Romain had said that they would ride for the capital at dawn, but by the time they actually did set off, it was late morning creeping towards midday, with the sun's light beaming down in full upon the party as they set off for Thalmont, Milisevre's capital city.

"We Milisevrans take time as a... how you say... polite suggestion," Romain explained as they journeyed down a sandy country track that rolled across wide tracts of farmland. "We're more laissez-faire about timekeeping that most..."

Logan wasn't even going to pretend to know what 'laissez-faire' meant – the Milisevran dialect was so unlike his normal way of speaking that he felt like a githyanki trying to read flowery poetry whenever he tried to comprehend it, never mind trying to speak it.

He knew he'd just end up making a fool of himself, and so focused on the landscape ahead of them. As ever, Milisevre was a picturesque place to behold; the fields of sunflowers that beamed as bright and rich as lemons, the vineyards whose rows were bursting with plump purple grapes that looked like they might burst in your mouth, and even the trunks of the trees in the orchards seemed to shine like copper in the warm glow of the day. Stout, prosperous-looking farmers in wide straw hats stomped fruits to pulps in vats outside their homes, while their goodwives could be seen hanging out washing on lines and their children scurrying about between the tall stalks of their crops, either keeping an eye out for pests or just playing amidst the foliage.

It was a quaint and wholesome scene to behold, especially when the common folk bowed or waved to Romain as he passed, and he did the same in kind. Even the cobblestone road they soon came upon seemed happy to see them, each rock that made up its surface shining like a polished tile in a mosaic.

And they weren't walking to Thalmont - they were riding.

Romain had been generous with the residents of his stable, graciously sharing them with the rest of the party while he rode his favourite horse of the bunch – Elodie, the magnificent milk-white mare with a mane as rich and curly as seafoam which he had ridden during his initial charge against the chimera yesterday. Surprisingly, the horse seemed no worse for wear after almost losing her master, prancing calmly down the road as though each step was part of a dance she had been trained to perform.

Logan was sat at Romain's side, on the back of a stormy grey stallion with a jet-black mane and socks by the name of Thunder. At first, Logan had wondered how well this steed would take to a new rider – warhorses could be temperamental, after all. And Thunder was the large and powerful sort, with a mighty stride and the potential to throw a good kick if needed, Romain had told him.

But thankfully, taming horses was another thing that Logan's uncle had taught him well.

Back in Chateau Toussaint, Logan had approached Thunder slowly and carefully, always remaining in full view. Then, with a sugar cube in hand, he waited for the steed to approach him and get used to his presence before he climbed up into the saddle. Since then, Thunder had seemed to accept him well enough, following his tugs of the reins and the touch of his spurs as though they had known each other all their lives.

Smiling and patting Thunder's neck as they turned from the track onto the wider road, Logan remarked "Good boy." At his side, he then heard a chuckle and twisted his head about to see Romain smiling at him with a gleam in his eyes. "What?" Logan asked Romain.

"Nothing..." Romain replied. "Just making sure you treat my horse with love and respect..."

Logan chuckled. "Do you not trust me, Romain?!" he asked, playfully pretending to be offended, which made the Milisevran laugh aloud. Following a brief spurt of laughter himself, Logan replied more sincerely by giving a smile and saying "Don't worry – no true knight would dare mistreat such a noble animal..."

Romain nodded, as if in approval. "Seconded," he said firmly as he tousled Elodie's mane, making the mare wicker softly, clearly enjoying being petted. Still smiling widely, Logan watched for half a moment before twisting about in his saddle to check on the others.

None of them had fallen off, which was a step in the right direction – they were a loose group of riders scattered about the roadway, some riding ahead or behind of others, with the only pair truly being side-by-side being a certain high elf and her trusty halfling.

Way at the back was Ren, who still looked both a little clueless and utterly terrified on horseback, holding the reins stiffly in his white-knuckled hand as though clinging on for dear life. The wizard had been shying away from riding ever since they left the library, but much to Logan's relief, Romain had a horse that suited the nervous elf, albeit a rather strange one.

His mount was about the same size as Thunder, though thinner and slighter, and the fuzz that covered his body was of a lighter grey. But what really caught the eye was his bright pink shock of a mane that hung down one side of its long neck. The steed had an incredibly calm and gentle demeanour, frequently moving in close and searching for affection by pressing its snout into the arms of those nearby.

Its name – Caduceus.

When Logan asked where he'd found such a horse, Romain replied. "I bought it a while back from a tradesman who dealt in curios from far-off lands. He passed through my lands, we crossed paths, and when I saw Caduceus... I don't know, I just had a good feeling about him." He took a glance at the pink-maned horse before smiling even more and saying "I can't explain it any better than that..."

Logan took a glance as well, feeling a pang of understanding. The creature might have been a bit unusual, but it did no-one any harm. And it was by no means the oddest thing he had seen his life.

Aside from Caduceus, the remaining members of their little fellowship had steeds of their own; Stalk was mounted on a chestnut gelding named Cinnamon, Arabella on a scarlet mare named Ruby, and Finnan on a humble donkey named Dapple.

Romain had offered Cinnamon to Finnan first, but at that point, the halfling had spied one of the servants having Dapple lug kegs of cider to the cellars, and was so instantly enamoured that persuading him to use any other mount was impossible.

Whether he should be surprised by this or not, Logan didn't know. But what had surprised him was that they'd been able to convince Technus to use a mount!

Named after the species of the same name, Goliath was an enormous shire horse they'd borrowed from a farmhand on Romain's land, paying the man in exchange. He was near-black with cream spots and thick beige hair sprouting from both the back of his neck and from his enormous hooves. He was large enough to fit his name, and after the farmer assured him that Goliath had been known to heave loads heavier than any man, they were confident enough that he'd be able to carry their cybernetic colleague.

Getting Technus to ride, however, was the far more difficult task. Not that Stalk helped much.

"I have no need for assistance to travel long distances – least of all from this... creature!" he snarled, gesturing to Goliath as the plough horse snorted at him. "My endurance is unending, for the machine is-"

"Yeah, yeah, we know..." Stalk replied as he waved a hand in dismissal. "We've heard this all already. Doesn't mean you'll be able to keep up with us, though."

Technus' robotic eye lasered in on the kenku after hearing that. "Explain yourself."

Stalk smirked. "I'm just saying, horses are faster than on foot. Don't seem like you're so superior if they can go the same distance faster and bearing a heavier load."

A crackling snort came out of Technus' face-mask before he retorted. "I take that as a challenge, kenku."

With his patience running thin, Logan had said "Technus, just get on the horse. It'll be faster going on the way to the capital and, if I recall correctly, you have someone there waiting for you," he reminded the Tech-Cleric. "I don't think they'd want you to keep them waiting."

He felt so manipulative in saying that, even more so when he had lied to Technus last night... but it worked. Reluctantly, Technus lifted himself onto Goliath's back, looking almost too big for even the shire horse as he sat up in the saddle. Goliath, meanwhile, looked none too happy to have the enormous cyborg on his back, but thankfully, he didn't buck or bolt.

The same couldn't be said for Stalk, however! Admitting to never having ridden a horse, his first attempt to get into Cinnamon's saddle back in Chateau Toussaint had resulted in him climbing up one side and falling over onto the other. The second attempt had almost caused Cinnamon to throw him off when Stalk let him trot for a moment, only to lose his balance, topple forward and have one of his talons nick the gelding's shoulder.

It was only a small cut, but the horse whinnied and thrashed around, and it took Romain grabbing the reins and Arabella hurrying to soothe the animal to get Cinnamon back under control.

Logan remembered what she'd said about having dabbled in a few druidic abilities, and when he saw her speaking tenderly while the horse looked her in the eyes and seemed to understand her that he saw it for himself. It was the same when Finnan spoke to Dapple, just as he was doing so now, chatting with the donkey with a big grin on his face.

Thankfully, Stalk eventually got the hang of riding, and Arabella proved just as adept at riding horses as she did handling startled ones, guiding the bright red steed with a gentle hand.

Instead of her usual attire of rather ostentatious dresses, Arabella had donned something more practical for riding. She still wore a skirt - a long and ruffled one of deep black that reached down to her shins - alongside a corset and knee-high heeled boots, both of a rich brown colour, and a plain blouse of white silk. The high elf rode side-saddle, her back poised and straight with her right foot in the stirrup and her left leg swung up across her front.

Her attire and the way she sat sent tingles through Logan's body again, his heart hammering in his ears for the hundredth time since he'd met Arabella. But as his eyes went to her face, that feeling of attraction changed. It didn't fade – more just gave way as concern rushed in front of it in his mind.

Instead of her usual gentle smile and composed, but cheerful countenance, Arabella's expression was one of sorrow and regret. It was the same day as when they had shared that moment of affection upon the balcony, even as they shared the pain of their pasts with each other, but it suddenly looked as though Arabella had awoken from a terrible nightmare, her smooth skin now pale, looking near-translucent and so fragile that it might have been glass. There was a faint redness around her eyes too, which made his worry grow more rampant.

Had she been... crying?

Logan felt himself being torn in half in that moment – his want to help Arabella pulled him towards her and his fear of making things worse pushed him away. Frozen in place by indecision, no matter how much he wanted to go up to this girl and talk to her... he found himself unable to do so.

~~~

Where once she had admired and taken joy in what surrounded her in the verdant Milisevran countryside, Arabella now found she could not. No matter how hard she wanted to, memories had been stirred within her of a different place, just as bounteous and beautiful, which Milisevre now reminded her of.

A place of all her bad memories came from.

Before her eyes, the world seemed to warp, the countryside turning from open grass and wheatfields into a blooming garden, with Romain, Finnan, Logan and all the others, even Ruby, vanishing from sight. As impeccably-kept hedge mazes, flower bushes and plants that shifted and coiled right before her eyes all appeared around her, she felt herself shrink, growing smaller and smaller with each passing second.

She was eleven years old again, standing within the royal gardens of Evermeet, the feeling of what she held in her hands morphing from the reins of a horse to a bouquet of freshly-picked flowers.

Arabella's heart was thumping inside her chest as she remembered what she was doing. She was standing by the entrance to one of the gardens, waiting excitedly for her to pass by after picking the prettiest flowers she was allowed to take from the gardens. The gardens her family owned.

And soon enough, Queen Amlauril Moonflower, emerged from one of the palace doors, followed by her personal retinue of handmaidens and bodyguards who walked in the same deathly silence as the royal they attended. The queen's face was a mask, but her body moved with all the splendour and grace her station demanded, garbed in green silk and samite, her eyes a pale blue flecked with sparks of bronze and hair like a river of molten golden running down to the small of her back.

Hair she shared with her youngest daughter.

"Mother, mother!" Arabella called as she hurried from her hiding space, one hand holding up the front of her frilled yellow dress while the other gripped the bouquet. As she emerged, however, the royal guard immediately moved to oppose her, kneeling and holding out hands to bar her from getting any closer.

Already having used most of her courage to do this, Arabella didn't have it in her to try and order them aside – she wouldn't behave like a spoiled brat in front of her mother and her ladies. So instead, she held out the bouquet and said softly "Mother... I picked these for you."

As she said those words, Arabella looked up at her mother's face, hoping to see a smile or any hint of approval or affection, no matter how minor. The princess knew her mother loved items of beauty, art and nature, and though she never spent much time in the gardens these days, this might be something to lift her spirits following fathers' death seven moons ago.

But when the little elfling met her mother's gaze, it was as though no time had passed at all. Her skin was bone-pale, with bags under her eyes and red patches at the corners. The colours of her irises seemed dull and fading, as though the life was vanishing from her soul, and her cheeks were hollow and thin.

"How many times must we go through this, Arabella?" Mother asked her in a beleaguered tone. "I am very busy these days – if you want to give someone a gift, give it to your ladies-in-waiting."

Arabella felt a rift pierce her heart then, but she fought to remain calm. "I... I thought you'd like them..." she stammered. "Mother, please. Staria says that these have a smell that can help you sleep."

Staria was Arabella's mistress of the robes, in charge of the household that surrounded the princess – a household that was entirely separate from the queen's.

Amrauril Moonflower furrowed her brow. "What else has she been telling you? Was this her idea?"

"No!" Arabella replied, shaking her head fervently. "It was mine..." She then hesitated for half a moment, holding the flowers against her chest with her big eyes looking at her queen and mother. "I'd heard from the servants that you don't sleep or eat... and I've seen you sitting alone in your study at night, eyes open..."

She had hoped the flowers might help her find sleep at last. But all it seemed to do was make her mother angrier.

"Sneaking out of bed, young lady?" she asked, biting at the inside of her hollow cheek. "Captain Asgorn! Escort Princess Arabella back to her apartments and double the guard. She is not to leave her chambers after dusk."

Captain Asgorn, a tall and impressive elf with an eyepatch and black hair streaked with silver, bowed low and replied in an obedient tone. "At once, Your Majesty." Then, he nodded to two of his men, who moved to stand beside Arabella.

As one place a hand gently upon her back, Arabella felt a sob rise within her. And as her mother walked away, that sob and more began to burst forth. The flowers fell from her fingers and the rift in her heart exploded.

"I just want you to be happy, Mother!" she called. "How can I do that?! I want to know!"

The Queen of Evermeet paused for the barest of moments, sighing softly but not looking back. "You can do whatever you wish, Arabella. But it can't be with me. Right now..." she paused for a moment. "... right now, you just need to leave me be."

Her voice was cold and sterile of affection, and nothing more was said before she and her retinue departed, leaving Arabella behind in a dejected, downtrodden mood.

Tears ran down her cheeks as past and present began to blur – the princess didn't know if she was only crying back then, or was doing so here and now. But as the words of her mother rang in her head, she felt just as fragile and vulnerable as that little girl from over a century past...

'Leave me be.'

Those were the words that haunted her more than anything she knew, denoting that people did not want her around or for her to try and help them. And when Ren said a similar phrase earlier today, something had exploded within her – a bomb of pent-up grief that had ruptured her from head to heel.

Every interaction with Mother had been like that since Father's passing, and while losing him had wounded Arabella's heart to the core, the way she lost her mother was far more insidious, and had infected the wound with mind-killing fear.

The fear of being unwanted. Alone. Abandoned.

~~~

As the party progressed along the cobblestone pathway, passing by more rolling farmland and crossing small bridges that spanned both irrigation ditches and babbling brooks, they eventually came to the great flagstone road that Romain told them of earlier today, which would take them all the way to Thalmont. It was wide enough for four wagons to pass abreast, its surface smooth and well-maintained, with ditches at the sides for rainwater to run off into.

But despite all this space, when they reached it, it was nearly completely occupied.

Taking up the entirety of the road from about thirty feet away to all the way beyond the horizon was a travelling column of horses, wagons and people of all sorts; guardsmen in chainmail and brigandine with half-helms on their heads, carrying spears and crossbows as they flanked a seemingly neverending mass of serving boys, grooms, cooks and every other occupation imaginable. There were even a few priests, and near the head of the column were no less than a dozen squires and heralds, each one wearing a surcoat and carrying a banner depicting the heraldry of his master.

The heraldry in question was three separate crests – one which was a fiery orange castle on black, another that was three twisting green serpents on a field of yellow, and the third – the largest of them all – was a deep emerald banner trimmed in gold displaying three black fleur-de-lys.

Logan whistled aloud as he saw this, unable to hide how impressed he was as he came to a halt to watch the oncoming mass of people. Romain did much the same, the clopping and thumping of hooves on cobblestones abruptly ceasing as he calmly brought the party to a halt on the road.

"Oi! What's the hold-up?" Stalk called grumpily as he wheeled Cinnamon to one side and urged him forward to beside Romain.

"Larger retinues have the right of way, Stalk..." Romain explained. "It's the rules of the road. And we should show courtesy to fellow nobles besides..."

Stalk's beak curdled, and if birds could spit, the look in his eyes revealed he most certainly would have done. "Fuck's sake..." he muttered to himself before squirming in his saddle. "This is painful enough already – now I gotta sit here and wait."

Logan almost smiled, but thought better of feeling schadenfreude in this moment. "You get used to the saddle sores, don't worry..." he said, doing his best to sound encouraging as they gave way by stopping and waiting, even as the heat of the day blazed down upon them. During the wait, as a bead of sweat rolled down Logan's brow, Dapple brayed loudly, Finnan gently scratched his ears, and Arabella sighed softly.

"So much for reaching the capital quickly..." came a wistful comment in a deep, robotic voice.

It took Logan a moment to register that such a thing might have been said by Technus – for one, the remark sounded more human than anything he'd heard the huge man say before.

"You alright, Technus?" he found himself asking out of instinct, forgetting who he was talking to for a moment as he looked over his shoulder.

Technus' eyes snapped to him robotically as his head rotated left and then down. "Affirmative. And your concern is not necessary."

Logan arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?" he asked. "I just thought for a moment there, you sounded almost human."

His tone was thick with sarcasm, to which Stalk listened and seemed to approve, noted by his frown quickly reversing. Meanwhile, to his surprise, Technus didn't respond. Instead, he looked away as though embarrassed, and Logan could swear that he saw what remained of the figure's skin turn red beneath his teal hood, pulled up over his head and gently rippling in the breeze.

Now that was something Logan took joy in seeing, truth be told. But his attention was quickly drawn away when he saw the mass of people get closer and closer.

Having grown up amongst the nobility, Logan had immediately pegged the convoy as a noble's retinue. But he'd seen many of those in his day, and this one was bordering on the outright ostentatious! From the three different banners, the though crossed his mind that it could be three lords or ladies travelling together, but even so, the mass of people was larger than anything he'd seen.

Unless...

Taking note of the banners, Logan turned to Romain and asked, "Are any of those the royal crest of Milisevre? The fleur-des-lys, perhaps"

"Non," Romain replied. Just before he spoke, he peered into the distance himself... and the moment he saw the banners, there was a brief flash of realization in his eyes and, almost immediately, his usual amiable demeanour wavered, his face darkening as his expression grew sullen.

He said no more, but Ren picked up the slack.

"He's right, Logan – King Charles' banner is completely different. It's a platinum dragon standing in triumph over a red one against a gold background," the wizard explained.

Logan looked to him, feeling a jolt of surprise. "How do you know that?"

"Back in the library, I was reading a roll of arms..." Ren explained, eyes flicking down for a moment as he said it before his gaze then turned to the banners that were coming up the road towards them. Peering closely, he said "I don't recognize those banners, though..."

Hearing that, Romain chuckled grimly. "Trust me, Ren... after today, you'll never forget them."

The rules commanded them to wait, so they all waited, and soon enough, the front of the convoy reached the junction the party were waiting at. At its head were three riders who travelled side-by-side, and from how when they stopped to survey the party, the entire cascade of people ground to a halt as well, Logan had to assume it was them who this massive entourage belonged to.

The first rider, mounted on a charger as black as satin, surveyed them with deep-sunken eyes as green as venom. He was an older man, between forty and fifty, but still impressive in his stature – near as tall as Technus, Logan judged him to be about six feet and seven inches from the stiff straight torso that loomed up over him and the long legs that hung down either side of the knight's saddle.

For he was a knight of noble bearing, beyond any doubt; his plate armour was a glorious, viridescent dark green chased with gold, with gauntlets of lobstered steel around his fists whose plates seemed to ripple with every movement of his fingers. A long black cloak studded with emeralds trailed from his broad shoulders, and his sigil – the three black fleur-de-lys that hung upon several banners - was worked onto his breastplate in nothing less than black onyx gemstones! The man himself was bald save for the grey hair around his ears, had a jutting lantern jaw from which grew a spade-shaped chin-beard, and his huge nose curved like a parrot's beak down toward a lipless mouth and laugh lines that were wrinkled into a permanent sneer.

The second was less impressive, but no less unpleasant – a short wiry man with a long, pinched and chinless face peering out from between long tendrils of oil-black hair that snaked down his face like the tentacle of a squid. In contrast, his skin was pale and blotchy, his eyes mismatched rings of blue and brown nestled in bloodshot sockets, his armour nothing more than boiled leather over a yellow and dark green gambeson. Draped over his steed's body and hanging down to the creature's ankles were caparisons sewn with those very same colours, depicting serpents with olive scales and cream undersides slithering and coiling about each other.

The horse looked terribly hot under all that amidst the boiling summer sun, but his rider didn't bat an eye.

Last but not least came the most horrifying of all - looming behind the green-armoured knight whose stature was like nothing Logan had ever seen! Clad in an ugly mass of chainmail studded with scraps of steel plate was a shambling, slope-shouldered hulk whom Logan would have assumed wasn't a human if not for his pinkish skin. The man must have been nine feet tall, built like a brick shithouse, with arms as thick as temple columns and hands as large as hams. His head, round and hairless as an egg, was horridly ugly with close-set piggy eyes, a broad, flat nose and a mouth whose thick, chapped lips resembled two huge, wrinkled worms. When they peeled back, they revealed a sickening tangle of brown and yellow teeth that gnashed constantly inside blood-red gums, as though the massive brute was trying to make them fit more comfortably.

He wasn't even riding on a horse; instead, he was mounted atop a slate-grey rhinoceros, the reins not only a metal bit fixed in the creature's wide mouth, but wrapped about its two enormous horns as well. Hanging from one side of the brutish man's saddle was a titanic rectangular tower shield, rimmed about the edge with darkest iron and stamped with the orange castle on black.

Three sigils. For three knights.