::No, they don’t think; they do::

Well, that didn’t make any sense. Blair set the thought aside to mull over later. He picked his way down the stairs, dragging Becky after him. The stairways, corridors and passageways wound this way and that until he didn’t know if he was coming or going. If the kit or Becky hadn’t been with him he would have become lost.

The D’neirf stopped before an unremarkable piece of wall.

::The kitchen. There’s a latch in that knot hole::

Blair crouched down and poked his finger in the hole. A tiny button moved as he wiggled his finger. With a tired groan four stones swung into the passage.

"Are you coming?" Blair asked, but the ghost had already disappeared.

On hands and knees, he crawled through the opening. The stones swung shut as soon as he was clear. He knew where he was. He was sitting under the giant wooden table on the west wall of the castle kitchens. Prepared food was kept on the heavy table before being carried to the great hall by the pages.

The head cook was busy directing the baker and his assistant. Through the kitchen scullery door, Blair could see one of the assistants collecting eggs from the castle hens storing them in her pinafore. Another maid was churning butter. A familiar face in the kitchen, Blair didn’t gather any attention.

The old kitchen dame was sitting by the fire, stirring porridge in the cauldron. She had been the head cook until she had become blind with old age. A font of herbal wisdom and in matters of preparing food, she retained her position in emeritus, guiding her great-granddaughter, the current head cook. She also knew where the sweeties were kept.

"Hullo, Mags."

The crone smiled at him. "Hello, my darling. Have you come for breakfast?"

The old lady thought that he was one of the pages or something. "I couldn’t get you any flowers; they moved me to a new room. It’s nicer than the old one. And I had a hot bath yesterday. And I got new clothes. They smell spicy."

The herbalist leaned forwards and sniffed. "Turin – it’s the old king’s favourite scent. And," she sniffed again, "moth bane. Where did you find the clothes, my darling?"

"In the wardrobe."

"Are you supposed to be wearing them?"

Blair shrugged, unconcerned. "I’m hungry."

"You’re always hungry." She smiled, her face like a wrinkled currant. Deftly, she ladled out a bowl of the porridge and dolloped a generous portion of honey into the oats.

Blair took his customary position at her side and began to eat.

"So have you had any adventures?"

"Uhuh! I met a ghost and a… a …"

"Take it slow, my love."

"A sentinel," Blair said the word properly. "Although he’s not a… sentinel, yet. He’ll be a… sentinel when he’s bigger. He took me to his… eyrie. Henri called it an eyrie. I thought that eagles lived in eyries?"

"Sentinels like to live high up so they can watch over the kingdom with their eagle eyes."

"I used to know the sentinel when I was little, but he had to go away. I just met the ghost, though. She’s nice. She showed me how to get here through the secret passages. They were good. There was balls of light."

The herbalist smiled and ruffled his curls. "Secret passages, eh?"

"Yeth," Blair said eagerly, around a mouthful of honey and oats. "I think that you can walk through all the castle through the passages. You get there from my room. Did I tell you about my new room? There’s a garden. I haven’t explored it yet. There might be herbs. I’ll bring them to you and you can tell me about them. There’s a big tree with cherry blossom."

"A cherry tree? A tree with sand at the bottom?"

"Uhuh." Blair finished the porridge and pushed the empty bowl into her hands. There was a hunk of warm bread and a crock of butter on the main kitchen table. He hauled himself onto a stool and helped himself.

"You shouldn’t go into King Sandburg’s rooms without permission."

"I gots permission."

"Well, make sure that you finish cleaning it before someone realises you’ve been playing there."

"I always clean my room before Cassie realises that I’ve been playing with her things." He snaffled some strawberry jam for his next hunk of bread. "I put spiders in her ointment jar once."

A clunk caught his attention. The kit had its head stuck in the buttermilk jug.

"Child, get your cat out of the jug, and throw out the rest of the milk."

Giggling, Blair extracted the kit from the jug. Rich milk coated the D’neirf’s muzzle and whiskers. A self-satisfied smirk was plastered – along with the buttermilk – over the kit’s face.

"She hasn’t finished her milk."

"I don’t care a rat’s ass, she shouldn’t be in the jug. If she comes over here I’ll smack her bare bottom."

Following her orders he dumped the spoiled milk in the sink. ‘Leya sighed audibly and sniffing, snuck out the scullery door on her own business.

"I have to go now, Mags. The tutor will want me for Letters. I want to read my story book before."

"You look after yourself, my pet. Have you had enough to eat?" She held out a honey cake.

Grinning, Blair tucked the cake in his tunic for later. "Fanks. See you tomorrow?"

"I’ll be here, darling. Eggs, tomorrow?"

"Dippy bread with cream and sugar?"

"Only for you."

Blair stood on his tiptoes and planted a kiss on her leathery cheek. "Bye, Mags."

~*~

Everyone comfortable around the campfire? Snuggly and warm? So Blair scurries along the wainscoting of the castle ignored by all the staff – a strange turn of affairs for the Prince Royal. But our lonely little prince has friends. And most importantly he now has Jamie.

~*~

Jamie discovers that protecting the Prince Royal is difficult

"Where the FECK is he!"

The guard cringed, none had been as surprised as he when they had discovered an empty bedchamber. Laird Jamie was incandescent with fury.

Rafe prowled around the room. "There is no evidence of foul play." He climbed over the balcony and dropped down into the garden below.

"Did you hear anything?" Jim spat at the guard.

"No, My Lord." He hung his head in shame.

Casting the fool aside, Jim made his own scrutiny of the room. There was a pile of unused clothes dumped on the floor beside the open closet. A distinctive scent tickled Jim’s nostrils. He didn’t recognise it, but the moth bane made him sneeze.

"What are you standing here for," he hollered at the guard. "Go alert the staff and bodyguard that Prince Blair is missing. *Now*, man!"

The guard almost teleported in his haste to obey. </