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       The music was soft, melding in with the ruckus of the banquet hall and becoming nothing more than background noise.  The gentle, vibrant words that the young maid sang were lost on those at the feast.  Her hands gently strummed a small lute, the notes slow and dreamy.  Beside her, a young boy whistled on a set of panpipes, adding a sharper, clearer tone to the music.  The lute, the pipes, the voice all danced together in the air in a simple, yet elegant pattern.
         The maid seemed not to mind that her song fell on deaf ears, nor that the only looks she got were from lusty young lords filled with wine.  She simply continued playing, as if all attention was focused on her and her young piping accompanist.
         She was dressed in peasant finery; a simple green dress with a black bodice vest.  It showed little wear, for the dye was still bright, unlike the fading colors of the other servants. It was no doubt something she saved for special occasions, although, until tonight, special occasions would probably have been the Harvest Festival or small town fairs.  Chances were, this was her first visit to the King’s castle.  She poured her heart and soul into her songs, hoping this would not be her last.  Hoping that they would enjoy her minstreling, and ask her to remain and play more often.  But it was doubtful that King Warren or any of his close associates heard anything more than a distant melody in the background.
         Yet one in that banquet hall listened with rapt attention to the tune the young maiden sang.  He watched her slowly move her head in rhythm with the beat.  He listened to every word.  They meant nothing to him, they were nothing more that a quaint peasant nonsense song.  Instead, he listened to the feeling, the emotion the maid placed behind each verse.  He heard the melodies, the harmonies, simple as they were, but that simple beauty held him.  She did not notice him, nor did her companion.  No one noticed him, standing there in the darkened hallway, where he leaned against the cold stone wall, and felt her music.
         Lord Prince Jack waited for the young maiden to finish her song.  At its end, to Jack’s surprise, some of the lords and ladies actually clapped, though faintly.  The young woman seemed encouraged by this, and smiled slightly.  A servant came up to her and offered her a glass of water, which she took while thanking the man profusely.  The maid was well aware of her status.  Though she entertained the nobility, she held tenuous rank among the lesser servants.  It was those like the one who brought her the water that had stability in rank, whose status was passed by family.
         She turned to speak with her young companion, a boy of no more than fifteen.  He spoke little, and watched the room, uncomfortable with so many people of noble blood.  Jack laughed to himself, for he often felt the same.  He turned from watching the maid and the boy, and stretched.  Her songs had lasted for quite some time, and Jack had been there all along, watching and listening.  He was amazed that everyone else could find so much joy in their conversations of battle, or finery, or some other nonsense, that they somehow ignored this beautiful girl’s talent.
         Yet there they were.  The high nobles of the land, gathered under his father’s roof for nights of feasting and drinking, for days of hunting and drinking.  The lords had dragged along their ladies and their offspring, all settling into the castle for the duration of the King’s little fete.  Now they sat, watching the servants clear away the remains of a banquet for a hundred served to a party of fifty.  Jack saw some of the younger nobles begin to disperse.  They had to be the sons of the King’s friends and lords.  They looked far too young to succeed their fathers, and far too inexperienced to know how to use the swords at their sides.  At least I know how to wield a sword, even if I could never best a true warrior.  These fools would no doubt cut themselves trying to remove the sword from the scabbard.
         Slowly, the lordlings made their ways to the company of young, female servants.  No doubt trying to win the lasses over for an evening.  An old ritual that dated back to the beginning of time.  The dashing young man comes up to the coy, young lady.  He woos her with compliments and promises, and she pretends to see through him, yet still gives in to the praises.  It seemed silly to Jack, but everyone else agreed that it was “The Way Things Should Be”.
         Jack continued to scan the vast company of lords and ladies.  He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he had nothing else to do until the young maid began her songs again.  Or his father noticed his absence and demand that he be more sociable.  That thought made him step just a few steps further into the shadowed hallway.  Large crowds tended to make him uncomfortable, especially crowds of his father’s friends.  The only thing he feared more was a large group of Queen Melanie’s ladies.  Horrid creatures.
         Out of habit, Jack began to search the room for his siblings.  Daimeon, he knew, had feigned a headache to avoid the feast.  Instead, he ran off to the Broken Horn Tavern to be with his latest infatuation.  Jack had seen him sneaking off down the corridors, and Daimeon had seen him.  But they had a pact from long ago, and Jack would not say anything of Daim’s activities in the village, long as Daim kept his end of the bargain.
         Michael was here, unfortunately. No doubt sitting right next to father, and trying to be civil among such “gross transgressions”.  But he would put his religious fervor on hold to try and win the friendship of father’s friends.  Jack suspected that half the reason this party had been thrown was to introduce the grown Daimeon and Michael to the lords of the realm, and to see which they would support.
         It was an interesting dilemma.  Daimeon and Michael were twins, born to Warren’s first wife, the Queen Tulaine.  She had died giving birth to them, and in that confusion, the knowledge of which was first was lost.  And so it was unsure of who would become the Crown Price and Warren’s heir.  Daimeon had the support of the people and the knights.  Michael had the support of the Church.  And after tonight, most of the nobility too, no doubt.  I have to admit he does have a certain charisma.  Of course, that charisma didn’t stop Jack from disliking his elder half-brother or Michael from disliking Jack.
         He continued to move his eyes across the room.  Soon, they found Melody in a crowd of the young lordlings, all of them laughing loudly.  The fair, golden-haired Melody amidst a group of admirers, once again.  Well, she was beautiful.  Even more so than her mother, the Queen Melanie.  She was also a terrible flirt with every male who came into sight.  But despite the games she played in court, she had unshakable morals.  To her, it simply was a game, and nothing would come of it, whether the lords she teased liked it or not.  She said something, and all of her admiring nobles laughed heartily.  It was probably something very simple and ignorant, just to test how tightly she had them about her finger.  One thing about Melody: she was not the brightest of all of Warren’s children, but she knew how to keep the intelligence she had as a secret weapon for her advantage.
         Jack’s eyes moved on, for the scene with Melody was nothing he had not seen before.  More lords joking, a few ladies talking.  And… oh, no!  He had found Daphne, but someone else had as well.  The Lord Thomas, aged beyond his years to rule and deep in his cups.  Daphne listened to his ramblings of the problems with the youth and the way the kingdom has gone downhill.  He heard him with a sympathetic face and only half an ear.  As the old noble’s talking became much more general, Daphne also began to watch the crowd.  She picked up her glass and downed an exceedingly large amount of whatever was within.  The face she made indicated that it wasn’t the best taste.  But suddenly, the Lord Thomas simply had to have her attention again.
         Jack’s heart went out to her.  He knew from experience that the old man could and would discuss anything negative for hours on end.  He was also clueless enough to forget whom he was talking to.  He might stupidly mention something about the sacrifice…
         It was a barbaric ritual, yet one that was followed meticulously.  A horrible, evil thing in Jack’s eyes.  It was the Princess Gift.  The eldest Princess of the ruling house was left on her 21st birthday in the Crushed Wastes to the North as a sacrifice to the Storm Kings.  Every eldest Princess knew this, and was raised to be prepared for the occasion from the age of three.  But that didn’t make it any easier for her, or those who loved her.  Thank God her mother is dead.
         Daphne looked away from Thomas for an instant, and saw Jack in the corridor.  She smiled and waved at him.  It was easy to see her relation to the twins, especially Daimeon.  They had the same devilish grin, the same smile in their eyes.  Even Michael had that, seen on the rare occasion when he smiled.  The resemblance was clear between the three full-blood siblings, even though Daphne’s hair was a rich, dark brown, and the twins had hair more like dirty straw.
         Then, Queen Melanie passed into Jack’s line of sight, followed by her three ladies-in-waiting.  She held herself tall, though she was not a tall woman.  One could feel her status as she walked by.  That was one thing Melanie wanted to make sure everyone knew.  She was Warren’s Queen, his second wife, and the mother of his three youngest children.  That was clear in most cases.  Melanie looked like an older, slightly shorter and less sculpted image of her eldest child, Melody.  Gunther, her second child, was a miniature version of Warren in nearly every way, right down to the shade of brown hair and gray eyes.  But Dantica, the youngest of Warren’s children…  She looked like neither of her parents.
         As if her name had summoned her, Jack saw the young Princess appear from a side hallway, one more lit than the one he dwelt in.  Not two paces behind her came her nursemaid, Amelia.  Dantica’s striking features seemed all the more obvious tonight.  Her face was smooth and pale, her cheeks strong and sharp.  Violet eyes with specks of gold watched the banquet hall silently.  She had her hair pulled back in a braid that fell down to her waist.  Hair that was black as midnight.  That upset people.  Warren had the true brown hair of his family line, though it was now graying, and Melanie had blonde hair.  In so many ways, Dantica looked less like her siblings or her parents, and much more like Jack.  And that was something people truly hated.
         But however conspicuous Dantica’s features looked this evening, her choice of dress was less than imposing.  She had donned some gown that foolishly tried to make her look older than she was.  Jack looked closer and realized that it was meant to make her look more like Melody.  Oh, yes.  Just what we need.  Another Melody!  Jack sighed as he watched Dantica sway hesitantly at the entrance.
         Amelia was talking, a habit she had picked up from years as a gossip.  But Dantica was closely watching Melody and her group of lords.  She seemed to whisper something under her breath.  Then, Amelia reached over to try and straighten some ribbon, or tighten the Princess’ hair, and Dantica seemed to wake up.  She slapped Amelia’s hands away.  Amelia just smiled and gave Dantica a little push towards the tables.
         But Dantica did something that Jack did not expect.  She moved her eyes across the room.  She saw Daphne, still listening to Lord Thomas.  She saw Melody and her entourage.  She saw Michael conversing with some nobleman and his wife.  She saw her mother and her ladies cutting a swath across the room.  Then, she saw Jack watching her from his shadowed corridor.  Melody or Gunther would have run to tell father, and Jack expected Dantica to do the same.  But instead, she half-smiled at him.  It was a ghost of a smile, no… more of a mask of one.  She looked down at what she was wearing.  She looked back up at him and the smile fell away.  A tear started to fall down her cheek, and she suddenly ran off down the hallway she came from, trying to tear the dress from her body.  Amelia ran after, startled and crying “Princess?”
         Jack was equally confused.  That hadn’t been like Dantica at all.  The youngest child of the royal family was spoiled.  Everyone knew it.  She had everything she needed, and if she thought otherwise, she was sure to let everyone know.  But she had been spoiled by people other than her parents.  For some reason, both Melanie and Warren were distant to her.  The closest person to her had been her nursemaid Amelia, and so even at this age, Dantica demanded that Amelia remain with her.  Amelia raised no objection, for the woman adored the young Princess.  And now, as she grew up, Dantica turned to Melody as her role model.
         But something, now, had changed.  Usually Jack kept his distance from the little brat.  He had become sick of the spoiled child routine very quickly.  But what if it merely was a routine?  Dantica had no one.  No one.  Michael had the Church.  Daimeon was friends with anyone after five minutes.  Gunther and Melody each had their circles, and spent much time with their parents.  Even Jack had a friend in Daphne, and she in him.  But everyone seemed to ignore Dantica…
         Before he could debate following her, Jack saw his younger brother Gunther begin to walk in his direction.  At first, Jack thought he would receive another “Father says…” lecture, but Gunther instead made his way towards the young singer.  Suddenly, Jack decided to step out of his corridor.  He would not have Gunther playing those games with that innocent girl!
         As he began crossing the room, he could hear the whispers build in corners of the room.  His sudden appearance had given quite a few close conversations something to talk about.  But he didn’t care.  He was tired of the whispers and the glances, but was used to them by now.  He approached Gunther and the maiden, who was caught between laughing at something he said and swooning in awe.  Their conversation became clearer…
         “…danced until the sun came up!  Of course, old Noris wasn’t feeling all that well for the next few days,” Gunther said, smiling jovially at the maid.  Jack could see the lusty glint in his eye, as well as to where that eye was roving.
         “Amazing, Lord Gunther,” breathed the girl.  Strange that she could sing to carry across the room, and yet still sounded breathless when talking to Gunther.  “Perhaps you could tell me another story of your time in East Portmair.”
         “I would love to, my dear Odia, but I fear this crowd takes a toll on me,” he said, reaching out to put his arm on her shoulder.  “I would feel so much better if we retire to someplace more priva-”
         “Gunther!” Jack cried out, interjecting himself between the two.  Gunther’s eyes shot daggers at Jack, but he quickly put a kind and noble face back on.
         “Odia, I don’t believe you know my half-brother,” he said, turning to face Jack.  He smiled.  “This is Jack, the Bastard Prince.  Now what is it that you want, Jack?”
         “I simply need to tell you,” Jack said, putting his own civil face on, “that Father wishes to speak with you.”
         “What?  Now?  Bloody fool,” Gunther murmured.  He turned to Odia.  “Forgive me, my dear.  But my esteemed father the King requires my presence.  I shall speak with you later.”  He took her hand and kissed it, and Odia nearly fainted on the spot.  With one parting glare for Jack, Gunther walked off towards the opposite end of the room.
         “Good, he’s gone.  Now, Odia,” Jack said, turning to the young maiden.
         She was older than he thought.  More his own age than Gunther’s, but Gunther always preferred the challenge of an older woman.  There was nothing spectacular about her.  Mousy brown hair with waves that came halfway down her back.  Brown eyes, freckled face.  In a crowd of peasants, Jack’s eyes would not immediately be drawn to her.  So why had Gunther chosen her for his nightly conquest?
         “M’lord,” she said, curtseying lowly.  She came up to look at him, and though she watched with rapt attention, the awe that she had for Gunther was gone.
         “I want you to know that my brother’s intentions are not very honorable and maybe you should-” he broke off as she began to giggle.  “Is something funny, m’lady?”
         “Oh, oh no, m’lord Jack,” Odia said, covering her mouth with her hand.  “And please.  Do not disgrace your tongue by calling me m’lady.  It’s just that… Well, Lord Jack.  I’m no innocent farm girl, as you seem to think.  I know very well Lord Gunther’s intentions.  Forgive my bluntness, but he wants a nice rumble in the sack, no?”
         Jack was a little taken aback by her forwardness.  “Y-yes.  But-”
         “That’s what I thought.  I wouldn’t mind a nice tumble with him, myself, m’lord Jack.  And if someone like Lord Gunther has taken a shine to me…
         “For a night.  That’s all Odia,” Jack said.  Didn’t she see?  Gunther would just use her and leave her.  She wouldn’t even be allowed to sing again, if Gunther wished it.  And knowing how he treated his conquests the morning after…
         “I think perhaps y’have the wrong idea of your brother, there, m’lord.  And of me.  I ain’t no simple daisy.  If I like him, I can hold on to him,” she said, smiling coyly.
         “No offense, dear lady,” Jack said, taking the smile off his lips.  “But there have been a hundred like you, and there will be more.  I know my brother and his… tendencies.”
         “Sounds to me more like jealousy than knowledge, m’lord,” Odia said, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder.  “Tain’t nothing to be jealous of, m’lord Jack.  Just because the ladies flock to your brother’s bed…”
         “I truly don’t care how many little harlots strut into my brother’s bed,” Jack said angrily.  He pushed her hand off of his shoulder.
         “Then what’s your problem then, m’lord?” Odia said, becoming angry as well.  “‘Tis my right to choose what I do, as ‘tis your brother’s.  I think I know what I’m getting into, m’lord Jack.  But why do y’have such a problem with it?”
         “I don’t like the games my brother plays.”
         “What is it?” she asked, not listening to him.  “Are you jealous?  Afeared y’can’t hold a candle to your brother?  Fancy me for yourself?  Just like making trouble?  Oh, I know…”
         Jack looked away.  Gunther had reached Father, and they were discussing something.  No doubt him, and why he had diverted the King’s favorite son.
         “Is it because you don’t like to see another bastard born?  Is that it?  Well, don’t worry.  I can take care ‘o that, your Bastard Highness!”
         Jack turned sharply and grabbed Odia’s wrist.  The anger she had melted away in an instant, replaced by fear.  Life-threatened fear.  Her eyes grew wide and he could almost see himself reflected in them.
         “Must I remind you that I am a Prince of this Realm, bastard or no, and still command your respect?” he said in a tone as low as a whisper, and as cold and clear as a winter gale.  Odia’s lips trembled and she nodded slowly.  “I hope you understand,” Jack said as he tossed her arm to the side.  She recoiled from him, still watching in fear.  He took two paces away.
         “I liked your singing, Odia,” he said in a cordial and cool manner, and began to walk away. I hope you are still singing as beautifully tomorrow, and not cast off to labor for your food.
         He did not know where he was going, but his blind rage led him away from the banquet hall, away from the lords and the ladies and their games.  Fine!  If Odia wanted to play their games, he would let her.  She was nothing in their eyes.  She wouldn’t survive a day.  But for all his efforts, she would still try.  She would fall into Gunther’s arms, trembling and crying of how Jack had mistreated her.  Gunther would comfort her and they would fall into bed together.  How wretched that his endeavors to save her would simply aid her in the game.
         How dare she!  How dare she!  The anger still boiled through him.  It was one thing for his brother to call him the Bastard Prince.  He was, in all legality, a true bastard.  But she had no right!  No right!  He did nothing but try and help her and she spit on him.  Stabbed him in his weak spot.  Bastard.  Ha, you little bastard prince.

         He finally looked where he was headed.  Down the corridor that Dantica had run down.  But this far was not as well lit.  Only a few torches burned here and there.  Rather than fight the feeling that had led him here, he continued on towards Dantica’s room.
         Outside of the room, Amelia was all a flutter.  She saw him coming, and rushed towards him.
         “Lord Jack!  Lord Jack!  Something is wrong with the Princess!  Oh, the poor angel is upset and won’t let me in!” cried Amelia, wringing her hands in worry.  “I don’t know what to do!  Please, Lord Jack!  Do something!”
         “Amelia,” Jack said, putting his hands on her shoulders.  She immediately stopped jumping around.  “I don’t know what I can do.  I never really talk to her…”
         “Please, anything. Lord Jack, she’s never been like this before!  Why, she ripped the pretty dress right off her back and ran half-naked down the hallways.  Oh, my poor little sweetling!”
         “Okay, I suppose I can try,” Jack said, heading for the door to Dantica’s room.  “I must warn you though, that I haven’t had much luck talking with people lately.”
         “Please, Lord Jack.  I’ll run and get a nice cup of sweet berry juice.  She does love that so, my little dear.  Please, just stay here until I get back, and try to talk to her.”  And with that, Amelia was down the hallway and lost in the shadows.
         Silence filled the corridor.  Jack tried to think of something to say.  Normally, he would just want to tell her to grow up, to stop being such a brat.  But this was different.  Jack had no clue as to what caused Dantica’s outburst, but it was serious.  The child was hurting on the inside.  And Jack was at a loss about what to do.
         He started by knocking on her door.
         “Go away, Amelia.  I hate you!  I want to be alone!  GO AWAY!” came the response.  It was a commanding, booming voice not without its charm.  When it wasn’t screeching.
         “Don’t worry,” Jack said to the door.  “Amelia’s gone, just like you wanted.”
         Silence from the other side of the door.  Jack wondered if that had been the right thing to say.  But then:
         “Why did she leave?” asked the voice through the door.  It was calmer now, and less angry.  “Who… who’s there?”
         “She left because you wanted her to, Dantica,” Jack said with a bit of an edge to his voice.  He took a deep breath, and tried to calm his voice.  “It’s me, Jack.”
         “J-jack?” There was movement in the room.  She came close to the door, but didn’t open it.  One last barrier, to keep herself safe.  “What, what do you want?  Did Mother send you?”
         “No, Dantica.  I just,” Jack began, and then paused.  The talk with Odia had certainly not gone well, and her did not want to upset his sister anymore than she was.  “I…I just wanted to see if you were okay.  I saw how you ran out and-”
         “NOOO!” the screech returned.  “Y-you saw?  How many other people… Oh, dear God!  I…I… GO AWAY!”
         Jack swore under his breath.  After tonight, I am not opening my mouth again for a year!  He could hear her start to move away from the door.  He had to say something quick.
         “Dantica, no.  I just, well, noticed you, because… Because I watch people.  I…I don’t think anyone else saw, just me.  Please, Dantica,” he said, though he wasn’t sure what he was asking from her.  But the movement stopped.  Silence again.
         “Why did you leave the party, Jack?” the voice asked, much smaller now.
         “I wasn’t having a very good time.  And from the looks of it, neither were you,” he said, and immediately wished he hadn’t.  That sounded too flippant, too uncaring.  But instead, he heard her move back to lean against the door.  There was a small sniffle.
         “W-what do you want, Jack?” the voice asked.  It wasn’t accusatory, or cruel, or demanding.  It was simple curiosity.
         “Like I said, I watch people,” Jack replied.  He decided that if he was going to start talking in earnest, he’d best be comfortable.  And so he sat down, leaning his back up against the door.  “I saw a lot of things tonight, Dantica.  I saw the lord’s vying for Father’s ear.  I saw Michael trying to wheedle his way into the support of the noblemen.  And I saw you, in what looked like a lot of pain.  I saw you run off, and no one follow you to see what was wrong.”
         More silence.  Jack’s thoughts spun in his head.  Was she listening?  Was she crying?  Hating him?  Laughing at him?  He was left in his thoughts until,
         “And?”
         “And?” Jack wondered.  But he decided to continue on his own.  “And I want to know, Dantica.  What’s wrong?”
         “Y-you came all the way to this wing to ask me what was wrong?” asked Dantica.  There was a small amount of bewilderment in her voice.  That made Jack feel for her.  She was startled, confused that anyone would care about her besides the frivolous Amelia.  Whatever happens tonight, I’ll never look at her the same.  My poor little sister…  And Jack realized that right then, at that moment, was the first time in a long time that he considered Dantica his sister.
         “I… well, yes, Dantica,” he responded.  There wasn’t much he could say to that.  “Feel like telling me?  I promise to try and make it better.”  An empty promise, he knew, but one made in earnest.
         “You wouldn’t understand,” she said, and Jack could feel her withdrawing again.  “You couldn’t help.”
         “Maybe not Dantica,” he said quickly, trying to keep her talking.  “Maybe there is nothing I can say that will make things better.”  Suddenly, he heard her slump down to sit like he was, back against the door.  “In fact, my talking has made nothing but trouble this evening.  But… but Dantica.  I can listen, Dantica.  And I will, if you want to talk.”
         “I… I can’t,” came the reply.  “I just can’t, Jack.”
         “Is… is it because you don’t trust me?” Jack asked.  Not that he would be offended if she admitted to not trusting him.  He hadn’t really done anything to deserve that trust.
         “It’s that I-” she started, then broke off.  A few more moments of quiet, while both gathered their thoughts.  “I’m not really even sure I know what’s wrong, Jack.  And I’m scared.”
         “It okay to be confused, Dantica,” Jack said.  “And it’s okay to be scared.  God knows I’ve been scared and confused plenty of times in my life.  But I had people to turn to in times like that.”
         “That’s why it’s different.  You’d never understand…”
         “Maybe, Dantica.  But I’m here.  I know I haven’t been the best brother, but I’m here.  And it seems to be one of those times.”  His words met up with the all too familiar silence.  “Dantica, I know you’re hurting, and you’re scared.  And you don’t want to talk about it, or can’t, or whatever.  Just know that whenever you’re ready, if you’re ever ready to talk to me about it, I’ll be there.  Please, remember that.  Dantica?”
         He could hear her hands tracing symbols on the wood.  “I... I… Thank you, Jack.”
         “And for God’s sake, Danti,” he said, using her nickname that he hadn’t uttered in years. “Whatever you do, don’t talk to idiot Gunther about it!”
         That got the intended effect.  A small laugh from the girl made Jack feel much better about the way this talk was going.  Jack stood up, recognizing the end of the conversation.  Dantica must have heard him, for she stood up as well.
         “And where would I find our dear brother at this hour?” Dantica asked, following the joke.  “Probably at the shrine with Michael, no doubt, eh?”
         “Oh, my dear girl.  I’d agree if I was absolutely sure that Gunther worshiped the gods of the bed.  He’s no doubt making a sacrifice there right now,” Jack said.  Dantica giggled slightly once more.  But the thought of Gunther taking Odia to bed with him… Jack pushed that thought out his mind.
         “I leave you now, fair sister, to sleep your problems away,” Jack said, bowing to the door, though she could not see him.  But as he moved to go, Dantica cried out,
         “Wait, Jack!”  He turned and heard her opening the door to her room.  There she stood, tear-stained, puffy-eyed Dantica, still striking and ethereal.  Her dress was off, no doubt torn to shreds, and she had on a plain nightgown of wool.  She smiled a small, true smile at him.  Then she rushed over and hugged him about the waist.  “Thank you, Jack.  Thank you so much.”  He saw a small tear fall down the side of her face.
         “You’re most welcome, Danti,” he said, returning the hug.  “And do try to be civil to Amelia when she returns.  She has only your best interests at heart.”
         “Oh, Amelia,” Dantica said.  She let go of Jack.  “I know she thinks I was just upset about the dress.  Which was hideous, by the way.”  She scrunched up her nose in distaste.
         “Altogether dreadful,” Jack agreed.
         “Good night, Jack,” Dantica said.  She reached up and kissed the side of his face, then ran back into her room.  Jack stood for a few minutes, watching the door.  Yes, that had gone much better than the whole Odia affair.
         “Good night, fair princess,” he whispered, and began to walk away.  But he took only a few steps before a flurry of activity came up the stairs.  It was Amelia, flustered and distraught, trying to carefully carry a small goblet while running as fast as she could.
         “Oh!  Lord Jack!” Amelia cried when she saw him.  She slowed her frantic pace to a brisk walk.  “Did, did you have any luck?  With my little darling, that is?  I thought not.  The precious child can be so sensitive at times.  Oh, my sweet angel!”
         “We talked, Amelia,” he said.  Amelia stared at him.  Thankfully she adores Dantica too much to be offended.  Before she could say anything, Jack said, “It wasn’t much.  She didn’t spill her soul to me, or even tell me what was wrong.  But it was something, Amelia.  And I think that is what she needed.”
         “Is she any better, m’lord?” Amelia asked, the concern never leaving her face.  “I-I brought some of her favorite drink, and…”
         “She’s not totally back to her old self, yet,” Jack said.  “That may take a while.  But I’m pretty sure she would love some berry juice, Amelia.  And perhaps to talk awhile with you.”  Jack smiled at the maidservant, who beamed back at him.  She continued on towards Dantica’s room.
         “Thank you, m’lord Jack,” she said as she walked away.  “Priiiiiinceeeesssssss!  I think I have something that would cheer you up!”
         Jack, still smiling, continued to walk away from Dantica’s room.

         He walked down the hallways of the West Wing.  It was a newer addition to the Castle.  After the birth of his fifth child, Melody, King Warren had decided it best to expand the castle for his growing family.  Another structure was built, to rival Warren’s first addition to the ancient castle.  This was the West Wing, designed to house his daughters and their servants.  It was a small wing, and some thought it foolish to build so little for just a few, but it was a testament to Warren’s devotion to his daughters.  But since his family had stopped at the birth of Dantica, many of the rooms remained unoccupied.  And so Warren allowed some of the older servant families, such as Cina or Boltos, to “upgrade” to finer quarters.  There was an interesting mix of nobility in the West Wing.
         As for Warren’s sons, who outnumbered their sisters, they were allowed to room wherever they pleased.  Gunther and Daimeon chose to room in the older parts of the original castle, near where the King and Queen had their opulent quarters.  Gunther had a room nearby his parents, while Daimeon had one with easy access away from the castle grounds.  Michael preferred to sleep in one of the old priest quarters, near the shrine.  It was the proper mix of royal comfort and religious simplicity for him.
         Jack also chose to dwell somewhere other than the inner castle.  The second addition that Warren had built was known as the Northern Halls.  Their main purpose had been extravagant guest quarters for the many friends and associates Warren would have visit; for banquets such as this night’s.  Now, however, Warren was loath to room any close friends in the fine rooms of the Northern Halls.  For some lords, he had no choice, for the expanding Realm had more lords and nobles than ever.  But Warren only had the servants carry his guests’ things to those rooms if every other suitable room was in use.  Most of the year, Jack was the only one living in the Northern Halls.
         He lived alone.  His father had offered no manservant at his twelfth birthday, and so he had not asked.  Jack had simply, quietly, moved into the rooms in the Northern Halls that Father had never, never sent anyone to stay in.  And he had lived there, quietly and comfortably, in the rooms he had spent his first years of life.  The rooms that his mother had lived in.
         The only problem was, the Northern Halls were on the other side of the main parts of the castle than the West Wing.  In order to get to his room to retire for the evening, Jack had to pass by the banquet hall again.  God, and then Father or Gunther could grab me again.  Or I could run into Gunther and Odia going off to someplace “private”.  But he did not know of any other way to get to his rooms.  He regretted, just for an instant, heading towards Dantica’s room.  But just for an instant.
         Well, with no other choice, Jack set out for the hallways of the banquet hall, hoping that everyone was too drunk or tired to notice him.  The night was dark with no moon and the few stars hidden behind occasional clouds.  Yet the corridors in the main area of the castle were bright with fresh torches and candles.  He walked, trying to hold an imposing and ominous air.  Hopefully, no servant would stop to inquire about him, or give him any messages from his feasting family.  He neared the hall, and could hear the raucous laughter and talk.  It pounded out from the room through the walls, setting Jack on edge.  Crowds, again.  He quickened his pace.
         He saw servants in the smaller hallways, still shuttling dishes and food out, while bringing in more wine.  Thankfully, none took notice of the prince briskly walking through the corridors.  He strained his ear, trying to hear if music was playing for the nobles.  Indeed, a strain of harmony reached his ears, but it was complex and joyful, played with skill and precision.  Most likely it was Master James, the castle’s resident bard.  Not Odia…
         He was nearly free.  Just a few more turns in the hallways until he was safe and could return to his rooms.  But then, he heard footsteps behind him.  They were slow at first; someone just stumbling out into a hallway.  But then, they gained speed and purpose.  Rather than try to outrun them, Jack turned to face his pursuer.
         Jack didn’t think that he recognized him.  Just a scrawny boy about fifteen years old.  Simple peasant clothing.  Nothing remarkable.  But he walked further into the light, and Jack saw that that he knew who the boy was.  He was the piper who had accompanied Odia in the song that had won Jack’s admiration.  No doubt here to cry for the loss of Odia to my brother.  Jack was in no mood to talk now.  Talking was all he had done this evening, and his failure with Odia was now fresh again in his mind.
         “Yes?” Jack asked impatiently when the boy did not make any move to speak.  “What is it you want?”
         “I-I just, I mean…” the boy trailed off.  He looked nervous and frightened.  Jack tried to soften his expression, but it wasn’t easy.  “Y-you’re the Prince Lord Jack, right sire?”
         “I am,” Jack answered.  He did not want to hear the boy lamenting his lost love Odia, but some instinct demanded that he listen.   Silence.  Yes, silence for an entire year!  I think I would like that very much.  The boy searched for the words to say, and it seemed to Jack to take quite some time.  “Do you have something to say to me?”
         “I…I was the one playing in the banquet hall… before y’left, Prince Lord Jack.”
         “Yes, I remember.  You accompanied Odia on your panpipes.”
         “Y-y’remember me, m’lord?” the boy stammered.  “I didn’t think that the lords were watching me….”
         “Well, I’m sorry to say, but nearly every one of them was too busy watching Odia.  Those that noticed you two at all,” Jack said.  Again, the picture of Odia laughing at Gunther’s small talk, being led off to his room entered Jack’s mind.  “Especially my brother.”
        “Thank you fer noticing, m’lord,” the boy said, bowing slightly in a clumsy, peasant manner.  “But I did come about Odia.  I-”
          “Oh, god.  I can’t believe that she would waltz off to his bed like that!”  The boy’s face twisted slightly.  Apparently, he didn’t care for the image either.  “I’m sorry.  Odia was with you?”
         “Oh, no!  No, m’lord,” the boy said.  “We ain’t lovers or kin.  We’ve just been playing together at the fairs for years.  When she came to play for th’ banquet, I got to come with her.”
         “Then, what?” Jack asked.  He had assumed this young boy was in love with Odia, and had come to ask Jack to try to save her from Gunther for him.
         “Well, this may sound a bit simple, m’lord Jack,” he said, and hesitated.
         “Well?” Jack asked.  “I’m sorry, uh… What is your name?”
         “Kigan, m’lord,” the boy said.
         “I’m sorry, Kigan, but I am very tired right now.  I’d just like to crawl into bed and sleep for a couple days.  So if you could just say what you wanted to say…”
         “I-I’m sorry m’lord,” Kigan apologized.  “Just, thank you.”
         “Wha…?” Jack was taken aback.  “Thank you?  For what?”
         “Those nobles out there, in the hall,” Kigan said, pointing towards the banquet room.  “Most of them don’t give a damn ‘bout us.  People like me an’ Odia, I mean.”  Jack remembered the wary look Kigan gave the nobles after the song.  “But you tried to help.  You tried to keep Odia safe.  You had her best at heart.  Thank you for that.”
         “Well, in all honesty, Kigan,” started Jack.  Then he hesitated.  Thank you?  For what?  “I…I didn’t really…  I mean, I wasn’t just watching out for the peasants.  I just didn’t think about that.  I’m not like some kind of savior of the people, if that’s what you think.  I just… acted… how I thought I should.”
         “I know, m’lord Jack,” Kigan responded.  “An’ that’s what makes you really different.”
 He turned to go with a quick bow to Jack.  But as he walked away, Jack cried out, “Wait!”  Kigan turned, a question in his eyes.  “I need to know.  Did… Did Odia go off with my brother?  Or did she actually listen to me?”
         “She’s a damn fool, m’lord Jack,” Kigan said with a sad smile.  “She’s off getting more private with the Lord Prince Gunther.  But that’s her own damn fault, m’lord.  Not yours.”
         “Or yours,” Jack said, not entirely sure why.  But it had an effect.  Kigan looked at the floor, thinking about what Jack had just said.  He looked up, smiled and bowed, and was off again.
         Jack stood in the hallway, watching Kigan depart.  Why did I say that?  Am I a better judge than I thought?  No.  If I were, then that talk with Odia…  Jack pushed that from his mind.  But he was smiling.  The night wasn’t a complete mess.  Not at all like it at started.

         Jack continued on his way towards the Northern Halls.  He did not meet another soul in the darkened hallways.  All the sound he heard was his own soft footfalls against the cold stone floor.  Occasionally, the wind would whistle through some crevice.  But beyond that, it was silent.  I could get very used to this, he thought.  Soon, Jack reached the door to his rooms.
         A strong wooden door.  Not out of the ordinary in itself.  But like every part of Jack’s rooms, they told a story, a hapter of that tragic part of his life.  On the upper part of this door were blackened scorch marks.  Jack knew that they came from burning a heathen symbol that had been etched in the wood.  A symbol his mother had placed there… A symbol his father had burned away…
         He opened the door to his apartments.  They were as dark as the rest of the wing, save one lone candle that some servant had brought.  It was nearly spent, and so Jack quickly crossed the room to his desk.  He opened the upper left-hand drawer…
         She opened the upper left-hand drawer and took out a small pouch of some mysterious contents.  She crossed the room to where Jack was sitting on the bed.  “What’s that?” he asked in his toddler curiosity.  “It’s…it’s bread crumbs, my little Jaical,” she answered.  “I’m going to feed the birds.  Stay here until I get back, Jaical.  Promise me.”  He could sense the nervousness in her words and her body.  He jumped off the bed and ran to hug her tight around the waist.  “I promise, mommy.”
         …and found the wick he was looking for.  He placed it in the dying flame, and began moving across the two rooms, lighting all the candles.  Jaical.  That was what his mother had always called him.  He never knew what it meant.  He never asked anyone.  Not that anyone would have known.  Except maybe Father.  But asking Warren about Jack’s mother was a task for the foolish.
         Soon, every candle was lit, casting a strange, flickering light in the dark evening.  He surveyed his room, looking for anything out of place.  It was silly.  No one came to these rooms unless they had to.  No doubt the servant who had brought the candle had lost some bet.  But still…
         “Someone has been in here, Jaical,” his mother said.  She surveyed the room, holding his hand tight.  Jack could feel it, too.  Something felt different about the room.  But nothing looked out of the ordinary to the young child.  “Daddy?” he asked.  Just yesterday, his father had sent 27 roses to his mother, strew across the room for her to find.  His mother had been overjoyed, but she still had cried later, when she thought her son wasn’t in earshot.  “No, Jack,” she said.  “Someone else…  Stay close to me, my little Jaical.”  Her hand tightened around his…
         …it felt as if ghosts still dwelt in the room. Tonight, though, Jack just attributed it to his fatigue.  Did he really have anything to be fatigued about?  Just running from one end of the castle to another.
         He went into his bedroom, and began to prepare for bed.  Off came the fancy, dark clothes his father hated.  The uncomfortable boots that he couldn’t quite remember why he wore in the first place.  The rings of nobility.  Everything.  He pulled on a loose nightshirt that came down to his knees, and walked back into the other room.  Fatigued, yes, but not ready to sleep.  He threw himself down on the low couch…
         Jack was sitting on the couch with his mother.  She was teaching him his letters.  But they weren’t the normal letters.  They were different.  She said that they were the letters from where she was born.  Jack couldn’t imagine her being from anywhere else but this room.  Then, a knock on the door.  A forceful second knock and his mother got up.  “Wait here, my darling…” she whispered as she walked towards the door.  And then…and then…
         Jack just sat and watched some candles burn.  The wax trickled down the side, leaving a trail.  It usually seemed to take so long for the candles to burn.  But watching them, Jack saw how quickly they actually expired.  And suddenly, a half-grown moon showed its face from behind a cloud.  He saw it, that pale, ghostly light, shine through the doorway.  The doorway that led to the garden…
         He cowered behind the doorway.  He was crying, trying not to scream.  “Mommy!  Mommy!” he cried out, but he could not be heard over the shouts from the other room.  “You are to come peacefully, quietly,” the scary man said.  “How?  Why?  James, Warren will not take lightly to this, you pompous bastard!” his mother screamed.  “He ordered it, you treasonous witch!  Signed with his own hand!” and Jack heard the back of a hand connect with flesh.   He nearly screamed again.  “Now come quietly,” the scary man said.  “Jaical!  What will you do with him!? He is the King’s own blood!  He is my child, for Goddess breath!” his mother cried.  “Enough heathen talk, you witch,” and again the smack.  “He will come as well.  Everyone of your little ‘envoy’ is under arrest.”  “If you harm him, James.  If you harm my Jaical,” she said sharply, breathing hard.  “Quiet, witch!  His name is Jack!  Should the King accept your little bastard, he would not have such a filthy name!”  And they took her away, with her screaming “Jaical!  Jaical!!!” and him weeping among the flowers…
         …he stood in the doorway.  The moon illuminated every sleeping flower.  The garden was dead, for it was mid-fall.  But it had been dead in spirit for so much longer.  It was one of only three gardens on the palace grounds.  The King’s Garden.  The Royal Garden of the Realm.  And the Garden that Warren had built with the room, with Northern Halls.  All for…
     Jack moved out of the doorway.  The stones were cold against his bare feet, but he didn’t care.  In the middle of the garden was a stone fountain.  It was nothing grand.  Just a simple fountain that had not worked in years.  Moss and ivy tried to crawl upon it, but with little success.  Jack walked towards it.  He sat down on the little bench beside it.
         Bastard Prince.  He laughed a little to himself.  How true.  And that’s all he was to the nobles, to his siblings, to his father.  A horrible reminder.
         “Mother,” he whispered to the garden.  “Mother, I had an interesting night.  So interesting that I think next banquet, I actually will just stay and talk with the nobles.”
         “Some young girl was playing the most beautiful music at the feast, Mother. Almost as pretty as that lullaby you used to sing me.  Do you remember that song?  That one I fell asleep to every night.  The peasant girl’s songs were almost as nice.  She sang and played a lute, and another boy played the panpipes.  Her name was Odia.  His was Kigan.”
         “I tried, Mother.  I tried to keep another innocent girl from their stupid games.  I just thought that given a choice, anyone would want to stay out of such things.  But it didn’t work, Mother.  She just turned and bit me back.  But, I suppose the truth is always cruel…”
         “Oh, Mother.  I know you don’t know Dantica, but remember what I told you about her?  Warren’s youngest daughter?  The spoiled brat?  I don’t think that’s the case any more, Mother.  Something’s hurting her, and I guess I wanted to help.  I don’t know how much I actually helped, though…”
         “And then I starting talking with Kigan.  He thanked me, Mother.  Even though Odia still went off to Gunther’s bed, he thanked me.  I don’t understand people, Mother.  I don’t think I want to…”
         “I miss you, Mother.  And I love you.  Good-night, Mother.”
         Jack stood up from the bench.  He went back into his rooms to extinguish the candles, and retire to bed.
         The moonlight shone on a small inscription on the side of the fountain.