Whatever signs of affection the prince had shown that morning could just as well have been a mirage fading off into the afternoon. There were no special words exchanged between them, there was no awkwardness and no bonding either. It was as if it might not have happened at all.

To Quent it was very clear that it did happen however. Why else would his mind be racing? What other than the remnants of Oweahen’s touch lingered on his skin, making his body tingle in this odd fashion?

He had never felt this feeling before and it made him even more nervous than he already was. He simply couldn’t place it and was even considering magic as a cause. Quent had been hugged before, not often, but Timoth had always been the sentimental type, slightly clingy, both physically and mentally. He had been hugged by mischievous students. He had even been hugged by the Headmaester himself before they had parted. It had been awkward but not in a bad way, more like a reassuring gesture that had all the right intentions but was so out of context that it felt weird. He supposed he had been hugged by his mother a long time ago. It could also have happened in a dream.

But never before had he felt this way.

Quent noticed he was still searching for a plausible explanation when he followed the prince into the room reserved for the High Council. Luckily no one was in attendance or he would have had the eyes of every single person that could make or break the Realm on him. Instead there was only a vaguely familiar woman in the room, leaning over a beautiful hardwooden table decorated with what must be malachite. She was not uncomely once you looked at her, quite the contrary even, but this effect was totally undone by the lack of presence she emitted. Yes, emitting a lack, how paradoxical it sounded, was the exact description of the woman’s aura. He might as well looked over her if the prince hadn’t addressed her.

“You wanted to meet him, Gina?”

Mockery was dripping from the prince’s comment.

“Why yes, my prince.” Not looking up from whatever script she was studying. “My sincerest thanks for taking the trouble to come all this way.” Her tone was equally sarcastic.

“Well why don’t you introduce yourself, mage?” The prince said as he closed the big doors behind him.

“I uhm... I am Quent, his majesty’s... guard. Pleased to make your acquaintance ma’am...” Quent took the time to study the woman leaning over what seemed to be a map. She was about ten years older than him, with pronounced cheekbones framed by dark hair that didn’t quite reach her shoulders. Dressed plainly, she wore a typical sorcerer’s robe, practical yet somehow tailored to be elegant. It was odd that it was completely white; usually these dresses came in darker tones like the deep blue he was wearing. Quent supposed it was some Capital city fashion statement.

He heard the prince chuckle behind him. Was he making a fool out of himself again?

It hit him that he was.

How he wished to have become one with the ground right then and there.

The white wasn’t a fashion statement. The lack of presence wasn’t strange now, it was an incredible feat. It was all one big amazing glamour.

Quent fell to his knees, which were still sore from today’s earlier fall. He didn’t really notice however, he was feeling way too sick with awe. Never before in his life had he felt so little, so insignificant, so overwhelmed by somebody’s presence. And she wasn’t even exerting presence.

Any words he might have had were stuck in his throat. Quent started to feel faint again. The prince walked up to the table to take a look at the map. The two of them didn’t seem concerned with him at all.

Honestly, why would they be? They were the two most powerful people in the Realm. The duo that reigned over its people in perfect harmony. The protectors of stability, wellfare and peace. The Prince and the Archsorceress herself.

“Are you looking at that piece of land again? Why don’t you just take it already. You’ve been drooling over it for years.”

“Because, my dear prince, a war would not benefit us as you might recall from your lessons.”

“Oh I recall my lessons alright.”

“Good. Glad I made an impact.”

“Certainly you’re making an impact right now. The mage you gave me has an inclination towards staying low to the ground but this really exceeds any previous attempts of his to become one with the flooring.”

“Quent, you may get up now, really.” The Archsorceress spoke without even glancing at his direction. Prince Oweahen however seemed to be having the time of his life.

“You really did it this time Gina.”

“You could have told him so he wouldn’t have to feel so embarrassed now.”

“What’s the fun in that? Besides, you’re doing way too much your best to be unimpressive. It’s such a nice change of scenery.”

“I’m glad you find me impressive young prince. Now act like a monarch instead of a tyrant and help the poor mage out.”

“Fine, fine,” the prince sighed with feigned tiredness as he directed his attention back to Quent. “Mage, this is Ignata the First, Archsorceress. Gina to family, friends and those with a death wish.”

The Archsorceress looked up for the first time and Quent immediately felt the need to make himself smaller. The floor, he thought. Focus on the floor.

“Quent,” her voice was so calm as she spoke his name. There was no implicit condescendence in it at all, yet it felt like she was talking to a child. “It is not necessary for you to keep to the ground in my presence. You are prince Oweahen’s guard now after all.”

With his entire mind and body protesting heavily against the violation of respect, Quent got up.

“Now dear Oweahen, would you please leave your guard to me for a moment? I’d like to have a little talk with Quent, get to know him better.”

“I’m not sure whether I can part with him yet,” replied the prince.

“Well this wasn’t a request your majesty.”

Oweahen sighed, clearly annoyed but not protesting. For the first time since Quent had met him he was ready to make a concession and give up some of his superfluous pride. “Just don’t mess him up with magic or something. I like this one.”

“Don’t worry my prince, I’m just interested in some arcane details. Nothing of interest to you.”

“Fine.” The prince didn’t slam the door behind him, though it was obvious he would have liked to. Being dismissed didn’t seem to his taste.

The Archsorceress directed her attention back at Quent. A wave of reassurance washed over him as soon as she did. She wasn’t that bad. Her looks weren’t threatening. She just wanted to talk about arcane details.

He quickly realised it was a spell that made him feel this way. Never in his life would he have thought those things on his own volition. Yet he was ok with it. He would just… Calm down for one moment… Be with this woman. Why hadn’t he noticed how beautiful she was before…?

“Please take a seat Quent.”

He obeyed her command meekly.

“Your headmaester, Maester Goodwyn, didn’t tell me much about you. I trusted him completely when he suggested you to take this position.” The Archsorceress smiled and sat down too, brushing her white robes straight with her hands. They were nice hands, small with long elegant fingers and neatly trimmed nails. Not the hands of someone bad.

“See, the prince has been having a hard time dealing with the death of his previous guard. They were close, she was like an older sister to him… Oweahen felt like he lost a family member that day. Surely you know what that feels like, Quent?”

He did. “I do, your Magnificence.”

She nodded softly, looking at him with a sad look in her eyes. He didn’t want her to feel this way, she was… Still casting that spell.

This realisation made his head clearer again. Yes, it was less pleasant to know this woman’s terrible power, but at least it didn’t make his brains feel like cotton. It was safer to resist this fake comfort. It just was extremely, extremely difficult...

“It’s ok Quent, I’m just trying to make you feel more at ease. I understand how overwhelming this all must be. You see, I wasn’t born into these robes either. They don’t tell you that at the Citadel, but I grew up on the streets. I too came a long, long, way from here.”

It was true. No one had ever told him that. The simple thought was blasphemous.

She chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not as quickly upset as the prince.”

“He is upset quite quickly yes…”

Why was he speaking?! He wasn’t supposed to be speaking. Especially not about his majesty’s bad traits.

“Relax, I won’t tell him.” She was still smiling. “I’m just glad you two get along so well.”

“Honestly… I am not so sure about that, your Magnificence.”

There he went again! Speaking to her like she was-

His thoughts were interrupted by the pleasant pebbling water that was her laughter. “Oh believe me, I think I made the right decision by appointing a mage like you. You’re a great influence on him already. He didn’t hurt you yet right?”

The “yet” in that sentence was slightly alarming but he nodded. “No, no, not at all.”

“I heard you got into a little accident with some guards? Myriam told me.”

“I am so sorry your Magnificence, I…”

“You’re new, it’s alright. I told her to keep an eye out for you and I’m glad that she did. Speaking of which, I’ve asked her to teach you some things that might come in handy as a royal guard. Things they don’t teach you at the Citadel. She was sure you are capable, you are quite talented considering… Well, if you would like to, of course.” Another one of those smiles.

“I… I would be honoured to, your Magnificence.”

“Very good! She’ll get in touch with you. As for now, please keep up the good work you’ve been doing. And should his majesty ever… cross the lines… Please do tell me. I’ve been through this before and it pains me to see so many talented people be the victim of his abuse.”

“I…”

“It’s your job to protect the prince Quent, and mine to protect you,” her eyes were the same colour as the malachite table. It wasn’t hard to lose oneself following the veins that meandered around the pupil, seemingly never to stand still. “You are a magic user and thus closer to me than the average person. Oweahen likes you for his own reasons, I like you for your honesty and open approach, for your difficult past which you overcame with the resoluteness of a true mage and for the magic that flows through your veins like it flows through mine. Stay true to yourself and I know you’ll overcome this too.” Her hand softly touched his and he felt the electricity running through his skin. It was different from Oweahen’s touch. That hadn’t been magic. This was however, and never before had Quent felt so akin to someone. She was right. Their shared power made them different. Like the Archsorceress and him were part of another world altogether and the prince and everybody else were just onlookers. Passing by.

“I understand,” he said as he stood up. “Thank you, your Magnificence, for giving me this opportunity.” He wanted to thank her for more, for that moment of connection which had transcended this plane, but he knew no words would do it justice. She knew too.

“You’re more than welcome. Now go back to your master and protect him from the evils of this world. But mostly, protect him from himself,”

“I will, your Magnificence.”

With a deep sorrow in his heart for having to say goodbye to her already, Quent left the room.