Samuel had been unceremoniously dragged up from the carpet and practically pushed out of his father’s office. While he was processing the shock of all that had happened, others had taken charge. The Prince Nikolaus had led him directly to his bedroom, and Samuel was given only a few short minutes to “Pack a bag”.

He had obeyed the command, but if you’d asked him what he’d put in the small knapsack, he couldn’t tell you. He knew that once or twice a hand had reached across to direct him, to put down one item, to choose another.

While all this went on, and people talked behind him, it seemed as though his father had disappeared, hidden at the back of the crowd, as uncertain as his son now was. As they led him out of his home for the last time, for a brief moment Samuel was engulfed in his father’s awkward arms. An uncharacteristic hug to mark their parting.

‘Is this the last time we’ll see one another?’ Samuel found himself wondering. He wasn’t given any time to formulate a response. Instead he was marched out of the house and through a few short corridors to the diplomatic quarters. A cloak had been thrown over him for the length of the journey, not his own; and he was kept huddled in the middle of the group, with the five other men crowding him in. 

The rest of the night and morning had passed by in a blur as people he didn’t know rushed around preparing for an unexpectedly hurried departure. The only thing that shook him temporarily from his stupor was a sharp rapping on the door of the residence. Everyone had gone still at that point, fearful, every eye on the door. Eventually Prince Nikolaus himself had crossed the foyer, opened the door, and shared a short, muttered conversation with the person on the other side. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as the prince turned back, pocketing some small item that the visitor had handed over to him, and locking the door again with a resounding click.

Apart from that, Samuel hadn’t even batted an eyelid as others had come over and pulled him to his feet, undressing him right there in the midst of all the bustle, and re-dressing him without a single demur.

So it was that Samuel found himself at 10.28am, standing on paved ground before the imposing arch of the city gates. This was the first time he could remember being at ground-level, and above him the towers of his youth loomed and overshadowed the Prince’s entourage, drawn up as it was in a long and tangled procession, setting out for home. 

Samuel was in the middle of the royal caravan, dressed in the clothes and helmet of The Prince’s Bodyguard. He’d been introduced to an older guard named Markus, and told to stick close to him. That was exactly what he was doing, shadowing Markus’ every step, two paces behind him, as they walked alongside one of the wagons that held a part of the Royal Wardrobe: all the clothing, moveable goods and sundry chattels that were needed for the court to function. The wagon was pulled by draught horses, a first for Samuel. Indeed the entire contingent was moved by an array of different horses, at least those who weren’t walking on their own two feet. Samuel knew about horses, but he would never have guessed that the city had its own stables to provide accomodation to the beasts brought in by visiting Edge-landers.

As the people, horses and wagons moved ponderously forward, a lead weight settled in Samuel’s gut. Underneath his helmet he was sweating. He didn’t know what would happen if they were found out, but he didn’t know how they couldn’t be found out either! Surely the city, with all its technical prowess, would be able to pick a citizen from an edge-lander?

In the end, despite all of Samuel’s nerves and internal protestations, the departure went off smoothly and without incident. The border had come to a standstill in order to process the entirety of the Aerskan Diplomatic Party in one go - the privilege of the powerful. The Prince’s Equerry presented the appropriate papers (hurriedly redrawn by Councilman Martin an hour or two before) to the border officers, and the whole lumbering mess of people and animals moved out, down the arched tunnel that led beyond the high metal walls of the Megacity and into the barbarian wilderness itself. The customs officers ticked off people as they went through, each person flashing their diplomatic ID. In the tunnel Samuel knew the body and baggage sensors would be scanning everything. He wondered where in the train his small bag of belongings might be? They'd been taken away from him by some unknown servant and he hadn't seen them since. What would that small collection of paraphernalia, the remains of his life, look like to the technician on the other side of the scanning screen?

Every step through the claustrophobic tunnel Samuel kept waiting for the gates at the far end to slam shut. He kept his eyes fixed on Markus in front of him and kept walking along, his right hand gripping the side of the cart in desperation.

Exiting the tunnel, and the last few precious metres of City, past the last of the border soldiers with their grim looks and guns, Samuel wondered if he should give it all up, make a break for it, yell out his identity? He didn’t want to leave. Would they really see him as a threat to the state if he stayed? What had he really done? All this for a dance?

He didn’t run, or yell, or drop though, he kept walking. Samuel walked past the final flimsy piece of outer fence, and he kept walking until the tar seal under his feet gave way to nothing but hard, beaten dirt. They walked on, all of them, through the morning, out across the burnt and blistered landscape that surrounded the city as far as the eye could see. As they finally left the vast shadow of the city itself, they all blinked at the brightness of the sunshine, and Samuel found himself sweating from the heat rising from the baked earth.

From up above, the strip of dead earth around the city appeared quite thin, a few metres wide. In reality it was several kilometres across. Finally the caravan found its way to the treeline, and slipped beneath the canopy of the forest. As they entered the protection of the forest, each and every person breathed a sigh of relief. It felt like home was only a few short steps away for them now, and safety was all but assured.

It felt like that to everyone in the party, except for Samuel. Entering beneath the green canopy of the forest he felt his home slipping further and further away from him. His only home, his only life, lay behind him. Walking into the trees he had no idea what the future would hold, or even what the future physically looked like. What did the Edge actually look like?

Was he to be a member of the guards for the rest of his life? What would happen when they reached their destination? How was he meant to live, and what was happening to his father? Finally, he thought of his father, his family now left behind to weather the repercussions of these last disastrous days. This was what threatened to break him in the end.

Samuel cast his eyes around, looking for something, anything that he could recognise, something that would give him some certainty in this uncertain time, but there was nothing. He longed for a glimpse of a familiar face, any face. He lifted himself up on tiptoe, hoping to spot the Prince, or Nikolaus, or even the bald-headed advisor. Nikolaus, he wanted to see Nikolaus. Nikolaus who had caught him when he’d fallen, and had protected him from Vince, and had kept him on his feet while they danced. Why hadn’t the prince come to see him yet? Where could he be? They were safe in the trees now, why couldn’t Nikolaus have broken ranks to come back and find him.

Samuel didn’t know why his brain had become so fixated on the crown prince. It must be the shock of everything catching up with him. Yes, that was it. As Samuel’s mind spun in circles, he could feel his breathing begin to come in shorter and shorter puffs. He was beginning to hyperventilate from the stress of the last hours. Panic setting into his soul.

Hearing the beginnings of that panic behind him, Markus chose that moment to begin speaking. He talked about nothing. The names of the horses, observations on the flowers by the roadside, any amount of dross and dribble. The calm timbre of the voice reached back to Samuel; a lifeline to cling to. Listening to Markus’ words flow over him, Samuel’s breathing eased and he continued to plod onward, deeper and deeper into the wood.

Meanwhile, at the front of the column, out of sight, Nikolaus rode stoically beside his father. This was his place as Crown Prince, here at the front, and today at least his father would brook no further breach of etiquette. The Sovereign Prince might not be as slavish to the Imperial Court Ceremonial as his wife, but he knew what was right and fitting. What’s more, they needed to ensure that the city-boy attracted as little attention as possible on this trip. At least until they could ensure his safety.

The older prince knew how that might be achieved. He hoped it would work. It was a dangerous plan, and would cause his son untold pain, and the principality any number of international crises; but Nikolaus had always been the dutiful prince, he would understand, and the crises couldn't be helped. Collateral damage. 

The Prince had once called Councilman Martin a friend. If only he’d known at the time what that friendship would cost him, his family, and his principality. If the Old Prince had known beforehand the choices he would have to make to keep Martin’s son safe, he might have refused that particular friendship.

“Can’t be helped. Time moves backwards for no man.” He muttered to himself; his back straight, his head high, the old soldier riding home from the fray.