Lucinda, known for her family’s home, the “Darkspire,” the grand and cruel seat of a transdimensional twelve-world Empire, often noted that it wasn’t very dark. Despite being built of black crystalline stone and resembling a rising ring of towers, buildings, twisted sharp-cornered halls, and palaces, it was never truly dark. Terraces jutted out from various levels, with servant-made and magic-maintained parks and fields.

Inside, large halls with bone and skull-shaped arches and supports were lit by bright crystals set in the ceiling. Even the Soul Engine, where the great enemies of the empire were thrown and their souls were used to power the Darkspire until said soul was utterly destroyed, was a bright machine of crystal and silvered machinery that hummed with the screams of those denied an afterlife, sparkling brightly in use.

The princess moved about the halls in a red and black dress with a silver horned crown and ornate handmade bone wings on her back, seeking something to ease her boredom. On her shoulder was a black bird who, a few minutes earlier, was her most recent nanny. Lucinda went through nannies like a troll went through socks (if trolls wore socks, which most did not). Being the Nanny of the youngest Princess was a position people dreaded and was often given by the court as punishment, a way to get rid of lax servants, servants thought to be spies, or those who were just too old to do anything else. Nobles, bureaucrats, soldiers, and peasants alike would place bets on how long a new nanny would last. Even the Emperor (without the knowledge of the Empress) would join in such betting pools and, despite his fearsome reputation, was more than fair if he lost.

The current record for a Nanny was held by Roscana Thissleborn, a tall elegant shide (what you would call elves) woman who was thought by some to be a traitor and was given the well-paying job of nanny some three years ago. Roscana immediately tried to make her escape from the spire but was captured and returned twice. She then tried to kill herself but was brought back from death’s door by the court’s well-paid healers. Finally, when she met the princess, she managed to form a rapport with the girl that lasted for four days, six hours, thirty-three minutes, and seven seconds before Lucinda cursed her “inside out” and spent the rest of the day magically rolling her “governess” as a writhing ball of living organs and gore about the halls of one of the main entry halls of the Darkspire, until her sister, the eldest and far less mercurial princess, Millicent took it upon herself to put Roscana out of her misery. (The time spent as an inside-out ball of gore was ruled by the royal bookmaker not to count towards Roscana’s total.)

Thus, it was to no one’s surprise that when Princess Lucinda walked through the halls, everyone made sure to give her plenty of room, avoid eye contact, and if placed in a situation where protocol would demand they speak to her, greeted the pale, dark-haired girl with their best obsequious skills. Even muscled military officers, wise wizards, and the haughty priest made sure to stay on what little good side the girl had.

“Princess Lucinda,” bowed the tall pale-skinned man in black and purple robes. His dark hair was in a ponytail, allowing his long pointed ears to show. “How are you this fine day?” Fenwick, the majordomo of the high palace, carried books of accounts and records close to him and peered through dark round spectacles on the tip of his nose.
“Where is my mother?” the Princess looked about, annoyed. Fenwick, per her mother and father’s wishes, was off-limits. He was always polite to her but had an arrogance in his tone she so wanted to silence. He wasn’t a high blood, but a Banshide, one of the Shide breeds. The Banshide were the dark elves and were natives to underground kingdoms, the Dashide were the light elves and lived above in lush woodland kingdoms.

“Hmm, I believe the Dread Empress is holding a meeting of her advisors in the hall of blood, Princess,” Fenwick spoke with a tone that managed to be both civil and conceited at the same time. “Thank you,” Lucinda returned with a poisonously polite tone, turning towards the hall that would lead eventually to where her mother was.

“I don’t think your mother wishes to be disturbed,” Fenwick spoke up as the girl turned to make her exit.

“Like I care what you think,” Lucinda turned to see the tall thin Banshide look down his nose at her. She sorely wanted to make him suffer, but her parents’ rules were never to be questioned or broken. “I’m sorry, Princess, I only wished…” Fenwick started to speak, enjoying the fact he was immune by proclamation to the princess’s powers, but in mid-sentence, he felt a draft and realized he was now standing without any clothing, covered only by the large book he carried. “I cannot cast on you, but your clothing is another thing,” laughed the princess before turning and walking away, her purposeful walk now a playful skip.

The young princess made her way through the hall and down a series of stairs to another corridor that turned from an arched covered bridge to an ornate building. She couldn’t help but smile when she thought about Fenwick’s embarrassment, even though it meant her mother or father would have words with her later.

“Don’t force the beast, feel it,” a voice from the air. Lucinda looked out of one of the large arches on the bridge to see a black drake snake through the air, its young rider holding on for dear life. Flanking the young rider was his teacher, a seven-foot-tall broad-shouldered Rolzon, his brown hair receding towards bald. “I’m trying, Master,” said the Highblood boy, only looking at most a year older than the Princess.

Lucinda knew Drake riders started young and were the most elite of the Empire’s troops. They often were the vanguard of her family’s invading forces, thousands of them appearing over a targeted world’s main cities would mark the beginning of the end of that planet’s civilization as they knew it. Drakes were fast and tough and could breathe streams of fire that could melt iron as easily as it could ice.

“Princess,” The Drake master, upon seeing her, rode his drake, a well-muscled dark red serpentine creature, one large enough to carry the notoriously dense Rolzon, to where the girl stood. “Fine day, is it not?” said the man in his thick Krusadian accent. “Yes, it is, Drake Master,” Lucinda reached out a hand and touched the dragon’s scales, as it hovered, feeling the heat in its belly, warmed the air near it. “Boy, to me,” growled the old man, turning to see the young rider slowly move his drake closer. “Yes, Sir,” he said in the humbled tone of a high blood forced to recognize a lower caste race as his master.

The boy managed to get his beast to hover nearby and looked at the willowy pale girl in the red and black dress. “Show some manners, boy, bow to the princess,” snapped the large man. “The princess,” whispered the boy in shock before lowering himself as much as he dared while sitting on the back of the small dragon. “I’m sorry, your majesty, I did not recognize you,” he raised his head slowly, “I’m Darvin Jade down.” “Did I ask your name?” Lucinda looked at the boy, deciding to have a little fun with him. “No, your Majesty,” The boy lowered his head quickly, then glanced at his master who gave him a stern look in return. “Then do not presume I care to know who you are, boy.” Lucinda raised her chin and took on an arrogant stance, hands clasped behind her back. “Of course not, your majesty, I’m sorry, your majesty,” Darvin blushed a color red that came very close to matching the hue of his red hair and freckles.
“Drake Master, are all your trainees so presumptuous?” Lucinda looked at the Rolzon, knowing by his slight smile he was now in on the joke. “No, Princess, Just this whelp,” he glanced at the boy who was almost shaking with fear and embarrassment, “Maybe you should turn him into a bird like the one on your shoulder, at least then he’ll be a better flier.” “A bird?” The boy’s eyes grew wide, “Please, your Majesty, I’m…” Lucinda wagged a warning finger at the boy, “Did I give you permission to talk?” she asked. The boy lowered his head, if rumors were true, the Princess could make a bird of him as easily as she could bat an eyelash, easier perhaps. His mind swam to the shame of failing his family and his life as a bird. What would it be like? Would the hawks that the nobles flew on the castle grounds make sport of him? What kind of bird would he be, a sparrow perhaps or something equally common and pitiful he mused.
“Boy,” the Princess looked at Darvin who raised his head slowly to make contact with Lucinda’s Amethyst colored eyes. “I’ll let your presumptuous nature pass this time.” The boy nodded. “Boy, your manners are lacking again,” growled the brawny man. “Thank you, Princess,” the boy blushed and did his riding bow again Lucinda, feigning indifference, continued walking towards her destination. After reaching the other side of the bridge, she maneuvered behind a pillar to watch the two drakes and their riders return to the training grounds far below.
After a few minutes of watching, the Princess entered another building, passing black-armored, skull-helmeted guards who stood straight and saluted her passing. The building opened up into a large hall. People moved about whispering, some walked carrying mystical tomes, others floated above. This was the council of sorcery where the very rules of magic were discussed and the mystical defense of the realm was debated. For all intents and purposes, it was the mystical hub of the empire. Every witch, wizard, sorcerer, druid, shaman, savatus, warlock, and psion in the realm wished nothing more than to stand in the hall where all their knowledge and traditions were stored. It was also one of Lucinda’s favorite places because mystical travel was not only allowed here but encouraged.
In fact, except for the hallway leading in and the ground floor rooms and offices, one could only reach the higher levels of the building through magic. Lucinda floated up high and through an archway past others moving as she did or in their own way unique to their tradition. A Witch on a broom floated by, a Wizard zipped by holding onto his ornate staff. A Shaman rode a spectral flying wolf past her and a young savatus leaped from wall to wall.
The long hallway eventually branched and Lucinda made a left turn, barely dodging a blubbering wizard on a carpet smoking a hookah who wasn’t paying attention to where he was going as he laid crystal runes out before him. Speeding down the hall, the princess then turned again down a wider hall with red marble floors and a gilded arch ceiling. There stood between large image-emitting crystals the images of the high enchantresses and enchanters of the past, each one moving ever so slightly in a manner that made them seem almost alive.
Lucinda looked at the stern faces of various wizards, witches, necromancers, sorcerers of the masked order, and more. Her gaze eventually made its way first to her grandmother, the dread and still legendary “Lady in Crimson”, her father’s mother. Dark red hair, violet eyes, lightly tanned skin, almond-shaped eyes looking beautiful in gold and crimson robes. The cloth dyed in the blood of her foes (something many thoughts were apocryphal but as Lucinda knew was quite true, in fact, the former Empress and High Enchantress only wore red cloth dyed in that manner).
Lucinda then moved to the last image, that of her mother who, like her Grandmother, was empress and High Enchantress. Talia Shadowspell was a stern-looking woman but beautiful. Tall and thin, showing that there was some shide in her family line (Although it was never spoken of) with auburn hair, green eyes, and high cheekbones. She was dressed in black and purple and wore her silver and bone crown, a black cloak of dragon skin and bone, and under that, the armor of a war-witch (a title she had earned the hard way through training and battle).
“Good day, Princess,” a high blood in the garb of the wizard-corps greeted her. “I’m here to see my mother,” said the girl. “Her dread and feared Empress is busy, my young majesty,” The man spoke as politely, knowing that disturbing the Empress was just as suicidal as reproaching the Princess. Lucinda scowled, “Then please tell her when she’s done I came by,” Lucinda then hovered back down the way she came. Knowing that her mother’s business was far more important than her need to speak to her about her “Nanny situation.” “Yes, your Majesty,” the young wizard knew that he had to tell the Empress what had transpired and most likely the Empress would grind his soul into a thin paste and eat it with jam for her mid-day snack on hearing he had turned away her youngest daughter.
“So Pharn, when you die can I have that beautiful staff of yours,” another guard spoke up. “Shut up, I’m trying to think,” Pharn paced in front of the door. He knew there had to be a way out of his situation. After a minute, it came to him. “Aja,” he looked at the young witch trying not to be seen as she stood at her post, “You are the lowest rank and by default under my command, you will relay the princesses message.” Aja, tall dark brown skin, dark hair, and amber eyes looked at the senior officer. “What?,” she said scandalized, “I’ll do no such thing!” Pharn floated over to her, “Yes you will, I outrank you.” The High blood smiled. “You have no seniority, we are both Majestros tier 2,” Aja gripped her wand tight. “So by default, I’m your commander, Isn’t that so Quince?,” Pharn spoke then glanced at his friend who by now was trying not to be seen. “I’m not a part of this,” Quince rolled his large eyes, his catlike tail twitched. He knew that Pharn was wrong and in fact since his friend and Aja were both high blood and he was beast blood it was he who was the lowest man on the totem pole. Xano, the pale Vampyr Necromancer that also stood guard was also not a Highblood but all three of them were afraid of him. “So what now Pharn,” Laughed Aja. The young wizard hovered in silence and started to scheme again.

Fenwick paced in front of the Emperor. Arturus Nightbane, co-ruler of twelve worlds. He and the Banshide had been friends for a long time. And thus, he was allowed a certain amount of freedom when speaking to his liege others outside the immediate family were not. “I had to pass into shadow right then and there to return to my chambers,” said the Majordomo with a sniffle, “I think I caught a cold.” “Nonsense, you can’t catch a cold, Your kind don’t catch low blood illnesses,” Arturus smiled from where he sat in his study on a chair carved from a single blackened dragon’s tooth he had slain himself. “Maybe not but if someone had seen me it would have been scandalous,” Fenwick stopped pacing.

“Then old friend you should stop tweaking my youngest daughter,” The Emperor levitated an apple to his dark gloved hand and bit into it. It was obvious by his looks that Arturus was Lucinda’s father, he had the same pale skin, dark hair, and purple eyes as the girl. He was well built and athletic and wore his hair long just passed his shoulders. Today he was dressed in dark brown and black leather doublet, pants, and gloves with matching boots. “Your Highness, may I speak candidly?” Fenwick looked at his friends. “Always,” The ruler of an empire that stretched across dimensions smiled, “I value your words and hold none against you.”

Fenwick sat on a Dragon bone stool in front of his friend and master, “The Princess needs a preoccupation.” Arturus nodded, “So I told her mother, but my wife is so protective of her. Lucinda has her hobbies but unlike her sister’s they tend to be…problematic from time to time. Amusing but problematic.” “Have you thought about sending her on tour of Bruja?,” Fenwick, “I’m sure the people would love to meet the youngest Princess.” Arturus thought for a second, “It might give her an idea of her place as protector and only occasional tormentor of her people instead of the other way around. But her mother would turn us both into goat droppings if we brought this up to her.” Arturus had slain dragons, armies of giants, and monsters from another world without fear. But his wife was a different story. Talia was not to be trifled with even by the man she loved, especially when it came to their daughters.

Fenwick nodded, The Empress was protective of her daughters to the point of obsession the only reason she allowed the girls free reign of the spire was because to threaten the princesses in the confines of the spire would activate hundreds of magical wards to strike down the would-be attacker. But there had to be a way and better yet a way to explain it to the Empress and not die horribly or worse. “I have it!” Fenwick stood with a smile. Arturus arched an eyebrow in anticipation. “Who is the one person aside Lucinda the Queen would never harm?” The Majordomo wrung his hands. “Well Me…most of the time, Her mother but I’ll rot in heaven before I ask that cow anything and…,” The Emperor smiled, “Millicent.” “Aye your eldest daughter,” the Banshide shide started to pace, “You tell The Princess, The Princess tells your wife and everyone is happy.” “Except Lucinda, who would vent her anger in ways even I shudder thinking about.” Arturus stood and patted his friend on the shoulder, “But sometimes to make a point you must take risks.” “Agreed your Majesty,” Fenwick almost dropped his ledger book from the strength of his friends pat. “And if my wife finds out, I’ll just tell her it was our idea,” Arturus with a chuckle. “Your wife, my dread Empress would kill me dead,” Fenwick. “Then it’s a good thing I’m a necromancer,” The Emperor walked towards the door, to take a stroll around his home and find his eldest daughter. “Yes Majesty,” Fenwick said

Hotspur led his Drake out onto the practice grounds. Unlike the ones used by the Drake riders in training, this one was fully grown with black scales, a blue underbelly, and had the harness and helm of a fully commissioned rider along with the scars of battle.

“So, do you take all the young maids you are wooing up on your beast?” laughed Millicent from where she sat on a stone bench reading a book.

“Other women?” Hotspur smiled, “What maid would dare talk to me? It’s no secret that you and I are…whatever we are.”

Millicent smiled and closed the book. Standing, she pushed the glasses up on her pale nose. “And exactly what are we?” Millicent walked slowly towards the Drake rider. She was dressed in a green dress, green bodice, and black boots.

“I guess an item is a good word, although officially we are not anything until your parents say it’s so,” Hotspur.

“Which may never happen,” Millicent took the young Drake rider’s hand. “Your father likes me well enough; otherwise, he’ll ship me to the other side of the empire or to guard the Ice wall in Giant Lands.”

“True, he does occasionally speak of you in tones that are almost civil.” Millicent leaned in close to the man, she felt his hand on her back. “But your mother, I live only because she hasn’t thought of a way to dispose of me to her liking.”

Millicent giggled, “Again very true. Also, she doesn’t want to upset me.” Hotspur leaned and kissed the elder princess on the lips.

From behind, someone cleared his throat. The two young adults turned to see a red-haired boy in the garb of a drake rider in training standing there with a brush and bucket.

“Child! How dare you disturb me and the princess with your spying!” Hotspur drew his curved night metal sword and rushed the boy. “M’lord Commander, the Drake-master said I’m to clean your drake in punishment for my actions! Please, sir, I meant no harm.”

Before the boy could finish his words he was lifted off his feet held against the wall with the sword inches from his throat. “Hotspur, stop that, you’ll frighten the poor thing to death,” Millicent placed her hand on her paramour’s sword arm.

The young lieutenant smiled, looked at Millicent, and released his grip sending the trainee to the ground on his rear. “You’re lucky the princess is here boy,” Hotspur sheathed his sword. And helped the boy to his feet. “What is your name boy?”

“Darvin M’lord Darvin…,” the boy stuttered.

“Darvin Jadedawn,” Hotspur spoke up, “Weak in the saddle but strong in tactics and with a sword. I heard your name mentioned.”

“Yes Sir,” Darvin lowered his head and blushed. “Thank you, Majesty.” Millicent looked at the boy and smiled at him, “It was a pleasure, Darvin. If there is anything else I can do for you, please let me know.”

Hotspur grimaced at the boy almost daring him to speak but seeing as this may be the only time he would have such a chance he knelt on one knee. “Majesty, Though I’m not worthy I would ask one thing,” The boy spoke with all the bravery he could muster before a decorated Commander and the beautiful Princess.

“Yes, Darvin,” Millicent beamed at him in a way that relaxed him and Hotspur who remembered the first time she talked to him, he was no older than Darvin. “Your sister, Majesty,” Darvin spoke up.

“Oh dear, did she do something to your family?” Millicent’s eyes went wide with sorrow.

“No Majesty,” Darvin finally met the young woman’s gaze and was lost in it. “I think she’s crossed with me and I would like for you to tell her I’m sorry.”

“Crossed with you?” Hotspur’s face turned from a stoic gaze to mirth, “Crossed?” Suddenly he burst into laughter.

“My sister is not crossed with you,” Millicent. “But Majesty, I was a complete dunderhead this morning when we met,” Darvin looked on both not understanding why everyone was so amused by his situation.

“Boy,” Hotspur claimed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Are you a toad?”

“No sir,” Darvin.

“Are you in some hell of flesh-eating worms?” chuckled the Drake rider commander.

“No sir,” the boy looked puzzled.

“Then trust me, Lucinda is not crossed with you,” Hotspur suddenly liked the boy and ruffled his hands through his hair. “However, if you feel you escaped punishment I will be more than happy to turn you into a toad,” Millicent took a step towards Darvin smiling mischievously.

“No Majesty, Thank you Majesty,” Darvin, knowing he was luckier than he deserved to be, picked up his brush and bucket and ran back towards the Drake barns almost running into a tall dark-haired man in brown and black leather clothing.

“You know, If Lucinda had a young drake rider…a trainee who fancied her maybe your mother would focus on them instead of us,” Hotspur looked at Millicent.

“You would sacrifice that child like that? Shame on you,” Millicent crossed her arms and feigned anger, “Maybe it’s you I should turn into a toad.”

Before Hotspur could react, another person cleared their throat, “Am I interrupting?” The Emperor stood hands behind his back glaring at his daughter and one of his finest warriors, “Because If I am I can come back later.”

Millicent with a smile ran to hug her father. Hotspur took a ramrod straight salute. “Majesty I can explain,” he said.

“As you were Lieutenant Commander,” Arturus managed not to smile. “I was just looking for the future Empress and it seems I found her.”

Hotspur, still saluting, looked at his Lord and master, possibly the greatest warrior ever to live. “I shall take my leave then.” Arturus nodded and with a glance and shy smile at Millicent, Hotspur strode to his drake, hopped on it, and flew away.

“I think I’ll have him reassigned to the Ice wall,” joked the Emperor.

“You’ll do no such thing father if you ever want me to speak to you again,” Millicent took her father’s arm in hers, “Now what can I do for my Emperor?”

Arturus smiled, “I want to talk to you about your sister and mother.”

Chapter 2

Pharn watched the doors to the chamber open, his hands shaking on his staff. Various witches, wizards, and other magic users representing all the magic-using races of the Empire exited, talking excitedly amongst each other. The topic seemed to be the giants and their growing strife behind the ice wall of the homeworld. Aja looked at Pharn and smiled, knowing that when he dies (or worse), she would be in line to lead the council guard detail. The Empress might even learn her name, and it would be a quick rise to the Witches circle.

After all of the council had exited, Pharn and the others peeked into the chambers where curved rows of seats floated, facing a floating bronze-colored stage. Still there, sitting and writing, was the Empress, flanked by two War Witches, her bodyguards, and former sisters in arms.

"Go, maybe she's too busy to kill you," Quince nudged his friend in the back.

"Yes, that's possible," Aja responded sardonically, "It's also possible that she'll swear allegiance to the light and become a kitten farmer."

Quince hissed at Aja for her remark; his parents did raise war cats, a rare breed of beast. Pharn shushed his comrades and floated into the hall. As soon as he entered, the doors slammed shut, and he had the crystalline crescent-shaped blade at the end of a war witch’s staff at his throat.

"Majesty, how shall the whelp die?" said the tall woman with short-cropped blond hair.

The Empress looked up, lowered her cat-eye framed glasses that she used to read fine text for a second, then returned to her reading, "Something painful," she said with absolutely no interest.

"Your esteemed Majesty, the dread empress whose very presence darkens the clouds, wilts the flowers, and curdles milk, I have a message for you."

The Empress looked up, took off her glasses, and stood, "I curdle milk?" Her voice arced across the hall, designed to project the words of the person at the stage.

"Sorry, Majesty, it was all I could think of," Pharn spoke quickly, his fear obvious. Talia looked at the boy, young, a Majestros low rank; he looked familiar, one of the door guards. The one that always did the ornate salute and bow when she passed.

"Darken the skies," the Empress spoke, and thunder filled the room, and storm clouds rolled at ceiling level, "That I can do." She looked at the boy and glared, "Wilt flowers?" The woman gestured, causing thorny roses to grow at Pharn’s feet then die, "Though I rather like flowers, That I have been known to do.

"Say your prayers to the dark and twisting mistress, boy," said the War Witch, whispering in the young wizard’s ear.

"But curdle milk?" The Empress looked at Pharn. "I’m not sure if I should laugh or destroy you for being so pathetic?" Talia then sat, "What is your message, boy?" she growled, twirling a finger that left quickly fading traces of black and violet energy in the air.

"Your daughter, Princess Lucinda, came by during your meeting and wanted to see you. She said I was to tell you that but If I may add," Pharn fell to his knees, "Please don’t kill me, my dread Sorceress and queen of nightmares!"

Talia looked at the pathetic wizard and went through a couple of spells in her mind, most to make him suffer before and after death. But then she had a better idea. "Very well, guard," she said with a smile, "You did your duty. Brunhilda, he is free to go."

Pharn came quickly to his feet, not believing his luck. "Most august Empress, thank you for your dark mercy on me," said the young man with an ornate and unintentionally comical version of the Majestros salute. The doors opened, and Pharn prepared to make his exit when he felt a chill.

"One more thing, guard," The Empress said. The guard turned slowly, knowing his doom had come. "Yes..yes, your Majesty."

"Please find my youngest daughter, and tell her we’ll talk tonight at the family dinner," Talia smiled wickedly, "And also tell her that her mother loves her little Lucy." Pharn's eyes grew wide; he knew there was only one thing he could say, "Yes, your Majesty, as you ask, so will it be." Bowing, he took his leave, the doors almost closing on his cape as he exited.

"You are a sycophantic wonder," Xano, who rarely spoke, did so now with a hint of reverence, "if it wasn’t for the fact the princess is going to turn you into something unnatural, I would buy you a pint tonight."

"Pharn," Quince smiled, "I will write a poem of your actions, an epic one of how your groveling and sure idiocy allowed you to survive facing the Empress." Pharn hovered, steaming, and took the ribbing with gritted teeth.

"I can’t say I’m sorry about your impending doom," Aja smirked, "Although I must admit you grovel well. I mean if they offered a medal for kowtowing and apple polishing, you would have thirty from what you just did."

Pharn turned to face his fellow guards, "I swear by the dark goddess who dreams our dooms, that I will haunt each and every one of you personally…except Xano, he’s a necromancer and would just bind me and make me clean his socks or something.

"True," Xano agreed.

"So instead I’ll just shake my fist at you," Pharn growled, shaking his fist at the Vampyr then the other guards before hovering slowly down the hall, head lowered in disgust.

"So who wants in on the 'what will Lucinda turn him into' pool?" Quince asked.

"Does toad and frog count as two things?" Aja asked.

"I’ll give you that as one," Quince replied, "The buy-in is three gold sovereigns."

"I’m in for shrinking, she likes to do that," Xano said.

The beast-blood cat-man, upon spying a group of young Majestros down the hall, called out to them and held up a gold coin. Silent in recognition, they knew there was betting going on and headed to see who or what the stakes were.

*****

Queen Freyggia, a commanding presence upon her icy throne, held court within her castle, carved from a glacier. She stood at an imposing height of 25 feet, her beauty radiating from her flawless snow-white skin, cascading pale yellow hair, and piercing ice-blue eyes. Her regal attire, crafted from the hides of giant polar bears, exuded power and elegance.

“General Viveson, bring forth your report,” she commanded in the ancient tongue of the giants. Her voice echoed through the grand hall.

General Viveson, a burly giant adorned in a horned helm and scale mail armor, approached the queen. He bowed respectfully before announcing, “Your Majesty, the troops will require one month to be fully prepared.” His voice resonated with authority.

“A month?” Freyggia’s tone turned icy with disappointment. “I explicitly demanded readiness within a fortnight!” Her pointed glare caused General Viveson to freeze in place. His form encased in ice, shattered into countless fragments.

Freyggia surveyed the gathered giant warlords with a steely gaze. Her frigid demeanor left no room for dissent. Among them stood Ice Giants like herself, Fire Giants emanating with fiery energy, hulking Stone Giants, and the cunning Cyclopes.

Tyror, a bold and ambitious Ice Giant, stepped forward to offer his service as Warlord. The queen nodded in approval. “Very well,” she acknowledged, her voice carrying an edge of anticipation. “Prepare yourselves. The time of reckoning draws near.”

The giant leaders gathered around a map of their world and the other realms of the Empire. They engaged in heated discussion. Castor, the crafty Artificer and leader of the Cyclopes, eagerly extolled the virtues of their war machines. He showcased their mechanical brilliance.

“I propose we deploy our machines in the vanguard,” Castor proclaimed, his single large eye gleaming with pride. “With their precision and power, victory shall be assured.”

Surbra, a fierce Fire Giant warrior, scoffed at the notion. “Machines are feeble constructs, incapable of matching the ferocity of flames,” she retorted, her fiery mane blazing with disdain. “Fire is the only weapon we require.”

Block, the mighty Stone Giant with four massive arms, grunted in agreement. “Let us crush our foes with sheer strength and brute force,” he rumbled, his gaze fixed on the map with unyielding determination.

Meanwhile, Gravo, the shrewd Troll, observed the debate with keen interest. He silently assessed the strengths and weaknesses of his fellow leaders.

As the arguments intensified, tempers flared and voices grew louder. Yet, amidst the discord, a realization dawned upon the giant leaders. Despite their differences, they shared a common goal: the downfall of the Empire and the liberation of their kind.

With a nod from Queen Freyggia, the giants set aside their differences and forged a united front. Their shared goal brought them together, and they began to strategize, each contributing their unique strengths to the plan. The hall buzzed with a newfound sense of unity and purpose

*****

The family meal was a tradition among the Empire’s first family. It took place every evening at sunset and consisted of the Emperor, Empress, the two Princesses, and occasionally a few close friends or extended family. The meal was held in a small dining room around a round table, and protocol stated no Empire business at the table. The high chef, Santos, and his closest assistants were responsible for cooking the meal. Santos, an Iron-kin, was short, broad, and swarthy-skinned with dark hair and eyes. Ironkin had an affinity for metal, which made them great smiths and clockwork makers. However, Santos had an affinity for food and was personally picked by Fenwick for the job. For two decades, he had catered all the Empire’s official balls, grand dinners, and royal functions without fail. His schedule was so demanding that he had his heart replaced with a clockwork one twelve years ago so he could live off two hours of sleep.

Santos ran his kitchen with strict military order. Most of his workers were gnomes, a race of little people (about a foot tall) with greenish skin and hair, a love of bright colors, and limited inborn magic perfect for arts and crafts. They made perfect cooks, preppers, and cleaners and actually enjoyed work. Santos had traveled the world picking up local dishes and integrating them into his meals. He had also learned the favorites of the royal family. The Emperor was a warrior; he liked meat and potatoes, simple foods served with little pretense. The Empress, on the other hand, was a witch and was used to things a little extravagant. Talia loved sauces and garnishes and condiments and new tastes and sensations. She also loved the occasional gnome roasted in garlic and spiced apples as a late-night snack when no one was around, and she was working late.

Princess Millicent was his favorite royal as she loved to cook too and was his best student. The Princess loved little plates of various small dishes so she could experience multiple foods at each setting. She also had a fondness for comfort foods like her father but with special twists that made them less pub fare and more “noble.”

Lucinda, the youngest princess, however, was a very finicky eater. She had a voracious appetite for a child her size and would go through phases where she would only eat certain things. This month she only wanted duck for meat at every meal, which was fine for the High-Chef who made grilled duck, duck breast, foie-gras, duck sausages, fried duck, smoked duck, and more. It was a challenge that he enjoyed. Lucinda also loved cakes, and many times he had saved one of his waiter’s lives with the bribery to the Princess of a fancy multi-tiered cake.

Santos was also one of the few people who the royal family listened to. They loved his food and wanted to keep him happy. They also trusted him, after all, he could poison them at any time or at least try and had been asked to do so dozens of times by outsiders. But each time Santos turned the traitor in or attacked them on sight. He loved his job and would put up with nothing that would harm his position.

“Hello Chef,” Lucinda walked into the kitchen as she often did when looking for a snack and not in the mood for food she could conjure up. “Hello Little Princess,” Santos smiled at the girl as he marinated pork cutlets. “What can I do for you?” Lucinda looked about while Santos was prepping her family’s evening meal while his gnomes worked on meals for visiting nobles, high-ranking officials, and well-liked generals, bureaucrats, and the like. A dozen or more small kitchens spread throughout the dark spire were also prepping evening meals for various groups.

“May I have something to eat,” Lucinda knew it was good manners to be nice to the high chef after all he could make cakes like no one could. Santos nodded and smiled, left what he was doing, cleaned his hands thoroughly, and walked to the large holding cabinets, some kept at freezing temperatures by clockwork devices or magic. He took some cold smoked duck sausages, a few kinds of cheese, bread, and a small frosted muffin and made an ornate snack tray with a skill and grace that actually managed to entertain the princess. He then poured the princess a glass of watered-down dark wine commonly given to high blood children and placed on its slices of fresh fruit.

Lucinda nodded and exited the kitchen to find a quiet place to eat. Another problem with living in the Dark-spire was that it was always busy. Still, having lived there so long, she knew of places where she could find some peace. From the kitchen and through the vast main dining hall used for royal functions, Lucinda made her way into a terraced landing where the airships of nobles would be moored when they visited. In the same area sat a small garden that looked out over one of the lower rings of the spire some 500ft below. Sitting at a stone table with matching stone chairs (on a conjured cushion), the Princess prepared for her meal.

“Princess, Your Majesty,” Pharn spied the thin girl sitting and sipping on watered-down fruit-filled wine. Hiding behind a large bush at the Garden’s edge, he peeked out and waited for a reaction. “How dare you disturb me!” Lucinda pointed at the bush, and it exploded into flames so hot there wasn’t even ashes left. “Princess, I have news from your mother,” Pharn rose his hand, patting off little flames on his robe. Lucinda looked at the young man, remembering his face and his deeds earlier that day. “Oh, it’s you,” she gestured playfully, levitating him into the air over the garden’s edge, dangled by one foot. “What is that message?” “Your Mother says she will talk to you at the family meal this evening,” Pharn watched a small airship go by below him, “Please Princess have mercy.” Lucinda took a few bites of her meal, another sip of wine, a few more bites as the Majestros dangled. “Did she say anything else,” Lucinda looked at her victim’s chin in hand. Her smile was one of wicked amusement. Pharn finally had time to focus for a spell and righted himself, cursing himself silently as he realized that he could levitate if needed. “She also said, her mother loves her little Lucy.”

Lucinda looked at the wizard and snapped her finger, shattering his staff. “How dare you speak to me with such familiarity!” the Princess growled. “But your mother said it just like…” Pharn realized in mid-sentence he was falling to his doom and would be dead soon. Without his staff (and with the added fear of heights, falling, and of the princess), he could not manage a simple levitation spell. As the ground came up to him mere inches away, he came to a stop and suddenly jetted back up to once again face the Princess. “Mercy Majesty, Mercy” called out the young wizard in a tone many who heard it mistaken for that of a little girl. Lucinda looked at the pitiable wizard, “How pathetic are you?” Pharn, ”Utterly, totally, Mercy!” The Princess levitated the young man to the seat across from her and returned to her snack. “Thank you, Princess, Thank you oh powerful and malevolent Lucinda,” Pharn could not believe his luck for the day. “Don’t thank me yet,” Lucinda looked at the man, “I ‘m just wondering how did you get to be a Majestros? I thought they were only the best of the best in my family’s service.” Pharn smoothed back his hair, “Well actually My father is Baron Indigoright.” “I’ve heard of him, an old friend of my father,” Lucinda listened, took a cigarette, and placed it in a red holder. “Yes, well he made arrangements after I graduated from the Brinn School of magic in Cheshire.” Pharn felt proud of his family’s pull and grinned as the princess willed her cigarette to light. “I see,” Lucinda took a puff and expelled the smoke at Pharn, who coughed. “You know my father smokes, big gnome-made cigars,” bragged the boy. “Are you attempting small talk with me?” The princess glared. “No Majesty,” Pharn bowed and started to stand to take his leave. Lucinda inhaled on her holder and watched Pharn turn to mist and was sucked inside her cigarette.

Pharn coughed as he fell through clouds, tumbling head over feet through the cherry tobacco smoke into oblivion. “Who won?” Xano looked through the floating magical orb Aja had conjured. Quince looked through the two dozen or so slips of parchment and read. “Drig said cigarette,” the beast blood took an ink quill and scratched a check by the name. “Aja, fair is fair, close enough,” The witch glared, “That Grat always wins.” Xano smirked, “Grat or no Drig won.” “Xano, Aja, I think we’re in trouble,” Quince looked at the Orb, Lucinda was staring into it at him. “I loathe spies,” the princess hissed. “Turn it off!” Xano, not waiting for Aja to release the spell, blasted it to sparkles with a black bolt of necromantic energy from his hands. Aja looked at the Vampyr, “You owe me for the quartz dust I need to conjure that!” “Did she see us, does she know?” Quince looked about, fearing the worst. “Doubtful,”

*****

The Empress loathed guests at the family meal, although it was an occasional part of the tradition. The fact that there would be three guests made it worse. Talia enjoyed being able to let her hair down, and this evening she was doing just that. She wore no crown, cloak, or armor of past positions, just a simple black gown with bell sleeves and a v-neck, silver earrings, and most unusual of all, no shoes. She wanted to relax, company be damned (literally if they annoyed her).

Millicent entered the family meal room in a bright yellow dress with hand-sewn cloth flowers along the front. Holding her hand, much to the Empress’s disgust, was Hotspur. He had to be talked out of his formal military garb and instead wore a simple red doublet, red poet shirt, and black tights. His boots were a soft dark brown in the buccaneer style. This wasn’t his first invite to the meal, but to his surprise, it wasn’t Millicent that sent the invitation but her father.

“Your Majesty, dread lady…” Hotspur spoke to the dour-looking red-haired woman until a look she gave him all but commanded him to stop. “I had my arse kissed enough today, Commander Hotspur,” she growled. “Now sit, be as quiet as you can, or I’ll turn you into a flea.”

“Who are you turning into a flea, my beautiful wife?” The Emperor entered in a simple black tunic, pants, and boots. Following him in the robes he had worn that day was Fenwick, looking as prickly as ever. “The Commander,” The Empress took a sip of red wine.

“You better be careful, Hotspur. The Empress’s finger is almost as zap-happy as my… where is my youngest daughter?” The Emperor looked around and heard a giggle. “Ah, there she is.” Reaching out to his side at an empty seat, the Emperor tweaked Lucinda’s nose, and instantly she dropped her invisibility spell.

“Hello, Father. Hello, Mother,” Lucinda smiled wide at her parents. Talia, on seeing that smile, suddenly livened up. If there was anything that could lighten her mood, it was Lucinda. Though she loved Millicent with all her heart, it was Lucinda she had the most in common with and who reminded her of her youth long past (although truthfully she stopped aging at about 29). “So, dear, what did you want to talk to me about?” the woman reached across the table and touched her daughter’s hand. “Nothing pressing, just to tell you my old nanny is now a bird, and that I think I’m too old for a new one.” The Empress looked at her husband, who pretended not to notice. “I’ll think about it,” The Empress smiled wide.

Fenwick looked at Hotspur and the Emperor. “A bird? How interesting.” “Curse that Drig,” Hotspur. “Don’t hate the better, hate the bet,” The Emperor laughed. The females at the table looked at the men, not fully understanding what was going on but knowing something was. “Is there something you want to share with us, Hotspur? Father,” Millicent. “Oh, it’s nothing. Men talk,” The Emperor. “Then I bet it’s pretty silly,” Lucinda, “Men are notoriously for conversations about silly things…swords, and card games, and such nonsense.”

The Emperor was about to tickle his daughter for her insult of the manly arts when the door creaked open, and the face of a boy no older than twelve peeked in. His red hair was slicked back with some form of hair product that gave it a greasy sheen. Hotspur, on seeing him, stood. “Your Majesties, Major Domo, my guest has arrived.” All eyes turned to see Darvin walk in full Drake rider trainee dress uniform. Black and purple tabard, black dress tunic, black and purple long jacket with buckles, cape, hat, boots belts, and various pins and ribbons of service (which Darvin had only two).

Darvin was unable to move, let alone speak. He had resisted soiling himself so far, but the night was young. Arturus had to focus on not bursting into laughter. He remembered the boy’s face when the child was running back to the Drake barn, almost ran him over, and the boy, upon seeing him again, stood in stupefied terror. “Hello, Darvin,” Millicent, ever the diplomat, stood and walked over to the boy and led him to a seat between her, Fenwick, and Lucinda. Lucinda glared at the boy. “What are you doing here, silly boy?” Her voice showed nothing but contempt. “Hotspur invited him, and I agreed it was fine,” The Emperor, still repressing a smile, said. “Seems he’s an up-and-coming Drake-rider of the Jade clan, Jade Dawn, correct?” Darvin sat in silence, fearing that if he spoke, the only thing that would come out would be stuttering or worse, drool. “Speak to the Emperor when he speaks to you, child,” Fenwick. Darvin took a deep breath. “Yes, Majesty. Sorry, Majesty. Sorry, M’lord.”

“Don’t frighten the boy, Fenwick. Being invited here isn’t the easiest thing for him, I’m sure,” Millicent looked at Darvin. “Well, now that he’s here, we can eat,” The Empress spoke up and picked up a tiny bell and rang it twice. Suddenly the door opened again, and Santos and six gnomes (each floating parts of the meal) entered.

The food brought a sense of calm and familiarity to the group. Santos watched nervously as everyone took bites and sipped drinks. When people started to smile and compliment him, he blushed with satisfaction. The Empress started up a conversation about the Darkspire’s gardens and how she wanted to change the flower arrangements the coming season. This led to a conversation between her and mostly Fenwick about various underground flowers that do well in the sunlight that is just exotic enough for her needs. The Emperor then chimed in, and the conversation switched first to riding horses, then Drakes, and started a joke about witches riding brooms that brought laughter all around but led to him being verbally abused by his wife and daughter about his steed of choice, a Nightmare that was literally all skin, fire, and bones. Darvin tried not to be seen or move other than to eat and drink his watered-down fruit-infused wine. When the first, second, and third courses were done, Santos reentered with chocolate tarts for everyone, which brought more smiles and high spirits. Drinks were changed out from wine to tea. Fenwick offered brandy-scented cigars to everyone. Hotspur, The Emperor, and The Empress took him up on it.

“So, Mother,” Millicent began, “I was thinking, if it pleases you and Father, about traveling the lands.” The Empress arched an eyebrow, and The Emperor feigned surprise.
“A tour of the home world?” he asked, puffing on a cigar. “How fascinating…”
“The nobility of the outer provinces rarely get to see us,” Millicent continued, her smile bright. “I’m sure they have things to tell me which I would report to you.”
“I’m not sure it’s safe,” The Empress interjected, her gaze filled with concern. “There are groups who would see you captured, ransomed, or worse. Not the least being the Outlanders.”
Millicent turned to Hotspur. “The Princess is a capable witch, and if it would please you, I will take my squadron along as security,” the young Drake rider offered, placing his hand over Millicent’s.
“That sounds passable,” The Emperor responded.
“It sounds like I’m being manipulated,” The Empress retorted, looking at her husband and eldest daughter. “I’ve hatched enough schemes to know when I’m being made a pigeon.”
Darvin giggled at this, earning a glare from Talia. “Do you have something to add to the affairs of state, trainee?” she hissed.
Darvin lowered his head. “No, Majesty,” he whispered.
Lucinda, seeing her chance for mischief, turned to her mother. “May I turn him into a newt, Mother?” she asked politely.
Talia looked at her daughter, saw the wicked twinkle in her eye, and smiled. “Actually, dear daughter, as he had offended me first, I should be the one making a newt of him. Although I’m less in a newt mood and more into fleas today,” she then looked at Hotspur.
“Mother, be nice. You can’t keep changing guests into things,” Millicent chided.
“Actually, my dear,” The Emperor interjected, looking at his family, amused. “In theory, she can. She is the High Enchantress and Empress.”
“See, dear, your father agrees,” The Empress pointed playfully at Darvin.
“I didn’t agree. I just stated the truth in the matter,” Arturus clarified, taking his wife’s pointing hand to his lips and kissing her finger, causing her to blush.
“So, Daughter, when do you leave?” The Emperor asked.
“I was hoping to do so in a few days,” Millicent responded, smiling at her father.
“Oh, and one last request,” The Empress added, her hand still being caressed by her husband. She turned towards her eldest daughter, still beaming.
“I didn’t agree. I just stated the truth in the matter,” Arturus repeated, taking his wife’s pointing hand to his lips and kissing her finger. This caused her to blush again.

“So, daughter, when do you leave?” asked the Emperor.

“I was hoping to do so in a few days,” Millicent replied, smiling at her father. “Oh, and one last request.”

The Empress, whose hand was being caressed by her husband, turned towards her eldest daughter, still beaming. “What is it, dear?”

“I would like to take Lucinda with me,” Millicent said, looking at her sister. Lucinda instantly stopped plotting Davrin’s doom and turned towards her parents.

“Really?” Lucinda’s face lightened. “Please, may I?”

“No,” the Empress responded firmly. “It’s far too dangerous to take both of them.”

“I agree with the Empress,” Fenwick interjected. “Not that my words count, your Majesties. However, the people have yet to meet Lucinda beyond the Darkspire. Security-wise, Commander Hotspur’s squadron could be augmented with some of the Emperor’s elite and a few War witches.”

Arturus nodded. “I might be able to talk Old Boney into providing some extra security. He was my bodyguard when I was just a prince, and I’m still quite alive. That old Rolzon is harder to kill than a twelve-headed elder dragon.”

The Empress looked at everyone at the table, knowing for sure she was now being manipulated. She thought that spending some time with her husband would be nice, and Lucinda, if not caught off guard, was more than a match for just about anything. Still, she hated being manipulated and knew to save face she would have to turn their game against them. After all, she had a reputation to uphold.

“Very well,” the Empress conceded. “You both may go.”

“Thank you, mother,” both princesses said at once.

The Emperor, being the old former adventurer and warlord that he was, suddenly felt a trap being sprung by his wife.

“But I’m still not sure about security,” Talia said, taking a puff off her cigar. “A large entourage would be hard to control and keep track of. So, Hotspur will take only his four best men, plus Darvin. I’m sure they will need a promising young rider like him for errands and such. Old Boney will come, of course; he’s always willing to serve. Now, magically, we might need some more help.”

Lucinda’s face turned to one of insult. She had more magic in her pinky finger than your average grand high witch or Archmagus.

“Who do you have in mind, my love?” Arturus asked, feeling the trap go off.

“Someone I trust,” Talia replied. “My mother.”

*****

The Contessa-Dame, Tsaria Shadowspell, was ancient even by High Blood standards. High Bloods were known to live forever, but due to a high rate of backstabbing, assassinations, and plotting, very few surpassed the age of a thousand. Talia and Arturs were 452 and 478 respectively. The Countess, who spoke of her age with great pride, was 1007. She had buried 12 husbands and 34 lovers in her wicked and dark past.

She resided some 300 miles from the spire in her own castle, known as the Mother Empresses’ Aerie. The servants jokingly referred to it as the Emperor’s Salvation. Of course, joking out loud was strictly forbidden in the castle, as was any type of frivolity, unless one enjoyed being a frog. This was the Countess’ other claim to fame. Legend has it she has turned over eighty thousand people into frogs in her lifetime. In fact, upon visiting her home, one would notice the frog population to be extremely high in the area. Former victims, still living as frogs, made their way as close to the Countess as possible in the hope she would one day release them. Sadly, if the legend is true, that has never happened.

The royal messenger, Thad Goodwin, assigned to deliver a message from the empress, rode through the Aerie gates with pride. This was a big assignment, and he thought there would be more to come. A melancholic servant came to take his horse after he dismounted. He tucked the sealed message into a bag over his shoulder. Empire guards assigned to protect the Contessa looked at him with sadness and pity. As they opened the door to the main hall, Godwin looked down to see about a dozen frogs hop clear of the opening door. A few slower ones were crushed on the marble floor. He had been seeing frogs for some time as he rode. A nearby lake where he stopped to water his horse was teeming with them. There were hundreds of various species, including a few giant ones the size of pigs, grown fat from eating smaller ones.

Inside the castle was drafty but clean, and it smelled of mint and fresh soap. A cleaning girl scrubbed the grout between the stone floors with a tiny brush. Her mouth was gone, replaced by smooth skin. Thad walked to the end of the hall where a doorman in a powdered wig opened the door and announced him as simply a messenger from the spire, something Thad’s ornate attire gave away.

“If this is another invite to a silly ball,” a woman’s voice said, “I’ll eat the cur’s liver.” Thad saw a woman sitting by a fireplace on an ornate sofa, listening to music played on a magical music box that held the souls of a very talented string quartet. “Your grace,” Thad bowed, “Your message.” Standing straight, Thad took the message out and knelt, handing it to the woman who snatched it away with her hand in one rehearsed motion.

The Contessa, a reb Enes Que woman, had red hair with a single white streak in it, wicked blue eyes, pursed lips, and a turned-up nose. Her garb was dark violets and gold. Opening the message, she read the words quickly. “Wyrm, to me,” she called out. From a corner, a large snake moved and twisted, turning mid-slither into the form of a hunched beast-blood male of snake stock in a dark hooded robe. “Yes, Mistress,” the pitiful creature said. “Prepare my sky ship and my bags for long travel, you worthless cur,” the Contessa commanded as she stood. “Yess, Mistressssssssss,” Wyrm hobbled away.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Contessa?” Goodwin asked, rising slowly. Tsaria looked at the young man, smiled, pointed, and turned him into a frog. “No,” she said, “You are no longer needed.”

*****

Chapter 3

Arturus paced in his bedroom, grumbling, “She’s a bulbous old hag.” His wife, Talia, sat at her mirror, combing her red hair with an ivory boar’s hair brush. She smirked at her family’s folly and retorted, “She’s my mother.”

“That doesn’t take away from her being bulbous,” the Emperor countered, looking at his wife. Dressed for the night and sitting there at her mirror, she was a sight that made it hard for him to stay angry. But he would do his best.

“The children like her,” the Empress pointed out.

“They despise her. Everyone despises her but you and your mad sister,” Arturus walked behind his wife, placed his hands on her shoulders, and started to rub them.

“A shoulder rub will not get you out of this, Emperor of all he surveys,” the woman replied in a soft, amused tone.

“No, but assassins will,” the Emperor smiled, “I’ll make it painless though because she’s family.”

“You kill my mother, and I’ll kill that psychotic cow that gave birth to you,” the Empress threatened, kissing her husband’s hand, “Only, I’ll do it personally.”

The Emperor rolled his eyes, sighed, and decided to accept his scheme had been turned against him. “Fine, she can go. At least, she’s not going to be here.”

The Empress rose, turned, and kissed her husband. “Now I know why you like Hotspur, husband. Why, of all the alliances we can build with Millicent, you allow her to consort with a little country lordling.”

The Emperor returned the kiss. “I don’t like Hotspur. I just respect the fact he had to work hard to get where he’s at, and he’s never failed me. He’s a good soldier.”

“He’s you,” the Empress took her husband’s hand, “You see yourself in him, all swords, smolder, and swagger. Also, you sympathize with him.”

The Emperor laughed, “Sympathy? I’ve killed thousands personally, conjured demons, and ravaged worlds. I don’t sympathize.”

The Empress looked into her husband’s amethyst-colored eyes. “Yes, you do. I treat him like mother treated you. You may have been the Emperor’s son, but to her, you were just another young man taking away her daughter.”

“That would explain why she shattered every bone in my body with a curse and tossed me in that swamp bog near your old home when I came to see you that first time after we met at the dance. If it wasn’t for Old Boney…” The Emperor was about to continue the story when his wife’s soft lips silenced him.

*****

The Rolzons, resembling humans but with a high blood likeness, stand tall with an average height of 7 feet for both males and females. They are well-muscled to the point where they lack buoyancy and cannot swim. Despite this, they are extremely strong, fast, and tough, and can heal from any life-threatening wounds at a prodigious rate.
There are various sub-races among the Rolzons, much like the Shide. These include the Helios, who have dark skin, brown eyes, and dark hair; the Aros, who have blonde hair and blue eyes; and the Belos, who have red hair and tanned skin. Old Boney, an Aros, was as his name suggested - old. Rolzons are a warrior race, and longevity is not in their nature, but rather in what they are. They can live for thousands of years if they die of old age. Boney was 519 years old, with a long gray beard, long gray hair, and a scar that ran from his right temple to his left cheek. This was a magic-induced wound that even he couldn’t fully heal, and it occasionally oozed pus.
Boney sat at his bar, wearing a red sleeveless tunic, a leather apron, a faded kilt, and thick rope sandals. “Last call, boys and girls,” he called out to the mostly Rolzon crowd. They drank a thick, high-alcohol beer that was almost black in color and as thick as maple syrup. They called it many names, but to most, it was “Rol-grog.”
“One last song,” a Rolzon bard picked up his mandolin and strummed it, while his flutist and guitarist readied their instruments. “Fine,” Boney raised his big drinking mug high. “But it better be a good one. I’ll need a little cheer to help my creaking bones move this late.”

The Musician started his song-

(Verse 1)
In the heart of the battle, under the starry dome,
Rose the Rolzon warriors, far away from home.
Twelve worlds they conquered, with courage and might,
In the name of glory, they took up the fight.

(Chorus)
Oh, the glory of fighting, the thrill of the fray,
The Rolzon warriors, they led the way.
Heroes of the empire, their deeds we extol,
Their valor and courage, it fills our soul.

(Verse 2)
They took the world of Farsia, a jewel so bright,
And claimed the world of Dis, in the still of the night.
Albion lay in ruins, its defenses a jest,
Before the Rolzon warriors, the empire's best.

(Chorus)
Oh, the glory of fighting, the thrill of the fray,
The Rolzon warriors, they led the way.
Heroes of the empire, their deeds we extol,
Their valor and courage, it fills our soul.

(Verse 3)
Gold and glory they brought home, a triumphant return,
For the pride of the empire, their hearts did yearn.
Their tales we'll tell, their songs we'll sing,
In honor of the Rolzon warriors, the empire's wing.

(Chorus)
Oh, the glory of fighting, the thrill of the fray,
The Rolzon warriors, they led the way.
Heroes of the empire, their deeds we extol,
Their valor and courage, it fills our soul.

(Outro)
So here's to the Rolzon warriors, brave and true,
The pride of the empire, we salute you.
In the annals of history, your names will ring,
To the Rolzon warriors, we proudly sing.
As the song ended, everyone toasted high, took a drink, and slammed their mugs on the table. A Banshide in black stood next to old Boney. No one saw him enter, and no one saw Boney wrap his hands around the Shide’s throat. “I don’t like to be snuck up on,” Boney growled. “Letter… The Emperor,” the pale man managed to say.
The graying Rolzon snatched the letter from the pale man’s hand. Breaking the seal, he started to read, mumbling every other word out loud. “Bloody hells,” he exclaimed. “Can’t an old man get some rest?” Taking off his apron, he looked at the Rolzons at the bar. “You,” he pointed at a young Rolzon alone in the corner.
“Yeah, old man?” the dark-haired, dark-skinned Helios stood. Boney smiled and tossed him the apron. “The bar’s yours till I get back.” The young Rolzon looked surprised for a second, glanced at the apron, then at Boney, who was taking his metal-shod mastodon leg bone club from its place of honor over the fireplace. “Yes, sir,” the young man placed the apron on.
The old former bodyguard stood, hefted the club onto his shoulder, and said, “If you malcontents break anything while I’m away or give the lad too much grief, I’ll rip out your gizzards.” And with those words, he left into the chilly night.

*****

Pharn landed with a thud. His singed skin and clothing steamed as he hit the water. He had been falling for what seemed like days. After regaining his senses, the frightened young man looked up at the sky. His wizard training allowed him to instantly recognize the sky above as “The Sea of Amethyst.” He murmured this through his cracked and dry lips.

Remembering his astronomy class, he estimated that he had been traveling in smoke and flame for about a day. He realized he was only a few hundred miles from the Dark-Spire. “Oh, there shall be a reckoning,” he declared, levitating above the water. Using all the magic he could muster without his staff, he conjured a primitive boat just large enough for one.

“I hate you, Aja. I hate you, Quince. And Xano… I’m mildly annoyed with you too,” he hissed. He removed his robe to reveal a sleeveless white tunic, grey pants, and black boots. Focusing, he conjured lines of woven twine, connecting the boat to the robe. Once done, he gathered a spinning ball of wind in his hands. He set it under the robe, causing it to billow up and away from the boat. This pulled the boat towards the distant shore. “Oh yes, there shall be a reckoning, a totaling of sums,” he muttered to himself.

******

The Countess’ sky ship was an older model, resembling a well-maintained sea galley from days of old. Its golden sails were woven from gold and crystal, and it had retractable folding wings on the side. Along the keel were three rows of fist-sized gems, air crystals found several worlds away. When activated, these crystals could make objects lighter than air and provide limited thrust that could be altered in various directions by the ship’s control. The sails absorbed sunlight and moonlight to power the ship’s mechanics, lighting, and other conveniences. The wings allowed for smooth sailing but could be retracted in case of bad weather or landing.

As the ship moved closer to the Imperial dock near the top of The Darkspire, those waiting for it to land could see it flying the standard of the Countess and the Shadowspell clan. Fenwick stood next to lowborn servants and a small retinue of guards. The large mooring stand rose from its housing and opened, allowing the bow of the ship to wedge itself into it. It then slowly closed, holding the ship, and lowered it into place so the deck was now level with the dock itself. The Banshide was fascinated by such awesome mechanical devices, most of which were built by the Iron kin of Drillum, who were natural machinists and smiths.

Two servants pushed out a covered gangplank. As the plank crew did their work, the Banshide gestured, and a group of musicians exited from the receiving room behind him and onto the dock area. They began playing “Durge of Sorrows,” a song written by the Contessa’s third husband, a once-famous composer.

Fenwick and the guard stepped towards the gangplank and watched as Vyrm exited in his black hooded robes. The Beast blood looked at Fenwick, who glared back with disgust. The two majordomos hated each other, and Vyrm was extremely jealous of the Banshide’s position. “Her most beauteous and powerful Countess of the Weeping Moors, Tsaria Shadowspell,” hissed the Beast blood. The band played louder and watched as the Empress’ mother exited, garbed in a black dress with a gem-encrusted bodice, black gloves, gold boots, and her hair done up in leather ribbons to look like horns.

“Your Grace,” called out Fenwick with a bow, “Welcome to the Darkspire. Your palace awaits.” As he stood, he clapped, signaling a carriage pulled by four black unicorns to move down a curved ramp and up to the Contessa and her retinue. “Damn my Palace, I will see my Daughter and Granddaughters first,” growled the woman. She stood aside as her servants exited, each one carrying an oversized wooden trunk or large ornate travel boxes.

“The Empress is busy, but I’m sure we can find your granddaughters,” Fenwick said. Tsaria looked at the Banshide and resisted burning him to ash where he stood for his perceived insolence. He was, after all, the “famous” Fenwick, the trusted servant of her son-in-law. So instead, her eyes turned to the band, and from them shot searing beams of purple fire that burned each member to a cinder in the blink of an eye. “I always hated that song,” she said, walking towards the coach flanked by Vyrm.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Fenwick said, relieved, “I’ll have your granddaughters meet you in your palace garden.” “You do that, you silly thing,” the Countess spoke without looking at the Banshide. “Yes, and hurry,” added Vyrm. As the coach left, Fenwick glared at the melted pavement where the band once stood, the dock, and the guards before regaining his composure. “I really hate that woman,” he said to himself before turning to retreat the way he came, followed by the guard and Tsaria’s servants.

Tsaria rode down the ramp and into the spire before turning and exiting across a wide bridge to another part of the large building. She then went down a few tunnels and to a lift that took her down again to another bridge that led to a terrace palace. This palace was not only on the opposite side of the building as the imperial palace but far below it, something she saw as an open slight by her daughter’s husband.

The palace was, in actuality, little more than a guest house. It was smaller than her home, having only two dozen large rooms on two floors surrounding a large garden with a well-kept pond brimming with frogs. “Welcome back, Your Grace,” a lowblood in black and purple stood where the coach stopped. “You’re not dead yet?” the woman looked at the man who was just starting to grey. “No, Ma’am,” returned the man with a bow. “Hmmph, perhaps I’ll see to that before I leave,” the woman said, exiting the carriage with the help of her footman, followed by her black-robed servant.

“Say the word, and I will kill him,” Vyrm said. “No,” Tsaria looked at the eight low bloods next to the man that made up the staff of her home in the Darkspire. Most were new, a few were survivors of her previous visit. The woman walked past each immaculately dressed person, noting their jobs: footmen, maids, cooks, stablemen. Her eyes surveyed each one carefully, looking for anything out of place, a crooked collar, a smudge on a sleeve. In turn, each person, as she walked past, opened their mouths and held out their hands for her to quickly and scornfully examine them. “Passable,” she said after reaching the last one, “Barely, but passable.”

“Yes, m’lady,” said the head graying butler. Tsaria walked towards the large double wooden front door and gestured in the air to open them. “Prepare a meal, you worthless mayflies, for me and my granddaughters. I’ll be in my study,” said the woman as she entered, followed by the reptilian beast blood. After a few steps, Tsaria stopped, turned, and with a point, turned one of the maids into a frog before continuing on after a hearty laugh. It was as much amusement for her as it was a warning to her staff, and it caused her servants to gasp in awe as the door closed.

*****

Arturus stood, overlooking the cavern deep below the dark spire. It was lit by bluish orbs of floating lights, each one part of a spirit orbiting a massive machine made of silver, light metal, and black necro-crystals. This machine filled the cavern. The Soul Engine, invented by his father, converted the souls of those fed into it into pure energy. This energy was used by the empire to power the Darkspire, open gates to other realms for conquest, and recharge magical devices of war.

The bodies of the creatures tossed into the engine were converted into obedient worker and soldier zombies. They were herded by necromancers from their exit corridor to be tagged, equipped, and shipped off across the empire.

The Soul Engine was one of the reasons the empire was so successful. When a low blood is near death, they are brought to one of the hundreds of “Death Watches” in the empire. These buildings are manned by healers and necromancers whose job is to keep a body alive long enough to be shipped to the soul engine. Families can also sell unwanted children and infirmed family members to a Deathwatch for either money or the right of another family member not to be fed to the engine upon death. The rare lowborn who was rich enough could also pay a death tax that would prevent themselves or another from being fed to the soul engine.

Despite that, considering the worlds under the empire’s yoke, the soul engine was always working at peak power and thousands of zombies were being processed in it daily. It was the combination of the necromantic energy and the steady hum that made his current perch a place of refuge for the Emperor.

“She’s here, sir,” Fenwicked announced, standing in a well-furnished cave looking at his old friend. “Has she become more pleasant?” Arturus asked. “Hardly, M’lord,” The Banshide smiled, “In fact, I dare say she’s even less so.”

The Emperor retreated back into the cave and sat. Taking decanters, he poured two glasses of green liquor and handed one to his friend. “Remind me again why I can’t have her killed?” The Emperor relaxed into the chair he was sitting in and took a sip of the licorice-scented liquid. “Because the Empress loves the old cow,” Fenwick replied, sitting across from his friend. “She most likely would not talk to you for at least a decade, kill your mother and sister in retaliation, and do things to me so horrible as to be worthy of legend.” “My love does have a way of revenge,” Arturus smiled. “She’s bloody good at it,” Fenwick agreed, taking another sip of his drink. “However, may I suggest an alternative?”

The Emperor looked at his confidant and nodded after taking a sip off his glass. “Kill the harridan with kindness, make her stay so pleasant for her that she either thinks you’re plotting something, makes a move against you and then… well, she’s caught and tossed into that cursed engine outside. Or she gets so vexed by the kindness that she never wishes to return.” Fenwick’s plan was laid out calmly and again the Emperor just nodded. “The Empress is behind me, isn’t she?” The Banshide turned to see to his surprise Talia was not at his rear but rather Princess Millicent.

“You’re not killing my Grandmother,” the Princess declared, sitting down next to the Banshide. “Of course, we’re not, it was just a jest,” The Emperor assured his old friend. “Of course not, princess,” Fenwick smiled. The dark-haired young woman rolled her eyes and then smiled in such a way that both men could do nothing but be in awe of her. “However, if it did come to that, I would bring her down here and arrange for her to fall into the soul engine… by accident,” she added, bringing laughter to everyone.

“So why are you in my hidey-hole, daughter?” Arturus asked his eldest. “You’re always here when Grandmother is about and as I despise her like everyone else that’s not mother and Lucy does, I thought I shall hide here too. Sadly we can’t hide here forever, your mother is a force of nature but she can’t run the Empire alone,” The dark-haired royal looked at his daughter, “True, and speaking of that, I have planned an itinerary for our tour,” Millicent pulled out a tiny scroll from her pocket and willed it to grow into full size before handing it to Fenwick. “My eldest, ever the diplomat and mistress of planning.”

The Emperor smiled at his daughter. He was not a religious man though he paid his tithe and time to the “Dark Lady”, as did most Highbloods. He often found gods to be more trouble than they are worth, but if he could say to have a blessing, more than his prowess, powers or even the wife he adored, it was his daughters, each one boundless in talent in their own way. “You need to show your mother this,” Arturus advised Millicent, “I’m more the fist of the empire, she’s the organizational end,” he laughed, as did Fenwick. “True, I think I tied your boots for most of the first century of your life,” said the Banshide. “…and you were quite good at it,” The Emperor looked at his friend sternly, “And if you ever mention that to anyone else I’ll…” “Have me eviscerated?” Fenwick guessed. “Oh no, far worse,” The dark-haired man’s face took on a sinister look, “I’ll have Lucinda’s ban against you removed.” “You wouldn’t?” Fenwick stood with a surprised and frightened look on his face. “No, but let it be known the possibility is there, old friend.” With those words, the emperor smiled again and took a sip of his drink, then started laughing as did his friend and daughter.

After the laughter started, Fenwick stood. “And on that note, I must take my leave and leave Princess Millicent with grim news,” The elf looked at the dark-haired young woman, “Your Grandmother wishes to see you.” Before his lady liege could protest, the Banshide took a step back into a nearby shadow and vanished. “Bloody Hells,” Millicent cursed. “Language, young lady,” spoke her father in a chastising tone before smiling, “I love you with all my heart, but better you than me.”

*****

Tsaria sat in her garden, adorned in a green long-sleeve dress, a silver circlet, black boots, and gloves. Two large ebon-berry trees, with their black bark and fruit, formed an arch over the bench where she sat. These trees were from Farsia, an Empire world almost constantly in a state of uprising. The other bushes, plants, and trees were just as exotic, most from off-world. The pond before her was nearly clean, full of lily pads where its frog population gathered or swam underneath.

“Grandmama,” Lucinda ran through the stone arch from the palace into the garden towards Tsaria, who smiled upon seeing her granddaughter.

“My Black Rose,” she said, standing up.

Lucinda stooped before her grandmother, gave a formal curtsey, and then hugged her. “I missed you, Grandmother,” the young princess said with a smile as she pulled away.

“I missed you too,” said the older woman. “Look at you, thin as a rail. Are they feeding you enough?”

“Of course, they are. Mother says I just have a high metabolism,” Lucinda took her grandmother’s hand.

“Hmmph, personally, I think it’s all the fancy food you eat here. What you need is some goblin head stew or stuffed boar’s liver,” Tsaria looked about at one of her ebon-berry trees, found a ripe berry about the size of a plum, and levitated it to her hand. “Try this,” she said, handing the fruit to Lucinda.

“I didn’t know these were edible,” the princess looked at the strange black fruit.

“Everything but the pit is, and the pit, if you grind it,” the woman looked at her granddaughter knowingly as she spoke, “can be ground into a paste and used to stop bleeding, even from night metal weapons.”

“Well said, my little prodigy.” The Countess smiled, then sat before speaking again. “So, what number nanny are you on?”

Lucinda took a big bite of the soft fruit. Its black juice exploded on her and steamed off the magical ward on her, designed to keep her clean at all times. It was sweet but stung on the tongue and had a slightly sour aftertaste. “I try not to keep count,” the girl sat next to her grandmother.

“Good idea, your mind is for more important things,” the red-haired witch said. “So, are you ready for your gift?”

Lucinda’s eyes widened. “Yes, Grandmamma,” she said.

Tsaria stood again and clapped. Vyrm entered the garden, holding a cloth-covered box. “Greetings, your grace,” said the creature.

“Hello, Wurm,” like most people, Lucinda didn’t like Vyrm.

The creature glared at the girl for a second. “Vyrm,” he hissed.

Tsaria looked at Lucinda, then her servant. “She may call you what she wants,” said the woman.

The creature in the black cloak nodded. “Of course, I meant no disrespect, your Grace.”

Lucinda ignored the creature and looked at the covered box from which she could hear cooing noises. “What is it?” The princess looked at her grandmother.

“Something almost as rare as you, my dear,” Tsaria spoke and removed the cloth, revealing a cage. Inside was a blue ball with gold stripes. “A ball?” Lucinda asked.

Tsaria looked into the cage, poked the creature with a finger. “Wake up, you simpering thing,” she said.

The ball moved. From around its form, it unfurled two sets of wings and opened its three large, soulful gold eyes. “A Cherub?” Lucinda asked.

“Yes, I dare say one of the only ones in this world outside of Krusade,” Tsaria spoke at the creature as she opened the cage. “I brought him from a tobacco merchant. Vim here has been training it for you.”

The creature floated up, using its wings to do more turning and balancing than actual flight. Out of the cage, it looked larger but still very ball-like with no nose and a wide mouth. Attached to it in the form of a piercing on its bottom was a thin chain of black metal that Tsaria handed to her granddaughter. “Hold tight to it when it’s outside. Don’t want it flying away,” she said.

Lucinda nodded and looked at the creature. Its eyes blinked one after another. “What shall I call you?” she said in thought. “As Cherubs are neither boys nor girls, I need something neutral.”

“I just called it Crybaby,” said Vyrm, smiling. “Because it cried a lot.”

“That’s not a proper name,” Lucinda retorted.

“Nor is capturing a creature of Light a proper thing to do,” Millicent said with authority as she entered the garden.

“Your grace,” Vyrm greeted.

“Granddaughter, still not married or giving me a great-grandchild, I see,” Tsaria looked at the elder princess. Tall, beautiful, skin as pale as snow, hair the color of a raven’s wing, and eyes like polished amethyst as she walked up and hugged her. “Bah, it’s just a creature,” the woman said.

“It’s sacred to the followers of the light,” Millicent countered.

“Bunch of sun worshipers,” scoffed Hexxinsa. “They will get theirs when the dark sister awakes.”

Millicent knew her grandmother wouldn’t listen and resolved just to be polite and try to leave as soon as possible. “So, are you engaged yet?” asked the Countess.

“No,” Millicent looked at the Cherub and the piercing it was chained to. The skin had turned gray around it, a sign of night-metal poisoning. “What about Hotspur?” Lucinda looked at her sister and smiled mischievously.

“Who’s Hotspur?” Tsaria asked. “Is he a great lord? Son of a great Lord?”

“He’s nobody,” the taller princess blushed as she spoke.

“He’s a Drake Rider commander. I think his family is from Brill,” Lucinda chimed in.

“He’s from Thessala,” Millicent spoke up quickly, with offense but regretted it instantly.

“Ah, a little country lord then,” said Tsaria. “Vyrm, have him killed.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the snake creature grinned.

Millicent’s eyes grew wide with fear. “No… If you so much as look at him, creature, I’ll boil you from the inside out,” she threatened.

Lucinda looked at her sister. She had never seen her normally good-spirited sibling speak with such venom. “It was a joke, dear,” Tsaria looked at her eldest granddaughter. “I’m not having any beau of my granddaughter killed till I’ve had the chance to meet them.”

*****

Old Bony was well known to everyone in the Dark Spire, a war hero and former shipmate of Arturus from the time he spent as a buccaneer for his father. Carrying his great bone war club and a simple large leather shoulder bag of his belongings, he made his way to the top palaces of the Dark Spire to Santos's kitchen.

"Where are you, you old butter bandit?" he roared upon entering the kitchen.

Santos looked at the massive man who was commanding his kitchen to prepare for the meal marking the princess's departure from the spire for the tour, as well as helping with the menu for the tour that would take the princesses across the empire's twelve worlds before returning to the home world for a grand tour of its most noted lands.

"I'm working," said Santos to the much taller man, "making sure the princesses don't starve after they cross the reality wall."

Bony looked about the giant kitchen with stoves taller than him and dozens of manned ovens, bringing a smile to his scared face.

"I need mammoth steak, and some good potatoes, the big craggy ones," said Bony.

"I know what you like, I know what everyone likes to eat," said the head chef of the imperial seat, "it's a curse."

The Rolzon warrior sat on a stool and watched his friend bark orders till everyone present, save him and Santos, had something to do. The head chef then pulled up a stool next to his old friend.

"So you're not going on this little cruise," said Bony.

"No, I'm sending my best assistant though. She's good and knows that when it comes to the imperials, one grape out of place on a table could mean your head or worse," said the stout man in white, lighting two cigars and handing one to the Rolzon.

"I hope old Artie knows what he's doing sending his girls off like this," remarked Bony.

"That's why he's got you, a few thousand of his best black blade warriors, two entire drake wings, and a cadre of the empress's war witches along," replied Santos.

Bony took a drag of the cigar and nodded. He knew his old captain would send nothing short of the empire's best. He also knew that in the end, the princesses would be his responsibility.

"What ship are we taking?" asked the Rolzon.

Santos reached into a pocket on his chef tunic and pulled out a paper.

"The Black Fog, a war galley, one of the biggest in the fleet, fresh out of the yards," Santos said, reading from the paper, "It has a crew of a thousand, not counting the small army going along."

Bony stood and looked at his friend. "Where's Artie?"

"The emperor is avoiding his mother-in-law. My guess is he's either brooding at the soul engine or seeing his own mother," replied the chef, speaking with authority but not liking the fact that his old friend called the co-ruler of tens of billions "Artie."

"The Lady in Crimson?" said the old warrior, almost shuddering. The emperor's mother's name was one that brought chills to even the most battle-hardened.

"Be careful. People like the old empress know when her name is spoken in vain, and despite the wards around her gilded cage, she might manage to get a curse through," warned Santos.

The Rolzon nodded, stood, and exited the kitchen, knowing he'd have time to shoot the breeze with his old friend later. It would be days before the launch ball, and he knew his way to the kitchen.

*****

High above the Dark Spire, home to almost ten million people ranging from the imperial first family to bureaucrats to peasants, the sky itself shakes as a half-mile-wide sphere of collapsed reality sends a thunderous roar below. Many of the citizens look up, even though they recognize the noise as a harbinger of the arrival of an imperial war barge. The barge slowly exits the hole in reality, over a mile long and almost as wide as the place it exits. It looks to be made of onyx and basalt, designed to induce fear with its sharp edges and bony protrusions on its command deck, spires, and underbelly. On the bow sits a gigantic skull made of the same material, spewing black smoke from its mouth that quickly fades into the air.

"Dark Spire Below," says the lead navigator, a young high blood woman sitting in a dark chair floating around a glass sphere some ten feet wide and tall, showing the area around the war barge in every direction for well over a hundred miles. The Catian, a woman with blood-red hair and an eye patch, wearing the black and purple imperial navy officer uniform, nods.

"Listen up. This is our shakedown cruise, and they picked us to ferry the first and second princesses around the Worlds. It's not the kind of voyage we wanted, but by the night, we'll do it," she says as those standing in the massive control deck stand ramrod straight.

"Aye aye Captain Graystride,” said, everyone almost in unison. Even the undead cleaning crew mumbled as best they could through mouths sewn shut.

Carla Graystride looks through the large window on the front of the command deck, gesturing to switch the view from what's outside to their destination. A mooring port near the top of the Dark Spire.

"All decks prepare for mooring. We'll start taking on supplies, combat, and service 'Zoms' and troops as soon as we dock, so don't expect an easy time or much time off," Carla barks.

The captain of the ship had left the Dark Spire Naval Academy almost ten years ago. As an ensign, she gated to Dis where she worked in the Imperial navy docks in shadow, dealing with pirates and watching supply barges drop off and pick up supplies. After that, she was taken to New Albion where she trained as a bridge officer before spending six years scouting potential Imperial planets. There, she first tasted war over an Earth protected by beings in bright garish attire with various super abilities. The small scout ship she was on had less than 200 living and twice as many 'Zoms,' yet still managed to escape to report back to the Admiralty what they had experienced. The planet was marked B, which meant while it was not set for immediate conquering, it was to be scouted more subtly and prepped for conquest over the course of a few years to a decade.

Becoming a commander, Carla was assigned to the shipyards off-world to run shakedown cruises of new ships of all types and was surprised when she was promoted and given the Black Fog. Her family, though high blood, wasn't that rich or powerful, but her loyalty was without question, and her commendations many despite her short career.

*****

Pharm found himself in the middle of the ocean that connected to the Dark Spire harbor, exhausted, covered in dozens of charred marks and burns, and being nibbled on by multiple small fish. Reaching for his nonexistent staff, he realized what had happened and was briefly happy to be alive.

"Thank you, Night," he said, recalling his training in the Imperial magical military, and started to look around, dreading the water while searching for any sign of land.

"I can do this," he murmured to himself, closing his eyes and focusing. Being a wizard, his magic tended to work better when focused through something, but with no expensive mage staff or surviving magical items, he had to depend on natural talent. The water under him cooled, turning into a small sheet of ice that floated up. Standing carefully, he looked around only to spot the fin of a shark.

"Not good," he mumbled, gesturing at his still-booted feet and coating them in ice, merging them with the ice sheet.

Concentrating again, he shot a jet of wind from his hand, almost knocking himself down while moving backward.

"Now which way?" he thought, realizing that he was speaking aloud before. Spotting a bird above heading east, he used his wind spell to turn himself with his back to the east and fired another jet of air, clumsily starting to move in the desired direction.

This kind of magic for a wizard spent a lot of personal energy, and with no land in sight and a large shark fin still in the area, the young wizard knew his return home was not guaranteed.

"I should call the others," he thought for a second, only to hear their jeers and laughter in his mind. No, it was best to make his way home on his own or perish. If he made it back, he would be revered as the man who survived Princess Lucinda; if he didn’t, then most likely everyone thought he was dead anyway.

Conserving his energy, Pharm kept his blasts of wind until he made a complete stop or had to fight a current or lengthen the distance between himself and the shark fin. He also had to recast the ice spell a few times as the warm water made it melt during the day. With no food or drinkable water, he knew he didn’t have a lot of time, and when not looking out for the creature chasing him or casting spells, he rested, leaning on an icy brace he created to make controlling his air blasts easier. Thankfully, his spells made him immune to their cold. It was a little extra energy applied to the magic but well worth it, lest he freeze himself or give himself frostbite.

As dusk came, Pharm could now see the stars and knew he was heading in the right direction. He could also, through his astronomy training, figure out almost exactly where the Dark Spire was, how far away he was, and what was the most likely path of ships heading to and from his destination.

"When they see me, they'll fall to my feet, Pharm the Great!" said the young wizard, doing his best to ignore his grumbling stomach.

As night fell, Pharm found himself exhausted and leaned on the ice brace that came just above his waist. To his surprise, he found it comfortable. So much, in fact, that he fell asleep. As the young man dreamed of gloating before his allies and eating his favorite meat pie, he looked down to see his left leg caught in a great metal trap. Struggling to pull it free, he felt the trap tighten and start to tug.

Waking up, Pharm saw his dream was part of a real-life nightmare. What he thought was a shark was now partially on his icy raft. Its large shark-like head had hold of his left leg halfway to his knee, its large shark-skinned claws digging in to pull the rest of the grizzly bear-sized creature up on the raft or pull Pharm into its maw.

"Ursark," Pharm called out, recognizing the Shark-Bear Chimera.

The creature growled and tugged on its prize. Pharm knew he had to escape, and he also knew the part of his leg the creature held would be the cost of his escape.

Screaming in pain, he drew on his fear and unleashed a jet of fire at the creature's mouth where it held his leg. The impact pushed Pharm almost off the other side of the raft, but it also sent the creature back into the water.

Struggling, the young wizard crawled back onto his raft. Tears in his eyes, he could feel the burns on his leg and the pain of what he knew without looking was a mangled mess.

"For the Empire Eternal," he hissed with pride and hate. He shimmied back onto the now melting raft, looked at his left leg now a bleeding charred stump just below the knee, and fired another jet of fire, cauterizing it fully.

"Pharm the Great," he said to himself as the sun started to rise and he staggered back to his brace and stood. Again, with great strain, he repaired his ice raft and ice brace and fired another jet of wind before falling into unconsciousness.

"Are you all right, m'lord?" an old man with a straw hat, grey clothing, and a bushy beard looked down at Pharm. The young wizard lay on what felt like wood.

"You're not a herald of the dark, are you?" asked Pharm in a weak tone.

"No, m'lord, I'm Kitt Carbuncle, and you're on my boat, the Prizewinner."

Pharm looked about; the boat was no prize. It looked weather-worn, creaky, and smelled of fish.

"Where are we?" asked the wizard, sitting up and seeing his left leg wrapped in cloth.

"Just half a day from the Spire," said the old man, standing and offering the young lord a hand.

Pharm took the hand. He had rarely talked to lowbloods beyond the servants that manned his family's small estate. Still, this man saved him, and he could, at the very least, try to be polite.

"Thank you, Kitt," he said, standing and leaning on the man.

"Is he still living?" said an old woman, coming out from the covered small wheel deck near the rear of the twenty-foot boat.

"He is, m'lady. Your salve worked well. Is his meal ready?" Kitt replied.

The woman nodded and returned to the covered wheel deck and down a staircase to the lower deck to retrieve a small metal plate and a metal cup.

The fisherman took the young lord to sit on a crate surrounded by other crates with mussels, clams, small fish, and a few prawns.

"Fishing not going well," he said, trying to make small talk and ignore the fact he was missing part of a leg.

"Had to bring you in. My wife's fish oil salve might keep the wound from festering, but you need a proper healer," said the old man.

Pharm nodded as the woman handed him a small plate with a few grilled fish and prawns, a slice of brown bread, and three small boiled onions.

Pharm looked at his meal; it was nothing he would have dared to eat before. The fish looked undercooked and had no spice on it that he could see, but still, he ate it with gusto and downed the watered-down ale quickly.

"Be careful, m'lord, lest you toss up what you are trying to eat," said the woman with concern.

Normally, Pharm would chastise a lowblood for speaking to him in such a way, but he knew the woman was right and was thankful for her horrible food.

"Of course," he said, slowing down his eating pace before saying, "What's your name, good woman?" he asked.

Blushing that a highblood lord would speak to her with such kindness, the old woman did her best curtsy and said, "Thilla, Kitt is my husband."

Pharm nodded, even though he already figured out their relation.

"Well, Thilla, thank you for the meal," he returned.

The worn old fishing boat made its way back into the harbor, but instead of making its way to the usual lowblood docks where most of the fishermen gathered to dock and, if their luck was good, unload their stock, they headed towards where the naval ships were moored, raising a red flag to signal an emergency. Kitt watched a man in naval colors riding a sea serpent as long as the old man’s boat head their way. The young man was holding a long spear.

"What's this?" barked the harbor patrol soldier.

Frightened, Kitt took a deep breath before speaking, "Excuse me, m'lord. We found a castaway in the water just east of the third buoy."

The soldier, still mounted on his long-necked steed, snorted, "Take your lowblood castaway to your docks," he said with contempt.

"I'm not lowblood, soldier," said Pharm, leaning on Thilla as he made his way towards Kitt.

The soldier recognized the charred remains of a Wizard of the Empire and saluted.

"Sorry, m'lord," he said. "I just thought…"

"You thought wrong," growled Pharm. "Call a medical alarm, tow us to the Naval Docks, and get me a healer."

Kitt tried not to smile; he had never dreamed a lord, let alone a wizard lord, would defend him.

"Come, Kitt and Miss Thilla, I need to sit," the young wizard added quickly, his strength leaving him.

Pharm could not resist the darkness after sitting and woke up in an Imperial Healer's Office on a soft bed. Turning, he saw a dark-skinned woman in the white robes of a priestess of Alomeg looking through a cabinet of potions and poultices.

"How long this time?" he asked, feeling much better and more energetic.

"Just shy of a day," said the healer. "I kept you under so I could regrow that leg without any discomfort to you, Lord Pharm."

The young wizard sat up in a white long tunic that reached his knees, looked at his legs, and saw his left one was not as well-muscled, had no hair, and was far paler than the other. Wiggling his toes, he smiled.

"Thank you, healer," he said.

"I wouldn’t lord Pharm. It’s not as strong as the old one yet. I’ll give you a cane. It'll be a few weeks of getting it back into shape before you're ready to run," said the woman.

The young man nodded as the door opened. Aja, Xano, and Quinced walked in with smiles.

"You bastard, you're alive," said Xano.

"Look at him, survived the Dark Child herself," said Aja.

"Sure it’s him and not a homunculus," asked Quince.

"It's him," said Xano, "I would know."

The three mages nodded; of all of them, the necromancer would be able to tell the original from a part-undead magic clone.

"I live," said Pharm.

"Heard you needed one of these," said Aja, handing him a staff that, while not as fancy as the one he had or as well-enchanted, was the one assigned to most young wizards who had yet to purchase their own.

Pharm took the staff and stood, leaning on it.

"Saved at sea by peasants, I hear," said Quince.

"Yes, good low-folk," said the young man before looking at the healer, "Where are they?" he asked.

The healer smiled, "The navy folk wanted to toss them back into the harbor when they brought you in. I made sure they didn’t, took their names in case you wanted to reward them, and had my assistant escort them back to the Navy docks to make sure they made their way back to their proper berth with no problem."

Pharm breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," he said to the healer, smiling and for the first time noticing her beauty.

"What's this, Pharm being polite? Did you hit your head?" asked Aja.

"He's not possessed," said Xano.

"Could be sea madness," Quince.

"Could be I’m just happy to be alive and to see you louts," said Pharm.

The young wizard's friends looked at him, and each in their own way greeted him with hands to shake or pats on the back. Afterwards, they escorted their friend back to his chambers in the Darkspire proper so he could get a well-deserved rest.

The next day, back in his proper attire of his station, Pharm floated down to the lowblood dockside area housing thousands of slate-rugged buildings, most homes, but more than a few businesses, laid out in a perfect grid of streets. It had taken him a few hours at a magistrate's office to find where the Carbuncles lived. Even with magic, finding a lowblood home among hundreds of thousands in the Darkspire lower quarters wasn’t easy. Landing, he moved along the ill-kept cobblestone road to the house and knocked.

A girl, no older than five, answered, her blond hair in pigtails, her two front teeth missing.

"Yes," she said, surprised to see a well-dressed wizard standing there.

Quickly, she curtsied and said, "I saw nothing, simple folk we are," almost as a reflex.

"You’re far from simple. I'm here for Kitt and Thilla," he said.

The girl looked at the man; she wanted to question him but knew that to do so could mean her death or worse.

"Grandma, grandpa, I think you're in trouble," she said in a tone that made the wizard giggle.

Kitt came to the door, hat in hand, only to smile when he saw Pharm looking fit and clean. "M'lord, I didn't expect you to come. Our home is not fit for high folk," he said.

The wizard reached out a hand, and after some trepidation, the old man shook it.

"Nonsense," he said, "anyway, I didn’t come to visit. It seems I’ve been assigned to an off-world mission, but before I go, I wanted to thank you."

Pharm reached to his belt, pulled out a velvet bag full of coins. "It’s less than you deserve, but I had to pay back some gambling debts," he said.

The old man looked at the bag; inside was a few dozen gold and silver coins.

"M'lord, this is more than we need," he said.

"No, my good man, you deserve what I’ve given and more. You and your wife showed nothing but kindness to me," he said before looking at the girl. "And she deserves a new doll and dress, I wager," he added.

"Oh, thank you, m'lord," said the girl, hugging the wizard and almost knocking him down due to his still-weak leg.

"Flick, we don't do that to our betters," said Thilla, walking up. "Forgive her, m'lord."

Pharm regained his footing and ruffled the girl's hair. "First, you can call me Pharm, at least when no other highbloods are around. Second, the girl is under my protection from now until her last day for what you’ve done. If she needs anything, you send a message to me."

The lowbloods' eyes widened; Kitt looked at the bag of coins again. There was more money there than he would make in a decade of good fish days. He could fix his boat and buy a few new ones. Flick’s father, his son wouldn’t have to work for the big merchants anymore on the high sea. He could buy a larger house in a better part of the lowblood quarter and get his own dock area, and Thilla a better place to sell their catch in the market.

"Thank you, m'lord… I mean Pharm," he said.

"Can I call you Pharm too?" asked the girl.

The wizard looked at the girl and patted her head, "No, you call me Uncle Pharm," he said.

"Well then Pharm, come in, I've just made eel stew," said Thilla.

The highblooded man could only imagine how horrible that stew was, but still, he nodded, took the old woman's hand, and entered the house.

*****

Princess Millicent sat in her office adjacent to her chamber, looking over maps and charts. The thought plotted by her family was hers to lead. It was not only a chance to see the wilds of the empire but to show the world that the Empire is more than just war, death, and subjugation. While she loved her parents, she did not love the way they ruled, and she knew that one day, centuries or millennia later, she would rule. It was up to her to show the people what rule could be like.

Looking at each of the Empire’s worlds and other holdings across various realms and realities, she started to lay out exactly what she wanted to accomplish.

“We do like Earths, don’t we?” she said aloud to Hotspur, who was going over the files of the assigned drake riders and Black Fog Crew.

“Well, Earths tend to be ripe with life and resources and have the proper magical alignments that we can reach via Gate with ease,” said the young lieutenant from where he sat.

Millicent nodded. “One of my teachers said we might be an Earth, or the Earth might be a Homeworld,” she said, looking over the Maps of Aerix, Albion, and Farsia, all variants of the Third Planet from a single Yellow sun in an Eight Planet solar system with many more dwarf planets and moons.

“That’s above my paygrade and my education,” said Hotspur. “Now take a break; you need to be ready for the Tour Of Worlds Launch Celebration.”

“Not until I figure out where we’re going exactly,” said The Princess.

“I’m sure the Empress and most likely through Fewick has figured that out,” said the Highblood Officer.

The Princess looked at her love and rolled her eyes. “Yes, that I’m sure of, but this is my tour, and I might have my own ideas how to do it,” she said.

“And since you’ll be on the ship and the High First Princess, you can make changes once we leave Homeworld?” Hotspur asked.

“Exactly. Spread some good cheer to worlds we visited and had bad encounters before and let them know we can be allies. Let our current worlds know we can be more than just overseers and rulers.”

Hotspur listened to the tall, dark-haired Princess. He placed his papers down, walked over, and hugged her from behind. “Your kindness, while often misplaced in the empire, is something I adore about you,” he said softly.

The First Princess smiled and felt herself relax. “Thank you,” she said.

Hotspur started to kiss the back of the young woman’s neck when there was a knock at the office door. Instinctively, Hotspur pulled away, knowing that officially, their relationship did not exist.

“Enter,” Millicent said.

The door opened, and one of her Palace's many maids entered. “Your Grace,” said the pointed-eared woman, “a creature wishes to see you.”

Millicent sighed. “A Snake Beast blood?” she asked.

“I guess that could be what it is,” said the servant.

“Tell it I’m busy,” said the Princess.

“I tried that. It threatened to start killing us till you arrived,” said the servant in a nervous tone.

“I’ll deal with it,” Hotspur said, walking to where he was and picking up his cutlass in scabbard.

Millicent sighed with exasperation. “It’s Grandmother’s Snake-man pet/assassin. Him being here means she wants something,” said Millicent in a frustrated tone.

“And that’s a good or bad thing?” asked Hotspur.

“Bad. She most likely wants to catch you here so she could interrogate you and, if you're lucky, destroy you for daring to think you could be my… whatever we are,” the young man said, tying his scabbard to his belt.

“This is why hiding our relationship is not a good thing,” he said.

“If it’s hidden, it's officially no one’s business but ours. The moment we announce it is the moment all the scheming, accusations, cursing, and killing starts,” said the Princess.

“I can deal with whatever happens,” said the young man confidently.

Millicent couldn’t help but smile at her beau’s words. She loved the fact he was bold, brave, and fearless, even if at times she found it silly and naive. She was easily the third most powerful magic user after her mother Lucinda in the Empire; she had more power in her pinky finger than any half dozen well-aged witches and wizards. That was her heritage and training. Yet the man who was a great fighter, excellent drake rider, and mediocre at best spell caster still thought she needed his protection.

“No, you can’t,” said the Princess. “How many times has Lucinda nearly destroyed you? My sister, despite her imperious nature, actually doesn’t dislike you or have a reason to do away with you. She harasses you because it amuses her. My mother and grandmother, on the other hand, do have reasons, as do a few hundred other Lords and Ladies who wish to marry their children to me for the honor of one day sitting next to me on the imperial throne,” said Millicent in a concerned tone.

“Lucinda likes me?” said Hotspur in a clueless tone.

“Yes, in her own way,” the First Princess said.

Both young people started to laugh, briefly forgetting the problem their relationship could cause in an Empire where backstabbing, magical curses, and assassinations were common hobbies and parlor games. But that ended when a crash came from down the hall. In an instant, Millicent was there at the source of the ruckus, like most witches; her home was her place of power, and she could move about it unfettered instantly if need be.

In a puff of green smoke, the Princess arrived at the Palace Front hall in time to see Vyrm chasing a servant, his twin swords drawn.

“I told you, do what I sssssssay or die,” said the reptile man.

Millicent's eyes narrowed. “Stop this instant,” she commanded.

The reptile man smiled and licked his eye with a whip-like tongue. “I fear your Grandmother more than you, Princessssssssssssssss,” he said before leaping through the air at the servant he was chasing.

“Change!” commanded Millicent, instantly turning Vyrm into an ornate goblet with a metallic lizard-like exterior and a curved lizard-like stem.

The goblet clanked on the ground, rolling to Millicent's feet. “Horrid creature,” said the Princess, picking up the goblet.

“Did you just…?” Hotspur said, running up sword drawn. “Lucinda him?”

“Yes,” said Millicent.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” said Hotspur, sheathing his weapon.

Millicent raised an eyebrow. “Who do you think inspired Lucinda? I wasn’t all, as you put it, kind,” said the First Princess with a wicked smirk.

The drake rider commander nodded as he watched his lady love help her servant to their feet. “Are you well?” she asked.

“Yes, Your High-Grace. Just rattled,” said the servant in green and black.

Millicent smiled. “Take the rest of the day off, more if you need it,” she said in a kind tone that brought a smile not only to the frightened low-blood but to all the other gathering servants, each one who adored their mistress for her calm ways and kind heart.

*****

There were many grand halls in the Darkspire, ranging from smaller ones that could host hundreds to larger ones that could host thousands. The Vesper Hall, part of the Imperial palace, sat on a terrace with half of it open to the balcony and covered by a dome of hexagonal glass. With high ceilings, floating silver chandeliers, a black marble floor, and swirling purple marble walls of various tones, it was designed to host a few thousand guests. However, on this occasion, it was filled with colorfully dressed people in bright colors, including Highbloods, Ironkin, Shide, Banshides, Rolzion, and more. These individuals served as ambassadors for Imperial ally worlds, some of whom appeared so inhuman that low-bloods would either not remember them or be haunted by their memory.

A large orchestra played softly on a stage balcony across from the one dedicated to the Imperial family. Empress Tsaria sat alone on the Imperial balcony, observing the guests below as she indulged in drinks, small finger foods, and conversation.

"Hello, Mother," said Talia, entering the room in a purple ball gown and her silver-horned crown.

"My darling girl, how are you?" said the older highblood woman, hugging the Empress.

The Empress kissed her mother on the cheek before pulling away.

"I'm sorry I haven't had time to spend with you, but being the High Enchantress for an Empire isn't easy, as you well know," Tsaria nodded and spoke. "I don't miss it."

"I enjoy it," said the younger witch. "And I'm good at it."

The former High Enchantress looked at her daughter with pride.

"Of that, I have no doubt. But dealing with the politics and the sycophants…" said the rotund woman.

Talia smiled, took a drink of champagne from a tray held by a well-dressed Zombie.

"That's just the cost of the job," said the Empress. "We are more than just rulers; we are symbols. Our lives stabilize their lives. When my daughters yawn, it's heard across several realities," she continued.

"You've done well there, daughter," said Tsaria, looking at her daughter. "Millicent is a beauty, and Little Lucinda is so smart and powerful; it's staggering."

Talia looked at her mother then at the people below. "True, but I worry about them. There are few weaknesses we have as an Empire, but my daughters, they are potentially our greatest if our many foes were to capture or hurt them," she said in a solemn tone.

"That would never happen. Your husband is good for few things, but one thing he is good at is protecting those he loves, and so are you."

Talia was about to comment when her Husband entered the Imperial area dressed in a black and purple frock coat over a black vest, shirt, pants, and boots, his sword at his side.

"My dark beauty of a wife and my dread mother-in-law," said the emperor before kissing the hand of both women. Behind him stood Fenwick dressed in dark robes.

"My Emperor, you look well," said Tsaria.

"Well, it's been a while since you tried to have me killed," said Arturus.

"The night is still young," said the older woman.

Talia laughed and looked at her husband and mother. "You two behave."

Fenwick looked at his friend and his wife and then to the other woman. "Indeed, lest someone think your mother's words are treason," he said.

The emperor laughed; his wife rolled her eyes, while her mother looked at the tall Shide.

"If Vyrm were here, I would have him remove your tongue, you sly creature," she said.

Before anyone could react to her words, Millicent entered the balcony area, placed a scaly goblet on the table so hard that if it were not made of metal, it would have shattered.

"I dealt with your creature, Grandmother," she said in an angry tone. "And the next time you need to send me a message, use a crystal or a mirror."

Talia looked at her daughter then her mother. She had not seen her eldest so angry in years, and though she was relieved to see she did have such fire in her, she didn't like seeing her child so perplexed.

Tsaria smiled. "I thought you were all goodness and light, but I see she's still in there, the Dark Princess I knew years ago," said the woman.

"So it was a test," questioned the Empress.

"Of a sort," said Talia's mother. "We all have weaknesses, and to defeat those weaknesses, we need to know them. Whatever she was protecting is the chink in my granddaughter's armor she needs to get rid of."

Millicent  hated the games her people played, she hated the subterfuge and the pain they caused.  And worst, she feel for it, her grandmother knew her weakness, she knew about Hotspur.

*****

Lucinda walked into the ballroom, not particularly fond of large gatherings despite enjoying the praise from her "lesser" subjects. As a princess of the empire, only her parents and sister were exempt from being considered beneath her. She also relished the fear she instilled in others. With a reputation for being capricious, especially when backed by her formidable powers, she understood the importance of behaving herself at official imperial functions for the sake of her parents.

"Princess Lucinda, how are you?" greeted a tall man with a green handlebar mustache. Lucinda acknowledged him with a nod before moving past, casually taking a drink from a zombie's tray as she surveyed the room. She made mental notes of the important figures present: imperial governors, allied ambassadors, and other dignitaries whom she needed to treat with politeness—individuals she couldn't simply turn into jelly-candies or mice for her amusement.

Then came the more intriguing guests—individuals with reputations, powerful warriors, witches, and wizards like Olma Shae, a tall, gaunt woman draped in furs, clutching a cat. Olma was known for turning her enemies into felines and keeping them as pets, measuring her success by how many would-be heroes she reduced to house cats.

"Princess," greeted Olma, looking down at Lucinda, "Do you like my new pet?" Lucinda examined the creature, sensing an aura of sadness and another being—a low blood or a shide. "Where did this fellow come from?" she inquired.

Olma's smile was sinister, "He and his comrades came to challenge me; now he's a cat with a belly full of his mouse friends." Lucinda chuckled at the story, finding Olma's mischief amusing, though she herself had performed more drastic acts. She regarded Olma as a sort of anti-hero and knew her laughter would please the witch.

Spotting a familiar face, Lucinda approached a young wizard, Pharm, who was conversing with his friends. "How?" she questioned him, surprising both Pharm and his companions.

"Princess, Your Dread Grace," replied Aja, bowing.

"Great One," added Quince, attempting to hide behind his friends.

Pharm met Lucinda's gaze, knowing this moment was inevitable, feeling a twinge of relief that it would soon be over, one way or another. "I found myself lost at sea, but a fisherman and his wife helped me find my way home, My Princess," he replied, masking his uncertainty with false confidence.

Lucinda's glare conveyed her disappointment; she had expected Pharm to meet a more dramatic fate. Yet, she couldn't deny her surprise and a hint of admiration that he had survived, ensuring she could vex him another day. "I see," she responded, "Do you believe survival equates to victory?"

The young wizard shook his head, "I consider myself fortunate, and if it pleases you, I willingly accept whatever punishment you deem fit," he offered in a placating tone.

"Here it comes," murmured Quince.

Lucinda fixed her gaze on Pharm, "Change," she commanded, transforming him into bubbles that floated upward and began to dissipate. "Do not presume to anticipate my actions or moods," she cautioned Pharm and his companions before striding away.

"Lucy, join us," whispered her mother inaudibly to others but heard clearly by Lucinda, who promptly teleported to the imperial balcony.

"Lucy, you know better than to teleport yourself in a crowded room," scolded her mother gently.

"Dear, the child did fine," interjected her grandmother.

"Apologies, Mother," conceded the youngest princess.

The Empress smiled at her daughter, "No harm done, but be more cautious," she advised. "Indeed," added the Emperor, "You'll be visiting strange worlds, and while we've sent an army to protect you, you can't be too careful."

The second princess nodded and approached her sister, who wore a somber expression. Spotting the goblet, Lucinda instantly recognized ...its significance and felt for the magic that had caused the transformation, expecting it to be her grandmother's doing. However, she was surprised to discover that it was her sister's handiwork.

Looking at Millicent, Lucinda raised her eyebrows knowingly, then glanced at the transformed Vyrm, and back to her sister. Millicent smirked and shrugged.

As the Imperials watched, the orchestra played and the people on the ballroom floor laughed, schemed, ate, drank, and danced, as was expected. After about an hour of such festivities, a gong was rung, and everyone fell silent, turning their attention to the imperial balcony and calling out "For the Empire Eternal" in unison.

The orchestra then began to play the Anthem of the Empire. As they did, the lights dimmed, and from the floor, a circular pedestal rose, upon which stood a lavender woman with six arms and four eyes. Taking a deep breath, she began to sing:

(Verse 1)
In shadows deep, our empire arose,
Founded by Tobius, in crimson's repose.
Lady in crimson, his queen, by his side,
Their vision of conquest, with darkness allied.

(Chorus)
Hail to the Empire, dark and supreme,
Ruler of twelve worlds, in shadows we gleam.
Under the night sky, our banners unfurl,
Invincible Empire, forever to rule.

(Verse 2)
Arturus and Talia, our sovereigns bold,
With iron fists, their power they hold.
Conquered eleven, to strengthen our might,
Twelve realms in our grasp, an eternal night.

(Chorus)
Hail to the Empire, dark and supreme,
Ruler of twelve worlds, in shadows we gleam.
Under the night sky, our banners unfurl,
Invincible Empire, forever to rule.

(Bridge)
Majestic and dark, our legions arise,
Under the moon's gaze, our enemies' demise.
First Princess Millicent, with darkness she's crowned,
Second Princess Lucinda, in shadows profound.

(Chorus)
Hail to the Empire, dark and supreme,
Ruler of twelve worlds, in shadows we gleam.
Under the night sky, our banners unfurl,
Invincible Empire, forever to rule.

(Outro)
In darkness we reign, our power extends,
Across twelve realities, our empire transcends.
Hail to the darkness, hail to the might,
For in shadows eternal, we rule the night.

As she and the crowd sang, a color guard marched through the room with the Banners of The Empire, then all its worlds, followed by the banners of allied worlds and realms. Once done, the color guard stood at attention. Then, from the ceiling, the Personal Banners of the Imperial Family were unfurled. The Emperor's banner featured a black-crowned skull with two crossed swords behind it on a purple background, while the Empress's depicted a black-crowned skull with bat wings on purple. The First Princess's banner displayed a black fox head on green, and the Second Princess's showcased a red spider on black.

When the anthem concluded, the highest-ranking military leader on the ballroom floor was supposed to toast the Imperial family. However, instead, Old Bony, holding a tankard of amber mead, rose to speak.

"To Their Dread Graces, Arturus and Talia Nightbane, and their dutiful daughters, Wise Princess Millicent and Clever Princess Lucinda!" he exclaimed, adding a "Hip, Hip, Hooray!" at the end. All present followed suit, recognizing the Rolzon war hero's sentiment.

*****

Hotspur observed the Drake riders circling in formation above the Drake rider training grounds. He knew that this assessment was more than just a military exercise. The Emperor and Empress were watching, and if he could prove himself here, maybe he could be at Princess Millicent’s side in the future.

"Commander, Sir," Darvin approached him.

"What is it, Cadet?" Hotspur inquired, acknowledging the young man who served as his aid.

"The Drake Pens on The Black Fog are ready," Darvin reported.

Hotspur looked at the young man and asked, without turning to face him, "Do you know why I chose you as my aid?"

"No, Sir," Darvin replied sheepishly.

Hotspur smiled and turned to look at the boy. "You're brave, not very smart, by the way you dealt with the Imperial family, but brave," he said.

The boy blushed at the compliment.

"With some training, you'll do well," continued the young commander. "And there is no better training than a tour like this. If things go as planned, you'll have time to learn. If not, you'll be forced to learn."

Darvin tried not to smile; going on a tour of the worlds and being mentored by a skilled commander was a dream come true.

"Also, you amuse Princess Lucinda," added the commander. "That's not exactly something that will lead to a long life on two legs, but who knows."

The boy's face turned crestfallen. He knew his mentor was right; the Princess knowing he existed wasn’t a good thing. The fact that he hadn't been turned into a block of cheese or a goldfish meant the Princess was biding her time for his eventual doom or worse.

"Now, Cadet, take your Drake, join the formation, and try to keep up," Hotspur instructed, his eyes back on the half of his "Drake Wing" that was above.

Without a word, the young Drake rider turned and walked to his waiting steed, climbed onto the saddle, and took to the air, hoping to enjoy his current form while he could.

*****

The Emperor and Empress watched from the large docking area where the Black Fog was moored. Surrounded by their personal guard, dignitaries, and nobles who were invited, they observed their daughters, Old Bony, and the Empress's mother walk along a dark purple carpet. Behind them were the Captain of the Black Fog, her command crew, the military leaders going on the "worlds Tour," including Hotspur, a cadre of Imperial wizards and witches, Pharm, and his remaining friends among them, and a dozen or so passengers using the Black Fog to return home. These dignitaries from other Empire Worlds and allies were at the end of the line but still walked proudly, for traveling with an Imperial entourage was considered an honor.

"Do you think they’ll be safe?" asked Talia in a concerned tone, squeezing her husband's hand.

"Of course, your mother is an accomplished witch, Boney is hard to kill, and Hotspur would rather die than disappoint us," said Arturus. "Plus, we’ve sent a Drake Air Wing, a Circle of War Witches, several dozen miscellaneous mages, two thousand Elite Blackguard, a hundred of those sea serpent riders, and ten thousand Zombie Infantry."

Talia nodded, still concerned, and leaned into her husband. "The good kind of Infantry, correct, not just the swarming cannon fodder?"

"Only the best for our girls—Ghouls, Bone Wrights, Drowned, and Burned," returned the Emperor in an upbeat tone. He had his personal necromancers pick the Zombies, making sure they were in good repair.

"And our babies are no slouches at magic," added Talia.

"True, Lucinda is, of course, well known for her power, but Millicent is not only accomplished but pragmatic in her witchery," Arturus looked at his daughters, Millicent in green, Lucinda in red, and suddenly missed them far more than he expected. They had been on Homeworld all their lives, with most of that time in the Darkspire. He would see them almost every day. The Dread Emperor, a peerless warrior and necromancer, did his best to hold back tears.

"Do you think it’ll look bad if I cried?" he asked his wife. "To the people."

"If anyone looks the least bit amused or scandalized, I’ll turn their blood into stinging arrow ants," said the Emperor's wife in a calm, protective tone as she too did her best not to cry.

The crowd and the proud imperial parents watched the Princesses walk to a black coach with cadaverous drivers and footmen. Four gaunt black horses with manes and tails sat ready to pull the conveyance.

"Do we need all this pomp and circumstance?" asked Millicent to Lucinda, knowing they would not be heard over the sound of the orchestra (which would be traveling along with them) and the cheers of those present.

"Mother says our people need to see us," said the younger princess, waving as she had been taught—a vertical hand with a slight twist from the wrist.

The elder princess nodded and, like her sister, waved and smiled until they arrived at the carriage.

Slowly turning, the Princesses faced their adoring crowd as the music halted, and all eyes fell on Millicent.

"People of Homeworld, our other worlds, and allies, today I and my sister head across the reality wall to tour the Empire and to show our people not only the majesty of our unified ideas and cultures but also to show that the Empire cares about its people and its place in the multiverse," she said in a voice both sincere and powerful.

"For the Empire Eternal!" called out Lucinda.

"For the Empire Eternal," responded her sister and all present.

Turning to face the carriage, the Princesses, their grandmother, and Old Bony boarded with the help of the undead footmen. Once inside, they waited.

"Care? Unification?" said Tsaria. "What a load of childish sentiment. The Empire is about bringing civilization to the ignorant and order to the chaos."

Millicent looked at her grandmother. "I meant what I said," she said.

"Hurmph," growled the old lady. "Any chance you’ll undo your spell on Vyrm?"

"I will once we’re onboard," the First Princess responded. "Which begs the question, why didn’t you undo it, Grandmother?"

The older woman looked at her granddaughter and smiled. "I wanted to see how long you would hold a grudge," she said.

Millicent sat silently on the purple leather seats of the carriage as it started to move up a small runway of wood before taking into the air. The Nightmares (horses) pulled the carriage as the driver cracked the whip, heading upward before turning towards the Black Fog war barge.

As the cheers faded hundreds of feet below, the Princesses' carriage made its way to an open port near the Command bay of the Black Fog. There it waited, hovering in the air for permission to enter, signaled by young boys no older than Lucinda, each holding two flags. Once granted, the carriage entered the large open port, where two men awaited to take the reins of the lead nightmares and the Ship's Second in command, a tall tan-skinned man, stood along with a dozen officers.

"Imperial Carriage received," said the Commander, signaling two Ensigns and Ship mates to move the stairs into place and a small band to play the Imperial Anthem.

"Now, this is a ship!" exclaimed Old Boney as he exited first. "You could dock the Emperor's old one in this Port."

"We'll see. Despite the size, our amenities will likely be lacking," remarked Tsaria, exiting next. The former High Enchantress surveyed the large port and its greeters, mostly Lowbloods, with a few worker Zombies and Shide.

"Welcome to the Black Fog, Contessa Shadowspell and Warmaster Breakbones," greeted the Commander. Boney nodded in acknowledgment.

Not long after, the Princesses exited, eliciting bows and curtsies from the crew as they walked off to join Bony and their Grandmother in front of the Commander.

"I'm Commander Ibanez, and on behalf of the Black Fog, her captain, and crew, I would like to welcome you to our ship. She is yours, and we are yours, my dread princesses," he said in an unfamiliar accent.

"Thank you, Commander," said Millicent with a smile.

"This is amazing," exclaimed Lucinda, looking around. "I've seen War Barges before, but never this big."

"She's new to the fleet, Young-Grace, a Dominator class. Only three in active use with five under construction on Talik, our first stop on the tour."

"Young Grace," repeated Lucinda. "I'll allow that for now."

"Yes, you will, Sister," retorted Millicent. "While we represent the Empire here, we are guests, and the laws of hospitality apply."

Lucinda nodded grudgingly. The Empire had lots of rules, including the laws of hospitality. Among them were rules and guidelines on how a guest should be treated by a host and vice versa.

Rules of Hospitality in the Empire:

Treatment of Guests by Hosts:

Warmly welcome guests, regardless of social status.
Provide comfortable accommodations, food, and entertainment.
Attend to guests' needs promptly and respectfully.
Higher-ranking guests receive superior treatment.
Conduct of Guests towards Hosts:

Express gratitude and appreciation.
Respect host's rules and customs.
Bring gifts as a gesture of appreciation.
Behave with decorum and respect.
Hierarchy and Social Etiquette:

Observe hierarchy: High Bloods > Free Bloods > Low Bloods > Animates.
Defer to higher-ranking individuals.
Resolve disputes respectfully.
Magical Laws and Protocol:

Respect magical laws.
Do not cast spells on others' aids/servants without authority.
Imperial and Noble guests have room and board rights.
Present gifts within five days.
Dueling is regulated: No challenges to higher-ranking individuals.
These rules ensure civility and respect during interactions between hosts and guests in the Empire. Princesses Millicent and Lucinda knew these rules since childhood, though Lucinda had a tendency to ignore them when annoyed.

"When will we meet the Captain?" inquired Tsaria.

"Tonight at the Welcome Dinner. You, along with the Warmaster and Princesses, will be seated at her table," replied the Commander. "Until then, feel free to walk among the ship. Flying and teleportation are prohibited, as they can cause issues on a ship with so many people."

The Contessa was about to comment when Millicent spoke up, "Of course."

"Also, Your Graces, the Ship has Anti-Teleportation wards in many areas to prevent magical infiltration," added a young female officer holding a wand.

"What are you?" asked Lucinda, intrigued by the unusual appearance of the officer.

"Quaronian, Your Grace," replied the officer.

Lucinda observed the officer's powerful but organized magical aura, respectful for a Non-Highblood. "I've never met one of you," she remarked.

"Don't be rude, Lucinda," intervened Millicent.

Lucinda looked at her sister with admonished eyes. "I wasn't being rude; I'm just curious," she explained.

"The Black Fog has a large crew with people from over two dozen worlds," said the Commander.

"Now that's something," responded Boney.

"Chaos," hissed Tsaria under her breath.

*****

Lucinda moved through the wide halls of the Black Fog, followed by a young Midshipman, a humanoid rabbit with blond fur. Ensign Understone, though typically viewed as barbaric due to her species' origins, proved herself prim and proper, keeping her distance and speaking only when spoken to.

"I wonder if my parents would give me one of these if I asked for it," mused the second Princess, running her fingers along the carved bone railing on the wall. When no response came, she rolled her eyes and continued, "It's okay to talk. Despite what you've heard, I'm not going to turn you into a frog for being social."

"As your assigned Ensign, I was told not to voice opinions and to just do as I'm told," replied Understone.

The Princess smiled, "Then I'm telling you that you can voice your opinions."

After a moment's hesitation, the rabbit girl spoke up, "May I speak freely?"

"If you must," replied Lucinda.

Ensign Understone stood straight and chose her words carefully, "The Dominator class War Barge is the most expensive ship in the Imperial fleet. I doubt your parents are even considering it, given how close you are with your considerable wealth."

The Princess didn't expect such candor from someone beneath her station. Normally, she would have vaporized the speaker or done something "amusing," but Understone was following orders and meant no offense by her tone. So, Lucinda let it pass.

Continuing down the hall, they reached a door at the end. "Rear VIP Quarters," announced the Ensign.

"Why are my quarters and my sister's quarters not only on different floors but in different parts of the ship?" questioned Lucinda. "And yes, you can speak freely," she added.

"In case of an unfortunate event, the Captain doesn’t want to lose two Princesses," explained Understone.

Seeing the practicality in the situation, Lucinda gestured for the door to open. "That makes sense," she conceded, entering the large suite. Though smaller than her bedroom in the Darkspire Palace, it was efficiently laid out: a sitting and dining area, bedroom, loo (which Highbloods had no use for), and a writing/office area near the rear, with a large window spanning wall to wall.

"It's small," remarked the Princess. "My bedroom is almost three times its size."

Understone walked inside and stood next to a heavy black wooden table. "It's larger than any officers' and could fit four Ensigns' dorm rooms in the space," she pointed out.

The Princess looked around, discovering a closet, a magical cooling chest, a communication mirror, and other basic amenities. She knew she could cast a spell to warp time and space in the area to make the room larger, but such a spell might interfere with other wards and spells on the ship. "I guess it will do," she conceded.

"If there is anything you need, I'm here to serve within reason," said the Ensign.

Lucinda raised an eyebrow, "Within reason?"

Understone's stance took on a nervous quality as she answered, "I will not harm anyone for you unless it's in defending your life."

The Princess chuckled, "I can take care of that on my own. However, per my sister's orders, I'm to refrain from... dealing with annoyances unless absolutely necessary," she added.

"I will be at your beck and call any time of day. You can contact me via the mirror if I'm not around," added Understone.

"Good. As all my things seem present, I think it's time I looked about my new home away from home," declared the Princess.

"What would you like to see first, my dread Grace?" asked Understone.

"I want to see how it works," replied the Princess.

After a moment's thought, Understone led the Princess from her room back down the hall to a lift. Pressing a series of brass buttons indicating the vertical and horizontal position of their destination, she stood straight as the door opened.

"Where are we going?" queried Lucinda.

"Engineering. Chief Engineer Glave would be the best person to explain the workings of propulsion and Gate manatechnology," explained Understone.

The Princess nodded, "What's your first name?" she asked.

"Zipper," replied the Ensign.

"Zipper Understone. I like that," commented the Princess, bringing a small smile to the Ensign.

"It's a family name," added the Hopper.

The Princess remained silent, feeling a sense of excitement about exploring the Black Fog. While she wasn't having fun at the moment, she saw its potential.

Once the lift arrived, the Imperial and Ensign entered. Inside were two enlisted men in simple black and purple jumpsuits with black hats and boots, each displaying various insignias showing rank and assignment.

"Shippy, your dread Grace," they saluted before standing straight and unmoving.

The Hopper glared at the young men for using the common nickname for Midshipman instead of "sir."

"Shippy?" inquired Lucinda.

"It's what everyone calls the Midshipmen on the Black Fog," explained the Hopper girl.

Lucinda looked at the two men sternly, "You will respect my aid," she stated firmly.

"Yes, my dread Grace, sir," responded one of the men quickly.

Once the lift started moving, it took several minutes as it moved both vertically and horizontally through the ship. Along the way, over a dozen people exited and entered. Lucinda found herself fascinated by the various ranks and assignment types, realizing that while she knew the basics of the military, the minutiae were even more fascinating.

As the door to engineering opened and she and Zipper exited, Lucinda walked into a large room with a ten-foot white metal double door at the other end. "I've never seen that much halolium," remarked the Princess, touching it and feeling the positive magical energy emanating from it.

"But I guess if you want protection that holds protective spells, it's the best material," she added.

As she spoke, Zipper walked to a panel near the door and pressed a button, announcing their arrival. "Entering with her Dread Grace, Princess Lucinda," she said.

Lucinda nodded at the Midshipman, standing straight and waiting for the door to open. To her surprise, it wasn't just the double doors, but a series of thick iron vertical doors behind them.

Entering the main engineering chamber, she was in awe of the dome-shaped room. In the middle was a gold and silver engine with clear, red, and yellow crystal plates and orbs built into it. The engine itself was well over twenty feet tall and several times as long and wide. Above it, held to the ceiling by silver and black metallic piping, was a large green crystal perfectly shaped into a hexagonal. It pulsed green and yellow, with sigils and lines etched on it that Lucinda recognized as time and space magic spells and enchantments.

"Incredible," she breathed. She had only felt more powerful magic emanating from the Soul Engine.

"Shippy, what's the meaning of this?" boomed a muscular, dark-skinned man with long red dreadlocks and a red braided beard, floating down from one of the many control balconies circling the room. He was dressed in black pants, a black vest, a white shirt, and a red neckerchief. On his feet were armored boots, and armored gloves covered his hands and forearms.

"Chief Engineer Glave," greeted the Hopper, standing straight.

"I thought there was no flying," remarked Lucinda.

"My engineering and engine chamber, my rules," declared Glave in a deep but upbeat voice.

Lucinda instinctively reached out to feel his magical aura and found a moderate amount, but nothing special. There were no spells or enchantments that would allow for flight.

"How is it that you can fly?" she asked, crossing her arms. "You're not a wizard, an artificer, I guess?"

The Chief smiled and raised the dark goggles covering his eyes, revealing glowing, pupil-less white eyes. "Aye, I am. Trained in the great B’zarri Fleet, crossing and traveling the reality stream," he explained.

Lucinda knew of the B’zarri, a race of godlings who had their own multiverse empire and ships. They had battled the Empire to a standstill on multiple occasions and had even won a few skirmishes. While not allies, the two governments and militaries had come to an understanding and tended to avoid each other.

"I've read about your kind, but I've never met one," remarked the Princess.

"Not many of us join your military, but I figured since my kind live for tens of millennia, I'll spend some time trying new things," said the Chief with a smile. "So, my Dread Grace, what do you think? Mana Crystal Energy and flight Engine and Our Own Gate Crystal unit. With it, we can Jump six Reality walls at a time, enter most realms, and leap a quarter life-year a day once we've stabilized into a reality."

Lucinda looked around the busy room, fascinated by the Mana Crystal engines and the Jump Crystal unit. Though she had read books on them and had seen a few, she had never encountered one so large. As for the Jump Crystal unit, it was one of the Empire's best-kept secrets, a secret even she wasn’t privy to know the full workings of.

"How long does stabilization take?" she inquired.

Glave nodded, impressed by the Princess's question. "Every reality moves at a different frequency. When you get there, you have to sync with it, or you'll just fade back to the last place you synced to. Normally, syncing takes an hour or so, but this one can do it in twenty minutes, give or take, depending on the reality," he explained.

"I take it that when we're not synced, we can't interact with a reality or be interacted with?" asked the Princess.

Glave nodded, "You're as smart as they say, Dread Grace. We're safe from harm, but we can't cause harm, nor can we do things like bring in fresh air, so that can be an issue in rare cases."

Lucinda listened intently. Unlike her often boring tutors, what she was hearing now was exciting and fascinating.

“You’ve done well, Chief Engineer,” said the Princess.

“Thank you, Dread Grace. From what I hear, if I didn’t do well, I might have ended up as an ant or a rose bush,” said the man in a jovial tone.

“As fun as that might be, I think it's best for the voyage if you remained in your current form,” said the Princess.

Waster bowed to the Imperial before speaking again, “Well, I guess my dream of being turned into a pony isn’t going to pan out,” he said in a slightly sarcastic tone.

Lucinda's face took a mischievous turn as she considered the obvious joke a request, “Well, I’m sure that can be arranged if your work started to become less than optimal,” she said in a wicked tone that brought a look of concern to the Hopper and B’zarri.

“I think that was a joke,” said the Midshipman.

“I know, but one should not joke like that with one's magical betters,” commented the Princess. With that, Princess Lucinda left the Midshipman and Chief Engineer to explore the rest of the massive room. After a few minutes, her aide and the Chief joined her to ensure her safety and explain anything she had questions about.

*****

Millicent sat in her room, regretting the fact she insisted she and Lucinda traveled without any of their servants. Her assigned Midshipman aide, a non-binary person with the pointed ears and angler features of a shide, stood at attention while the Princess floated clothing about, looking for the right thing to wear for the captain's dinner. With a few dozen dresses and accessories floating about having a dresser, hair stylist, and manicurist was something she started to miss.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” asked the Midshipman.

“No, I’ll figure it out. It's odd now that I think about it; I haven’t dressed myself or done my hair in years,” Millicent replied.

“That’s understandable, Dread Grace. In your position, servants are the norm,” said the young officer.

“Hmm, now I’m worried about Lucinda. I’m pretty sure she’s never dressed herself or done her hair,” the First Princess thought about how such a situation could lead to frustration for her sister, and such frustration could lead to the crew of the ship paying the price.

“Bollocks, I need to fix this,” she said, gesturing and sending everything floating about back to their boxes and closets.

Stepping from the bedroom area of her suite, Millicent walked to the sitting area, took out a sheet of paper, conjured a pen, and started to write and draw a series of magical words, symbols, and conjuring circles.

“This will have to do,” she said.

“May I ask what that is?” asked the Midshipman.

“A Spectral Lure. It’ll bring ghosts of a desired skill set to me to be granted a place in temporary contract to serve here; in exchange, they will not be bound to wherever they are currently.”

“Ahh, that’s impressive,” said the officer.

Millicent shrugged, “My father is a necromancer,” she said, focusing on the paper, causing the letters to glow and move about the paper. She then took the paper, placed it on the wall of her room. A few seconds later, it merged with the wall, the symbols and circle forming a carving on her wall.

“We are here to serve,” a pale spirit, partly transparent, dressed in a frock coat, tight pants, point shoes, and ruffled shirt, appeared before Millicent. At his side were three more spirits.

“Names?” asked Millicent, following spirit summoning protocol.

The head spirit spoke first, “I’m Giles. The others are my cousins Roland, Gastin, and Rimblar. We are all that remains of the House of Beauty of the city of Stalack in beautiful Kindar.”

Millicent nodded, and with a free hand, wrote the names in the air with green energy; the energy then merged with the carving on the wall.

“You are bound to serve me and my sister Lucinda. You will take care of our clothing, hair, makeup, and general beauty needs. In exchange, you can touch the world for those duties and duties alone,” she said.

Giles and his cousins nodded.

“As you wish, mistress,” they all said in unison.

After completing her preparations, Millicent made her way to Lucinda's room, where she found her sister engrossed in her thoughts, pacing back and forth like a caged panther.

"Lucinda, I'd like you to meet Boren and Klaud. They will be assisting us during our time aboard the Black Fog," Millicent announced with a warm smile, gesturing toward the spectral figures standing beside her.

Lucinda's gaze flickered with intrigue as she studied the ethereal valets. "Interesting. Are they capable of handling all our needs?" she inquired, her curiosity piqued.

Millicent nodded, her expression serious. "Yes, they are quite proficient. However, I must caution against tampering with them magically. I'm uncertain about the stability of my spells on a ship that traverses realities."

Lucinda nodded in understanding. "I see your point. Spell instability when crossing realities could pose a problem, but I have faith in your abilities to manage it, Millicent."

With the introduction of the spectral valets complete, Lucinda seized the opportunity to introduce Millicent to her own aide, Zipper. "This is Zipper, my aide. Surprisingly, he hasn't managed to annoy me yet," Lucinda remarked with a playful grin, earning a chuckle from Millicent.

Millicent reciprocated by introducing Lucinda to her own aide, Pan, a distinguished figure with an air of professionalism. Despite their different roles, Zipper and Pan acknowledged each other with mutual respect.

As the conversation continued, Zipper brought up the topic of Millicent addressing the Ship Chief Warder about her spectral binding spell. "It might be prudent for you to discuss your spectral binding spell with the Ship Head Warden," he suggested.

Millicent agreed, recognizing the wisdom in Zipper's suggestion. "That's an excellent idea. Lucinda, I must ask you not to be late for the meeting at the Captain's table," Millicent requested, her tone firm yet diplomatic.

Zipper stood straight and saluted the older Princess, stating, "I will do my best to make sure Princess Lucinda arrives on time."

With a playful glare at her aide, Lucinda quipped, "As a princess, I can arrive as I please. And if my Aid Zipper doesn't like that, she might find herself turned into a coat hanger," she added with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Millicent shot her sister a pointed look, silently urging her to adhere to protocol. "Please behave, Lucinda," she said softly, knowing that Lucinda understood the importance of maintaining decorum.

With a nod of understanding, Lucinda watched as Millicent and her aide took their leave.

*****

In the heart of the bustling kitchen aboard the Black Fog, two formidable figures squared off, their culinary prowess matched only by their determination. Vellie Sternpaw, the Imperial Chef with her distinctive feline features, stood toe to toe with Norbet Crane, the sharp-eyed Ship's Head Chef, each adamant that they should be the one calling the shots.

"I was appointed by the head Imperial Chef to serve the Princesses. It's only logical that I take charge," Vellie insisted, her voice carrying the weight of her conviction.

Norbet, his demeanor bristling with military precision, countered, "But I am the Black Fog's Chef and a member of the military. I should be the one leading the kitchen."

The tension between them crackled like the flames of a stove about to boil over when Commander Ibanez, the Second in Command of the Black Fog, strode into the kitchen, his presence commanding attention.

"What's this I hear about a kitchen coup?" Ibanez asked, raising an eyebrow at the scene unfolding before him.

Vellie and Norbet both launched into their arguments, each presenting their case with fervor. They explained to Ibanez that they couldn't reach an agreement on who should be in charge, leaving the kitchen at a standstill.

Ibanez listened intently, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. "We have less than three hours until the Welcome Dinner for the Princesses and their entourage. We can't afford to be at odds," he admonished, the urgency of the situation weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Norbet interjected, "The food for the crew and non-officers of the Imperial military is already in preparation. We can't waste any more time."

Ibanez nodded thoughtfully, considering their predicament. After a moment of contemplation, he proposed a solution. "Perhaps a compromise is in order. Vellie and Norbet, you will work together. Each of you will take charge of a part of the meal, and I will judge the outcome."

Both chefs hesitated, wary of the arrangement but recognizing the necessity of cooperation. Ibanez assured them, "I'll taste both of your dishes and decide who's in charge of the ship's kitchen based on the quality of the food."

Reluctantly, Vellie and Norbet agreed to the terms, a semblance of cooperation emerging from their heated exchange. As Ibanez offered to help by flipping a coin to decide who would choose their courses first, Vellie insisted on fairness.

"We should have an even number of courses," she stated firmly, echoing Norbet's sentiment.

"Six courses, then," Norbet proposed, his tone begrudgingly agreeable.

With the number of courses settled, Ibanez flipped a coin, granting Vellie the honor of calling it. She chose heads, but the coin landed on tails, granting Norbet the first choice of course.

Norbet wasted no time in selecting the dessert, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Vellie, undeterred, opted for the main course, her determination shining through.

Their choices continued until all six courses were allocated, with Norbet ultimately agreeing to handle the cheese plate between the second course and the main course, much to Vellie's begrudging approval.

With the arrangements settled, Ibanez watched the two chefs shake hands, a glimmer of hope for cooperation flickering in the air. As he left the kitchen, the atmosphere remained tense, but with a shared goal driving them forward, Vellie and Norbet set to work, their culinary skills put to the test.

*****

The captain entered the large officers' mess in her dress black uniform with a tall ribboned hat, long coat, and shiny boots that she personally buffed to perfection, instead of having ship boys or midshipmen do it. Behind her were her commanders and chief officers, all like her in their dress uniforms complete with medals and service ribbons.

“You look good, Captain Graystride,” said the Chief Healer, a tall man with small, mostly useless wings and large eyes.

“I feel like a peacock, no offense Chief Healer Tikenbow,” grumbled the head officer of the Black Fog.

“None taken, Captain,” replied Tikenbow.

The officers all walked with the captain toward a large table, the captain taking the end and the rest of her group taking the sixteen seats on the right side.

“I swore I thought the Princess was going to turn me into a pony,” said Waster.

“I’ve heard her Dread Grace is quite good at that sort of thing,” returned an older man with red hair and a well-kept red beard.

“I’ve a feeling I’m going to have to rework some wards on the ship,” said the Chief Warder.

“I’ve already had to turn six crewmen back from being toads,” said the red-haired man. “And it wasn’t easy; Contess Shadowspell’s magic is quite powerful.”

The captain tapped her spoon to a glass. “Enough scuttlebutt, they’re almost here,” she said just as the door opened. The ship’s band, standing against a far wall, started playing the Imperial Anthem as Millicent, in a flowing green dress with silver beading, walked in followed by Lucinda, their grandmother, Boney, Hotspur, the head of the Imperial magical forces, a bald Vampyr necromancer, and a blond witch, all in Imperial dress robes. After them came Hotspur in his dress uniform, a Brutush man with pale white hair and large white sideburns wearing the black uniform and black bone breastplate of the Imperial Blackguards. He was followed by a few others, including the commander of the Sea Serpent riders, the lead Artificer and Lead Alchemist, and the Lead Living Infantry commander. The rest of the group were just highborns of note, including Aja and Pharm.

“Can I confess something, Aja?” asked Pharm to the witch sitting next to him.

“You feel guilty about Quince?” she returned.

“Well, yes, but also, I kind of suck at meal etiquette. I’m not sure which forks to use and what that little dish is for,” said the young wizard.

“If you embarrass me, so help me, I’ll summon a ferret in your liver,” said the dark-haired young woman.

“Maybe I should excuse myself,” Pharm suggested.

Aja looked at her friend and felt something she rarely did: sympathy. “Listen, you idiot, do what I do and don’t make eye contact with anyone above your station.”

Pharm nodded and smiled. “Thank you,” he said.
“Oh, you’re so getting the liver ferret once we’re done,” said the witch.

Once everyone was seated, Captain Graystride looked around the table. Resisting her own nervousness, she waited until drinks were poured by stewards before standing and raising her glass. “The Black Fog and its crew welcome our illustrious guests, the Dread Princesses of the Empire and their entourage. Let us have a safe journey and to the EMPIRE ETERNAL!” Her voice filled the area, and as expected, everyone raised a glass in toast, save for the stewards who stood straight, ready to serve the meal put together by Norbet and Vellie.

“Thank you, Captain Graystride,” said Millicent.

“Besides the small rooms, I must admit, I’m impressed,” added Lucinda.

The elder Princess gave her sister a stern glance before smiling. “The rooms are fine,” she said.

Recognizing her sister’s position as leader of the Imperial tour, Lucinda could do nothing but nod.

“Small but serviceable,” said the younger princess.

“Bah, they are closets,” muttered Tsaria under her breath.

From where he sat, Boney looked around. The talk at the table wasn’t his focus; instead, he scanned the room, focused on potential threats. Though surrounded by members of the Empire, the chances of an attack were low, but still, it was his job, and a job he intended to do well.

“My room's better than my room at home,” said the Rolzon. “On another subject, Cap’n, I got a question?”

Graystride looked at the large man. “Of course, Warmaster,” she returned.

“Any chance I can get a look at whatever information you have on our stops? Been a while since I traveled the worlds,” said the warrior.

“Of course, Chief of Security, Commander Cas’Sil will see to it,” said the Captain politely.

“Feel free to drop by my office in the morning after the day bell,” said the dark-skinned, silver-eyed man with dark hair styled to look like quills.

Not long after that, the appetizer was brought forward: seared scallops with a delicate saffron cream sauce, garnished with microgreens and edible flowers. Ibanez smiled, hoping his plan to get the two chefs not only sharing the kitchen but working together had worked.

“That looks like a lot of flavors,” said the Quarian Chief Warder.

“It does,” returned Waster to the young woman sitting next to him.

“You know, I don’t do flavors; they overwhelm me,” said the officer.

The Chief Engineer smiled, picked up his friend's plate, and dumped the contents onto his plate. “Sorry, Jeela,” he said, bringing a blush from his friend.

“Cousin is the same way,” said Lucinda, looking at the young woman across from her.

“My people like things efficient with very few frills,” said the Chief Warder.

“Or much fun,” added Waster.

“Fun is not efficient… most of the time,” said Jeela.

Lucinda looked at Millicent, then at the Chief. “I’ll make sure our chef understands your situation,” she said, trying to do what she thought her sister would want.

“Thank you, Dread Grace,” said Jeela.

Millicent looked at her sister and smiled. She knew Lucinda, while a bit of a wild card, took her job as a princess seriously, and being on a ship and on a mission where that was important would force her to be less capricious, or at least she hoped so. Looking about, her eyes almost instinctively searched the room and found Hotspur, who was talking to those around him. He was far more naturally outgoing than her. Yes, she could command a room, and she could make small talk, but for the most part, that was her just doing a job and not who she really was.

Hotspur did his best not to look down the table at Millicent. He Knew f he did his hart would sink and their hidden relationship that was not so hidden but never talked about would become a part of ships gossip and  perhaps so loud that something would have to be done.

“A penny for your thoughts,” said the Head of Security to the Drake Rider Commander.

Hotspur's thoughts snapped back to the present. “Nothing, I was just thinking how we had to put our Drakes in stasis to travel. They’ll take some time to wake if we need them,” he said.

“Your beasts eat a lot, two sheep a day per drake, they say, and you brought 52 of the things. We just don’t have the storage, M’lord,” said a curvilinear-haired, rotund woman who, while wasn’t an officer, was one of the highest-ranked enlisted onboard as Chief Mate. In fact, she was the only non-commissioned officer at the table.

“I see your point. I guess we’ll take a few out at each stop as a show of power,” Hotspur said.

“That sounds like a good plan, M’lord,” said the Chief Mate.

Hotspur nodded, his thoughts and eyes once again wandering up to the table towards the First Princess, only to be stopped by the glare of Tsaria.

Tsaria looked at the handsome young man, who despite his military position, was from a simple country noble family. A family from her point of view that brought nothing to the relationship to her eldest granddaughter. She knew if no one else would make a move to end the relationship, she would have to. Exactly how was up in the air. Vyrm, who was currently a snake slithering about the ship, learning about its halls and gossip, was a deadly fighter and a skilled assassin, but she wasn’t sure he could dispatch the young commander. Hotspur had to be a great swordsman to get where he was and had to have some magical prowess. Exactly how much she wasn’t sure, beyond the fact it was infinitesimal compared to hers. In fact, she could kill him with magic easily. It would take less effort than a wink, but her power was such her granddaughter would know, as would her son-in-law, and she knew her son-in-law would take any reason to have her locked away like his insane own mother or worse, have Tsaria tossed into the Soul Engine or her magic bound. No, killing Hotspur would take planning or, better yet, taking advantage of a situation where the results would look like an accident.

“Why are you smiling, Grandmother?” asked Lucinda to the woman next to her in a quizzical tone.

The former High Enchantress said nothing at first before dabbing her lips. “I’m just pleasantly surprised this food is passable,” she said.

The youngest Princess nodded and continued to eat, her keen mind thinking about the ship's engine, the gate crystal, and the intricate spells and wards she felt in the ship. Unlike a lot of children her age, she wasn’t fascinated by the latest performer, play, or game. For Lucinda, what fascinated and amused her almost as much as ridding reality of annoyances and useless folk was how magic worked and its uses.

“Chief Engineer Graves,” she said in her usually haughty tone, “How often does the Black Fog have to refuel?”

Waster Graves, food in mouth, swallowed quickly and spoke. “She doesn’t. Her Pure Crystal Lattice Engine recharges faster than she spends energy so far. We haven’t been in a real fight yet, but I squeezed a far better mana-regen rate out of her than any ship of the line I’ve run across.”

The Princess nodded, knowing while such a question would be considered dry minutia to most, for her it was almost as refreshing as the fruit juice and wine drink she was sipping on. In fact, even as she sipped, her mind was doing the Arcane Algorithms involved in regenerating energy effectively for such a large ship.

While everyone was busy talking and eating the main course, Princess Millicent stood. Almost instantly, everyone went silent. She looked about with a serious look on her face, hoping her planned words would have the desired reaction.

“How far are we from the Darkspire?” she asked.

“We’re heading high for our jump, Dread Grace,” said the Captain with a look of surprise. “Just shy of the void.”

Millicent nodded. She knew the void was where breathable air ended and the weightless infinity of her reality began. It was far beyond where her mother might pry through divination.

“Good. That being the case,” said the Princess, “I, Princess Millicent Nightbane, hereby command a change in our tour of the worlds.”

The Captain's look of wonder became one of surprise, as did not only her crew but also the present Imperials.

“What kind of change?” she asked in as contrite a tone as she could manage given the situation.

“We will cut our time on the worlds we plan to visit away from Homeworld and instead visit ally worlds and worlds where the Empire has shown interest,” she said.

The Princess's gesture caused a scroll to appear and float to the Captain, who plucked it from the air in front of her and opened it. The new itinerary added four worlds to the travel, shortening time spent on Imperial worlds from two weeks to a week and a half and giving them the same amount of time on the newly added worlds.

After seeing the Captain pass the scroll to her second in command, the Princess sat without another word, hoping the Captain would agree. She knew if she did not, it would be common imperial protocol for her to destroy the Captain or, at the very least, transfigure her into something and give command to the Commander. And if the Commander refused, she would continue her reign of terror until someone did as she wished. It was something she didn’t want to do, nor was it something she had the heart to do.

If Millicent wanted an answer, it would not come at the table. In fact, after her decree, the table talk died down to nothing beyond a few polite requests for the passing of salt and other spices and trivial pleasantries. The Princess knew the Captain was, at the very least, thinking over her request and wasn't the type to just blurt out yes or no. That, to the Princess, meant the Ship’s master was smart.

“It’s treasonous for her to not agree to your command here and now,” said Tsaria in a whisper.

“Or smart. The lass had to spend days, or weeks figuring out the travel plans, the new ones are just throwing her off,” whispered back Bony.

“Want me to melt her sister?” asked Lucinda.

Millicent looked at her younger sibling. “No, let her consider her options. Like Bony said, what I requested was a lot,” she said with a hint of concern.

Lucinda, upon her sister's words, turned back to her meal.

After dinner was served, the ship band played a few tunes, including the Naval march. Then, with the permission of Millicent, the Captain called an end to the dinner. Slowly, everyone rose and went their separate ways, save for Zipper and Millicent’s aides, who joined them from the Midshipman’s table on the far side of the hall.

“Did you enjoy the meal, Dread Grace?” Zipper asked the younger princess.

“Yes, it wasn’t as good as our Chef Santos, but it was very tasty,” Millicent replied.

Zipper nodded. “And shall we return to your room, or would you like to see another part of the ship or head to Observation room?”

Lucinda thought for a second. The crew was so polite that none of them annoyed her enough to curse them, and the Imperials knew it was best to avoid her. Though she craved it, there would probably be no call to mischief until they arrived on another world.

“Observation,” said the Princess.

The hopper midshipman bowed and turned on her large, unbooted feet, leading the youngest princess of the Empire out of the room.

*****

The Captain sat in her office, surrounded by her command officers and the Chief Mate. On her table lay the paper Princess Millicent had conjured. It detailed the Imperial plan along with her notes on how it would affect the ship's supplies and set itinerary.

“Can we speak here, Warder Commander?” asked the Chief Mate.

The Warder Commander looked insulted but replied, “Of course.”

The Captain handed the papers to Ibanez, who looked them over.

“It’s well thought out,” he said.

“But it’s not the mission we received,” said the Captain.

“Leave it to an Imperial Princess to throw a wrench into the works,” remarked the Chief Mate.

“You do realize what you just said is treason,” cautioned the Chief of Security. “True but Treason,” muttered the Chief Mate.

“So what are we going to do?” asked Waster Graves.

The Captain thought for a second, knowing in truth she had no choice.

“I think you know what we’re going to do, Mr. Graves.”

Ibanez looked at his friends and his Captain, then handed the paper to the officer next to him.

“I’ll make sure the enlisted heads know,” said the tall, tan-skinned man.

The Captain stood and addressed her crew, “We are a ship of the Empire,” she said, “and when the Empire speaks, we do what we’re told.”

In silence, each officer and the Chief Mate stood, saluted their Captain, and left, knowing that their leader had made the right decision despite the potential dangers of such a change in plan to her ship and her career.

The Captain, Graystride, poured herself a drink, the liquid swirling in the glass as she contemplated the weight of Princess Millicent's request to change the plans of the voyage. While it was well within the rights of Princess Millicent, the Admiralty might see it differently. They would likely view her compliance as a sign of weakness, endangering her career prospects. The thought of losing command of the Black Fog upon her return from the voyage gnawed at her, threatening her hard-earned position and any chance of promotion.

Pacing her office, Graystride mulled over her options, knowing that any decision she made would have far-reaching consequences. She walked to a mirror and cast a minor spell to activate it, calling her family home. A low-blood servant answered the call, addressing her respectfully.

"Is my brother there?" Graystride inquired.

"He's having a gathering of his 'friends'," replied the servant with a hint of annoyance.

The voice of Graystride's brother, Francis, echoed from beyond the mirror. He appeared, holding a drink, his casual demeanor contrasting with his sister's military bearing.

"Throwing a party while mother and father are away?" Graystride chided.

"Of course. How are you, Sister? Still in the navy?" Francis asked sarcastically.

Ignoring his tone, Graystride replied, "Of course I am, Francis. I was just at the Dark Spire, and now I'm heading off-world."

"The Darkspire? Sounds juicy," Francis remarked.

"You would know why I was there if you ever read a Mirror Announcement or a Newspaper," Graystride retorted.

With a dismissive wave, Francis cut the conversation short. "Whatever. Look, I have to go. We're playing billiards, and it's my turn."

"Of course. Tell Mother and Father I called," Graystride said as the mirror went blank with a gesture from her brother.

Graystride looked at her reflection in the mirror, adjusting her uniform with determination. With a final glance, she exited the room, ready to face the challenges ahead with the resolve befitting a captain of her stature.

*****

The Black Fog waited near the point where the almost non-existent atmosphere and the Void beyond touched. From the observation deck near the front of the ship, one could see three of the seven moons of the Homeworld. Lucinda had awoken early the next day to watch the first gate open, Zipper standing behind her with her arms behind her back. Like all midshipmen, she was accustomed to waking up early, and when the Princess left her room, a small magic charm she wore on her wrist vibrated, prompting the Hopper to literally jump from her bed, get dressed, and head to where her sensitive ears detected her charge.

"Have you ever been to a moon?" the Princess asked, lighting a cigarette in a short red and silver holder.

"Not orbiting this world," Zipper replied.

"Mother said that most are good just for mining," the Princess commented after taking a drag.

"I do not want to disagree with the living apocalypse that is our empress," said the Hopper.

"But?" prompted Lucinda.

"But if it pleases you, I've been to at least three very alive and beautiful moons since leaving the naval academy on Albion," the midshipman said, doing her best to ignore the Princess's smoking's effect on her sensitive nose.

The Princess and the Jr. Naval officer watched as a green line appeared in the sky in front of the ship. It stretched twice the height of the ship. Lucinda could feel the magic flowing from the ship into the line, a programmed spell controlled by the Gate Crystal and its mounts and fittings. The line started to open, literally ripping reality apart until it made a rift large enough for the ship to fly through. The rift then moved towards the ship, taking it first to the swirling vortex of the world between worlds, the chaotic barrier where all realities met. Lucinda could see a green line of energy flowing from the ship into the vortex, guiding it to a part of the dimensional barrier where, a few moments later, it once again made a rip in reality. Lucinda watched as the rip grew closer and the ship passed through, revealing a large green gaseous world with dozens of moons.

*****

Talik was the largest world of the Empire, with one moon even larger than the homeworld and two others close to its size. The other 33 moons varied in size, with the smallest ones only a few hundred miles across. The planet itself was mostly gas and required very little in the way of conquering, beyond dealing with a few hostile species on two of the moons and taming large flying gas-drinking creatures on Talik itself. After being attacked a few dozen times, these creatures realized it was best to ignore the Imperial ships and now mostly hid deep in the planet's wild storm-filled center, where only the energy-tapping rigs reached.

From orbit, small lights could be seen on the surface of the planet to guide ships to and from the great shipyards a few miles under the planet's thick atmosphere. They could also produce magical grappling spells to capture materials launched from the many mines on the moons. The captured material had various uses, including ice for water storage, various metals, compounds, and large sections of compressed stone that would be sculpted into the hulls of war barrages and large reality-hopping supply ships.

The Black Fog stood still after exiting into the new reality. Lucinda could feel a detachment to her surroundings that started to fade as she and everything else on the ship attached itself to the new reality and its new "laws". Once the ship had fully come into sync, it started to move past the moons towards the green planet.

"Hello Lucy," said Millicent, entering the observation room.

"Hello, sister," said the younger princess as her purple eyes did their best to absorb as much of the view as possible. Multiple moons, dozens of small wood and metal ships protected by magical barriers, maneuvering large mined chunks of ore and stone towards Talik.

"This is incredible," said the older Princess.

"It's mostly gas," said Lucinda.

Millicent walked up next to her sister and said, "True, but its worth to the empire is nearly uncountable. The resources from this one system supply so much."

Lucinda looked up at her sister and then through the windows that made up the bulk of the observation deck. She knew the Empire was large, and she had done a fair amount of reading about it on her own and with her various tutors, but she didn’t grasp the enormity of it all until she saw a world of gases of every shade of green swirling about coming closer.

"Thank you, sister," said Lucinda.

"For what, Lucy?" responded Millicent.

"For letting me come," said the younger princess.

*****

"They’re here,” said a tall, gaunt man in the dark green robes with the gold breastplate and gold-sculpted skull cap.

“Governor Verdanite, I think I need to note that it’s been some time since we’ve had such guests,” said the faceless metallic being, whose shiny silver body lit up with small lights when it spoke.

“I know that, you bucket of bolts. Let’s hope those idiots at the shipyards will keep them occupied,” replied the man in an arrogant tone.

“Let’s hope,” said the metal man, knowing his master didn’t like the idea of an Imperial visit. In fact, he disliked it so much that he did his best to be off-world. However, he was told he couldn’t leave the planet or even visit its moons until after the princesses left.

Turning, Verdanite walked to a series of seventeen mirrors and activated them all with a hand, summoning the sub-governors of the system. Each one was assigned one or more moons depending on the moon's size. In theory, he was in charge, but due to their sheer numbers and the fact they controlled many precious resources, the moon governors often got their way when it came to controlling the Talik system.

“Did The Black Fog just pass my moon?” asked a woman on the mirror.

“It did. We picked it up as it came in. Ships like that are going to keep us rich,” replied a hooded man.

“How are we going to deal with the Imperials?” inquired a short man with a well-kept pink beard and mustache.

“We give them the Silver Sovereign tour. They're just two girls and a few has-beens,” said a young woman with four eyes and eight long arms.

“Hopefully, that’ll do,” concluded a man whose left eye was made of copper and silver.

****

The crew of the Black Fog knew Talik well. The "Fog" was one of the shipyard's newest ships and had been there recently. Many of the crew had trained in the yards and had done a test cruise on the Fog from the same yards. They knew that the great Imperial "Yard," as they called it, was under the control of two distinctive forces: the Governor (and system Governors) and the Admiralty. Admiralty was in charge of the naval part of the yard, including design, crews, schedules, and assignments. It was well-run, with the typical Empire scheming and backbiting replaced by a zeal to do well and fulfill one's duty, whether a person was enlisted or an officer. On the other hand, the part of the yard dealing with supplies, Imperial law enforcement outside the yard, employment, and anything involving money in any way was overseen by the appointed Governors and their staffs, and anyone those Governors deemed worthy.

For that reason, almost everyone running a business or operating a supply ship or mine was either related to a Governor, a friend of the Governor, or a loyal servant. It was something that Admiralty noticed but chose to do nothing about unless it affected their people or their ships.

The Black Fog, upon entering Talik's atmosphere, headed past the wide framework of metal paths that connected to floating buildings, heading straight to the Admiralty part of the structure some thirty miles into the complex. The structure looked like a metal web with large squares of cylinder nodes where each link of the web met. Admiralty was a series of large squares and domes made of grey and black stone, with the flag of the Empire and the Naval symbol on the well-windowed wall.

"It looks boring," said Lucinda.

"The atmosphere is poisonous. Everything is inside," replied Zipper.

"I'm highblood. I'm not affected by silly mundane issues," retorted the Princess.

"But you do need to breathe. Sadly, because you are highblood, it's worse. I would die in less than a minute if I were caught outside without a breathing harness. You would suffocate in pain over hours," explained Zipper.

Lucinda raised an eyebrow. Despite her position, she had never thought about death. She was highblood; she would live for millennia if she so chose. Diseases and poisons meant nothing to her, and her magic could provide protection her body couldn't. But after listening to her aide's grim words, she felt something she rarely did: fear.

The midshipman led the Princess from the observation deck back to her room. There, Lucinda prepared to exit the ship along with her sister and others to tour Admiralty and meet its staff. While Lucinda seemed unaffected by such a meeting, the Hopper Midshipman was very concerned. She was not only the lowest of the low among officers, with high-level enlisted getting more respect, but she was also a Hopper, a rare member of the navy, and a race many thought had no place as an officer. Any mistake she made, even the smallest faux pas, would be held against her, most likely for her entire career or, worse, could lead to her being discharged from the service.

*****

Waster Graves and two midshipmen assigned to engineering, along with three engineering mates, stood at the ship's main docking bay just as it docked with Admiralty.

"Chief, why did you have to customize the breathing harnesses for our guests?" asked a midshipman, pushing the cart where the metallic devices hung on hangers.

"One size fits all isn't always the case. Princess Lucy is a little thing, her grandmother is a girthy woman, the Rolzon is just big, and Princess Millicent has that neck..." explained the dark-skinned man with a wry smile.

"What's wrong with my neck?" came a voice from down the hall.

Graves watched as Princess Millicent entered in a green shirt, black leather pants, vest, and boots, with silver goggles raised up on her forehead.

"I don't mean to offend, Dread Grace," said the Chief Engineer.

"Should I be offended?" queried the princess.

"No, it's just you have a very graceful neck," said the officer, doing his best to sound both cowed and complimentary.

Millicent laughed before speaking, surprising everyone. "My father used to call me the Black Swan of the Empire," she said.

"What's a swan?" asked Waster.

"You've never seen a swan?" inquired the princess.

"It's a bird with a long neck, Chief," explained one of the midshipmen.

"I've spent my life on ships, first with the B'zarri, then with the Empire. I can count on one hand the hours I've spent on a world," remarked Graves.

The Princess smiled as a midshipman passed her a silver harness that covered her from neck to mid-torso on the front and all the way to her waist on the back, with smooth crystal nodes on the left chest, shoulder blades, and lower spine.

"This will help me breathe?" questioned the princess.

"Yes, if you're outside. The insides have breathable air from the air factories run by the Empire. It will also keep the gravity of Talik from crushing you in high-G areas and outside," explained Waster.

The Princess, after inspecting the harness, placed it on with the help of her aide.

"Remember, Dread Grace, you're going to feel heavy on Talik regardless," they said as they adjusted the device.

"Also," Waster added, "if you are stuck outside, tap the chest crystal twice. It'll let us know where to find you."

Millicent nodded. She noticed that the harness, unlike the ones her aide was placing on the other naval officers and enlisted, was ornate. She knew whoever modified it wanted to impress her and the other Imperials. Looking through the ones that were specially modified, she sought out the smallest one, obviously Lucinda's, knowing it might be best if she presented it to her sister and helped her place it on, given the second princess's persnickety nature.

"Vyrm, if any of these provincials dare laugh at me while I wear this thing, kill them," said Tsaria as she looked at her breathing harness.

"Of course, Countess," replied the snake man, who was observing the Black Fog officers and everyone standing around, waiting for the hatch into the Admiralty offices of Talik.

"Keep your creature on a leash, grandmother," remarked Millicent.

"You should respect your elders," retorted the princess's grandmother.

"I give respect to those who respect me and those under my protection," stated the elder princess.

"Will you two not fight in front of the peasants?" interjected Lucinda in a sarcastic tone.

Bony, who was standing nearby, looked at the younger princess and smiled.

"No one is going to laugh at you, Contessa," reassured the Rolzon, who himself was doing his best not to laugh at the woman; the breath harness had shaped her body, cinching her waist and making her seem even more top-heavy.

As the Captain, a few of her commanders, the Imperials and their top commanders, and a few personal guards stood in the ship's docking area, a hiss of air marked the docking area finally connecting and opening.

"If there's a band, I'm going to turn them into lice," declared Lucinda.

"I might help you," sighed Millicent in an exasperated tone.

"It's how they show their reverence," explained Hotspur, who did his best to get as close to Millicent as possible without drawing attention.

"And it's tradition," added the Captain.

Millicent stood straight and sighed as Lucinda smirked. When the door opened, the sound of another military band was heard. On the other side of the docks stood four Admirals in black and purple-capped uniforms, three-corner hats, and shiny boots. Behind them was not only a band but hundreds of naval and enlisted personnel lining the massive docking bay on their side. Midshipmen and low-ranked enlisted carried banners, while family members of some of the more prominent officers jockeyed for position to see the Princesses; a few even screamed out their admiration.

"Long live Princess Mille, long live Princess Lucy," exclaimed a highblood woman wearing a dress, one side green representing Millicent, and one side red representing Lucinda.

The Princesses and their entourage walked forward, with two Blackguards with banners in their front, two armed Undead troopers on each side, and directly behind them, two members of their magical contingent and two more Blackguards. Moving slowly, they entered the Admiralty docking area to the tune of the Imperial Anthem.

Fleet Admiral Bluephire, a stern-looking man with dark hair and grey eyes, bowed as the Princesses made their way to where he stood, prompting everyone on his side of the docks to bow and courtesy.

"Your Dread Graces and Contessa, welcome to Talik," he said.

"Thank you, Admiral," replied Millicent.

"I'm going to turn your band into lice now," quipped Lucinda, pointing at the ten-person band and saying, "Change." In an instant, all members were turned into tiny poppy seed-sized creatures, to the surprise of everyone.

Millicent looked at her sister; she wanted to chastise her but knew doing so in front of their lesser would be bad for decorum.

"They are yours to transform," said the Admiral, knowing that as members of the Imperial navy, their lives belonged to the Empire for their service and thus belonged to the Princesses.

"Fix that if you can," whispered Millicent to the mage behind her. The higher-ranking mage, in turn, sent a telepathic command down the line of present visiting Imperial mages till it reached Pharm and his friends.

*****

The Admiral led the group into the halls of the building. With hardwood walls and marble floors, it was nearly impossible to tell that it wasn’t just an Imperial building, but part of a structure on another planet.
“Talik has the biggest shipyard in the Empire,” said Bluephire.
“And we appreciate all the work you do,” replied Millicent.
“Thank you, Dread Grace,” said the Admiral. “The Dominator Class War Barge and the Cleaver Class Frigates will one day be the main naval vessels of the empire, replacing the Tobias Class and the older Ether Galleys.”

Lucinda listened to the man talk. She had no idea other than that the Black Fog was a Dominator Class and the Tobias Class was named after her long-dead grandfather, the former emperor. To her, it was all trivial minutia she was glad her sister, and not her, was dealing with.
“This is boring,” complained the youngest Princess.
“It’s Admiralty,” explained Zipper. “It’s designed to be efficient, not fun, Dread Grace.”
The younger Princess sighed and continued walking, pretending to listen, hoping things would improve.

*****
Pharm stood next to Adja. "So how do we find lice?" he asked.
Adja shrugged. "How should I know? It’s not like they taught us to magically find lice in Divination class," said the dark-skinned mage.
Xano looked at his friend. "If they were dead lice, I could find them," said the necromancer. The three moved slowly around where the band was, looking down with each footstep and inspecting under every instrument.
Pharm thought for a second then had an idea. "Stand back, I have a plan," he said.
After receiving scathing looks from the other two magic users, he watched them carefully back away.
“You do realize if we fail, the Princess, our careers are over,” remarked Adja.
“Also, undoing the magic of Princess Lucinda is not only going to be hard, but if we succeed, she may not like it,” added Xano.

Pharm nodded and started building a light swirl of wind starting at ground level. Holding out his staff, he willed the wind to move upward, swirling through everything in the area, picking up only the small things: dust, bits of paper, crumbs, and bugs.
“I already survived her once. That means the chances of someone else surviving it are slim to none,” said the wizard, focusing and taking his time.

Taking his small weak maelstrom upward halfway to the ceiling, he then made it form a globe of swirling air that floated in front of him.
“That was actually smart,” remarked Xano.
The gaunt, pale mage looked into the globe with his keen eyesight and spied a small bug, then grabbed it.
“Got one,” he said.
Adja walked up to the orb and cast a spell, slowing time inside it allowing her to see with ease everything in it, including the lice.
“I can’t believe this might work,” said the witch in a surprised tone.

Pharm joined his allies, releasing his spell, knowing Adja's would hold everything in place.
“This is the easy part. Breaking the spell is going to be the hard part,” he said.
The three low-level Imperial magic users sifted through the time-slowed cloud, plucking out things that looked like lice, keeping what were the actual creatures and discarding the rest.
“I was there when she effervesced our friend. Her power is like nothing I’ve ever felt,” said Adja. “And I’ve stood next to the Empress... well, I was in the same room with her.”
Pharm nodded. “And she casually dropped me in the oceans to die with no effort. I’m not sure we could undo the magic on one, let alone all of the poor sods.”
Xano looked at his friends. “And risk angering the princess to boot? I say we report we could not find them and throw ourselves on the mercy of the Princess, least likely to turn us into bugs.”

The witch looked at the pale necromancer and nodded. “We’ve come too far to be destroyed or transfigured into whatever,” she said.
The wizard looked at his friends, knowing that considering the situation, annoying Lucinda almost led to his demise. Angering her would lead to that or worse. Still, leaving the band as lice for some reason didn’t sit well with him after his adventure at sea. In fact, a lot of things didn’t. He had deduced that being so close to dying may have caused him to undergo some kind of mental injury that resulted in empathy.

Pharm, Xano, and Aja stood in a tense huddle, discussing their next move. Pharm was adamant that they try to turn the band back from being lice, but Xano and Aja were against it at first. They feared Princess Lucinda's wrath if they were caught breaking her spell.

"Think about it," Pharm urged, his voice low but firm. "If we don't try, it would be an act of treason against Princess Millicent. We need her on our side. She may be the only one who can protect us from Lucinda's capricious nature."

Xano nodded in agreement, his expression grave. "He's right. We're safer with Millicent than without her. And if Lucinda finds out we defied her... well, I don't even want to think about it."

Aja bit her lip, torn between her loyalty to her fellow witches and her fear of Lucinda's retribution. "But witches aren't supposed to work magic against other witches," she protested. "Breaking Lucinda's spell might break that rule. Besides, as a fellow witch, it's unlikely she would cast a spell on me."

Pharm's eyes hardened as he considered her words. "Lucinda is a Princess of the Empire," he reminded her. "She could just order someone to toss you out an airlock without a second thought."

Aja's resolve wavered, and she glanced nervously around the docking area. Finally, after a long moment of silence, she sighed and nodded. "Fine," she said reluctantly. "Let's do it. But we need to be careful."

With their decision made, they began to discuss their plan in earnest. Aja said she might have an idea, but she needed to find the equipment she needed first. They agreed to reconvene later, once Aja had everything she required.

As they dispersed, a sense of trepidation hung in the air. They knew the stakes were high, but they also knew they couldn't let fear dictate their actions.

*****

The Princesses and the others made their way to a sleek brass and iron rail car with a conical front that ran along the inside of the massive halls of Admiralty. Once inside, they sat as the transport started to accelerate, whizzing along its railings through tunnels and supports, crossing the green gas eddies of the planet.

"We don’t have one of these on Homeworld," said Lucinda to her sister.

"I know. They would make transport a lot easier for Highblood and low blood alike," replied Millicent.

Their grandmother looked at the girls annoyed and spoke, "These contraptions would just make people lazy."

Lucinda turned from the older woman and looked out the window. Through the thick green haze, she could see other buildings and transports like hers, lit with bright lights.

"The shipyard is so large that without these, it would take hours or even days to reach the different build areas, and as not all the staff is magical or naturally flyers or fast runners, this is more efficient," explained someone to anyone who would listen.

The transport took the group to a building yard, a series of fully covered and pressurized walkways that looked out on ships being built. In small hangars, small shuttles and ships that resembled seagoing vessels, save for their retractable wings and sails of brace and glass.

The old-fashioned galleys were losing favor among the navy and were little more than support ships and large troop transports for the massive war barges.

The group, after walking past the smaller building and repair hangars, were brought up to a large covered terrace that looked out on a war barge being worked on. Thousands of zombies with hammers and picks carved a mile slab of granite as men and women in breathing harnesses worked on parts of the ships, providing more skill.

"That’s a lot of Zoms," remarked Bony.

"The governor and his people provide about half of them; the Empire, the other half. A lot of the living workers are serfs of the governor from their lands back on Homeworld or are freemen hirelings from other Imperial worlds or ally worlds," Captain Graystride spoke up.

"What are the red bands some of the living workers are wearing?" asked Millicent.

"It’s nothing, Princess, just a tribal thing. Those wearing it tend to be loudmouths, good workers but loudmouths," said the admiral.

Millicent looked at the man and could tell he was both embarrassed and irked.

"If they are trouble, then they should be dealt with," said Tsaria. "If you don’t have the stomach, I can do it."

"No, Grandmother. Let the admiral and his people do as they see fit," said Millicent.

"That one has a sign," said Lucinda, pointing at a large man in a breathing suit. Putting down a large machine for laying copper conduit, he turned towards the visitors, holding a sign that said in Common Imperial Tongue, "Solidarity." Another living worker, this time a woman, held up a sign saying, "No Zoms."

Incensed, the admiral called over an officer and ordered, "Have them both brigged!"

"What’s going on?" asked Millicent.

"Like I said, dread grace, troublemakers," replied Admiral Bluephire.

Millicent looked at Lucinda and spoke, "Sister, what should we do?"

The younger princess, surprised by the question, stood stunned for a second before mulling over it. Her first response was to turn the troublemakers into mice, but a part of her knew that this was a princess test from her big sister, and that such an answer wouldn’t go over well with her.

"We should meet them, hear what they have to say," she said reluctantly.

Millicent smiled. "Have them brought to us during whatever kind of gathering you have planned for lunch," said the princess.

"In chains?" asked Bluephire.

Millicent rolled her eyes. "Only if you want me to do to you what my sister did to those poor musicians," she said.

Seeing her chance, Lucinda looked at her sister and spoke.

“Sister, I personally think it would be bad form for the First Princess of the Empire to do such a thing to a decorated naval Admiral,” her tone was full of sarcasm.

“Perhaps you are right, sister,” Millicent replied.

“However,” added the younger Princess, “I would be quite miffed if he disobeyed my sister's command, and as everyone knows, I can be quite… wicked when miffed.” After speaking, Lucinda subtly gestured at the Admiral and raised an eyebrow, casting a very subtle spell that gave the man a small rat's tail. Though hidden by his uniform, the Admiral noticed the change upon the casting. In fact, only Millicent and Tsaria were aware of the spell.

“Your Dread Graces, I will make sure the malcontents are made available to you at the luncheon. I live to serve,” said Bluephire in a slightly cowed tone. Lucinda looked at her sister, who nodded, and with a thought, the young princess undid the spell as subtly as she had cast it.

“Thank you, Admiral,” said Millicent.

After the plans for the luncheon were laid, the group left their watch area to explore another part of the shipyards.

*****

As Zanden Rear and Nola Chase received the message to return to the suiting room, their hearts pounded with anticipation. They had known the risks when they decided to stand up for the rights of the "redband" workers, but facing the consequences was another matter entirely.

"We knew this might happen, Zan," Nola said softly, her voice tinged with resignation. "But we couldn't stay silent while our fellow workers suffered."

Zan nodded, his expression grim. "I just hope we're prepared for whatever comes next."

Together, they made their way back to the suiting room, the weight of uncertainty heavy on their shoulders. As they cycled through the airlock, they exchanged a meaningful glance, silently steeling themselves for the confrontation ahead.

Inside, they shed their breathing harnesses and donned their grey coveralls, ready to face whatever fate awaited them. When Lieutenant Orangeleaf greeted them, they couldn't help but notice the nervousness in his demeanor.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with us," Orangeleaf said, his voice wavering slightly.

Zan studied the young officer, noting the tension in his posture. "What's this about, Lieutenant?"

Orangeleaf took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. "You've been invited to the royal luncheon to meet Princess Millicent and address your grievances directly to her."

Nola's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And why should we believe you?"

Orangeleaf straightened his shoulders, meeting her gaze with sincerity. "On my honor as an officer and a highblood gentleman, I assure you, this is not a trick. It's a genuine opportunity for you to be heard."

Zan remained skeptical, but he couldn't deny the earnestness in Orangeleaf's voice. "I've seen you out in the shipyard, Lieutenant," he said. "You treat the workers with more respect than most officers. I'll trust your word."

Orangeleaf's expression softened with gratitude. "Thank you, Zan. I believe in judging people based on their actions, not their position or race."

Nola's suspicion lingered, but she knew they couldn't afford to pass up this chance. "Fine," she said, her voice tinged with reluctance. "We'll come with you."

*****

The luncheon was held in a small unused hangar decorated for the festivities in Imperial Black and Purple, with banners for the Princesses, their parents, and various naval ships and organizations hanging from the rafters. No band played as the backup to the previous one was reported to be off-world and hours away on an ore transport ship. While technically that wasn’t breaking any rules, it was seen as suspicious considering what happened to the previous military band. The so-called great “Musician Escape” was a source of gossip as the luncheon, attended by Naval Officers, high-ranking enlisted, and their families, started.

Still, though there was no live band, music played on a device brought from Albion that could play music on flat black discs through large electrical sound enhancement boxes called speakers. For those who had not been to Albion or worlds where similar devices existed, the fact that such a grand, non-magical thing existed was a point of fascination among the Imperial entourage. Even Princess Lucinda seemed fascinated by the device, looking it over with her aide, Zipper, at her side.

“Do you know how it works?” asked the Princess.

“It translates the grooves on the disc into sound from what I hear, Dread Grace,” replied Zipper.

Lucinda nodded, her keen eyes and mind making the connection between the revolving disk, the needle that touched it, and the other movements of the wood and metal device.

“That makes sense, not as good as magic or as the real thing but not bad,” said the Princess. She then turned her attention to the young enlisted boy, no older than sixteen, who would change discs and crank the brass crank to start it working.

“Did you have to have special training for this, peasant?” she asked the boy.

“No, M’lady,” said the boy nervously. “It’s simple, I bet even a Zom could do it.”

Lucinda glared at the boy. Seeing the issue, Zipper spoke up, “The correct title is Princess or Dread Grace,” she corrected the seaman quickly.

“Of course, Princess. Sorry, Princess,” stammered the boy.

Lucinda nodded, “You’re lucky I don’t place you in my holder and smoke you to ash,” said the younger Princess.

“I deserve no less,” said the boy, so frightened he could barely get the words out.

“Thankfully you’re needed here to work this device,” added Lucinda before turning to leave.

“Thank you for sparing him,” said Zipper. “Most enlisted come here young with very little proper education.”

“Spare him?” said the Princess with a laugh. “The silly creatures' imagination and fear will vex him for some time.” Zipper nodded and followed the Princess to the large buffet, where servers and chefs watched over and prepared food.

“Speaking of, you seem quite well-spoken for a Hopper. The ones on Homeworld can barely speak,” said the Princess in a tone she thought wasn’t offensive to her aide but was.

The Hopper midshipman thought about her past and, though she didn’t want to relive it, spoke.

“I was taken from Farsia when I was but a baby by pirates and sold to an exotic pet dealer on Dis, an Imperial family living there purchased me. I was raised as a companion for their eldest daughter. I listened well and learned as she learned. When I was twelve, the daughter left for magic training on Homeworld and instead of keeping me around and taking me with her, she released me,” said Zipper.

Lucinda nodded as she pointed at food to be placed on her plate.

“Continue,” she said once her plate was full, as was her aide’s, and they walked back towards the long table set for guests.

“I had a small stipend given to me, but not enough to return to Farsia, and even if it was, I have no idea where my family was. So, I joined the Imperial Navy,” continued the midshipman.

The Princess sat next to her sister, who was talking to Admiral Bluephire, who was seated next to her. Zipper, seeing a space for her next to Millicent’s aide in the officers' area on a table sitting in front of the raised Imperial table to the side, headed that way once her charge was seated

*****

As Orangeleaf led Zanden Rear and Nola Chase through the corridors of the admiralty building, their apprehension grew with each step. The gravity of their situation weighed heavily on them, and the thought of facing not just one but both Princesses filled them with a sense of dread.

Zan, with his burly frame and weathered face, tried to maintain a facade of composure, but the fear in his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. Nola, a thin woman with dark brown hair, struggled to keep her hands from trembling as they approached their destination.

As they reached the grand doors leading to the royal luncheon, Orangeleaf paused, turning to them with a sympathetic expression. "I won't lie to you," he said quietly. "This won't be easy. But remember, you have the right to speak your truth, no matter the consequences."

Zan nodded, his jaw set in determination. "We know the risks," he said, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at his insides. "But we can't back down now."

Nola took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead. "Let's do this," she said, her voice tinged with resolve.

With a shared nod, they followed Orangeleaf into the luncheon, where Princesses Millicent and Lucinda awaited them. The opulent surroundings of the dining hall contrasted sharply with the weight of the impending confrontation, casting a surreal aura over the scene.

Orangeleaf led the two shipyard workers to a table near the rear of the room. "We're seated here," he told them before escorting them to the buffet.

Nola marveled at the spread of food before her. "Look at all of this. This is more food than we have available to us over two months."

"Two months," Zanden echoed, scanning the array of meats, vegetables, pastries, drinks, and more. He wrestled with the thought of whether it would be fair to indulge while knowing that other workers may not have access to such luxuries.

"Get as much as you like," Orangeleaf reassured them.

Nola glanced at her friend and then their naval escort before proceeding down the buffet line, filling her plate and discreetly pocketing some food. "Can we take some back to our housing?" she asked.

"No," replied the naval lieutenant firmly.

Undeterred, Nola continued to gather food, driven by the desire to provide for her children. Zanden, inspired by her resolve, followed suit, stashing away portions for their families.

Once they had finished at the buffet, the two workers returned to their table, where Orangeleaf awaited them with a worried expression. "May I offer you some advice?" he began cautiously.

"Yes, but we might not listen," Zanden interjected, his tone defiant.

"Remember who you're talking to. Imperials can be imperious, and they have no understanding of your lives," Orangeleaf advised.

"We're not stupid. Zanden and I are both Rank 4 workers. Heck, we could probably go Navy if we wanted," Nola retorted.

"I'm not trying to insult you," Orangeleaf replied earnestly. "Imperials can be odd. Just a warning."

Zanden regarded the young officer with a nod. "Thank you. We'll do our best."
After the luncheon concluded, Orangeleaf, Zanden, and Nola were instructed to wait at their tables until the room cleared. The shipyard workers watched nervously as people gradually filtered out of the large room, leaving them, the young officers, the Princesses, and a few Imperial guards and midshipmen behind. As the room emptied, two midshipmen set up a table in the center of the room with four chairs.

"This is actually happening," remarked Zanden, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"Or it's an elaborate ruse, and we'll be run through with swords or vaporized by magic as soon as we arrive at the table," added Nola, her words laced with cynicism.

"No offense, but I think you're a tad paranoid," retorted Orangeleaf, attempting to lighten the mood.

Nola shot the officer a glare before her expression softened into a smile. "You're almost likable, Lt. Orangeleaf," she conceded.

"As far as Navy goes, he's not half bad. Ate with us lowbloods without a single snooty look," remarked Zanden, acknowledging the officer's efforts to bridge the gap between ranks.

"I respect what you do for us," Orangeleaf replied earnestly, his words carrying a genuine sentiment.

As the trio conversed, a hopper midshipman approached the table, saluting the lieutenant. "Their Dread Graces are ready. Follow me," she announced.

Rising from their seats, Zanden, Nola, and Orangeleaf followed the midshipman to the table where Princess Millicent sat next to her sister, Princess Lucinda. Lucinda, known for her precocious and malicious nature, cast a discerning eye over the newcomers.

"Your Dread Graces, may I present Zanden and Nola, rank 4 shipyard workers in good standing and captains of the Red Band organization," Orangeleaf introduced before bowing respectfully.

"Begone," Lucinda commanded with a casual wave of her hand, causing Orangeleaf to vanish into thin air.

"Lucinda, could you please bring him back?" Millicent requested, her tone more diplomatic than her sister's.

"Very well, sister," Lucinda acquiesced, snapping her fingers to summon Orangeleaf back into existence. The lieutenant reappeared, visibly shaken by his brief disappearance.

"I'm sorry. My sister can be a tad capricious when she's bored," Millicent apologized, attempting to ease the tension.

Oakleaf nodded, his trembling hands betraying his efforts to appear composed. "Of course, Dread Graces," he stammered, taking his seat beside Millicent's naval aid.

Millicent gestured for Zanden and Nola to sit, pouring them drinks as a gesture of hospitality. "So, I hear you have grievances?" she inquired after taking a sip of her own drink.

"We do, lots of them," Nola began, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "We came here hoping for good work, fair wages, fair hours. But when we and our families arrived, we were put to work with quotas that we can barely meet, long hours, deadly situations, and poor housing and resources."

Lucinda interjected dismissively, "Your peasants. You should be glad for any work and pay."

"Beg your pardon, Princess, but we're not all peasants. Most of us are free people from worlds allied to the Empire or worlds that the Empire rules, but where not everyone is a serf or a noble," Zanden countered, his tone firm.

"How hard could such simple labor be?" Lucinda questioned, her tone condescending.

Nola rolled up her sleeve, revealing small crystalline growths on her skin. "Work around liquid crystals used for energy regulation and transport, and you can get crystawarts like these. We don't get fancy wards to stop it, and the potions that cure it cost too much," she explained.

Zanden nodded in agreement and tapped his artificial leg, revealing its mechanical nature. "My leg shattered two years ago. I had a wooden one for a while until we cobbled together enough for a golem leg. Couldn't afford to get it grown back," he elaborated.

Oakleaf recoiled at the revelation, his expression one of horror. "That's horrible. I'll have our healers come to give all of your people proper care during our stay," Millicent promised.

"Thank you, Dread Grace," Zanden expressed his gratitude, a sense of relief washing over him.

As Zanden and Nola continued to explain the mission and purpose of the Red Band organization, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Millicent and Lucinda listened intently, their expressions grave as they absorbed the workers' grievances.

"The Red Band is more than just a collective of shipyard workers," Zanden began, his voice firm with conviction. "It's a union—a unified front against the injustices we face every day. Our goal is simple: to advocate for better working conditions, fair wages, and basic rights for all workers, regardless of their station or background."

Nola nodded in agreement, her gaze unwavering. "We're not asking for handouts. We're demanding what's rightfully ours—the right to work with dignity and the assurance that our lives matter more than mere cogs in the machine of industry."

Millicent's brow furrowed with concern. "And how does the Empire factor into all of this?"

Zanden's expression darkened as he recounted the harsh realities faced by shipyard workers under Imperial rule. "The Empire's use of zombies as laborers sends a clear message—that the living workers are expendable, replaceable. It's not just about efficiency; it's about devaluing human life in favor of mindless automatons."

Nola chimed in, her voice tinged with frustration. "We're not opposed to magical advancements or progress. But when those advancements come at the cost of human suffering, it's a price we're not willing to pay."

Lucinda's eyes narrowed, her curiosity piqued. "And what do you propose to do about it?"

Zanden straightened, his resolve unwavering. "We intend to fight back. To organize, to protest, to demand change. We won't rest until every worker in the shipyards is treated with the respect and dignity they deserve."

Nola's gaze met Lucinda's, her determination shining through. "We understand that change won't happen overnight. But with the support of people like you, Princesses, we believe it's possible to create a better future for all."

Millicent nodded thoughtfully, her expression thoughtful. "Your cause is just, and your determination admirable. I will do everything in my power to support you and your fellow workers."

As Zanden and Nola passionately explained the mission of the Red Band organization and the plight of the shipyard workers, Lucinda listened with a mixture of disdain and skepticism. When they finished speaking, she leaned back in her chair, a look of thinly veiled contempt on her face.

"Interesting," she began, her tone dripping with condescension. "It's commendable that you lowly workers have found some semblance of organization, but let's not delude ourselves into thinking that your little 'Red Band' holds any real influence."

Zanden bristled at her dismissive tone, but he held his tongue, knowing that any outburst could jeopardize their cause.

Lucinda continued, her voice tinged with arrogance. "As for your complaints about the use of zombies, let me make one thing clear: zombies may not be the ideal labor force, but they serve their purpose. Simple tasks that require little thought or skill can be assigned to them, leaving more complex work for those with actual intellect."

Nola exchanged a frustrated glance with Zanden, but she remained composed, determined to push through Lucinda's arrogance.

"With all due respect, Princess," Nola interjected, her voice steady despite the rising tension, "humans possess a depth of skill and expertise that zombies could never hope to achieve. We are adaptable, trainable, and capable of innovation—qualities that are sorely lacking in the undead."

Lucinda waved her hand dismissively, as if swatting away an annoying insect. "Yes, yes, I've heard all the arguments before," she said, her tone patronizing. "But until you lowborn workers can prove your worth beyond a few petty complaints, I'm afraid you'll remain nothing more than expendable pawns in the grand scheme of things."

Zanden clenched his fists in frustration, struggling to maintain his composure in the face of Lucinda's arrogance.

Millicent interjected, her voice firm yet compassionate, "I want to assure you both that your grievances will not fall on deaf ears. I will do everything in my power to ensure that the Redbands are heard and that your concerns are addressed."

Turning to Orangeleaf, Millicent continued, "Until further notice, you will work closely with the ship's living workers to ensure that their grievances are properly conveyed to the Admiralty and the Imperial governors."

Orangeleaf hesitated, his reluctance evident. "I'm not much of a negotiator," he admitted.

Nola offered a reassuring smile. "All you have to do is care," she said.

Zanden, however, couldn't shake his fears. "What if they ignore you?" he asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

Millicent placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I will personally speak to the Admiral and the Imperial governors to ensure that there is no backlash against you, Orangeleaf, or Nola," she assured him.

Lucinda, ever the voice of cynicism, interjected, "Perhaps it would be wise for the Redbands to avoid causing any further trouble."

Nola's expression darkened, her frustration evident. "We'll do whatever it takes to help our people and be heard," she asserted.

Lucinda's response was dismissive. "And what will you do if you're tossed into a dungeon or disintegrated?" she quipped, casually gesturing towards an unused table and vaporizing it with a flick of her wrist.

Millicent swiftly stepped in to diffuse the tension. "Thank you, Lucinda, for your insight," she said diplomatically. "I understand your concerns, but we must strive for peaceful resolutions."

Orangeleaf nodded in agreement. "I will do my best to ensure that things remain peaceful, with the assistance of Zanden and Nola," he pledged.

Zanden and Nola exchanged a determined glance before nodding in agreement.

Millicent rose from her seat, offering a gracious smile. "Thank you, Orangeleaf, Zanden, and Nola, for your cooperation. We will continue this conversation at a later time."

With that, the two princesses turned and exited the room, leaving Orangeleaf, Zanden, and Nola to contemplate the path forward for the Redbands.

*****

As they exited the room, Millicent turned to her sister, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "Did you learn anything from that exchange?" she inquired.

Lucinda shrugged nonchalantly. "Just that lowbloods tend to complain about trivial things," she remarked dismissively.

Millicent's expression softened with understanding. "What may seem trivial to us is often of great importance to those without magic," she explained gently. "Lowbloods have shorter lifespans and lack the magical means to ease their burdens. They deserve to be heard and their concerns addressed."

Lucinda pondered her sister's words for a moment before offering her own perspective. "Perhaps it would be more efficient for the Empire to replace lowblood workers with zombies," she suggested. "A skilled necromancer could program them to perform even complex tasks."

Millicent nodded in agreement but added, "While that may be true, zombies' minds deteriorate quickly, making them unreliable for tasks requiring long-term memory or complex thinking."

Lucinda conceded the point, acknowledging her sister's wisdom. "You're right, as always," she admitted.

The conversation shifted to other potential solutions, with Lucinda suggesting the employment of more efficient races for lowblood work. Millicent countered, pointing out the challenges of controlling such races, especially those like the Shide and Art'n.

Lucinda waved off her sister's concerns, attributing them to the shortcomings of the Imperials on Thalik. "Perhaps," Millicent conceded, "but sometimes force and fear are not the most effective tools. Compromise and understanding can yield better results."

Lucinda mulled over her sister's words, her curiosity piqued. While she didn't fully grasp the concept of compromise, she was intrigued to see how such an approach would play out in practice and how the people on Homeworld would deal with it.

*****

Aja donned the large padded mittens and opened the box. Inside were cartons of large metal balls, each about two inches wide.

"Cold Iron?" Pharm inquired.

"Ships are full of them, for the War-Golem ammo," Aja confirmed.

She picked up one of the balls, feeling its draining effect on her magic even through her gloves. Cold Iron, a rare form of the metal, grounded all magic and could penetrate most magical defenses with ease. It was as dangerous as it was difficult to mine and acquire.

"You do realize if they catch us, we're going to be tossed out an airlock," Xano pointed out.

"Hells yes they will," Aja acknowledged.

Pharm observed as his friend placed the dull grey orb into a stone-lined brass box and closed it.

"Now we just need to find a place to toss this into a cauldron and melt it down. Hopefully, the fumes will negate the magic before it starts unweaving wards and causing all manner of magical chaos," Aja explained.

The trio stealthily moved from the weapons storage on the Black Fog to a hallway, blending in as if they belonged in the area.

"So, is the container going to keep it from ripping all the magic out of everything? This ship's pretty much held together by magic," the necromancer inquired.

"Hopefully," Aja replied cautiously.

"If not, we'll at least be too dead to care," Pharm joked.