As Adon finished speaking, Sir Jaren stared down at him, and the two held each other’s gaze for a pregnant moment.

  Who are you, truly? Adon heard the knight thinking. What is your purpose here?

  “You are not like the mystic beasts I always imagined,” Sir Jaren said at long last.

  Adon felt the prickling of a slight nervousness again.

  Oh? How so? he transmitted, affecting disinterest as best he could.

  “I suppose I expected a certain haughtiness,” Sir Jaren said. “But you are really more…”

  He hesitated, and Adon heard what the knight was thinking: More like Rosslyn or the young lords. Unexpectedly young. Gentle. Perhaps too gentle and soft for your own good—or that of the Kingdom.

  “Humble,” Sir Jaren finished aloud. “Humbler than I would have expected.”

  Oh, thank you, Adon replied, trying not to sound sarcastic. He knew that Sir Jaren was trying to be nice, but being a mind-reader was kind of an obstacle to that in moments like this.

  He’s really pretty diplomatic, actually, Adon thought. I could learn from him. He’s probably the reason I’m not getting grilled by Rosslyn about what happened right now.

  “Hmm.” Sir Jaren frowned and nodded. “We should go now and actually prepare to depart. The Princess and the young lords will undoubtedly rush to the stables. The knights are all ahorse by now.”

  That sounds fine to me, Adon replied. He might try to pick Sir Jaren’s brain for socialization tips later, but if he did, it would be after thinking of a clever way to do it that would not make the butterfly sound like he had been a complete social outcast in all his previous lives.

  Sir Jaren opened the door, and the two returned to the area where the others were waiting.

  “You are all going to the dungeon with us?” he asked.

  Not the little ones, Adon sent back immediately.

  Then the man-at-arms called for servants to transport the younger arthropods back to the room. While they waited, Adon, Goldie, and Samson said their farewells to the younger spiderlings.

  Samson offered to stay behind with them, which surprised Adon.

  But the little ones said that they had figured things out for themselves.

  We know how to catch prey now, thought little Orion in response to a telepathic question.

  And how to work together, added Phoebe.

  We are well adapted, thought Diagon.

  Adon found it strange that they all seemed to speak in a uniform and almost monotone inner voice, but he was also pleased that they could communicate at all, considering that he had never managed to teach Red that trick.

  Goldie seemed to have the most difficulty parting, understandably. She gave the little spiders an emotional promise to return, but from Adon’s point of view, they simply did not seem that worried.

  We will see you soon, mother, thought Orion, who Adon guessed was the de facto leader when Samson was absent.

  Have a safe journey, the others thought, in a creepy near unison.

  Then the servant came to carry the spiderlings to their room.

  After they were taken away, things moved quickly. Adon expanded into the transportation mode butterfly form he had used during his recent travel with the two spiders, they climbed onto his back, and the trio accompanied Sir Jaren as he walked out to the stables. Just beyond there, dozens of knights sat on horseback, chatting amiably among themselves.

  Most of them wore the spider insignia of Dessia, rather than the butterfly sigil of Claustria, demonstrating how the Dessians were contributing disproportionately to this venture.

  Adon felt a twinge of guilt at ruining Rosslyn and William’s duel, as he saw them.

  Then he realized that William and Frederick were there too, though they held themselves somewhat aloof from the men, talking among themselves.

  I guess we took longer saying our farewells than I thought, Adon surmised. Where is Rosslyn?

  —

  Rosslyn bathed quickly and efficiently, barely noticing as the roughness of her hands wielding the towel left red streaks on her pale skin.

  Her mind was still in the training room.

  Adon actually did that, she decided. Why? He must have had a good reason… No, what reason could justify interfering that way?

  It was unlikely that Adon understood the potential consequences of what he had done, but he had to have known he was taking some kind of risk.

  Rosslyn shook her head.

  It does not matter right now.

  What was important was to perform her final preparations before she left for the dungeon. The mystic beasts were coming with them, after all. She would have time to discuss this matter with Adon, when she chose to do so. Her mind began running through her other urgent tasks.

  She had already given instructions for what was to be done in the event that the city was to come under attack before she returned. She had paid a last visit to her comatose father and prayed for him in the chapel.

  Now she dressed herself in a fresh layer of light, breathable clothing and donned her armor again. She did this alone, as she did not want a servant to help dress her anymore. Perhaps she would feel that way for the rest of her life.

  I never needed help to do this anyway, Rosslyn thought irritably. It is a simple enough task. She shook herself again. Do not let her get to you…

  That would be the last piece of business she dealt with.

  For the moment, she armed herself with a real sword, and she walked down the hallway to the quarters that belonged to her father, stepmother, and half-siblings.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  As Rosslyn reached the main room, the knight who stood at their chamber door saluted and silently opened it for the Princess.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Then she entered, and she was immediately set upon by a small gang of short humans.

  Baltazar, Oliva, Cormac, and Ailsa all swarmed around Rosslyn, chattering.

  “Why are you all dressed up in armor?”

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “How is father doing?”

  “Did you find the traitor?”

  Rosslyn fixed her eyes on Baltazar with sudden intensity, and she quickly grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him over to a corner of the room. She gave the other children a look that told them to stay put, and they obeyed, suddenly silent.

  “Who told you about that?” she hissed once she and Baltazar were apart from the rest.

  No one was supposed to have heard about the fact that the palace had been infiltrated, except on a need-to-know basis. Every bit of information leakage made them less secure, and now that Rosslyn was responsible for the Kingdom’s security, she was trying to keep a tight rein on what she let slip. A child should not have heard about this.

  Baltazar’s face fell, and he looked down.

  “I was not supposed to tell,” he muttered.

  “Baltazar, please,” Rosslyn said. “You have to tell me who told you about the traitor.”

  “It was Sir Franz,” Baltazar whispered.

  “Thank you.”

  “It was my fault, though, Ros,” Baltazar said, voice pleading. “I made him tell me what was going on. Of course I would notice people marching up and down the halls late at night…”

  “He will not be in any trouble. I just have to carefully impress upon him how secret this matter is. And you cannot repeat this to anyone either!”

  “I will not,” he said, raising his left hand beside his head as if taking an oath.

  “Still, he should know better. I am amazed that Sir Franz would allow you to talk him into sharing that information.”

  “I may have pressured him a bit.” Baltazar swallowed down a visible lump in his throat and looked at his feet.

  Rosslyn read between the lines and decided that she did not need to know the details, at least for now. They would only annoy her and shame her brother, when she had come to say goodbye, intending to leave on a happy note.

  If I do not return alive, Baltazar takes the throne, she thought. This boy… She shook her head. Do not be uncharitable toward your brother. He has good character, but he is yet unformed.

  Rosslyn pulled her brother in close and gave him a short, tight hug.

  “I am not upset with you,” she said. “Use your own conscience and judgment, and decide whether you are upset with yourself. If you feel badly, it is all right to apologize to Sir Franz.”

  But as she pulled away, Rosslyn could not help but think that, all in all, her brother was not ready if he was suddenly forced to assume the throne.

  He was not raised for this. He would be blown this way and that by whoever spoke to him last…

  The Princess spent the next several minutes saying her farewells to her brothers and sisters, and she tried to make them fond ones.

  Then she hugged her stepmother. Rosslyn could feel Carolien’s slight limp as they embraced. It reminded her of all that they had already been through together.

  “Stay safe,” Carolien whispered in Rosslyn’s ear.

  “Take care,” Rosslyn whispered back.

  Of yourself, of the children, of the palace, of the city, of the country, of everything…

  After what might have been her last encounter with her family, Rosslyn took a few minutes to give Sir Franz a piece of her mind, trying to be stern without being threatening.

  Then she walked down long and winding paths until she made her way into the cool, damp air of the holding area beneath the palace. She continued down dark stone hallways until she found herself in front of what might have been the darkest, most isolated cell in the building.

  A woman was half-crouched inside the cell, her chains to the wall of such a length that they prevented her from fully relaxing. Both fresh and dried blood stained her face and the rags that her clothing had been reduced to in recent days. Everywhere the clothing was torn, Rosslyn could see fresh or recently healed cuts and purple and black, badly bruised flesh.

  Despite the prisoner’s dismal condition, she was still capable of lifting her head and looking at the Princess, as Rosslyn came to meet her.

  “Hello Celeste,” Rosslyn said, her voice as neutral as she could make it.

  The Princess had hoped that she would feel some measure of satisfaction at knowing that her secret enemy had been suitably punished. Instead, she felt a revolting rush of sympathy.

  Rosslyn and her maid had shared so much, over so many years, that seeing Celeste in such a condition was almost as painful for Rosslyn as being tortured herself would have been. But she forced herself to keep her eyes steely. A dark part of the Princess was certain that if Celeste saw Rosslyn in pain, it would bring the assassin some satisfaction. Rosslyn did not want to understand this way of thinking, but she thought she did.

  “Hello Princess,” Celeste said in a flat, slightly pained tone. “Have you come to have your go at me?” She raised a manacled leg and shook it in Rosslyn’s direction. “See, here’s a spot they have not cut me yet. Your sword would fit in nicely between the shinbone and the muscle beneath, would it not? I was never instructed in torture, but I have knocked my shinbone before, and I remember it was painful enough without a sharp implement.”

  Despite herself, the corner of Rosslyn’s lip twitched, and Celeste saw it.

  “You should not restrain yourself from laughing and smiling on my account, Princess,” Celeste said. “I am your prisoner. Have your fun with me. Your interrogators have already done their worst.”

  “No worse than you deserved,” Rosslyn replied sharply.

  Celeste fell silent for a moment. Then she said, “What I did—tried to do—to your family was truly a mercy by comparison to what the Empire would do.”

  “You have a strange idea of mercy,” Rosslyn replied. “Slow poisoning, while you watched my father wither away.”

  The former maid at least had the decency to look away.

  “I heard that you kept your silence under interrogation,” Rosslyn added.

  “I told them things,” Celeste said. “Perhaps not all they wanted to hear, but all I knew. And they will come back in the morning, no doubt, and extract more information that I do not have.” Her voice was bitter but resigned.

  Against her will, Rosslyn found herself admiring the pluck of this woman who had almost shattered her family.

  “You wanted to offer my family mercy, you said,” Rosslyn said.

  Celeste looked at her with a raised eyebrow and then nodded.

  “Then mercy is what is called for, in your case, too,” Rosslyn continued. “Lean your head as far forward as you can.”

  The assassin’s eyes widened as she realized what Rosslyn was saying.

  As the Princess began channeling mana into her sword, Celeste quickly used her shackled hands to grab at the ragged remains of her once proud mane of hair, and she pulled it away to better expose her neck.

  Divine Sword, Sixth Form, Edge of Light.

  Celeste opened her mouth to speak.

  “Thank—”

  The blade severed her head from her neck in a single, smooth motion. It took a moment before blood gushed forth from the stump, but when it did, it splattered Rosslyn’s face and her sword. The Princess simply had not thought to move away.

  Her eyes were still staring down at Celeste’s face, the dead eyes staring up at the Princess from the ground. This was the first person Rosslyn had ever killed who she had known beforehand.

  She looks grateful. In the end, it truly was a mercy. Did she deserve mercy from me? Should I have just left her here to rot? Rosslyn recalled Matilda’s criticism of her for weakness. Maybe I am too soft, too weak to lead.

  But Rosslyn at least knew that she had done what she thought was right.

  Justice had been served—and by her own hand.

  She walked away, bloody blade still bare in her hand, feet mechanically taking her to the stables.

  —

  As Adon and the others watched, Rosslyn emerged from the stables on horseback.

  She held a rag with which she was wiping something off of her sword. Adon noticed the reddish tinge on the cloth at almost the same instant that she sheathed her blade. Then Rosslyn handed the rag to a waiting stable attendant, and she rode toward the waiting knights and mystic beasts.

  Adon could not be certain, but as she approached, he thought there was a melancholy cast to the Princess’s face. Perhaps it was just his imagination.