The Golden King of Aclata was a rather funny fellow. Thirrul was what I suppose you could call a “contemporary” thinker in a land where most men of his vintage were still practically draconic in their approach to non-humans. He had never been able to convince his subjects that they were people - oh no - but he had managed to make their wholesale slaughter a thing of the past. A small step for mankind, but a monumental victory for all those Nightfolk who had once been the subjects of hunts, lynchings and general unpleasantness.

The Remans could still keep Nightfolk as slaves, sure, but now they couldn’t just dispose of them willy nilly like they had once been able to.

I had heard that King Thirrul was fascinated by Unnaturals, enchanted by their “other”-ness. That he kept a menagerie, at his golden court in Halireamer. Tonight, I learned that in addition to his menagerie of kept curiosities, he also spiced up his standing army with decidedly supernatural flavours.

The little noble who was holding this rather snore-worthy do almost wet himself on the spot when the tallest and broadest of the three armoured individuals had whipped his helmet off with a flourish to reveal the impossibly golden locks that stamped every member of the royal family. Cabe clapped his hands together in excitement beside me, and then made a small, disconcertingly happy noise when the two knights that flanked the king revealed themselves to be a little less than human. One was very obviously fey, and if I’d had to guess I’d say dark. That was unusual in and of itself - dark fey were widely known for being both brutal and not exactly fond of humans. The other gave an impression of fur that I could taste on my tongue from across the room, so tightly wound was his anger. Shapeshifter, of some flavour. He clearly hated being here amongst all these humans, with their grimances and upturned noses.

The hall had descended into a furor that was somewhat amusing to behold, but I found my interest slowly drifting. I wondered if Cabe intended on doing something really stupid, like marching up to the king himself and demanding to speak with his knights. It would be amusing, for a moment, but would probably see my time outside of the In Between cut rather short. I was playing with my wine glass when the king settled on a makeshift throne, hastily assembled at the head of the hall. I didn’t even notice the strange little rider from before enter, would not have at all if Cabe hadn’t explosively gasped in a rather overdramatic fashion at my elbow. He slapped me on the elbow - pretty much the highest point he could reach - and jabbed a finger at the throne.

“Fucking jackpot, Dell. Find me a way to talk to her.”

I followed his trembling finger, and if it was possible for a demon to die of shock on the spot I probably would have. She was curled at the king’s feet. He had reached down, and removed the blank mask from her face. The king held the mask in one hand, absently, as he stroked one cheek of his attendee like one might stroke a dog. I was keenly aware of the fact that I was not the only one looking. I suppose that’s what Thirrul was aiming for - a display. I’m not sure how many of the humans in the room would have known what they were looking at - or even the Others, for that matter. There had not been a God Touched born on the Reman continent in decades. They had a nasty habit of killing them as babies. And yet, here she was, a slave sitting at the feet of the golden God King.

“I know her.”