I could begin the day convinced that I’ve found the right way to tackle a certain problem, only to discover later that my resolve had led me off course. And today is one of those days.

My foot veered right and strode along the street as if I knew exactly where I was going. At the end of my path for retribution, a row of decrepit buildings that seemed to have been abandoned by even ghosts years ago greeted me. The Chosen One should have been right there in the corner where I had left it. But there was no bar. Just me standing in the middle of a vacant alley, scratching my head like a moron.

Have you ever gotten the feeling you’ve been played? Well, that was me right then and there. No lamps pinned to the walls, no sign, no archway door, and certainly no old bartender. Just silence and a cat lying on top of a rubbish bin, staring at me with that look that said it knew something I sure as hell didn’t.

“Back?” I muttered, more to myself than to the cat.

“Meow.” It tilted its head.

“Seen which way that bar went?” I pointed at where the not-there-anymore bar should have been. Nothing from the cat but a straight-faced stare. “Right, I’ll take that as a no.”

I started pacing the alley, walking up and down like a lunatic, hoping that if I looked hard enough, the bar would magically appear. I even knocked on a couple of doors, hoping one might open to a hidden passage. Nope. Just splinters in my knuckles and some unwanted company. The cat from last night trailed after me as if we were best buds or something.

“Shoo!” I waved it off. It meowed back at me, all friendly-like. “You’re not trying to tell me you’re Nibbles’ son, are you?” Nibbles was Alice’s favorite cat and had a habit of sneaking into town to mingle with the local strays. I wouldn’t put it past him to have a kid or two running around.

‘Meow.’

“Fine, come along,” I said wearily, trying to think of a name for this little guy. “Jitters, that’s what I’ll call you. I’ll feed you later.”

Jitters and I then spent the next hour tearing the place apart. We went through every dark corner, every shadow-infested crevice, and even moved a few barrels in case they were concealing an entrance. By the time we were finished, I was drenched in sweat and there wasn’t a trace of the darn bar. The sun climbed higher, turning morning into late morning as I threw in the towel. Walking over to the nearest wall, I mumbled to myself while hitting it with my fist, “That makes two you’ve missed.” Apparently, revenge wasn’t my thing. Or maybe I was losing my mind.

I needed a break. I needed fresh air. I ended up in the slightly better part of town at a small café that had always caught my attention. A few small outdoor tables were shaded by a large oak out front. It was a perfect place to sit and get mad at the world.

I got myself a cup of coffee and a tuna sandwich for Jitters, then sank into one of the small round tables. The noises of the town, kids laughing and faraway horseshoes clattering on cobblestone, served as a peaceful background while I sipped my coffee and tried to make sense of what had just happened. Or not happened, depending on how you looked at it.

But no matter how much I tried to relax, my mind kept drifting back to that alley. Had I imagined it all? The Chosen One bar, the old bartender; was it all just drunken nonsense? I wasn’t sure anymore, and the thought was driving me nuts. I ruffled my hair in frustration.

The hours ticked by, and I kept wandering around the town purposelessly. I must have circled the market square half a dozen times, weaving through the crowd, buying a snack here and there, trying to shake off the weird feeling that had settled in my gut.

Just as I was about to head back to the estate and call it a day, a commotion broke out. It started as an indistinct murmur but soon grew into something more. People began to run along the main road, their voices rising in excitement.

What the hell is going on now?

I made my way over to see what all the fuss was about. Three young men were running past me, and I recognized them as regulars at the Drunken Stag, though I couldn’t remember their names. Who remembers strangers in a tavern, only faces sometimes. So I called them what I usually call people whose names escape me.

“Hey, dude, what’s going on?”

One of them stopped. “Master Alex! Is that you?”

“Yeah, so do you know what’s going on?”

“I heard there’s a rich merchant giving out free barrels of ale!” he replied, then gave me a quick farewell before running off to catch up with his mates.

I shook my head, laughing at the thought. The day rainbows turn to gold, that’s when a merchant will give out free drinks. Still, it might be worth checking out.

There! A convoy of slightly more than thirty soldiers mounted on horseback paraded down the main street with military precision, their splendid armor gleaming in the sunlight. Each one of them was armed with swords and all that. Yep, it was impressive, but what really drew my attention were the three carriages they were escorting. Two of them were rather trivial. However, the front carriage was something else. It was more luxurious than anything I had ever seen. Its edges were frilled with gold, velvet curtains adorned the windows, and the wheels looked as if they had never touched a muddy road in their entire lives. On the sides of the carriage was painted the crest of House Lysander, a silver lion with a crown hovering above it, roaring against a field of blue. The banner fluttered in the breeze, and as if on cue, goosebumps prickled my skin.

Don’t tell me she’s here already?

I tilted my head. Leading the way was a woman who, from the window of the coach, waved at the passersby as if she were a queen, generously granting her subjects an audience. A blessing in itself. Catherine, Duke Lysander’s daughter. A lady who detested every visit to Stormbourne Estate but showed up here in all her sumptuousness, making it a spectacle. I noted how she smiled and waved and briefly questioned whether she thought herself convincing at faking it. Really, Bitch? Just show these people that ugly side of yours.

But something didn’t add up. Why the large convoy? Why the show of force? Catherine had visited before, but never like this. Was there something more going on? Did she feel the need to arrive with a small army at her back?

Crap! I needed to get back to the estate too. Let me worry about these questions later.

I hung back, following the convoy at a distance, careful to stay out of sight while keeping my eyes on the procession making its way to the estate. It wasn’t just me. A sea of wide-eyed kids and curious townsfolk had also decided to follow the convoy, all eager to catch a glimpse of Duke Lysander’s eldest daughter, who was also the King’s eldest niece. As the convoy reached the edge of town, people started peeling away from what had become an unprepared parade, returning to their daily lives and leaving only me and one faithful companion.

“Still sticking with me?”

“Meow,” Jitters responded, tail flicking.

“Very well then, let’s go,” I nodded. “I’ll take you to meet your family and catch up with your old man.”

Upon reaching the estate’s gate, the convoy had already passed through. From my position, I could just make out a few of Catherine’s escort at the back of the line as it wound its way toward the main mansion.

The guards at the gate straightened up the moment they saw me approach, their faces stern as if they expected trouble. They were good blokes, really, but you’d think they were guarding the royal treasury with how seriously they took their posts. Not that I was about to cause a ruckus, at least not today. But who knows?

“Master Alex,” one of them called out, a little too eagerly, “is this your cat?” He pointed at Jitters, his voice strained like he was fighting off a smirk. “We’ve been told not to let any more strays into the estate.”

I turned to look at Jitters. “Yep, this is Nibbles’ kid, so it’s all right for him to follow me.” Jitters meowed like he was making his case.

The guard looked back at the others, probably searching for direction on whether to let a cat pass. I mean, really, is this what it’s come to? Debating whether a cat should be allowed through.

“Understood, Master Alex. In that case, he can go in.”

“Good to know.” I picked up my pace. Jitters prancing along as if he had some grand business to attend to. And maybe he did. Who was I to say otherwise?