“Is it the Woromirans?” Serai gripped the arms of her seat. “The JaKen? What’s going on? Where’s Fifi?” If assassins had come for Serai, they might’ve hurt her pet on the way in!

“There’s a box with a string around it.” Taras observed, furrowing her brows.

Serai blinked. “A what, exactly?”

“An unknown agent has placed an unidentified object in your chambers, Princess.” Malek snapped into a fighting stance. “No sign of the bordog, but no blood or sounds of distress, either.”

“The string’s blue, by the way.” Taras shifted her weight uncertainly, but still readied her fists. “It’s tied into a bow. Are you expecting any presents, Serai?”

“No,” Serai murmured. If the string was pink, it would be a gift from her sister Leila. Green accents were Erol’s calling card, which would mean that the box would be promptly thrown out. Blue was Serai’s own signifying color, so she had no idea what this could mean. “Let me take a look.” Serai leaned far over her armrest, trying to see around the two bodies in front of her.

“Princess,” Malek started, but Serai held up a hand to cut him off.

“Let me see it.” Grey eyes met Serai’s black ones as she stared her bodyguard down. Shaking his head, Malek shifted his bulk to the side so that Serai could see around him. As Taras had said, a wooden box with an azure string tied around it sat on the coffee table. Serai squinted for a closer look. “The box is made of cheap wood and the string is just basic yarn—though the color isn’t the easiest to find. Doesn’t that lessen the likelihood of it being left by a professional assassin?”

“True. If I wanted to kill you via package, I’d pass off my murder weapon as a present from someone too-well regarded to be snubbed, which would need better wrapping than a piece of string.” Taras said, staring hard at the box. “Besides, that thing didn’t come in with the mail. The tools needed to cut through the defenses of a royal keep, even an unimportant one like this, would be incredibly expensive. So, whoever snuck it should have money for a fancier box. Unless we’re dealing with some freak of nature that can brute force their way though three layers of protection seals without setting off any alarms, or slip through them, and decided to lay a trap for us rather than killing us outright…” Recognition sparked in her eyes.

“We’ve also made ourselves stationary targets—which any worthwhile assassin would’ve already taken advantage of,” Malek added. “Still, it would be best if you stayed behind while I inspect the area, Princess. Even an amateur can best an unwary fool.” Serai nodded her assent and Malek slid his way through the door.

Grey eyes panned around the sitting room as Malek’s hand came to rest on the handle of his enchanted scimitar. He stalked forward on the balls of his feet, making nary a sound as he closed in on the box. Taras positioned herself slightly to the right of Serai’s chair. As Malek got closer, he unsheathed his weapon and fiery light began to flicker along the blade. Ever so gently, Malek tapped the box with the point of his sword, burning through the string on contact.

The box exploded open.

Malek jumped backward, landing in front of Serai with his blade ready. Serai jammed the handle of her chair into reverse. The machine bucked so hard that she was almost pitched on to the dusty cobblestones. Taras was standing in the exact right position to catch her. A squeal rang out Fifi streaked out of the bedroom to hurl herself into Serai’s lap, panic showing in her red eyes. Serai hugged the bordog’s plump body close, turning to shield Fifi from any attack that might come.

Raucous cackling filled the air. “Gods above, your fucking faces!” The smokey voice with a hint of a Woromiran drawl identified the culprit. Sumptuous tapestries rustled aside as a tangle of long, dirty blond hair emerged from the seemingly impossible space between the couch and the wall. Serai let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh as Taras helped her right herself in her chair.

“Ferda,” Serai took a deep, calming breath in. “I nearly fell, you sentient pile of trash.”

Fifi pressed her soft, wrinkled snout into Serai’s hand and let out a comforting snort. The tiny tusks sticking out of the bordog’s mouth scraped against Serai’s wrist. Serai absently scratched behind her pet’s floppy ears, running her nails through coarse, white fur. Fifi was an albino teacup bordog, which made her rare and valuable enough to be presented as a gift. She was the last gift that a foreign dignitary had presented Serai with, a relic of the childhood where Serai still mattered.

“But you didn’t!” Ferda propped their pale elbows on the back of the couch and gave Serai a wide, toothy grin. “Come on, Princess, you gotta admit that this was pretty funny. Your face was all…” They widened their hazel eyes and opened their mouth in overblown horror. A smile tugged on Serai’s lips, but she squished the urge to laugh along in favor of maintaining her angry facade.

“That was mean, Ferda.” Taras crossed her arms and glared. “You could’ve put Serai in danger with your little stunt.”

“No,” Ferda snorted, “she has you. ‘Sides, look again.” Serai did, and her cheeks flamed. Tiny scraps of colored paper littered the floor as the carved wooden head of a jumping-leasel bobbed on a spring above the opening of the box. “You were all freaking out over a children’s toy.” They gave an amused shake of their head and uncurled their lithe frame from an even smaller hiding place. Once Ferda pulled free of the alcove, they slid the couch back into place and faced Taras, arms akimbo in joking annoyance. “Also, freak of nature? That hurts, Cuz.”

“It fits.” Taras teased back. She’d known what was going to happen, and didn’t tell Serai? Sure, Ferda would never put Serai in actual peril, but why…Oh. Perhaps Taras had wanted to see Malek off balance as much as Ferda had.

The cousins stuck their tongues out at each other, then Ferda turned their attention to Malek. “Seeing you get all serious was the best. The mighty War Singer facing off against a box! Pricele-”

Flames raged across Malek’s scimitar as he swung it at Ferda’s neck. They let out a surprised squawk as they jerked out of the way, reacting at an inhuman speed. Ferda’s momentum carried them into a backflip that they executed with razor precision.

“Malek,” Serai barked. “Sheathe your blade.” He didn’t, but the distraction she provided had allowed Ferda to roll to the side and put a table between them and the angry War Singer. “For the thousandth time, you do not have permission to murder my friend!”

“This peasant,” Malek snarled, “is dirty, ill-bred, crass, impetuous…”

“And Serai loves me for it!” Ferda took shelter behind a cabinet. Serai scoffed and Ferda grinned at her. “Come on, you know life wouldn’t be as fun without me.”

“I suppose that part is accurate.” Serai sighed. A chuckle made its way through her facade. Seeing Ferda always lifted her mood. “However, I could do without any more surprises for a while.”

“Well, too bad!” Ferda rubbed their hands together, “because I got another one in store.” Taras stomped forward to tell Ferda off, but they held up a finger. “You’ll like this surprise, I promise.” They took a careful step out from behind the cabinet and, when no more fiery sword strikes flew their way, moved into the center of the room. “I did a couple of favors for the prosthetist who was working on Serai’s new socket. So now, it’s done early!”

“Truly?” Serai straightened up, allowing her smile to fully show.

“Attached to the rest of the leg and everything.” Ferda nodded toward the door to Serai’s bedroom. “Your real presents’ in there.” 

Serai clapped her hands and drove herself into the room at full speed, Fifi still curled in her lap. Once again, she was faced with a box, but this one was familiar. Long and metal, it held the agent of Serai’s independence. “These are new.” Tapping her finger over a series of dents in the carrying case, Serai quirked an eyebrow at Ferda.

They returned it with one of their own. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to sneak through the seals and over the Keep’s walls carrying something this large?”

“You could’ve come in the servant’s entrance.” Taras nudged Ferda with her elbow. “Everyone knows who you are, they would’ve let you in.”

“But Taras,” Ferda gave their cousin a horrified look, “that would’ve spoiled the surprise.”

“No one should be letting a lazy foreign ragul like you in through any entrance,” Malek muttered as he slouched into the room. Serai stared, aghast. Raguls were known for carrying diseases in from foreign ports. To call an immigrant such a thing was more disgusting than anything said immigrant might’ve done beforehand. Though Serai knew Malek carried some prejudice from fighting Woromiran forces during his time in the military, but she didn’t think he’d go that far.

Ferda stalked forward to meet the bodyguard’s challenge.

Taras grabbed Ferda’s arm. “Don’t.” She tugged them back, but Ferda jerked out of her grasp. “He shouldn’t have called you that,” Taras glared at Malek before turning back to her cousin, “but fighting him won’t change anything.”

“It’ll wipe that shitty look off his face,” Ferda growled.

Serai placed Fifi on the ground, out of harm’s way, then rolled her chair between Ferda and Malek.  Realistically, Ferda would stand no real chance in a fair fight against a fully trained War Singer like Malek, but the Woromiran had their own kind of magic at their disposal. They’d shown Serai the surgical scars where they’d had their muscles modified to react supernaturally fast—and there had been some scars they’d refused to explain. Ferda could probably follow through on their threat and cause a good bit of additional damage before they were beaten. Either way, it would be an absolute nightmare.

“Malek, leave us,” Serai snapped. “Do not come back until you have remembered your manners.” Another stare down ensued, but Malek eventually stomped out.  

Ferda stepped around Serai’s chair in an attempt to take the fight outside, but Taras caught their arm again. “Don’t follow him.” She squeezed their hand. “Serai will punish Malek later.”

“My initial idea was to cover Malek in honey then force him to hold plank position for three hours in the afternoon sun while the flies attack him.” Serai bounced her eyebrows at her friend. “We can make it longer, if you’d like.”

Ferda considered Serai’s appeasement attempt for a tense moment. Then, they nodded and wandered back toward the carrying case with a grumble. “Make it five hours.”