"Good morning, captain. May I come in?" asked Bridget, adjusting her robe. She looked over her shoulder.

"Your Highness, wait," called Bertaliz from her door. She was holding the dress she was supposed to wear. Her personal guards had followed her across the hall, and had stopped a few feet away, understanding that she was headed to her parents' room.

Bridget turned to captain Foster and his partner.

"I escaped," she told them, winking. "I can't stand them."

Too much attention, too many activities, and not a minute to herself in five days. She needed a break, comfort, and a dose of motivation.

The previous afternoon she'd talked to Annie and Paty, and listened jealously about their new school, their travel plans, their new classmates, and the welcoming party for the freshmen. There wasn't much she could tell them that they hadn't already heard on the news; that she had been invited to the swearing in of the new ministers, had attended an official dinner...

Technically nobody forced her to participate in so many events. Her mother had told her that sometimes saying no was fine, but doing so would go against her own desire to please her and exceed her expectations, wouldn't it? Therefore, there were no options, and no one to blame but herself if she felt overwhelmed. And William's private lessons, who everyday instructed her to submit for discussion a personal analysis of the five most important news of the Galactic Community, together with the ten most significant news in the planet, which stole at least four valuable hours. That was certainly not enough time, because the old man was impossible to please. He always disagreed about the prevalence of an event with respect to another, challenged her views, and demanded more passion when they discussed. To make matters worse, he questioned whether she had given it her best effort, or if she was aware of the commitment demanded by her position.

What she feared most was a negative evaluation from him; not meeting his high standards was an indirect way to fail her parents. Or did her mentor expect her to infer that she needed an assistant?

So she had run to her parents' door, ignoring Bertaliz's pleas to look presentable first. Just seeing them would make a big difference in her mood. If they also gave her some advice, her day would be splendid. They were the foundation of her perseverance, the remedy to the void left behind by the departure of her family. She did everything for them, they were her inspiration; without them, her world would collapse.

Captain Jasson Foster appeared withdrawn and rather gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in weeks, or worse, as if he had recently lost a loved one. He checked the time on his wrist and then opened the door. Never before 9:00, that was the rule.

"Go ahead, Your Highness."

"Thank you."

Beyond the threshold of the carved doors, there was a wide, horn shaped entrance hall with two sofas at the center, and a sculpture of a winged warrior, sword in hand, standing on a table. It was a very bright room, surrounded by two arcs of columns.

"Welcome, Your Highness," the butler greeted her, inviting her to follow him.

"Hello, Hasim."

"I will announce you right away."

At that hour, the light fell between the columns leading to the dining room and library. The golden ribbon that circled their bases shone like a ring of fire. Bridget chose the opposite route, on her right; it took her twenty steps to get to the pillars. When she was younger, she got there in twenty-five, because she playfully skipped over the edges between the floor tiles.

Hasim led her to the living room, rang a gong, and presented a bow. The rest of the way she went on her own, as always, trying to capture the distorted reflection that stared back from the round pots in the background. There was a frost tree planted in each, with their curious gelatinous and amorphous flowers.

The bed took up half the room (and needless to say its size was unmatched compared to human beds, considering the height of those who slept on them, and the size of their wings); a translucent curtain that surrounded it on all four sides to provide privacy hung from the ceiling. Bridget found it cast to the side, and her parents huddled together over a sea of ​​silk covered cushions, still in their bed clothes, apparently determined to lounge. The King embraced the Queen's waist while burying his chin in the hollow of her shoulder, his wings were raised and bent, his tips on top of hers; her mother looked relaxed, and smiled like she had just tasted the most delicious dessert in the world.

"Jhon," she mumbled through her teeth. In response, her father bent and lowered his wings, sheepish.

'That's enough, the moment's gone,' whispered an imaginary voice.

Bridget saw her mother shake her shoulder, as if she were trying to push him away. She stopped short. She started walking backwards furtively, wishing away the voice in her head.

It's hopeless. I need psychiatric help. She felt like her father would have wanted to continue with the affectionate touches. Seconds ago, it was almost like his wings were protecting or delimiting his property.

That the imaginary voices evoked bedroom activities between her parents, was the last straw. She hadn't thought she was interrupting. They had drawn the curtain, and the ringing of the gong had been heard all the way to the door.

"Good morning, little one," said her father.

"I apologize if I'm unwelcome." She took another step back.

The voices didn't reply. She measured the distance that separated her from her parents with her eyes.

"Never, bluesky. Come closer, give me a kiss," said the King.

"Come, Bridgie," her mother beckoned, "I won't get any younger."

She walked slowly, with hesitation, trying not to look at her parents' wings or the shapes under the sheets.

"I'm coming, Mom."

'Some days you behave very strangely,' she heard again as she approached.

Bridget cursed silently, climbed on the mattress, crawled until she reached them, and embraced them. Her mother's imaginary voice said, 'Still quite thin.'

"Sleep well?" asked the real one.

'She needs vitamins,' said the voice.

"Yeah, thanks," she replied unconvincingly. Sometimes, she imagined that the voices were the thoughts of those around her. What if they were? It wouldn't be difficult to find out... a simple game of 'I can guess what you're thinking' would be enough, but what would happen then, when she found out that they were a product of her imagination, that she was spiralling down into schizophrenia?

Her grandmother, Danielle, had been skipped in the line of succession because of her supposedly scandalous conduct, and her escapades to meet with a young man. What would become of her if anyone found out that she heard nonexistent voices?

"William overworks you, doesn't he?" said the Queen.

'Typical of him,' said the silent version.

Bridget tried to ignore the voice and concentrated exclusively on the one coming from her lips.

"Nothing I can't handle. However, I could use some advice, mom... You know before I go crazy," she added, giving her a wink.

Her father laughed.

"We'll talk, sure, but do you think we can get dressed first?" said the Queen, "Not that I dislike my bed clothes, but it would be more comfortable if we're spending the day together."

'For a change,' commented the imaginary voice.

"True, it's a free day," said his father. "Am I invited?"

"Of course not!" Bridget joked.

"You have that brunch, Jhon."

"For you, I can cancel it," the King took her hand. "What do you say, should the three of us go for a ride?"

Bridget was thrilled.

'Oh, Jhon, it's not fair that you let her get so excited before you know if you can go or not,' protested the voice.

"But doesn't it require a lot of logistics for you to go to the gardens?"

"It's a matter of letting our Guard know. We'll take the path of the Ancient Kings to the Manaas lake. Breakfast can be served at the docks. What do my two beautiful ladies think?"

Bridget smiled and hugged them.

"It's perfect!" she cried, and jumped to her feet on the bed. "I'll go change. Don't leave without me!"

"No, we won't. We have to give the cooks some time to get what they need; the grooms need to saddle the animals, and..."

"Whatever, I'll hurry."

She walked on the bed trying not to step on her parents, and hopped down from the mattress.

"Have I told you today that I love you? No? Well, I do. I love you, I love you, I love you!"

She blew them a kiss. Bridget ran to the bedroom door, so excited she didn't notice that the voices hadn't followed her. As soon as she left her parents' sight, she flapped her wings powerfully, taking her feet off the ground, and flew in a zigzag across the living room and the entrance hall, pivoting awkwardly between ornaments and nearly knocking over the warrior sculpture in her path.

"Your Highness, be careful!" Hasim cried in shock.

When she exited to the hallway, she paused, turned to the Guard and shouted excitedly, "We are going out together!"

"But, Your Highness, you are not..." objected Bertaliz, who had been waiting with her guards.

"Have Zinget saddled, the three of us will ride down the path of the Ancient Kings!" she said, grinning from ear to ear. "Come on, nanna, I have to get dressed."

Bridget leaped down the stairs, and ran to her bedroom. She didn't see when one of the guards, the only one who against the rules had a wife and a small daughter, paled.

"Should I give notice, Sir?"the first official waited for confirmation from his superior. "Are you feeling alright?"

He did not. They were watching him closely. One wrong move or an attempt to notify the other guards, and his family would suffer the consequences, that had been made ​​very clear. He had no choice. He composed himself and replied, "Affirmative."

***

Bridget donned her thermal clothing, riding gear, boots and gloves, added a blue leather cloak with padding for protection from the cold, and finished her outfit with a beret she placed over her braided hair. Then, she joined her parents in the lobby.

"No running or flying indoors, you are not so small anymore, Your Highness," her nanna whispered in her ear. "And do not forget the way you are supposed to talk to their Majesties in public."

'What should I do to make her listen?' added the frustrated imaginary version. Discounting the disturbing manifestation of her subconscious, she couldn't be blamed for her childish behavior. This floor was the only place where Bridget had been allowed to fly since she could remember, and now she was so excited that she felt like a little girl. Either way, she preferred to keep her wings hidden. She wasn't used to being the center of attention, and had never exposed them to extreme cold.

"Come on, hurry up, Bridgie, I'm hungry," said her mother, placing a pearl diadem on her hair.

Bridget smiled and descended the three steps sparingly. Between her room and her parents' bedroom was a circular gallery topped by a thick translucent dome; four peaks that closed like the shutter of a camera could be seen through the material. From the inside, it gave off the feeling of being inside a monumental flower.

"Blue Beach descends from the Clouds," reported the captain of her guard as he walked beside her. Those were the keywords the guards used, respectively, to call her and the royal apartments, which were on the top floor of the tallest tower.

In the center of the gallery was a balcony overlooking the central atrium and two elevator doors, but no stairs.

The Princess walked a step behind the Queen, according to protocol, with a smile fixed on her face as if it had been frozen there, heedful of her mother's pace. The guard had gone ahead, and called the elevator, which was already waiting with open doors.

"It's a shame that now, when I can finally learn to fly properly, it's so cold outside and I have to wait longer," she muttered as soon as the doors shut and the cabin went down, so she could ignore the silent voice approving the outfit she had chosen, and commenting on the absence of her wings.

"I recommend that you practice in the wind tunnel first," her father said with a little guilt in his voice.

"I think that's a good idea, Bridgie, and focus on your landing, your image is very important."

"I will, Mom."

They descended the steps and walked leisurely, enjoying the scenery. The guards marched around them, far enough to give them privacy. Some residents of the palace looked out from their balconies, or gathered on the walker overhead to see the procession pass. The employees stopped their work, and bowed. The Queen paused to congratulate them for their work. Bridget made ​​a mental note of all the details, such as her mother's words and gestures, the role the bodyguards played, etc. Two girls jumped from the balcony of their bedroom, and flew parallel to their cohort for a few seconds. For the guards, their presence didn't conflict with security measures. So long as they didn't fly directly overhead or carry forbidden items in presence of their protegés (holocams, guns, knives, etc), nobles, ministers or employees in general were free to watch.

On the way to the stables, Bridget told her mother about her favorite spots and found that, by coincidence, some were also a meeting point for her mother and Daphne when they were young. She tried to imagine the scene, that shouldn't be very different from the one of Annie and herself, because their dresses didn't vary much from the ones in modern times. Fashion hardly changed in Eloah.

By the time they reached the stables, the curious onlookers had already returned to their occupations. The grooms held their breath; it had been a long time since the Queen had asked for her mare, Nathiel. She was ready and harnessed by the door, and they had formed a line holding all the accessories she might need. The King, however, didn't favor a particular equine, so he would have to choose one from the stables.

Bridget greeted Zinget, stroked her horn, and looked for her father to see what he was going to ride.

In the distance, in the pasture outside, Terry Blasterier had just saddled a male unicorn that had a black coat and a blue horn. Bridget cursed silently. She was in no mood for her day to be ruined by the boy's insolence, and didn't want her parents to recognize him and bring up his name. Fortunately, Terry was busy and didn't even send a furtive glance in her direction. Then he pulled the bridle and led the stallion down the path.

Perfect, get lost out there, I never want to see you again. She smiled in grim satisfaction. When she touched Zinget again, something like an electric current ran through her body, and for a split second she thought she saw a bleeding wound on her white coat. She blinked, terrified, and discovered her mane as immaculate as always.

It was my imagination, I'm not hallucinating, I'm not going crazy. However, the mare sensed her tension, and reared on her hind legs. The groom that looked after her quickly helped Bridget calm the animal.

"Zinget must be in heat." The stableman tried to hide his confusion; it was an odd behavior for the mare, as it wasn't breeding season. "You can ride Tartan if you like, your Highness."

"No, Zinget is fine." Bridget tried not to look nervous; she had never felt anything like it. She looked for her parents, and their calm stares gave her a little peace.

Then she mounted, turned to her mother and, with a light kick, she urged the mare forward. The King had chosen to mount a gray stallion with a silver horn. Their guard opened the door.

"Black Forest, north position. Emerald in the center. Blue Beach in the rear," Bridget heard the captain say. Immediately, eight military men mobilized to assume their new positions on the flanks, front and back.

"All right, Captain Foster?" asked the King.

"Yes, Your Majesty, you may proceed," he said, and patted his gun holster. "You are safe."

In Bridget's opinion, there was something off in the captain's appearance. He had a thin sheet of sweat on his forehead, despite the cold weather that day. When she saw him cover his mouth with a fist to suppress a wave of nausea, she paid more attention to his pale, haggard face, like that of the living dead, and concluded that the soldier had an upset stomach. Yes, that explained it, though no one would applaud his sacrifice.

According to plan, they went down the path of the Ancient Kings, through the shadows of the trees and under the eyes of their ancestors, captured in the regal marble sculptures that decorated it every hundred steps. It was a particularly cold and quiet day, and a thin layer of ice covered the leaves of the trees. Passing under the tops of two old elamburs, Bridget felt like she was crossing a portal to an unknown world: her breathing quickened.

Calm down. She struggled to suppress her unjustified and irrational fear, considering the frequency with which she wandered through the area without much issue, except for a couple of unwanted encounters with Terry Blasterier.

"Father, I understand Uloh and Eloah signed a trade agreement," she said, convinced that talking would drive away her fear. "However, Eloah is still buying from other planets."

The king laughed discreetly.

"You're observant. That's not the kind of news you see everyday. Did you go digging through the reports from the Ministry of Economy?"

Bridget swelled with pride. True, she'd chosen the subject to show she was trying to get involved in everything, but really, she didn't understand what was happening behind the scenes. Politics were already deceptive, and its players were cunning predators; if her mentor expected her to draw conclusions using her own intuition and merit, she would end up learning the hard way, when she became the victim of the vileness of the more experienced. Bridget hoped that, being their own daughter, the monarchs would reveal the secrets of diplomacy, and speak openly about the Crown's choices.

"Actually, William and I had a short discussion about the factors that prevent the economy from recovering." She wrapped herself in her cloak. "I mentioned a couple, but he gave more importance to the imports of some metals we used to buy from Uloh, which, in short, led me to a conduct... a little... investigation."

"A chilling situation, I would say," the Queen intervened, spurring her mare gracefully. Behind her, Bridget realized she had hollowed her feathers to keep her wings warm.

"Planet Paragorn offered a better price for all of Uloh's surplus steel and uranium," said the King. "We negotiated a counteroffer, but the product was already on its way. Possibly a strategy to raise prices. The fact is that they forced us to purchase at double the cost, and pay for transport from more distant planets. Unfortunately, the agreement was made under the table, as you well know," he said, referring to the videos that she had studied during her punishment most of which dealt with that particular issue. By 'under the table', the King meant that it had been negotiated in secret, without involving the Galactic Community. "You know what I mean, sweetheart?"

"That... now we can't go to the Community for help."

"Exactly. However, if we pay the fee the Galactic Community wants to impose on us, and we respect their opinions and rulings, decades may pass without reaching an agreement. Wasted time damages the economies more than a deal under the table, Bridget. Neither the Ulohnese nor us can wait that long. They are still dealing with the deficit caused by the Law on Prohibition of Arms Sales; as for us, between the environmentalists and the miners' strike..."

"Then making deals with them is no good. The Ulohnese ambassadors claimed their word was unbreakable, yet they went back on it at the first chance. I thought..."

"Not at first. They delivered the first two shipments on time, always ensuring that the Community wouldn't know of our transactions. The problem came later, when Emperor Yelm passed the treaty to a new ambassador and... well, as you know, he seems to have different interests."

Bridget blinked in surprise.

"Well, it's obvious that this man now knows that we're willing to pay more, I'm sure he'll be open to negotiations."

"And then we'll say no."

"No?"

"It's a strategy, Bridgie," her mother said, looking over her shoulder with a proud smile on her lips. "Since the Ulohnese have shown that they're unable to comply, we'll suggest we sign a contract according to the Community's procedures, which they don't want because it paralyzes the economy... they will offer a lower price... and we will bargain again."

"Wow," she whispered, and looked thoughtful for a few seconds. They were going around the dry fountain, which meant they would soon reach the bridge. Some guards went ahead to ensure the way was clear, as well as the safety of their charges.

"Speaking of the Ulohnese and the Galactic Community," said the King, "it's important to remember that the Community took up the Lawof Nonintervention again, and our Ulohnese neighbors stand behind it precisely because it would put a stop to the eternal opinions of third parties, that keep damaging their domestic economy."

The Queen nodded.

"This time the discussion is even. The Ulohnese want us to accept, so chances are that they will constrain their trade agreements to support this law."

"Will you sign it?" Bridget spurred Zinget forward, so she didn't fall behind. As far as she knew, the commission that drafted the law had not changed the confusing terms, and they were the reason why her father had flatly refused to vote in favor in the last elections of the Galactic Community."

"Over my dead body," said the King.

"Will diplomacy be enough? You've sent gifts to Emperor Yelm in the past."

Bridget suppressed a shudder remembering the Ulohnese in the video, a humanoid with bulky muscles and yellowish skin. His voice was hurtful, his gaze was icy, and he hadn't been very polite to the Queen during his visit. In the Princess' opinion, the fact that their species was hermaphrodite did not justify their dislike of females; the deliberate omission of greeting her mother was even more reprehensible if it was taken into account that, as Emperor of his planet, he should be the first one to implement diplomatic courtesy.

The Terrifying Yelm, as she had nicknamed him, was much taller than his guards and assistants. The distinction between the castes of their race was obvious. The Ichnar, like the ambassador she had spied some time before, had the appearance of a warrior, but Yelm belonged to the Rabhnar, the nobility, the only caste capable of bearing two buds of larvae instead of one. They were nine feet tall, their wrinkled heads were bigger by a third, and their skin tone was paler.

"I hope so. Yelm is an inflexible ruler, with more than four hundred years on the throne, and he was educated old school."

"Do the Assembly and the Twelve Wise support you?"

"The girl already asks more relevant questions, Jhon."

"You bet," admitted the King. "Not all of them, a small percentage of ministers prefer the safe way, signing the law; fortunately, I still have time to convince them against it."

Bridget nodded.

"Did I answer your questions?"

"Things make more sense now. Hopefully William won't smash me next time."

"I'm not so sure," said the Queen in jest.

"Has he always been like this?"

"It's his job, Bridgie. There will always be someone who challenges every idea you propose. All William is trying to achieve, being so picky, is that you are prepared to defend them. Though, admittedly, sometimes he can be a real headache."

And make you want to kill him. Bridget held back her frustration.

The road, flanked by white tree trunks, curved, which was why one of the guards flew over it at a low altitude. Naturally, he did so faster than the entourage; he flew ahead to the pier and then back, pivoting on a wing to avoid the trees. "All clear," he informed the Captain quietly, "a boy walking nearby, a gardener, two guards doing their rounds."

"As you can see, many players are involved in economic policies, little one," said the King. "And, regarding the factors contributing to the economy's recovery, you can tell William that speculation for the prices of heavy metals is more relevant than their importation, as it has caused the market to drop again and again. That's the real reason why indicators haven't rebounded."

"I'll tell him," she replied smiling.

The last stretch was straight and, on the horizon, just over a quarter mile away, they could make our the vast silver mirror, as well as the pier, and the white tent where the final preparations for breakfast were taking place.

"Did you reschedule the meal with Bandier, Jhon?" asked the Queen.

"For this evening, mywind," he replied in a low voice, and then lifted his nose and made ​​a gesture that her mother seemed to understand, as if they had a secret code.

"Did something... happen? By the way, what is that human doing in Eloah, father? The girls in class said we'd never entertained a foreign guest for so long. They didn't say that just to tease Elisa, did they?"

"I've known Julian my whole life. He's helping me reinforce the Intelligence Department, the Eloahn Office of Espionage, and the security systems in the palace, because lately they've had some unforgivable glitches. His help is off the record. As far as his government knows, he's here on vacation with his daughter."

"He'll be back in Arg'oth soon, however." The Queen looked over her shoulder, and found her daughter's eyes. "Just like it happened with your classmates, their long stay has started arousing suspicion among the nobles that are jealous of his closeness to your father."

"What kind of gli...?" Zinget neighed nervously, and turned her ears, as if she were looking for a particular noise, but Bridget urged her on. "What kind of glitches?"

Even though she tried focusing on her father's reply, she was distracted by a shadow in the trees; then she saw Captain Foster kiss a small locket that hung from his neck. She was almost certain she had heard a shrill noise in the distance that made her hair stand on end. Her heart skipped a beat. She stopped Zinget and turned towards the palace in apprehension, letting her parents ride ahead a few paces, so the guards behind her rushed to stand beside her. Then, the feeling that troubled her grew stronger.