Midwinter

"Princess Laura of Twin Birch Torn, you are hereby placed under the custody of the Royal Guard by order of Her Majesty Regina Titania," said one of the men, who wore the colors of a lieutenant. The others, two of whom held the Princess, wore the stripes of sergeants-at-arms.

"Leave this place, rogues!" shouted the Prince. "My own guards will be along shortly, and they are loyal to me, not the Queen."

"Our orders are clear, sire," said the lieutenant. He was a seasoned officer, with a craggy face and a deep scar running along his left ear. "We are to take the Princess to the City Emerald."

"Over my corpse shall you take her," said the Prince.

"If necessary, yes," said the lieutenant. "But there's no need for that."

"Are you with them?" the Prince said, pointing his sword at Mauritane.

Mauritane shook his head, baffled.

"Then use your blade on them or begone!" cried the Prince, lunging at the lieutenant.

The trio of sergeants fell back, one of them securing the Princess's hands behind her back, while the others covered him. These two stepped toward Crere Sulace just as his own guards' footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Mauritane, forced into the room by the onslaught of the Prince's men, sidled along the far wall from the Prince, his sword still at the ready.

Crete Sulace turned out to be a fair swordsman. He hacked away at the lieutenant's blade without much success, the military man parrying his blows but making little headway himself. He pressed the Prince back against the wall, leaving his own men to protect his flank against the oncoming guards.

Crere Sulace's men, upon entering the room, appeared as confused as Mauritane felt. Their collective gaze went from the Prince, to the Princess, to Mauritane, apparently unsure whom to attack first.

"Save the Princess," shouted Crere Sulace from behind the lieutenant. His men advanced on the Royal Guardsmen, who leapt at them preemptively. Though Crere Sulace's retainers outnumbered them, they found them selves blocked by the heavy oaken furniture that filled the room, so the rear two stood useless.

The lieutenant twirled around Crete Sulace and struck him with the flat of his blade's forte. The Prince pitched and fell forward, slumping against an ottoman.

The lieutenant turned and regarded Mauritane. "You! What is your role in this? You wear the braids of an officer of the Guard."

Mauritane swallowed. "I… I am no longer with the Guard, sir."

"You're recommissioned. To arms!"

Mauritane shrugged and joined in the fray, slashing at the nearest of Crere Sulace's men. Caught unaware, the man took a deep cut in the shoulder and fell back, leaving the next open to attack from the rear. Quicker than the first, he whirled and caught Mauritane's blade with his own. Mauritane riposted, whipping his blade around his opponent's weak side and catching the man's side with the point of his weapon. The injury caught the man off balance, and Mauritane pulled him down onto his knees and clubbed him with the hilt of his sword.

The lieutenant and his men held their own against the remaining three. When they saw Mauritane coming, they were forced to spread their defense, and the middle one went down with a swift attack from the lieutenant. The other two, seeing their comrade fallen, dropped their swords and surrendered.

Mauritane wiped his blade on his tunic and sheathed it, saluting to the lieutenant out of long practiced habit.

"What is your name?" said the lieutenant, returning Mauritane's salute. "Your help was much appreciated. I'll see that you receive a special commendation from the captain."

"Bersoen," said Mauritane, giving the name of an ancestor from the time of the Unseelie Wars.

"We must go," said the lieutenant. "There will be other guards behind these. Bersoen, will you ride with us?"

Mauritane shook his head. "No sir. I am tasked with an errand as well."

The lieutenant looked him up and down. "There's something odd about you. It is a shame I won't have the opportunity to know what." He nodded to his men, and they dragged the girl out the door and down the stairs, having rapidly secured the remaining of Crete Sulace's men. The Princess made no sound as they carried her off.

Mauritane ran out of the room, retracing his steps through the gallery and back to the sitting room, where the Lady still sat at her knitting.

"What news, future intruder?" she asked. Mauritane did not stop to answer her.

Crossing back into the spellturned hallway, Mauritane caught the stem of a brass sconce and heaved himself up into the skewed portion of the passage. His senses reeled again, and he walked unsteadily back toward the door through which he'd entered. There were two more twists of balance, and Mauritane dropped heavily through the once-boarded door into the dark stair, where his prison guard still waited.

"What happened in there?" said the guard, noticing the blood on Mauritane's tunic.

"I don't know," said Mauritane. "Let's get out of here."