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In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Forty-Four: Survival

Sitting alone in the lounge, Valan pours himself another drink. Replacing the cork in the sack and setting it aside, he grabs the silver goblet that once belonged to Falidad, the man he long believed was his father. He chugs the strong drink, wincing from the sensation. His head feels lighter as he finishes his third cup.

“Are you alright?"

Looking away from his goblet, the gunman stares silently at Irzain, who cross the room and takes a seat across from him at the dinner table.

“Is that a 'no'?" The Scribe asks.

“I'm drinking? What does that tell you?" Valan snaps back.

“That you're thirsty?"

“..."

“I'm sorry. I'm just a little worried about you. We all are, but especially Steingar. He's just too masculine to come in here and ask you how you're doing." Irzain remarks.

“And you're not?" Valan snickers.

“I'm concerned. You didn't look right when we left, and you've sat in here most of the night... How many drinks have you had?" He asks, reaching for the sack.

“Not enough." Valan replies, snatching the sack from him and pulling out the cork. “Now that you've seen me, why don't you leave?"

“There's no need to be so hostile."

“And why not?! This whole thing is your fault! Had you just surrendered to the Crown, we wouldn't be in this mess. Now my brother, my twin brother, is risking capture because of me, and this stupid mission could do far worse to the woman I-!" Valan stops mid-sentence, turning his eyes away from Irzain and staring at the silver chalice. “... Everyone is in danger, and it's all your fault. You should've died in that shipwreck and saved us all the trouble."

“Wow... Okay, well, think about this, Val. If I didn't survive that shipwreck and mess up your life so much, you wouldn't even know about Sal. You'd have never met Jarae either. You'd still be on Widoval, being humiliated by that fat pig of a stepfather, never knowing who he really was to you. You'd be going to sleep every night knowing that he's screwing your beloved and you aren't. What was her name, again? Vella?"

“You son of a whore!"

Leaping to his feet, Valan bangs his legs against the table, which is affixed to the floor. He groans in pain and falls back into the seat. Irzain leaps from the bench and takes a step back. Valan glares at him, but in his drunken state, he can't quite figure out how to leave the booth.

“Don't blame me for all of your problems. I didn't do anything to you; you're ruining everything just fine by yourself."

Angered by the confrontation, Irzain turns back and storms out of the lounge. Passing beneath the archway, he doesn't even glance at Kirsta, Steingar, Salasha, Mairlynn and Roak, all of whom wait just out of view. They'd all grown concerned over Valan's dead stare and his sudden drinking in the middle of the night. After refusing to talk to Steingar, whom he shares a room with, the Helngar woke the others. Now they stand in the hallway, having overheard everything. Irzain storms back to his room, slamming the door behind him.

“The library man shut out Roak!" The dreadlocked human exclaims.

“That's alright. It's almost dawn, Roak." Kirsta gently pats his shoulder.

“But Roak is still sleepy! The man with fur woke us up!"

Stepping into the lounge, Steingar approaches Valan, who slumps back in the dining booth. He takes a seat on the same bench that Irzain had used, resting his elbows atop the table and staring silently at the human.

“Don't say it..." Valan grumbles.

“Say what?"

“... I don't know... Anything."

“Alright."

“... ... I'm just worried about them. Sal is risking himself, and Jarae... She didn't hear what I had to say... Is it wrong of me to just want this to be over? ... Well?!"

“... Can I talk now?" Steingar smirks.

“Don't be an ass..."

“Why would it be?"

“Sometimes I don't even want us to do any of this. I keep thinking we should take the vasariks we have, flee to the mainland and leave this elven hell to its own devices. Who cares if Vashalak isn't the true King?"

“Don't be so selfish, Val. This is bigger than you or me. It's bigger than your family history, bigger than my years in the Crown's army... It's bigger than your feelings for Jarae."

Valan slowly turns his head, staring silently at the Helngar.

“This is one of those things where if you turn your back, you don't just condemn some Princess to a life as the bride to some asshole of a King. That happens in every Kingdom, and even between regular families! Sitting by and doing nothing is being complacent in the pain and suffering of everyone Vashalak hurts throughout his illegitimate rule, and you and I both know that's already substantial. Imagine a man like that, unchecked and ruling for the next hundred and forty years... Now get your pale ass out of that booth and sleep off however much wine you've just wasted. Some of us like drinking, too!"

Steingar rises from the bench and moves around the table, grabbing Valan and pulling him up from the booth. He yanks an arm over his shoulder, leaning down to match the human's shorter height. As the Helngar leads the human out of the room, Valan glances back. He stares out of the window, at the shimmering water which gleams in the moonlight. How are Salman, Jarae and the others fairing on their quest? He could sleep much better, if only he knew that much.

“I think I've found the guy."

The others look toward him, seated in a dark corner of a small tavern filled with nefarious characters.

“He'll take us all the way to the capital city?" Salman asks.

“I made sure he knew how far we wanted to go." Naemen replies.

“And this driver has a coach that'll fit us?" Lutala asks.

“I think so."

“And he knows it's not just you?" Jarae questions the half breed.

“I told him I had a few people with me and he said he's made that trip before... Look, it's late and this isn't a typical request. He may be the best we can do. Do you want to do this or not?"

“We don't have much choice." Salman sighs. “Let's go."

Rising from the table in the dark corner, several gruff men watch the robed and hooded man. They immediately made note of him, and his exceptionally attractive Jaliscan and Lahnyt companions. With the appearance of the half breed Lahnyt warrior, however, his light and dark green hide shinning in the lamplight of the tavern's main room, they're attracting considerable attention. They move fast, motivated by the sight of two, sturdily built men leaving their seats at the bar. The group walks calmly out of the tavern and past the window, before dashing swiftly down the street and ducking into an alley. The Falmun and his human companion leave the tavern and look around. Are they searching for them?

“Well, I'd better get home. It's been nice catching up, though."

“Yeah. We should do it again sometime!"

Separating, the two men were merely patrons. The quartet breathe a collective sigh of relief before continuing on. Several blocks from the tavern, which is already near the edge of town, Naemen leads them toward a series of stables.

“This is where he said he'd be." Naemen remarks.

“How did you find this guy, anyway?" Lutala asks.

“The same way you find everyone in town... I asked the barkeep."

“Clever." Jarae smirks.

“Hello there!" A bellowing voice jovially exclaims.

The group stops in their tracks, turning toward the speaker. A carriage, pulled by two draft horses and driven by an older human, emerges from a short barn with a tall, sliding door. The man, who appears to be in his fifties, has scruffy, salt and pepper hair, and a mostly gray beard. He sits atop the driver's bench seat of the enclosed carriage, complete with a door on either side. Lanterns mounted on the sides glow through light blue tinted glass. He pulls at the reins, halting his steeds. The man stares at Naemen for a moment.

“That's quite the party you have there. You made it sound like it was just you and a friend." He says as he climbs down from the seat.

“I said 'a few companions', and three is more than one or a couple." Naemen retorts.

“Don't get cute with me, kid!"

The man uses a piece of cordage from a pouch and inserts it into a side lamp, setting it alight. He uses the flame to light brass lanterns that are stowed inside of the carriage's cabin, before blowing out the flame and hanging the lanterns on special mounts. The polished, concave backs and the convex glass beam the light forward, like sunlight piercing through a canopy of trees. Turning back, the coachman leans against a front wheel of the carriage, crossing his arms before his chest and eying the group.

His eyes narrow and a little smile curls around his lips as he examines both Lutala's and Jarae's exquisite bodies, undressing them with his gaze. His expression changes, however, when he turns his attention to Salman. With visible apprehension, he appears to silently question his commitment.

“Is there some reason you've got that hood up, mister? It ain't that cold out here."

“I'm a bit on the fragile side." Salman politely retorts.

“Is that what they're for?" The coachman chuckles, pointing a finger and waving it between Jarae and Lutala.

“Something like that."

“Well, don't go breaking them in the back of my carriage. Hahaha! ... I just prefer to see faces, mister. Makes me feel at ease, you know?"

The coachman slowly approaches, cocking his head and scanning the human as he steps closer.

“Mind taking that hood off?"

“I'd rather not." Salman lifts his head.

The coachman freezes, his eyes widening as he sees the glimmer from the amulet worn proudly around Salman's neck. It's clear that the old human is worldly enough to immediately recognize it.

“Uh-huh... I should've known something was going on here."

He turns toward his carriage and climbs aboard.

“Whatever you people are up to, I don't want nothin' to do with it!"

“Woah, wait a minute!" Naemen steps forward.

“Where're you going?!" Jarae demands.

“That's the amulet of a noble, and no noble would ride for days to the capital, through the wilderness, when they could just sail into the harbor. Not only that but I ain't never seen no noble travel with anything less than a dozen men. That half breed might be a good soldier, but he ain't enough. This ain't right, and I ain't gonna take you all there, for the sake of my own neck." The coachman replies.

“We're not criminals." Naemen assures him.

“I ain't sayin' you are! For all I know, your master might've pissed off the King or something, and there's no way I'm crossing that bastard!"

“What if we doubled the price?!" Naemen asks in a growing panic.

“Nothin' doin'!"

“What was the price?" Lutala asks.

“Two hundred vasariks, and while that's a tidy sum, it ain't enough for this job." The coachman replies as he shakes the reins.

“One thousand!" Salman exclaims.

“Woah there!" The coachman pulls on the reins, halting his horses. “... A thousand, you say?"

“Yes." Salman nods.

“All we need is a ride to the capital city. We won't cause you any trouble." Lutala assures the older human.

“We can even help you with your horses and carriage... We'll buy their feed!" Jarae adds.

“I don't suppose you have that on you, do you?" The coachman asks.

Naemen turns back to Salman, who opens his flowing robes, retrieving a large coin purse from his belt. Turning toward Lutala, she does the same, revealing a second coin purse. Jarae and Naemen keep theirs hidden. Each of them carries one-thousand two-hundred and fifty vasariks in gold and silver, for a total of five thousand. Salman chose the number, realizing that they may need such a quantity to bribe their way into and out of the capital city and the palace. With his amber eyes lighting up, the coachman hops down from the carriage with the exuberance of an overly excited child.

“... Well?!"

“Well, what?"

The coachman holds out an upturned hand.

“I'll do it, but you gotta pay me first."

“Fair enough."

Opening the coin purse, Salman counts out two-hundred and fifty vasariks, surrendering them to Lutala before handing the entire coin purse to the coachman. He bounces the satchel in his hand, the most joyous of expressions on his face.

“We'd better climb aboard! We've got a few days of riding ahead of us!"

The group clambers into the carriage, closing and latching the doors behind them. They all feel a sense of relief as the coachman begins the journey, shaking the reins and barking orders at his draft horses. They start slow, but soon the coach is barreling through the darkness, following an archaic road, built in a time before the Empire's founding. They ride through much of the night before making camp, sleeping near the coach that's parked just along the side of the road.

“Wake up."

The coachman gives Lutala a shake, gently rousing her from her sleep. She blinks her fiery eyes and looks around, before opening her maw and yawning. It's still dark. How long has she been asleep? Her body feels quite heavy; it couldn't have been more than a few hours.

“It's not morning yet. What's wrong?"

“We need to get moving. Wake the others, while I feed the horses." He says.

“Already?!"

The coachman sighs, giving her an odd look as he stands beside his carriage. The older human retrieves a sack of oats and two cylindrical feed bags from a box mounted on the side.

“Look, I don't know who you people are, but you came to me at dusk and offered me a tidy sum to travel to the capital city. Most people who want to go there would just take a ship; they don't ride through the hills for twice the cost and five times the effort. I had a bad feeling as soon as I laid eyes on the lot of you. I must be crazy to do this job, but you paid me, so I'm doing it anyway. Whatever business you have in the capital city is either risky or illegal, and I'd rather just get you there and bid you farewell... So yes, we're leaving already. We're going to ride hard, sleep little and eat less, just so I can be rid of you as fast as possible." He explains, pouring the oats into the open bags.

“If that's how you feel, then why would you even take the job?" Lutala raises a brow.

“Because I'm an old fool, and you're paying me one thousand vasariks. That's more than I've earned in a good year. Get them up."

Following the coachman's lead, Lutala rouses the others from their sleep, starting with Naemen. Aside from Salman, who's had only a few days of training with Kirsta, Naemen is the only actual warrior among them, and while Jarae is also a competent fighter, the half breed Lahnyt has spent years as a sellsword and bounty hunter. After shaking the sleep from their bodies, they climb into the coachman's carriage, closing and latching the doors. Naemen insists on taking a seat at the rearmost bench, across from Salman.

“I don't trust this guy. He's too twitchy and he's second guessing himself too quickly..." The half breed remarks.

Sitting in the enclosed carriage, on padded, leather seats, they get what little sleep they can, all except for Naemen. He remains focused on the driver, who races throughout the night. Their path is illuminated only by the crescent moon and the amber glow of the carriage's lanterns. The simple suspension consisting of leather straps makes each bump on the old road a violent and jarring experience.

“Maybe we should've just gone by sea." Jarae remarks, wincing as they hit yet another bump.

“You know we couldn't ever do that. Not if we want to escape." Salman replies.

The night wanes, and the darkness soon gives way to light. The sun struggles to peek through the dense forest, but the sky glows a vivid blue. Somehow, the coachman and his draft horses, who seem to perpetually wear their feed bags, race for hours on end, never slowing their blistering pace. The path that the coachman has chosen is a very specific route, a road that once teemed with villages and sprawling towns. However, as the Empire took hold, more and more people left the inland settlements, setting their sights on the growing coastal cities, and especially the capital.

Few people live along this road, which is rapidly being reclaimed by the land, and the various beasts that roam the Erie Isles. They finally stop at early afternoon, parking the carriage in the remnants of a small town to rest. An old trough, filled with rainwater, provides relief for the horses and the coachman's passengers. After a quick and simple meal, they press on, riding throughout the day and into the late evening. The coachman drives his carriage as if they're being chased by a terrible beast. Truly, he can't be rid of his passengers quickly enough.

Eventually, however, even he's too tired to drive, and so the group make camp along the side of the old road. As they sit and eat their dinner, a stew made from various tin cans of meats and vegetables, Lutala can't help but notice Jarae's strange and distant stare. As they settle in for the night, Salman steps aside and prays. He's taken to his new faith like a fish to water, shocking everyone, but especially Lutala. While Salman prays, Naemen polishes the blade of his sword, seated beneath a tree and keeping an eye on the coachman. Lutala notices Jarae sitting by herself, her body unmoving as she rests beside the fire.

She appears to stare through the flames, as though there were something inside of it. Approaching her, the Jaliscan doesn't notice the Lahnyt's presence until she finally clears her throat, just as she sits down beside her.

“Hi, Lutala."

“Hello, Jarae."

“That was a fine meal. Naemen's getting better." Jarae speaks softly.

“It was." Lutala nods. “Though I think the cans do much of the work."

“Probably." Jarae forces a little smile.

“... Are you alright?" Lutala whispers.

“Hm? Oh, I'm fine. I've just been thinking..." Jarae quietly replies.

“May I ask about what?"

“I've been thinking about what you said..." Jarae begins, taking a stick and poking at the crackling campfire. “I've decided that I should leave."

“What?!" Lutala exclaims in a loud whisper.

She looks to and fro, before leaning closer to the Jaliscan.

“Are you sure about that?"

“I'm not ready. I don't know if I'll ever be. When we finish what we're doing, I'm going to stay behind. They aren't even looking for me; I'll be okay."

“And you're sure that's what you want? ... I mean, what about Valan?" Lutala asks, scooting even closer to the Jaliscan.

“Please, don't. I tremble like a leaf or a wet kitten in a storm whenever I'm forced to confront him. I'm not strong enough for that conversation... He'll have to make do without me."

Stunned into silence, Lutala merely stares at Jarae, who pokes at the fire and pushes over a log. The flames grow brighter, radiating warmth as they consume the untouched portion of the log.

“It's the only thing that's ever felt right; running away. Why fix what isn't broken?" Jarae seems to think aloud.

“I hope you aren't making a mistake." Lutala finally chokes out.

Jarae doesn't respond, merely giving the Lahnyt a look of uncertainty. Lutala is surprised by how affected she is by Jarae's decision. She'd secretly hoped to see the two come together, to embrace each other and express their feelings, releasing their passion without concern for the worthless opinions of the world around them. As the priestess stares at Salman, watching him as he prays to her deity, a tinge of sorrow forms in her heart. She suddenly realizes that her desire to see Jarae and Valan come together is tied to her own anxiety about her growing feelings for Salman.

Perhaps if Jarae and Valan could sort out their problems and come together, then there's hope for her, too. The Lahnyt has long been fond of humans, but the code of her faith keeps her constrained. A large part of her previous seclusion was an attempt to avoid the temptations of her own flesh, and focus on the healing of others. She's perfected the art of subduing her own desires and natural urges, never wavering and falling into sin. However, her time with Salman has complicated matters. At first, she merely desired him. She desired Valan, too, but as she grew closer and closer to the noble, he endeared himself to her.

After saving him from the depths of the sea, and finding in him a willing convert to her faith, her desire has been completely overshadowed by a deep and growing yearning. She holds a warmth for him that she hasn't held for any other. Rising from the ground, Lutala leaves Jarae, crossing the camp and approaching Salman. Hearing her footfalls, he opens his eyes, finding himself staring at her shoes and her slowly swaying tail. Sitting beside him, Lutala flashes the human a warm smile, a smile that he always returns. He pulls back his hood enough for her to see the entirety of his face. The mere sight of his smile warms her heart.

“May I join you?" She asks.

“Of course. You know I could never say no to you." He replies, tilting his head and giving her an exceptionally innocent look.

Sitting on the ground, Lutala scoots closer, placing herself beside him. After a moment of silence, she turns her head and the two share a long and intense stare.

“Sal?" She finally begins.

“Yes?"

“When we've finished this... What're you planning to do?" Lutala sheepishly asks.

“I'll eventually have to return to Mishgan. I can't leave Nazir by himself forever, and it wouldn't be right to abandon my people. I worry for them..."

“Oh..." Lutala murmurs.

“What about you?"

“I'm not sure yet, but I have some ideas." She says, her smile growing.

“Alright, everyone! We'd better get some sleep! We got another hard ride ahead of us, and it starts as soon as I get up!" The coachman exclaims as he stretches out, lying on a bedroll beside the fire.

The exhausted coachman falls asleep almost instantly, and he stays asleep for no less than seven hours. Waking up in a mild panic, he rushes the group through their breakfast before prepping the horses and continuing on their journey. They ride all day and throughout much of the night, traversing the hundred or so miles in only four nights and three days. On the fourth night, as they prepare to rest before their final stretch of the journey, Naemen sits beside the fire. He glances toward the human, who stares into the flames. With each passing day he's grown increasingly tense, and even Lutala, who appears to be his closest companion, cannot get him to confide.

“So... You look deep in thought." Naemen remarks.

“..."

Salman doesn't answer. The half breed Lahnyt turns toward the pureblood Lahnyt and the Jaliscan, who don't seem to know what else to do. Naemen returns his attention to Salman and scoots closer.

“Look, Sal, we've all noticed how tense you've become." He speaks in a hushed voice, leaning closer to his friend.

“Yeah..."

“Is something wrong? Are you worried about something?"

“..."

“We're your friends, Sal. You can speak with us." Lutala adds.

“..."

Salman stares into the fire, silent and unmoving. Is he even breathing? Reaching out a hand, Naemen waves it before the human's face. He blinks and turns his head.

“I'm sorry, did you say something?" He rather innocently asks.

“No." Naemen replies.

“So, Sal, what should we expect when we reach the palace tomorrow?"

“Anything and everything, so we'll all need to remain alert and prepared at all times."

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he grunts and groans. Swaying his hips, he moves in a consistent, fluid motion. His large hands grip her tightly, keeping her in place as he enjoys the splendor of her flesh. His eyes roll back, nearly turning over inside of his head. Oh, how pleasurable she is. Footfalls approach from the corridor, echoing ever closer.

“My King, I've-"

Einyr Icefang pauses mid-sentence. Standing in the archway, he's taken aback by what he sees in the royal chambers. With the silver tray and several matching goblets strewn across the marble floor, Vashalak, his King, holds down the Jaliscan servant girl. Her face is buried in the cushion of a lesser throne, her snout pressed firmly into the padding and tall ears poking up, emerging from behind the cherry wood arm rests. Her clawed hands grip tightly to the arm rests, struggling to push away so that she can breathe. She stands with her buttocks in the air, her legs only slightly spread apart.

It's as if she's been abruptly bent over by Vashalak, who squats just behind her, to match her shorter stature. Her humble dress is torn, as are her undergarments. They sit in a heap at her ankles. The young Vizheki King plows her womanhood with his throbbing organ. One hand rests on her toned, furry belly, while the other grips the base of her long, felinesque tail. He yanks on it, causing her visible pain. The Helngar Chief-General can hear her whimpering, and it's not the sounds of a woman enjoying herself. The blue-skinned elf treats the Jaliscan as less than a dog; she's a plaything, a warm body to serve as his sinister entertainment. How long has this been occurring before he found them?

“Nngf-nngf-mmm. I'm almost, nngf, done with you, nngf, you filthy beast." The young King grunts out.

“Nnn-nnn-nnn-mmmff!" The servant girl whimpers into the cushion of the lesser throne.

“Mmmm-yeah! Rrrr-rrrr! HHNNNGGHH! ... Ahhh!" Vashalak sighs.

He grips her hips with both hands, pushing his manhood as deep as it'll go and holding firm. His back arches and he looks toward the grand ceiling, several stories above them. Vashalak shivers slightly as he finishes, filling the Jaliscan's womanhood with his seed.

“Ooohhh-yes... Mmm... That was surprisingly good! I guess even the inferiors can have pleasurable bodies. Who would've ever thought that a beast's pussy would be so nice?!" He chirps.

Taking a hand away from her hip, he leaves his manhood imbedded in her quivering flesh as he gives her furry buttocks a firm smack. The already abused servant girl, now also a rape victim, jumps and whimpers. She was clearly expecting a beating to follow; her body trembles. Vashalak pets her back, looking down at his handiwork with a perverse pride.

“Now remember, if you spill even a single drop of my royal seed, I'll have you and your whole family killed!" He speaks with a childlike glee.

Slowly stepping back, Vashalak pulls his considerable manhood from her body. The towering elf smiles wide as he gazes upon his member, the dark blue flesh gleaming like gold from the Jaliscan servant's vaginal fluids and his own emissions. She swiftly covers her womanhood with a clawed hand, trembling with fear and softly weeping. She has no reason to doubt the vile King's threat, and she dares not disobey. If Icefang ever doubted what he'd seen, it's swiftly put to rest; where Vashalak anyone other than the King, he'd be imprisoned in short order for what he's just done.

“Well? What is it, Einyr?" A relaxed Vashalak sighs.

“Sir?"

“You interrupted my fun... Luckily for the beast, I was still able to finish."

The Jaliscan servant girl, with one hand covering her used loins and holding in the King's seed, hastily collects the fallen tray and matching goblets. She clutches them tightly to her chest, her bare breasts pressing into the cold metal. Only her soft fur staves off the chill. The servant rushes from the room as fast as she can, struggling to walk quickly or without stumbling after her assault. Icefang can hear her sobbing as she moves through the hall and away from the royal chambers.

“Well?!"

“Apologies, Great King, but..."

“But what?" Vashalak growls, standing naked before his Chief-General.

“Those men. The survivors of the dungeon skirmish..."

“Ahh, yes! The filth who allowed my prize to escape! What about them?"

“It's been two weeks since you had them locked in solitary confinement for their failure."

“... And?!"

“And you told me that in two weeks' time, I was to return to you and ask what you wanted done with them." Icefang replies.

“Oh, right! Why, I'd forgotten all about them!" Vashalak laughs, using an expensive and embroidered handkerchief to dry off his manhood.

“In that case, should I have them released, Great King? Give them a chance to redeem themselves?"

“No. Have them drawn and quartered."

“... Great King, some of those men are experienced veterans. They've served us loyally for many years, and would do well to help you reclaim your prize."

“That sounds like arguing..." Vashalak glares at Icefang. “I'm not that little boy anymore, Einyr. I'm the King, now. They failed me, so have them drawn and quartered, before I decide to punish them even more severely..."

“As you wish, Great King..." Icefang murmurs, bowing his head.

As the sun reaches its zenith, Salman and Jarae walk alone. Naemen and Lutala remain with the coachman, who's parked the carriage and his horses several miles in the countryside, far away from prying eyes, where the King's palace is also conveniently placed. It took another five hundred vasariks just to convince the old man to sit still. Approaching the palace grounds, Jarae turns to Salman.

“I know I keep asking, and I apologize for that, but... Are you absolutely sure about this?"

“Trust me, Jarae. Just follow my lead, and when the time comes, let me do the talking."

“Alright..." She murmurs.

Slipping through a secret passageway, hidden well enough that Jarae, herself an experienced sneak-thief, would never have found it, the pair enter the royal garden. Traversing the cobblestone walkway, they make their way through a lush field of unmatched beauty. Only the rarest and most expensive flowers and herbs grow there, and though many hold powerful medicinal properties, they exist only as decorations, chosen purely for their high value and aesthetically pleasing appearance.

“Wow... Just imagine all of the suffering peasants that this one garden could treat. A healer like Lutala could make a fortune with a place like this, and that's saying something." An awestruck Jarae remarks.

Approaching a series of gates, the hooded figure and his female Jaliscan companion are, unsurprisingly, immediately noticed by the patrolling soldiers. The guards pause for a moment, then draw their swords. The two Falmun approach the strangers, ready for anything.

“Halt! Who are you, and how did you get into the royal garden?!" The first demands.

“Yeah! What're you doing here?!" The other adds.

“I know a few tricks to this place." Salman coolly replies.

“What's that supposed to mean?!"

“We mean you no harm, nor are we here to harm the Great King, Vashalak. We've merely come to seek an audience with him."

“And why would the Great King want to see you?!" A guard snickers.

Lifting his head and pulling back his hood, Salman reveals his face. Recognizing him, a guard lifts his sword and takes a step closer.

“Come to surrender yourself, eh, Valan?!"

“Not exactly..."

“Huh?!"

“I'm Lord Salman Donogew, ruler of Mishgan, and I've come to negotiate on behalf of my twin brother."

“What?!" A guard gasps.

“What a load of horseshit!" The other exclaims.

“I'll prove it."

Moving slowly, Salman lifts the amulet from around his neck, extending his arm and holding it out for the two guards.

“Look! Is that a noble's seal?!"

“Give me that!"

The more nervous guard snatches the amulet, keeping his sword raised as he carefully examines the jewelry in his elven hand. The Falmun guard turns toward his companion, at first appearing quite startled. He soon narrows his eyes, however, shifting his suspicious gaze toward Salman and Jarae.

“How do I know you didn't fake this?!"

“That looked real to me." The other guard remarks.

“Will you shut up?!" The first guard barks at his friend.

“Do you want to take the chance and be wrong? The last person we want to cross is King Vashalak..."

“All I'm asking for is an audience with the Great King. Nothing more, and nothing less." Salman calmly interjects.

“If we let him walk in there and Vashalak is angry with us, we're gonna pay for it!"

“And if we arrest him and he proves to be telling the truth, my family are going to watch in horror as an executioner pulls my guts out! Let's just check them for weapons and bring them to the Great King. Let him decide what to do." The more collected guard suggests.

“Well... Alright. Since you put it that way!"

With that, Salman produces a simple wheellock pistol, while Jarae reveals an identical weapon, as well as a dagger. They promptly surrender their weapons to the stunned guards, who then walk behind them and lead them inside. Walking through the halls, it's clear that many of the guards don't remember Salman, though he hadn't been to the palace for quite some time. As they walk past a grand sitting room, built onto the eastern side of the equally grand corridor, a Vizheki woman spots the pair and immediately rises to her feet. Jarae can see the look of recognition on the beautiful elf's face.

Her skin is a strange shade of blue, which in the darkened light inside the palace appears like a medium purple. Stepping forward, however, it changes with the lighting; it becomes a vivid greyish-blue. Her long, white hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and has braids that run down to her large breasts, just before her pointy, elven ears. Her hair has a faint silver sheen, unlike the nearly gleaming, metallic looking hair of most Vizhek. Otherwise, she has a predictable appearance for her race, standing an unsurprising six-feet and six-inches tall. The female creature has a voluptuous frame, with ample, perky breasts held in a beautifully tailored, form-fitting silk dress. Her ribcage meets a sloping waist, which crowns her broad hips and somewhat thick but firm thighs and buttocks.

She looks like a woman who may have modeled for the sculptures depicting the female Seraphs. The strikingly beautiful elven woman takes a step closer, though the guards do not allow them to stop walking. Jarae glances toward Salman, curious as to his connection with the noble woman.

“Sal?!" The elf finally chokes out.

“Hello, Lapira."

Jarae's eyes widen, as do the Falmun guards'. Still, though, they lead the Jaliscan and her human companion past the sitting room and away from the Princess, whom they seek to liberate. The Jaliscan stares at the human, a million questions swirling about inside of her head. She knows better than to ask at that moment, however. Before she can collect herself, they're led through an opening at the furthest end of the corridor. It opens to a grand room, a room of marble floors and matching pillars that reach several stories high. At the rear of the room are several thrones, with one being the pinnacle and the others of noticeably lesser quality, placed on either side of the elegant chair.

Seated in the best throne, a very young looking Vizhek rises to his feet. Standing beside him, a much older and exceptionally imposing Helngar turns around to face the unexpected guests. The man with a two-tone blue and white fur pattern looks absolutely stunned by Salman's appearance. He slowly draws his ornately decorated Helngarian saber and steps forward. King Vashalak stares in silent awe, a look of victory upon his face.

“Great King, we have something for you!" The first guard begins.

“Is that who I think it is?!" Vashalak gasps.

“He claims to be-"

“No, Great King." Salman interrupts. “We've met before, though you may not remember me. I'm Lord Salman Donogew, ruler of Mishgan. I am the son of Ivan Donogew, a good friend and loyal servant to your predecessor, Euralian."

“So, I shouldn't call you 'Valan'?" Vashalak snickers.

“He brought this, Great King. It's a noble's seal, and it bears a proof mark. It appears to be authentic."

“Yes, it is. You may return it to him." Vashalak instructs.

The guards bow their heads before turning toward Salman. One guard holds out his hand and presents the amulet to the Lord, who promptly takes the jewelry before draping it around his neck, displaying it proudly. Vashalak and Einyer Icefang slowly approach the pair, with Vashalak appearing rather amused. Icefang, however, glares with anger.

“You dare come here after what you've done?!"

“Please, Icefang. Hold your sword for just a moment, and allow me to explain."

“Please do..." Vashalak growls.

Salman raises his hands in surrender and Jarae follows his lead. Vashalak pats Icefang on the back, clanking his plate armor and gaining his attention. With a nod of his head, the King commands Icefang to sheath his impressive sword.

“Well? I'm humoring you, Salman. Speak!" Vashalak chirps.

“I'm sure you've heard the descriptions of the man helping your prize, the Scribe and former overseer of the Grand Athenaeum. I'm sure you thought that it was me."

“It would've crossed my, had I remembered meeting you. Valan is quite the pseudonym, by the way." Vashalak remarks.

“Except that it's not. As it turns out, Valan is my twin brother."

“What?!" Icefang scoffs.

“Yes, I know." Vashalak replies.

For a moment, Salman appears quite surprised. He quickly collects himself, however, determined to press on.

“As I was saying, Great King, Valan is my twin brother. Fate would see him joining your prize, the man with many aliases. I know him as 'Irzain'."

“That's a new one." Vashalak murmurs.

“But his true name is Hebron..."

The King's eyes widen in shock and he steps closer.

“Somehow, they've put together a crew, serving on a unique ship with various mechanical contraptions built into it. The ship can harness the power of steam." Salman continues.

“Sorcery..." Icefang growls.

“Hey! You know how I feel about dirty words, Einyer! Shut your damned mouth, you bastard!" Vashalak jovially interjects.

“Yes, Great King."

“Continue, Salman."

“The crew were fated to find Mishgan. I didn't know who Valan was at first, but Nazir, my father's longest and most loyal manservant, revealed a secret to me that my father had kept since my birth. That's why I'm here. Valan is in league with Irzain and another traitor named Steingar. I'm here to bargain for my brother's life."

Vashalak's brow raises and his smile grows wider and more sinister. He glances toward Icefang, who's visibly skeptical of the entire story.

“And how do we know that you didn't just make this up, trim your beard and then come here begging for a pardon with such a wild story?!" The Helngar demands.

“He's not, as I've heard his story from Euralian before." Vashalak answers for Salman. “Seeing him has jogged that old memory from the depths of my mind. Truthfully, what surprises me the most is that Valan is even still alive. I assumed those idiots who ran off with him sank into the depths of the sea ages ago! For a time, Falidad and Valina had the highest bounties in all of the Empire. Although, another has recently broken their record... If you were truly using Valan's name to move against me, I highly doubt you'd come here begging for amnesty; you aren't the type to change your mind, as I now recall. You were quite persistent in your futile attempts with Lapira... You poor, foolish human."

Jarae glances toward Salman, seeing a growing anger in his eyes.

“I see your taste in female company hasn't degraded, except in race. Your companion here has quite the figure. Nice breasts, by the way!"

“Thank you!" She chirps.

“Plump yet perky. You're very attractive, for a beast." Vashalak murmurs, his eyes scanning the perfection that is Jarae's body. “Anyway, I'm inclined to believe you, Salman. All we need to do now is discuss your terms."

“Wait a minute!" Icefang steps forward.

“What's the matter, Einyr?"

“How does he know Valan, Hebron and Steingar? Why is he even here? What's he offering?"

“That's why we're going to listen..." Vashalak grumbles.

Taking a seat at a banquet table, on the same side that his father once favored, Salman begins his tale. Omitting only the journey to the Grand Athenaeum, he admits what he'd done to help protect his blood from capture by Captain Kristoff Mayweather, whose tenacity visibly impressed Icefang. Offering Hebron, Steingar and their ship as prizes, Salman only asked for a pardon for his brother, Valan, and for the rest of the crew that may be aboard, as they're of no consequence to the King. Sitting back, Vashalak basks in the glory of victory, having all that he's wanted and more being hand delivered to him.

“Wait! There's more to offer..." Icefang suddenly interjects.

“I beg your pardon? I'm offering you quite literally everything they have." Salman retorts.

“No, you're not." Icefang growls.

“Don't ruin this for me, Einyr..." Vashalak snarls.

“Great King, if I may?"

Vashalak gives his Chief-General a single nod.

“Thank you. His brother, Valan, holds value as well. We heard the reports from Mayweather's crew, corroborating stories of a weapon that can fire more than once before being reloaded, and with a device that reloads it swiftly. It was also said to be frighteningly accurate. This would be as invaluable to us as Hebron for his knowledge, Steingar for his message, and their ship for its unparalleled speed. I'm merely suggesting that Valan gift us his weapon, and teach our smiths to make more of them."

“Haha! As greedy as a King, Einyr, or should I call you 'Icefang'?"

“Whatever you prefer, Great King." Icefang bows his head.

“Fine... Throw in Valan's weapon and knowledge, and he'll receive a full pardon. Now, how do you plan to deliver them?"

“Within a month's time, they'll return to Mishgan for resupply, once they've finished their own quest for whatever it is they seem to be looking for. I've promised them permanent safe haven. You can arrest them as soon as they land, so long as you do not forget our arrangement." Salman answers.

“I don't ever forget loyalty..." Vashalak sternly replies. “As late as it is, allow me to offer you a room for the night, as is customary. These guards will remain with you and your lovely servant, so you don't become lost."

“I know my way around this palace." Salman politely chuckles.

“I insist... I'll see you at breakfast."

With a wave of his hand, Vashalak sends Salman and Jarae away, escorted by the guards. Thankfully, Vashalak was not more specific, and the guards merely walk with Salman and his companion. Returning to the sitting room, a shocked Lapira stands once again, approaching Salman as he comes closer. Without a hint of fear, the Lord reaches out and takes the Princess into his arms. She holds him in kind, her chin resting atop his head as she pulls him in, pressing him into her bust.

“Oh, how wonderful it is to see you again, Sal!" She exclaims.

“Likewise. I've missed you."

“It's been several years. I've missed you, too." She coos.

It's clear to Jarae and their assigned guards that there's something far more intimate between the human Lord and the Vizheki Princess, the target of Vashalak's ambitions and twisted desires.

“Alright, you. Enough of that! That's the King's wife!"

“I haven't said yes, yet." Lapira retorts.

“But you will!" The guard chuckles.

Leaning over, Lapira clings to Salman as if he were her childhood doll, nuzzling his cheek very softly. Jarae's rabbitesque ears subtly shift as she hears the human speak, whispering into the elf's ear.

“Please, no matter what, you must trust my companion when she visits you tonight."

Princess Lapira doesn't acknowledge him, though her closed eyes open and turn toward Jarae.

“Alright then..." She sighs, slowly releasing the smaller human and standing tall. “Take care, Sal. It was wonderful seeing you again. I wish it could've been longer."

“Likewise." He says with a smile.

Now escorted by the guards, the pair are provided with a place to stay. Consisting of two rooms, the first is a living area with tables and chairs, though there aren't any couches to speak of. A room of equal size is placed at the rear, containing several dressers, an armoire and a large, ornate and exceptionally comfortable looking bed, complete with a curtain running around its' entirety. After sitting silently for some time, and with the guards preventing them from leaving, a Falmun servant girl arrives. Sent by Princess Lapira, she bears a silver tray with a variety of foods, many of which are Salman's favorites.

Thanking the servant, Salman sets the platter atop the table, waving Jarae over. The pair sit across from each other and eat their dinner, shrouded in a silence that, at a glance, seems awkward only to Jarae. Salman eats quietly, a little smile on his face. He only speaks when he remarks to himself.

“I can't believe she remembered that... She never liked these as much as I did... What a sweetheart to add my favorite cake. It's even garnished with my favorite flower!"

“Sal?"

“Hm?"

“... What's going on with you and the Princess?" She asks.

Salman stops. He stares at the plate, his smile fading. He lifts his head and turns his blue-green eyes toward the Jaliscan, his gaze stern, even angry. It's very out of character for the oft polite human.

“What's going on with you and Valan..." He finally grumbles back.

Jarae doesn't respond, merely bowing her head and looking toward her own plate. She asks no more questions of Salman, nor does she speak. After a pause, the human sighs and apologizes. Jarae doesn't respond, merely nodding her acceptance of his apology. As the evening sets in, both are quite tired. Rather than risk failure, they decide to take a nap, but with only one bed and no couches, they're forced to sleep side by side. They leave their clothes on, removing only their boots. Though Salman looks remarkably like Valan, he isn't the same man, and Jarae is never fooled by his appearance. The awkwardness as she lay on the furthest edge of the bed is palpable.

It isn't long, however, before the pair have fallen asleep. Days and nights in the back of the coachman's carriage haven't done their muscles any good, which are as exhausted as the rest of their bodies. Fading into a dream state, the Jaliscan softly coos.

“Mmm, Val..."

With her flat, pink nose brushing softly against his masculine flesh, she inhales his delicious scent. She presses her lips against his warm skin, sighing gleefully. After giving him a little kiss, she very gently and slowly nuzzles his manhood, resting her clawed hand on his thigh. Opening her shimmering, pink eyes, Jarae looks up at Valan. She strokes his endowment, gazing up at him with longing. His impressive organ, the biggest and most enjoyable that she's ever had, looms over face like a fleshy monolith.

She nuzzles him a little harder with her short, felinesque snout, before giving the underside of his shaft another kiss. Opening wide, she drags her soft, wet tongue along the underside of his member, coating his flesh with her saliva. As her tongue reaches the very tip of his penis, she pulls his manhood toward her, her claws barely able to touch each other as her slender fingers wrap around his girth. Moving her hand up and down his thick shaft, she gives the tip a cute little lick and then a kiss.

“Mmm..." Valan sighs.

Opening wide, Jarae stuffs the head of his manhood into her mouth.

“Ooohhh-yeah..." He groans.

Jarae's body shivers and she moans softly, but her full mouth muffles the sound. She begins to bob her head, stroking him faster as she stuffs as much of him into her mouth as she can. Her loins burn and ooze her lubricating juices as she works him with more intensity and passion than she's given to any other man. Her hand races down her nude form, caressing her exquisite body before coming to rest over her aching loins. Clawed fingers rub in small circles over her clitoris, before her middle finger slips very gently inside of her vagina. Jarae squeals, again muffled by Valan's manhood.

His reaches out with a hand, his fingers weaving through her wild, pink hair. He pets and scratches her head so tenderly, drawing her attention. She turns her eyes up to him, trying to smile with her jaw spread so wide.

“Come up here." He speaks softly.

Pulling herself away, she gasps so cutely as she releases his phallus from her mouth. Crawling up and over him, she plants herself firmly atop his lap, straddling her lover. She closes her eyes and moans as his stiff manhood pushes against her nether lips. A hand rests upon her cheek and she opens her eyes.

“I love you, Jarae. I love you so much." He coos, before kissing her lips.

Kiss after kiss, their passion grows. His tongue invades her mouth, wrestling with hers. He doesn't seem to care that she was just tasting his manhood. Pulling back, she pants for air. She's never felt like this before. Staring deeply into his eyes, she rises up, kneeling on the bed as she looms over him, and his member. Reaching down, she takes hold of his manhood, lifting up the substantial organ and aiming it straight for her eager loins.

“I... I love you, too, Val. I've loved you for so long." She nervously replies, teasing her nether lips with the bulbous tip of his penis. “I want you so badly."

Valan's lips curl into a pleased grin, only for him to suddenly wince. Lowering herself atop him, she pushes his manhood into her loins, stretching her nether lips to their limit and filling her vaginal canal. She shivers even more than before as sits atop his large and pleasurable member. He tosses his head back and groans, placing his hands on her broad hips and squeezing her furry body firmly but gently. She squeals from the sensation of taking her lover into her taut loins, and suddenly, the Jaliscan opens her eyes. She stares in shock and horror.

Salman has slithered to the very edge of the bed, while Jarae has made her way toward him in her sleep. Her hand grips his flaccid manhood through his clothes, while she'd shoved her chest against his side and begun to nuzzle him. Realizing what she's doing, she bolts upright. Without her holding down his left side, Salman falls backward, rolling out of bed and landing on the stone floor below.

“Ahh!" He exclaims as he falls.

Jarae stares at the wall, her chest heaving as she pants. Tears well in her eyes as she runs her fingers through her hair, gripping her head as if it was about to fall from her neck.

“Why... Why do I always have that dream? ... Why won't it stop?" She whimpers.

“Okay... I don't know what that was, but we'll just pretend it never happened." Salman says, picking himself up from the floor.

“I-I'm so sorry, Sal. I don't know what came over me." She speaks softly as she cries.

Seeing the embarrassment and shame in her eyes, Salman slowly sits on the bed. He drapes an arm over her and the Jaliscan is quick to turn toward him, throw her arms around his torso and bury her snout into his chest. The startled human can only sit there as she cries like a little girl, her tears soaking his robes and her voice muffled by his body.

“Shh... It's going to be okay." He coos, softly petting her head and back.

“I can't do it. I just can't do it." She says to herself.

“You can't do what?" He asks, his heart dropping. “You don't mean..."

“I can't leave. I promised myself that I would, that I'd stay here and find my own way without Arona, Valan or the others, but I just can't. I even destroyed my beloved figurine, but it's no use! I need him too much!"

“You mean Valan?"

“Yes..." Jarae sniffles.

“Then tell him when we get back. Why in the world are you doing this to yourself?! Just allow yourself to love him and try to be happy!" He replies.

“But, what if-"

“No." He swiftly interrupts her. “You will 'what if' yourself out of some of the best experiences of your life. Take a chance and let God decide what'll happen, or fate, if you'd prefer that instead."

Lifting her head, Jarae turns her tear-filled eyes toward Salman. Reaching out a hand, he lovingly strokes her cheek, using a thumb to brush away her tears.

“Trust me when I say that Valan cares for you. He'll do whatever it takes to make your relationship work. Just have faith in him." He adds.

“Thank you, Sal. I don't know why I've been so stubborn. I've just been so afraid."

“Life is scary, Jarae. Some things are scarier and harder to deal with than others, but nothing isn't within the realm of possibility."

“Thank you, for being here for me... And I'm sorry about grabbing your manhood. I didn't mean to."

“It's alright. We'll consider this water rushing under a bridge; it's already gone and forgotten."

Jarae embraces Salman, this time out of gratitude. He rises from the bed and looks out a window, toward the night sky. They must've slept for hours, but not throughout the night; the moon is only just now rising. Once she's calmed herself, Jarae searches the dresser and armoire, looking for clothes often left for the more important guests. Finding a skimpy nightgown, with portions made of a semi-transparent fabric, Salman excuses himself, allowing her to change. Once she's changed, they're ready to enact the next stage of their plan. Digging into a pocket sewn into his robes, a modification that Lutala made special for him, Salman retrieves a small, crude ring carved from stone.

He holds the greyish-green ring, admiring the polished sheen of the simple piece of enchanted jewelry. His thoughts dwell on Lutala, and of the spell she'd cast on the humble artifact.

“Now, remember..." She spoke very sternly. “You must focus your thoughts for the enchantment to work. Concentrate on your target and slip the ring onto whatever finger will fit, and try to maintain your concentration. If you do not, it'll fail."

“How will she know that it's me?" He asked her.

“Take hold of her hand, allowing her skin to touch the ring. The enchantment won't work on another, but she'll see through the magic." Lutala replied.

Opening his eyes, Salman lifts a hand and tries the ring on several fingers. It fits his pinky. Removing the ring, he prepares his thoughts.

“Alright. Are you ready?" Jarae asks in a subdued voice.

Salman glances back as she emerges from the bedroom. He's briefly struck by her beauty. Wearing only the skimpy nightgown taken from the armoire, the magnificence of her feminine shape is as plain as the moon in the sky.

“Sal?"

“... Val will be a very lucky man, when you get back to him." He replies.

Glancing down at her own body, her substantial cleavage, slender waist, broad hips and perky butt, Jarae cannot help but smile.

“You'd better focus, like Lutala said." She remarks, tossing a small pack toward him.

Catching the satchel, Salman slips the only strap over his shoulder, carrying the clothes that Jarae had removed. They'll have to leave everything behind, but luckily, they'd planned ahead; the dagger they surrendered is of low quality, and the wheellock pistols had their innards salvaged for spare parts, and weren't even loaded. Turning toward the doorway, some thirty feet away, Salman takes a deep breath. He focuses his thoughts, closing his eyes as he lifts his hands. Slowly and carefully, he slips the stone ring over his pinky finger.

“By the Seraphs..." Jarae quietly chokes out.

“Did it work?"

“Yes..."

“Oh, thank Yashuva." He sighs. “Let's do this quickly."

He turns back and holds out his hand. Taking hold, Jarae is visibly stunned once more.

“Why, hello there, Sal." She smirks.

Emerging from their room, there are no guards standing beside the door, though they lean against a pillar a short distance from it. Maintaining his concentration, Salman steps out of the room with Jarae by his side. The guards spot the two and stare in shock.

“Great King?! H-how did you get in there?!"

“Do you not think I know my own palace better than my guards?" The disguised Salman bellows in a convincingly angry tone. “Now stand aside and allow me to enjoy Salman's servant without your inane questions, and don't you dare wake him. I don't wish to reimburse him for her use."

“Yes, Great King." The guards bow their heads.

With his form shrouded by Lutala's enchantment, Salman walks hand-in-hand with Jarae, searching the palace for Lapira's room. Spotting a Jaliscan servant girl, who both fumes with rage and trembles in fear at the sight of him, Salman demands to know where Lapira sleeps.

“The west wing, Great King... Where you had her sent." The confused servant girl replies.

“Thank you."

The Jaliscan blinks and Salman's heart briefly races. Why did he thank her? It was purely impulsive. He didn't even realize it. The Jaliscan cocks her head and raises a brow, her anger and fear seemingly washing away. She turns her shimmering, purple eyes toward Jarae, who cannot hide her own fears. Will she challenge the man who looks like Vashalak? Will she call for the guards? Will Salman lose his concentration and be caught?

“... You're welcome... Great King..." The Jaliscan servant finally replies.

With great haste the pair make their way toward the west wing, searching for Lapira. As they walk along the corridors, Jarae can hear the soothing sounds of a female's voice singing softly to herself. The closer they come to it, the more apparent it is that it's the voice of the Princess. Soon, however, Salman stops. A smile forms on his lips as he too now hears her singing softly from a nearby room. Fearing the worst, Jarae pulls her hand away.

“Sal... Sal, I can see you."

“Huh?"

Salman looks at his hand, which Jarae no longer holds. Realizing his failure, he desperately tries to regain his concentration. Approaching guards force the pair to duck into the nearest room, which by chance is merely a storage area for the palace seamstress.

“Sal, you need to make that ring work!" Jarae loudly whispers.

“I'm trying, but her voice distracted me."

“Well, keep trying... When they pass, I'll stop her and bring her out. You'd better be ready..." Jarae growls.

The boots of the approaching guards make their hearts beat nearly out of their chests. Salman begins to sweat, the pressure of his failure crushing him. No sooner do the guards pass by, Jarae slips out of the storage room. She makes her way toward Lapira's quarters. She's about to knock, but another patrol turns a corner. Without warning, she barges into the room, closing the door behind her.

“Uhm, what're you doing here, and why are you dressed like you're spending your first night with your husband?" Lapira asks.

Turning around, Jarae finds herself standing inside of a small bedroom. Unlike the quarters given to Salman and herself by King Vashalak, Princess Lapira has been moved into what can best be described as upscale servant's quarters. The Vizhek stands in a simple nightgown before a bed that would barely fit her, a perplexed look on her face.

“Please, Princess... I need you to come with me. We're taking you out of here."

“Sal's here for me?!" She asks, elation in her voice.

“Shh! ... Yes. We're here to rescue you."

“Somehow, I was expecting a man to say that."

“He's currently predisposed..." Jarae murmurs.

“Heh. Men. Always biting off more meat than they care to chew."

Lapira turns to a dresser and opens several drawers.

“I'm sorry, Princess, but you must travel lightly. Take only coin and small jewels, and a change of clothes or two. In fact, it's best if you wear that on our way out."

Though somewhat disappointed, the Princess doesn't allow that to interfere with her excitement. After collecting a large coin purse, which she stuffs full of golden vasariks and jewelry, she collects only two of her favorite dresses. Carrying them in her arms, they wait for the guards to pass. Unsurprisingly, Lapira has memorized the number and duration of their patrols. Once they have a moment, the Jaliscan leads the Princess out of her modest bedroom and down the corridor. Stepping out from the storage area, Lapira immediately freezes at the sight of Vashalak. She turns toward Jarae, glaring at her.

“You tricked me..."

“Please, Princess. Trust me." Jarae urges.

“Lapira, my blue lotus..." Vashalak speaks.

“What did you call me?!"

“You heard me... Take my hand."

Unnerved but intrigued, Lapira steps forward, passing Jarae. She reaches out and sheepishly rests her fingers in Vashalak's hand, only to gasp and turn her head down.

“Sal?! But how'd you-"

“There's no time to explain. We must go, right now."

Ignoring him, Lapira cannot help herself. She wraps her arms around Salman, leaning in and planting a passionate kiss on his lips. Jarae rases a brow, as to her, it appears that the Vizheki woman is burying her face in Vashalak's chest, while Vashalak blows a kiss toward the ceiling.

“Alright, you two. We really need to go." She urges them.

“Right. Pass me your things."

Collecting her dresses and the large coin purse, Salman swiftly stuffs them into the satchel he carries. With Lapira now leading them, her superior knowledge of the guard patrols takes them right back to the garden and into the dead of night. Once safely away from the palace, both women change out of their nightgowns and into their own clothes, while Salman removes the ring.

“Well, that was surprisingly easy." Jarae remarks.

“Hardly... The last person I want on my mind is that pig." Sal murmurs.

“I'm sorry, Sal. You may think of me instead." Lapira coos.

“As well as you know the guard patrols, why didn't you leave on your own?"

“And go where? Vashalak keeps the treasury sealed, and I'd be destitute and well-known. I don't know how to survive out in the wilds, like my Sal." She says, resting a hand on his shoulder and leaning in. “I also never learned how to fight; it's forbidden for the noble women to use weapons."

As Jarae adjusts her belt, she watches the human and the towering elf embracing each other. They seem to snuggle with each other, losing themselves in their own little world. Eventually, Jarae clears her throat and regains their attention. They carry on, and by the time they approach the small valley where Naemen, Lutala and the coachman wait for them, the moon has only just reached its zenith.

“Sal?!" Naemen calls out to the figures in the darkness.

“No, it's your father." Salman replies.

“Sal! It worked!" Lutala exclaims, racing up to him.

“Exceptionally well." He replies, returning the ring to Lutala.

“Be sure to dispose of that properly." Jarae remarks. “Magic of such magnitude can't ever fall into the wrong hands."

“I will. That's my first priority, once we get back." The Lahnyt priestess replies.

“And who is this new beauty?!" The coachman chirps, approaching the group from the back of his carriage. “Another one of your 'servants', mister mysterious? You'd better not misuse the seats in my carriage or I'll-"

The coachman stops mid-sentence as his eyes land on none other than Princess Lapira herself. He looks toward his passengers, taking a single step back.

“I knew it... This was a mistake. I never should've taken this job!"

“Please, sir! Will five-hundred more see us out of here?!" Salman asks.

“Don't treat me like a fool! I know who that is!" The coachman points a finger. “That's the Princess! The King will burn this whole island and sink it to the bottom of the sea to get her back!"

“We'll pay you whatever you ask." Salman pleads.

“Please! You must help us!" A desperate Lapira begs.

“What will it take to convince you to take us?" Lutala asks.

“Absolutely nothing! I ain't going anywhere with passengers like that! I like my skin attached to my body, thank you very much!"

“I'm afraid I must insist..." Naemen growls, drawing his sword.

Jarae quickly retrieves her small pistol, the same pistol gifted to her by Valan weeks ago. She cocks the hammer, the barrel pointed at the coachman's face. With a loaded gun pointed between his eyes and the tip of the half breed's sword tickling his throat, the old man looks between the two.

“Well, since you put it that way..."