At two-thousand and three hundred feet tall, the palace complex dominated the valley of the Manaas. While the ship landed outside the protective shield around it, Añil Treshreem observed the activity around its towers. Hundreds of winged beings dotted the ground, but none of them could cross the invisible shield; there was no gate more effective than this one. A few miles from the castle, the military base Startos -it's first line of defense against external attacks- was visible thanks to the ships and thopters that arrived or took off from their hangars, since most of the complex was underground. Only the buildings on the west that made up the academy were visible.

Once on land, the welcoming party -a group of officers thoroughly examining every person, belonging, permit, invitation, and each object found on board- went to greet the visitors.

The inspection was exhaustive and annoying for frequent travellers, but that was not reason enough to avoid it. It was the only way to make sure that no weapon was taken into the palace. When it came to security, the Royal Guard was the best anywhere; it was so rigorous that visitors were not allowed to bring perfume or toothpaste in their carry-on bags. In case if medicine, cleaning supplies, robots or tools -allowed only to authorized personnel-, they added several control checks and a waiting period that discouraged anyone.

"You can come down now," the guards told them.

Treshreem sighed, and walked to the next security check: the gate, where he would find Carl Jendal.

On ground level, the complex was surrounded by a wall fifty feet high, and twenty feet thick. Twelve watchtowers held the shield generators. There was not even an inch between the top of the wall and the base of the energy shield, but at the gates transit was free for both vehicles and Elohans. Guards were the only obstacle here.

In the control station, he went through another visual and manual inspection, and he was asked to go through a special scanner. They were so meticulous that the guards inside the castle had little to worry about.

His heart rate rose when the suitcase that held the crucial alien artifact was examined. It's non metallic composition fooled the scanner, but it could still appear suspicious to the guards. He fought to keep his face straight, and took a deep breath. It was showtime.

Carl Jendal barely looked at him, passed his hands through the clothes in the suitcase, and inspected the contents through touch. If he felt the small shells, he didn't show it.

"All clear." He passed it to the next man. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who would look through his luggage that night.

"Welcome, minister, your pass is active," he was greeted, as he was given his access card. His face was well known there. He travelled so often that sometimes the guards apologized for the inconvenient procedure. But that day the rigorous protocol was especially important, for it was the day of the ball in honor of the Queen's fertility, and the palace was almost literally the safest place in the planet.

Almost.

"It looks like it will snow soon," commented Treshreem, trying to distract the guard.

"No partner for the ball, sir?" asked Jendal, catching on.

"I am an unattached bachelor." He fixed his coat. Having a wife was against the rules of the Junpaih Order, however, Treshreem -as one of the lords of the Order- had allowed himself a concubine. Or perhaps he should call her his sex slave, Ginhy. Bringing her to the palace was unthinkable. His nephew, Nicah, had begged him to take him so he could rub elbows with the nobility for the first time, but it was impossible. Their relationship must remain a secret for the sake of their plan.

He was Añil Treshreem, but also a public figure. A distinguished member of the Assembly of Representatives, a man close to the Prime Minister, Edeira Iran. He was a popular figure, and had the possibility of climbing even higher. He wasn't about to risk that.

"Not to worry, not everyone has a partner. To be honest, everyone wants to dance with the Princess." The guard pulled his hands out of the suitcase, and closed it without suspecting anything. "Did you hear? It was announced barely an hour or two ago."

"Yes."

"It seems like none of us won the bet," said another guard while he handed back his luggage.

Treshreem couldn't breathe easy until he was on board the VeL that took him to the Main Tower of the complex, but he wouldn't feel completely safe until he had put the artefact under lock and key in his apartment's safe. While he'd gone through the hardest part, he had to control his pace and gestures, no matter how much he wanted to run. He alighted on the third floor balcony.

He ran into General Orlando Seres in the elevator, the Deputy Secretary of Security, already wearing his dress uniform.

"Just in time, minister," greeted the military man. His hair was damp and smelled of wood and ferns. "How was your flight?"

"Good, as usual, General."

"From Menantroad, right? The Regional Summit."

"You always know everything," he replied, twitching the corners of his mouth. The ghost of a smile.

"How was the weather there?"

"Hot, as usual. A storm hit the last three days."

The General swept his eyes over him and frowned.

"Why did no one help with that luggage?" He extended his hand, offering to share the load. "Come, I will walk with you."

Treshreem faltered for a second while he thought of the risk of appearing suspicious if he said no. Luckily, the elevator stopped and the General got distracted greeting the newcomers.

It was Vanessa Blasterier, her husband, Sefen Gacks, and their moody teenage son, who seemed to have been forced to attend. He stood at a corner and avoided eye contact with everyone.

"My lady Duchess," greeted Treshreem. "Duke."

Ever since the couple had returned to Eloah the minister kept running into them, and he'd even had drinks with them before his trip to Menantroad. If there was something he had learned from his brilliant political career, it was to relate to this kind of nobles, whether he enjoyed their presence or not. They were a magnificent source of information, provided you knew how to read between the lines.

"Ah, minister, how do you do?" said Gacks. "Did you hear we lost the bet?"

"I am afraid so." He always voted against the King and Queen revealing their daughter's identity whenever he was asked. It kept up appearances. "Although I am not surprised that they waited until the last moment to announce it, considering all the security measures required. Did you place a bet, General?"

"Against, as well. I thought they would make a special event to reveal the news."

"Did someone vote in favor?" The minister scratched an eyebrow. "I mean, there was nothing that led us to believe they would."

At least no one they knew. Treshreem certainly saw it coming. He was almost certain that this time the monarchs were playing by his rules, having understood his subtle threats. He had done well preparing the plan ahead of time. That was why he'd started moving his men into position. Ektor Cuarzo, for example, would have to leave the palace.

His expectations had been fulfilled only a few hours before, when he boarded the ship that would carry him back to the castle, and the chatter drew his attention to the news on the screens.

"General Hawk did. He voted in favor," replied General Seres, and then added jokingly, "I will never again take a different position to that of the Director of Intelligence."

"You shouldn't be betting in the first place," commented Vanessa Blasterier.

"How did they take the news in Menantroad, minister?" the General asked.

"As expected, I suppose. Some were excited, expectant, and others looked scandalized. This is my floor. I have to get dressed, but I will see you later."

Vanessa Blasterier occupied General Seres' attention, and fortunately he forgot all about helping him with his luggage.

***

He finally locked himself up in his room, saved his belonging under lock and key, and collapsed on the bed for a few seconds. He still had time to dress up for the ball. Now his thoughts wandered to the man chosen to be traitor; that wretch selected by the Junpaih Order and forced to give up the Royal family. Possibly, at that very moment, one of his hitmen would be paying a visit to the house where his wife and daughter lived.

Treshreem would have liked to go himself, just for the pleasure of listening to the naive prostitute's screams of anguish, but it was vital to stay away from that wretched bird's kidnapping and murder. By morning, the loving husband would get a call, but since he had not revealed this wife's existence to anyone, he would be trapped, and the only way out would be to listen to the kidnapper.

That visit was the last step to set the plan in motion. Everything else -the Ulohnese weapon in his safe, the Order members' alibis, the infiltration in the guards' ranks... basically everything- glided on clear skies. The beauty of his plan was that it could be applied to any day and time, and be carried out minutes after confirming a location.

***

"Attention!" cried the sentinel at the entrance to the training facilities, where the Princess' new security detail awaited instructions.

Orlando Seres, Deputy Secretary of Security, stood next to the column of men.

"Present arms!" he ordered, the moment the King and General Tad Abender, Secretary of Security, stepped into the military offices for the roll call.

The troop saluted as one.

"Your Majesty, sir," greeted Seres.

"Good afternoon, General, gentlemen," replied the King, observing them for a few seconds. "So this is it, Abender."

"If your Majesty approves," he replied, unreadable. "I selected them myself. They have passed the confidence tests. They feel honored to be worthy of this responsibility."

"I should hope so. What can you tell me of the special measures taken for tonight? The worst that could happen would be lack of coordination."

"General Seres will be in charge."

"Good thinking."

Personally, General Seres thought that sending General Abender into retirement, and taking his place permanently was a better idea. Tad Abender appeared to assign him responsibilities, but in the end the old man's orders were carried out without question.

"We will close the doors at 21.00 hours, Majesty," informed Seres.

"By then, the Princess must have gone to the bathroom discreetly, and then to a private cubicle where she will dress for the occasion," added Abender, drawing the King's attention again.

"That's where I'll be waiting for her to enter the Hall together."

"That is correct, Your Majesty."

"General Seres, aside from my daughter's security, I want to ask you for special attention for the other girls her age. Paterinet Obrien's fall from the tenth floor makes me uneasy."

"We trust nothing or no one will hurt the Princess, or any of the girls," replied Seres, "not just tonight, but from now on, Your Majesty."

"Starting tonight, these men will follow your daughter like a shadow, verifying that her bedroom and every corner is secure, before letting her in and standing at her door. That is their assignment," added Abender, while he signed at Seres not to interrupt his speech unless the King asked him a direct question.

Orlando Seres limited himself to breathing deeply. That helped his patience, because the old man was already senile. Hadn't he noticed that he had been doing exactly that?

***

The Great Hall was a monumental round room with a vaulted ceiling, and marble columns trimmed with green glass. A black sculpture of a mother with gigantic wings served as a throne -a version designed for the day. The Queen would sit on the hands made from basalt, that appeared to cradle a baby.

Over a thousand guests were distributed on couches and tables that seated groups of six or eight. Their bodyguards, so many that they looked like a military parade, stood along the perimeter. Servants offered beverages and snacks, or received gifts that they placed on a special table. An orchestra played simple ballads in the background. The room was illuminated by aleias, small creatures like jellyfish that floated tirelessly in the air, while tendrils of bioelectric light formed webs on their membranes and illuminated the atmosphere. The small ones, the size of a fist, danced over the low tables, and their pink and amber light added to the cherry blossoms that decorated each set of couches, giving off the idea of spring.

Añil Treshreem sat down with Edward Petrell, the Attorney General, and James Carter, the Supreme Judge; two bachelors like himself. He had a good view of the still empty throne from his seat, of the Britters, Obriens and Owens, who like the Blasteriers belonged to the select elite of Houses. On the way to his seat he had greeted the human, Julian Bandier, and dozens of foreigners, ambassadors, chancellors, and rich merchants and investors invited to the feast.

"You look thoughtful, Minister," observed the Judge.

"A little tired from the trip, Carter. How do you do?"

Treshreem continued to make small talk while he reflected on his choices. Had he selected this place for the attack, he would have finished off several enemies in one blow. However, it would have been premature, and he would not have gotten off without a scratch, nor found innocent. Holding back was best. Patience was a golden rule to the Order. Avoiding to draw attention to oneself was too. Besides, he was not looking to plunge the planet into anarchy, but trying to save it.

Unfortunately, due to the nature of the assassination he was planning, difficulties grew exponentially. By contrast, assignments involving civilians were easy... covering up his brother Elazar's murder, for example, required one call. Three hours later, the ship he and his wife had supposedly boarded crashed, leaving no survivors. A brief meeting with a mercenary had been enough to place DNA samples among the charred remains, and a small payment had sentenced Kev, the servant. There were no witnesses left who knew the Count and Countess had sent their luggage ahead, yet decided not to travel. But mercenaries could not enter the palace, did not share the Order's goals or know of its existence... they were motivated by money and nothing else.

***

When he entered the Hall, Terry was stunned. The elegant suits and gowns, made from metallic material, looked like they had small light bulbs on them, but that was only the reflection of the aleias' dancing lights. To top it off, the women added glitter to their feathers and eyelids for dramatic effect. The preferred tones were gold, green, and cobalt blue, although some wore platinum diadems, and preferred the color silver.

He followed his father through the crowd while he searched for Bridget Britter. His eyes stopped suddenly over a group of humans. There was a half bald, military looking man he was sure he'd seen in planet Arg'oth's embassy. He was chaperoned by another male in a uniform, the same one that had told the egg jokes, and next to him was a young woman that...

It could not be. His mind was playing tricks on him. That olive skinned face with the almond shaped eyes looked like the one of the girl that had helped him on his first days in Arg'oth. The one that had saved his life, and he had abandoned like a coward. He shuddered. He was in that street again, surrounded by the gang. Three of them held him by his wings, while the others stripped him naked to steal his clothes.

"Leave him alone, Yako, if his family finds out they'll throw you in the slammer!" she yelled at them, despite the slap she got for her insolence. "He has diplomatic immunity, po."

"What's wrong, pigeon, are you scared? Can't you fly? Is gravity different in your planet?"

"Be careful, Yako. This shitfaced chick is probably a snitch," warned one of his lackeys.

"Not if we give him a little scare."

Terry compared the human from the party, to the human from his past. It'd been nine years since then. Was it really her? He was terrible at calculating age. Way before the incident with the gang, she had saved him from himself, from his stubborn hunger strike against his father, but above all due to sadness and missing his mother, his home.

"A ship leaves for your planet once a month," she told him to talk him out of it, "but only the strongest can get in. You need to eat and train to be strong."

He was so stupid then. So naive. It took him almost a year to realize that he needed papers to board without his father, a permit, an ID, forty thousand credits, and be eighteen years old, or its equivalent in beltas.

"Come on, walk." The Duke pulled him out of his thoughts. As destiny would have it, he pushed him straight towards the human, who gave no sign of having seen him before.

Terry felt relieved. What would he tell her if she'd been the same one? That he'd left her at the mercy of ten teenage thugs because he was too young to help? That he was grateful she gave him a reason to live?

"Julian Bandier, it has been a long time," greeted his father.

"Sefen Gacks, Vanessa Blasterier, we meet again."

"Is this your Elisa?"

"What do you know? She's a lady now," replied Bandier as he nodded.

The human girl was scowling in a way that Terry could relate to. Up close she looked younger, about fifteen or sixteen years old. What was he thinking? If she were the same person from his past she should be in her early twenties.

After the brief greeting, his father kept walking, and he had no choice but to follow.

They sat down next to the minister they had spoken to in the elevator. The one with the small gray eyes -like a rat's-, and in Terry's opinion, hypocritical and treacherous like one, too.

"I was admiring the decorations, my lady, did you design them?" The man was unintentionally playing with the heavy platinum chain that hung from his shoulders.

"Guilty as charged, Minister." Vanessa nodded gratefully.

"I was hoping to listen to Miranda Laoder," said a grey haired man, who identified himself as Judge Carter.

Yeah, why didn't you hire her, Vanessa? What are you afraid of?

"I'm sure she was otherwise occupied," said Sefen Gacks.

"In something more important than the Queen's party?" insisted the Judge.

"What does it matter, James? In her Majesty's party, it is the Queen who should shine, not a tantalizing soprano," interjected the Minister; he turned to Vanessa. "Did you not have a daughter old enough to attend?"

"Yes, Juliete. She is eight beltas old. Had I known sooner that the Princess would be presented at the Ball, I would have sent for her to be brought over from boarding school. But what do you know, the King kept it hidden until the last minute."

"Bless the King for that," mumbled Terry, rolling his eyes.

"So you have three youngsters. Were they all born outside of Eloah?"

"Only the first two. Isele, the youngest, was born in Blasterier, in my mother's house. She is very little, only three beltas old."

"Well congratulations, my lady."

Terry scowled and turned his back on his parents. Someone made a comment about the Britter girls' beauty, and he looked for them again. He found them at last. While he played with the ice in his drink, he entertained himself imagining the dialogue between the girls in that table. They were probably criticizing everyone's outfits and hair. He could see them lean close to each other's ear, and then giggle like witches. In his head they all spoke with a fake, squeaky version of his voice, which made things funnier.

He laughed... until the Duke's stern look reprimanded him from his seat.

Well, what did you expect? Was I supposed to skip joyfully after you forced me to come?

For a moment he considered the idea of asking Bridget Britter for a dance, just to annoy her. Having been cornered by her, using his real mother to blackmail him, had him up to his feathers. That was the only subject that could rile him up. As proof, it had made him use force. Not even his half sister's mischief had pushed him that far (well, he'd donated half of his sister's dresses to charity to get even); the meddling girl had managed to wake the beast in just a few encounters.

And she dared say she was innocent when he accused her of being a gossip. Well, let's see what excuse she gave him once he gathered enough evidence to prove she was just as unbearable as the other girls from the nobility. He had seven days left in the palace, and if he ran into her again, he would take note of her behaviour. Should he surprise her being arrogant or smug...

Like in every Eloahn party, the main moment came when the host walked in, in this case, the Queen, as no one could dance if she wasn't present. Terry had never seen her up close. She was wearing a red gown, its skirt dragging six feet behind her, while her white wings glittered like diamonds.

Suddenly, he realized he was staring at her so intensely, that his mouth was hanging open.

Feathers. He shook himself out of his daze.

"I will congratulate the Queen," said the Minister, and patted Terry's shoulder as farewell while he stepped beside him.

Terry scoffed. He turned his attention back to the Britters' table, where Bridget was standing up and heading for the restroom.

No, wait, don't leave. Bah! The night's sole amusement, and it's gone...

***

Yes, here we are, Bridget and her loyal groupies. Just wait until you hear the latest news, thought the Princess, catching Terry looking at her. The knot in her stomach got tighter every second. That morning she'd practiced walking with her wings behind her in front of the mirror. At that moment, she wished she were Annie, so pretty that she turned heads anywhere she went. Just without the part where her only wish in life was being adored and followed, of course.

'This is her day,' said the Annie in her imagination. 'The day we are separated, the day everyone will talk about the Princess, and no one will ask about Annie Britter.'

Oh, nice. Are the voices going to show me her jealous side, now? What's next in this madness? Visions, multiple personalities?

'Shut up, idiot, you'll miss her,' whispered her sister's silent voice. This version she believed.

"Tic, tock," whispered Paty in her ear.

"It's time?"

"Yes. Good luck."

"Goddess, I'm going to be sick."

She meant it. She stood up and headed to the restroom. She reached the sink and heaved. Then she drank some water, moistened her face, and after checking that there was no one around, exited through a hidden door.

Bertaliz was waiting for her in the private room to change her dress. Bridget closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing. She was terrified; she guessed that was what an agoraphobic felt like when they were about to take a walk among people. It was ridiculous, considering that she had waited her whole life for this day.

"Ready?" asked her father behind her. She almost jumped out of her skin, and her heart raced again. The King went to hug her gently. "Everything will be alright, little one. Your new Guard is waiting."

He stood to his full height next to her, and made her feel small in comparison. Bridget's hands were sweating, and she had to rub them on her dress to dry them for the tenth time. She gave him a half smile.

"Ready," she managed to say, without her voice trembling. She couldn't be timid or insecure in her position, especially when her future depended on her performance that night.

A simple gesture from the King was enough to make six armed men take their positions around her.

***

The doors leading to the Hall were closed down, a couple dozen guards took their positions, and the music stopped. The chatter died down in a few seconds. Then, old William in a golden robe took the stand for the official presentation.

Stupid girl, you'll miss it. Terry glanced over at Bridget's empty seat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests. Her Majesty, Queen Alayssa Andryl, has deemed this day, her daughter's eighth birthday, worthy for everyone to meet her. Please, let us welcome the King, Jhon Black, and our beloved Princess, heiress to the throne of Eloah."

Beloved. Right, a complete stranger, thought Terry in a mood.

Fanfare began, the central door opened, the guards formed two rows. She walked down the middle, holding on to the King's arm, wearing a long blue dress, her unique wings outstretched behind her.

"May I present Her Highness, Princess Bridget Michelle Andryl."

Her? Terry almost spat out his drink. Pluck my feathers! The only girl that... it's her fault that...

Even though he felt the urgent need to escape the Hall, he held himself back, breathing heavily. The meddling girl had turned out to be the maximum expression of the life he hated. Terry felt cheated, ridiculed. The memory of their disastrous disagreements -because the times they had met couldn't be called anything else- filled him with unease. It was best to forget they had ever happened, than reflecting on his rude and violent attitude, or on the truths she had defended herself with.

Well, that explains a lot...

He feel like feeding the seed of curiosity that had taken up residence in his mind, either, urging him to complete the puzzle that was Bridget.

Forget it, never. He got rid of his plan to intercept her some day, almost by chance, and...

And then nothing! She can die for all I care, he decided with false indifference. He crossed his arms, grateful that the date of his departure to the military academy was so close. He preferred it a thousand times if it saved him from the constant company of hypocritical nobles and courtiers.

And from his absurd and disturbing interest for the Princess.

***

Añil Treshreem approved and clapped with the rest of the guests, but for a different reason. He had just learned his victim's identity.

He stroked the tattoo on his neck mechanically. Standing next to the Queen and the Prime Minister, he was one of the privileged few who could shake the Princess' hand, bowing his head in front of her while he introduced himself, to the monarchs' approval.

"An honor, your Grace," he said with a triumphant smile on his face.

He already felt victorious, she couldn't know how much. He burned the moment in his memory, for it was sublime; a poem to his cunning, a tribute to the Queen and King's naivety, who could not imagine how close they were to losing her forever, and to the Princess', as she shook her executioner's hand.