Imogen had never been the target of assassination attempts. She had spent the majority of her childhood and teenage years in blissful ignorance, surrounded by highly skilled guards and a warrior mother who nobody would dare to cross. She still had her guards but she no longer had her mother and she was not trained to fight. She could fly, but feuries were not meant to fly alone and flying in the tight quarters of her ship was foolish.

There were four devonic hunters which had boarded her vessel and separated her from her guards. She had been returning from her trip to Nauticana, a rather uneventful chat with the queen and a congratulatory dinner later and she was being shipped back to Arcadia.

Imogen was in the cargo hold of her vessel, her guards frantically trying to reach her via comm puck but she had silenced it out of fear that it would reveal her location to the devs which slithered between crates of supplies and gifts. She risked trying to sneak further away but was immediately captured by the bigger one.

They were speaking in a raspy accent, one Imogen didn’t recognize. Were they outcasts? She thought, exiled from the empire? What use would she be to them?

She struggled a bit only to have her arm twisted to the point of fracture, making her cry out in pain and fall limp. She felt useless, she wished her mother had insisted on battle lessons.

Her starcraft shook suddenly, a telltale sign that someone was docking. The assassins or kidnappers or whoever they were looked at each other wearily.

“It’s nicer than I expected.” A refined devonic accent, sounding like wine or leather or a book dense enough to be a brick, came from the docking port hallway. Mere meters from the cargo hold.

Imogen opened her mouth to scream only to have a hand silence her. She bit the hand and her captor shouted pulling back so that she could wiggled free, running towards the voice.

She banged on the door, tried to open it but failed, turning around as the other devs approached, one with their rifle raised. She was dead for sure now.

The door behind her tore open with the sound of grinding metal. Imogen didn’t see who it was but she did see the way that the men’s face blanched, the way one of them dropped their weapon and then scrambled to pick it up.

“Ah,” the same voice, dark and sweet, “So it is an Arcadian vessel.”

The dev swept around her and she recognized him instantly. He was a Lord of Aspero, an Admiral in his Majesty’s Armada, an Imperial Prince. Prince Basile, accompanied by another in a dark cloak and mask.

“Demian?” The Prince said, glancing to his companion.

Imogen couldn’t see around Basile’s back. The other, Demian, lunged forward. There was a cry of pain but Basile had backed Imogen into the hallway he had emerged from and closed the door. He turned to look at her, dark hair falling like silk ribbons over his face. Imogen couldn’t decide if she was in danger or not anymore.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly, lightly fixing one of her feathers which has been bent out of place, “Where are your guards? You didn’t come alone, did you?”

“W-what?” Imogen said, her eyes bleary, “I didn’t-- we were separated and--"

Basile hushed her, carefully wrapping his coat over her shoulders, “I see. Let’s go find them.”

###

“Princess Imogen,” the Devonic Emperor stared at her through the glittering hologram, “you were attacked on an excursion? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Imogen said indignantly, then deflated, “Thanks to Admiral Basile. If he hadn’t been passing through…”

The Emperor nodded, his wife, Lady Odalis, was looking upon her with concern. She hated how much the Devonic Empress reminded her of her mother.

“We’re glad that you’re safe.” Lady Odalis said, thick curls shifting as she looked at her husband, “we recommend you staying on Arcadia while your soldiers investigate this… incident.”

“They obviously knew the blueprints of your ship,” The Emperor said, agitated, “you should consider obtaining a different vessel if you plan to travel beyond our system again.”

“You said it was a group of devs which had attacked you?” Lady Odalis, gentler than her husband, “But you didn’t recognize the language they spoke?”

“It sounded-- it sounded like they were speaking a patchwork dialect. Some Asperian, some Pyroneeve—"

“Perhaps they were from the frontier.” Lady Odalis said quietly, seeking her husbands eyes. He did not look at her, his face twisted beyond recognition.

“Did you manage to take any of them captive?”

“My apologies, Uncle.” Basile was speaking now, stepping into the holograms peripheral, “I hadn’t told my guard to restrain himself.

The Emperor’s expression softened at the sight of his kin, “I suppose they got what they deserved, then.” He said, “We will also investigate this incident further, be sure to preserve their bodies for autopsy. In the meantime, Basile, would you escort Princess Imogen back to Arcadia?”

Basile canted his head and the call ended. Imogen’s guards eyed Basile and Demian, they were of course glad for the assist but humiliated by the failure to do their job, especially given Imogen’s desire to secede from the devonic empire. This incident may be used against her campaign, ‘we can’t leave,’ detractors would say, ‘not when our own soldiers can’t protect the empress.’ Demian, Basile’s companion, had not removed his mask or hood, still covered in a tasteful amount of blood as he wiped his blades clean. He had not said a single word since Imogen met him.

“We’re returning to Arcadia.” Basile said, commanded, turning his attention to Imogen’s guards and the crew of her ship, “Prepare to connect to the link.”