A week later, when Revirion was well-rested and the Queen healthy enough to travel, the Fawn household began preparing for the departure of the royal family, which would soon include Karena. A feast was being planned, Lady Selene had commissioned numerous bridal gifts from jewellers and seamstresses for Karena and Lord Eryk announced a hunting excursion in the woods.

So much was happening, so much was changing, Karena could barely keep up with it.

Bluehaven had a tradition of not letting the bride and groom meet for a week before the wedding. Even if they wished to talk, they were to do so with a curtain separating the two. Revirion insisted that it was stupid, that he wouldn't do it, that no man in his right mind would willingly stay away from Karena, but tradition meant a lot to Karena Fawn. Some sweet words were all that took for the prince to give in.

Gods, how Revirion hated that curtain. He could only see her silhouette through it, labouring at her needlework while she talked. So close, yet so far. It took all his willpower to stop himself from tearing the damn thing away.

But like any other young man getting married, all he wanted was to make his bride happy. All he could do was listen.

"Have you decided on my bridal present?" she enquired. The traditional bridal present from the groom was something Karena was looking forward to.

"I am the present," Revirion jested, trying to cover the fact that he had completely forgotten about it. "I killed Rannor for you, one would assume that was a gift in itself," he laughed.

Karena's silence told him that it wasn't funny. "I still want my present," she pouted. "And you didn't kill Zoricus, just knocked him unconscious."

"But you did enjoy watching me break is nose, didn't you?" he asked.

Karena laughed in reply. "The healers say he might walk with a limp, but he will live."

"Shame."

"Stop it, you didn't want to kill him anyway."

A servant entered the room. "Prince Revirion, the tailors request your presence."

Revirion stood up to leave. "I'm afraid I must leave, my love."

Karena let a out a small, sad laugh. "Make sure the tailors make you good robes for the wedding. And if you even think about making your appearance like you did at the arena I will walk out of the altar right that second."

Revirion laughed on his way out. "Gods, I love you."

A lone man walked through the woods of Bluehaven. Every time a twig broke, or a wind blew, or a wolf howled, his hand went to his worn swordhilt.

You are a knight, he scolded himself. You have no business being afraid of a bunch of forest dwellers.

He was newly knighted, though, and newly nicknamed. Deathstar. He liked it.

He reached the clearing his master had described. He took a deep breath and raised his voice. "Tribesmen, come forth, I beg."

One by one the forest dwellers emerged, forming a circle around him. The crowd parted and a man dressed in feathers and sheepskins stepped up. "Midnight you come... who?" he spoke. Tribal language was always a little different from the one spoken by the civilised man.

"Deathstar, they call me. I come bearing a message."

The chief nodded. "What be it, castleman?" Castleman was the word tribals used to describe civilised men.

The knight produced a piece of parchment and began to read. "By the order of Lord Z-"

The tribesman cut him off. "The parchment, give. I can read." The knight obliged. The chief's eyes scanned through the parchment slowly.

"No castleman orders Tribe Blue. But we do it, yes," the chief nodded. "Tell master of yours, Tribe Blue needs not gold. Men need to live. Castlemen hunt, castlemen kill, take women and food. Our is the forest."

The knight was unsure how his master would provide the men immunity, but he agreed to the terms all the same. "I shall be sure to convey the message. It is a castleman you will have the privilege of killing."

The knight turned to leave. As he reached the edge of the clearing, the chief called out, "Deathstar."

"Y-yes?"

The chief was looking at the sky. "Cursed name, it is, that has death in it."

"What do you mean?" The knight paled.

The tribesman remained silent, staring at the stars. Then he jerked and looked at the young knight as if he had snapped out of a trance. "Tell your master, Tribe thanks him for warning of hunt."

A wolf howled again, providing another eerie detail to the night.

The man waved a hand and the tribesmen retreated back into the woods. "Go now, Deathstar. Not alone you are, who comes at midnight."

The sounds of horses' neighs filled the air as they were tied to the chariots. She was accompanying her father on his hunting expedition, as she always had when she was a child. Lord Eryk always believed having any female by one's side was lucky.

Karena wore a scarf that covered everything except her eyes. As she and Revirion weren't wed yet, and there was no way there could be a curtain on a hunt, she had to cover her face to uphold the tradition.

The King, the Queen and the prince were already on their chariot. Revirion was counting the arrows in his sheath. He too, like Karena, had his face covered. The King, Yron Morinn had a loaded crossbow in his hand. He aimed it at a pigeon pecking seeds off the ground. The bolt left with a loud twang and pierced the poor thing through the chest.

The animals in the woods didn't stand a chance.

Soon after, Princess Alysse joined them. She climbed into to the King's chariot and they sped off, accompanied by twenty soldiers following close behind.

"We don't want them to get all the game now, do we?" said Karena's father. "Climb on."

Eight hours into the hunt, they had killed nothing but seven rabbits and a deer. A wild boar, with tusks as big as Karena's hand, strayed into the path on the riverbank. "Allow me," said Karena's husband-to-be, sneaking up to the animal.

Revirion nocked an arrow and aimed, waiting. The boar continued drinking from the river, oblivious. The prince stepped forward. His foot landed on a twig, loudly snapping it. The animal looked up, and he saw his moment. The arrow pierced it straight in the eye.

As the soldiers rushed in to drag the carcass away, Revirion's eyes met Karena's. He couldn't see her smile, but her doe-like eyes shimmered with all the pride in the world.

The sun was soon setting. The hunters started towards the castle. Karena sat down in the chariot, sighing.

"Jitters?" asked her father.

"Jitters?" she echoed, confused.

He rolled his eyes. "Wedding jitters," he clarified. "You look afraid."

"I'm getting married to the man I love. What is there to be afraid of?" she stated.

"It is only natural, love. I remember how frightened I was on the day I was to wed your mother."

"You were?" Karena had never thought of her father as a man who was daunted by anything.

"Terrified," he confirmed. "At least you love your betrothed. I was about to wed and bed a woman hadn't even seen, let alone love.

"But the moment I saw her at the altar, I knew she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Love can happen even after marriage, believe it or not."

He sipped some wine from his flask. "What I'm trying to say is that being afraid of marriage is a part of being human. Revirion loves you more than anything, I see it in his eyes. He will make a wonderful husband for you. I wish you a lifetime of happiness." He had tears in his eyes.

Karena hugged him tightly. It was rare for her father to show emotion. He kissed her forehead and chuckled. "I want a grandchild soon," he added.

"Father!" she chided, laughing.

A rustling in the forest interrupted their moment. It seemed to be coming from all directions. The chariots skidded to a stop. "The trail is blocked by a fallen tree, m'lord," said the horseman.

"That's odd," Lord Eryk said. "Didn't we come this way in the morning?"

In the other chariot, an uneasy feeling troubled Princess Alysse. This is wrong. The steadily creeping darkness did little to ease her mind.

Revirion strung his bow and stood up. "This is taking too long," he groaned. "I'm going to go help." He hopped off the chariot.

The Queen protested. "You are a prince, Revirion. You are not supposed to take part in such menial tasks. Get back here, now." Revirion paid no heed.

He should listen, thought Alysse. The trees rustled again, sending another chill down her spine.

A glint of sharp steel up in the trees caught her attention. Then instinct took over her body.

Within a second, she was out running to her brother and tackling him to the ground. He shouted her name, and so did their mother. And Father. And Karena.

What happened?

She wanted to sit up, but found herself unable to do so. Her mother was at her side, crying, screaming. But Alysse couldn't hear her.

Karena was kneeling beside her too. Her brother's arms were around her, cradling her. His scarf had fallen away, but he made no move to correct it.

What are you doing, brother? She is not to see your face!

Her mother cradled her face, still crying. Why was she crying? Her hands were stained with blood.

Blood? Was Revirion hurt?

She reached out to touch her brother's face. Her fingers left red streaks on his cheek. The realisation set in.

And then... pain.

It spread out from her chest, took over her body. A silver arrowhead jutted out from her chest, sharp steel glinting in the moonlight. In the edge of her vision, she saw her father and Lord Eryk behead a man dressed in blue tribal rags. Her eyes felt heavy.

Maybe it was time.

It was time for Alysse Morinn to sleep.

Almighty gods above, I thank you for not making me King, Airon thought.

Being a regent was no easy task. In fact, he supposed it was the most tedious task of Airon's life (though he admitted he was being overly dramatic).

"M'lord Regent," said a farmer by the name of Gren, kneeling before the throne. "This man takes me daughter without me leave." The farmer pointed towards a man in roughspun brown clothes.

Airon longed for nothing but to get away from the courtroom and sink into the warm embrace of his featherbed. Yet he knew he must persevere. "Do you have any proof of your allegations, Farmer Gren?" he asked.

"The whole city square sees him, m'lord Regent."

A few mutters of assent went up from the small crowd Farmer Gren had brought with him.

"Very well," Airon said as he took a sip of firewine. "The man is found guilty. Hand him over to the gaolers."

Two soldiers chained the man and led him to the dungeons. He spoke no word of protest.

"But m'lord," the farmer spoke up again, "what of my daughter's virtue? No man will marry her now. What am I to do?"

Airon thought over it for a minute. Then he addressed the girl, near sixteen years of age, rather pretty despite her low birth. "Tell me, what can you do, girl?"

"I can cook, m'lord," said she, "and I'm not harsh when singing."

"Good then, you can take up service here in the castle. I'm certain the Queen Mother Karena will like you. But until she is back from His Highness' voyage, you will work at the cookhouse. When you come of age, a marriage can be arranged." Airon glanced back at her father. "Does that please you, Farmer Gren?"

"Much so, m'lord. I thank you," he answered, bowing. "Long live the King."

"Long live the King," Airon echoed.

The commoners slowly trickled out of the room, till there was no one left besides Airon, a few lesser nobles awaiting their turns, and the Lord Advisor, Jesse Hermes. "You did well," said Hermes in a soft voice. "Should we adjourn for the day?"

"I would like nothing more." The sun was low in the sky, and Airon was beginning to feel drowsy.

Hermes opened his mouth to announce the end of the day's audience, but was cut off by the doors of the throne room being thrown open. "What is this?" Hermes scowled. "No one is to enter without leave. Guards--"

His words caught in his throat when the Captain of soldiers, Hallis Greene, marched into the hall dragging a bloodied, chained man behind him.

Greene pushed the man forward. He tripped on his chains and fell to his knees. "I found the scum," Greene spat.

Airon and Hermes were staring at the prisoner, mouths agape. "What are you talking about, Lord Greene?" said the Advisor.

"Caught this spying piece of-"

"Language, Lord Greene. We are still in court," Hermes cut in.

"Of course." Greene gave a slight bow of apology. "My men caught this one trying to send a letter by pigeon. The letter was written in the Bastard Tongue, and contained information about all the ranks and rotations of the garrison."

That was enough to snap the drowsiness out of Airon. He stepped down the dais and walked towards the captive. "My lord father has been after you for long, spy. Do you have a name?" Airon was standing dangerously close to him.

"Mar'akha," the man said, "the man who will be your doom." A knife appeared in his hands as he swung his armed wrists up.

Airon dodged it, but not before the knife grazed his cheekbone. A thin trickle of red ran down his face.

The Captain rushed forward and knocked the knife out of the man's hand. "Impossible," gasped Greene. "We had him searched and disarmed. There is no place he could have hidden the blade."

"But he still did, didn't he?" mocked Mar'akha. "You look, but you don't truly see."

Airon had reached the end of his patience. "Do you know what we do to traitors and spies, Mar'akha?"

"Imprisonment? Torture?" The man smirked. "Whatever punishment you can think of is nothing compared to the things I've seen."

Airon was becoming more wroth by the second. "Greene?"

"Yes, Lord Regent?"

"Alert the headsman. Mar'akha will be beheaded at first light."

He waved a hand and the guards grabbed Mar'akha to take him to the dungeons. The man struggled to break free. The Captain grabbed the back of his soiled undershirt and pulled. A loud rip followed, and the tattered shirt fell away.

And on his bare back, tattooed in bold letters were three words.

Ar Mihar Magyar.

A/N: Keep on reading bois. Shit's just getting started.