Regent Konstantine straightened as a nearby bookcase slid behind another, a secret passage only for members of Thousand Eyes now standing open.  With soft tread, a man clad in unassuming, common browns, came over and knelt before the Regent.

    “Report.”

    “It is quiet in Velmendois.  The Contra’Vagus returns with the Elites of Corps d’Noir.”

    The Regent nodded as though no other outcome were possible.  “Good.  Return to your post.”

    With a silent bow, the man departed, bookcase sliding closed behind him.

    The Regent gripped the mantlepiece, throwing his head back in relief.  “Thank God...”

    At that moment, ten Corps d’ Noir dragoons galloped urgently northward on the King’s Highway, endeavoring to keep up with their swift leader. Another summer rain had begun.  Hooves tore up the ground with the hammering beat of battle drums.  Tied to the Contra’Vagus’s saddle, a purple-stained satchel heavily bounced against the lead stallion’s shoulder.  Montmercy’s eyes were locked on the road ahead, as were the Elite officers’.  Risk of danger to the Crown demanded speed.

    Wringing their hands in the way they always did when they thought his actions unreasonable, Demetrius’ nursemaids hovered attentively behind him.

    “Please, your Majesty!” Nurse the First pled.

    Her real name was Lady Constance, sometimes affectionately called Connie.  Barely into her thirties, she seemed too young and pretty to be a childless widow, but that was her story.  Demetrius didn’t like to see her cry, so he never asked about it.  Purportedly, her husband had died in battle against the neighboring Voskalla Empire, fairly close to when Demetrius was born.  But the timing of the shock and resulting stillbirth served the Crown rather well.  The late Queen Mother was swift to appoint Lady Constance as the infant Dauphin’s nurse.  Thus, she had poured all her devotion and anxious energies into the little Prince ever since.

    Perhaps Demetrius could blame her for poisoning him, predisposing him with unbefitting, un-Kingly anxiety.  But that was untrue, uncharitable, ungrateful, and unkind and un-noble and... and...  He would look up a few more un- words for future use.  Later.  He was too preoccupied with defining fear at present.

    “You must make ready.  The time comes for Petitioner’s Court.”

    Demetrius was already decidedly deaf to Nurse the Second’s voice before she had uttered a word.  He was not going to move, whatever Lady Gertrude said.  Not today.  She had marshaled quite the sizeable noble household before her royal appointment, which was ever-apparent in her no-nonsense, practical demeanor.  Where Constance would bundle Demetrius away from the cares of the world, Gertrude had the vexing habit of pushing him into the thick of them, as though over-familiarity would toughen his regal hide.

    Demetrius was afraid of how the fog moved out in the gardens and beyond – especially near the well-guarded gatehouse.  Sometimes the low mists moved like fantastical beasts, or swirled like a Magician’s spell – he’d seen enough of such things before the Contra’Vagus drove the wicked ones away.  Sometimes the fog thickened into the illusion of an approaching battalion, and sometimes that dark mass out there really was a group of men – thankfully, his own.  The Royal Guards were all out on full alert, ready to take on any traitors, witches, magicians, or worse that might get past the Corps d’ Noir...  

    Oh, Heaven forfend such an event...