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Riding into Rhu was like riding into a maelstrom of bustling, energetic chaos. Even miles out from the city, the hint of a metropolis just over the hills was apparent. The roads were paved with smooth stones and wide enough for two large wagons to pass side by side. There were small farmsteads and vendors selling wares out of the backs of carts, hawking vegetables and leathers, wines and materials, trinkets and ironwork, prepared foods and livestock and all that to the bevy of wayfarers that traveled the road to Rhu. There were manmade water ways running parallel with the road, that Kenthy said supplied fresh water and all important sewage to the capital.

It was nothing like the lands outside Gunthar Castle. And the city that had sprung up around Castle Rhu made the pitiful town that struggled to survive outside the walls of King Drane's fortified castle seem a shanty town in comparison.

It was breathtaking really, to reach the top of one outlying hill and see in the distance the sprawling reaches of a major city that started in the valley below and crawled up a great sloping rise to cling to the walls that surrounded the towering structure that was Castle Rhu itself. That great fortress looked down upon all the convoluted streets and buildings and small parks that had grown up around her. She perched like a stately old dame atop a broad flat topped promontory.

It was quite astonishing to look upon and if Illya's horse had not dutifully followed in the tracks of Kenthy's animal, he might have sat there staring in awe inspired trepidation at the monstrosity he was about to enter. The horse plodded on. Illya clutched the reins with tense fingers, hardly hearing the excited chatter of the men about him. Hardly seeing anything but the growing sight of a city that filled the horizon. He could not have imagined. He could not have begun to imagine a place that could house so many folk in one place. He could not fathom a body wanting to live crammed in with so many others, without the space and peace and silence of a forest to buffer a body from all the ills the world tried to put upon it.

They reached the outskirts of the city and the informal outer gates where great statues flanked either side of the road. One of a maiden with a sword, the other of a stately man holding aloft a lantern in one hand and a book in the other. Justice and law. The age old motto of Rhu. The place where both justice and law held its birth and its ending in the great court of the king.

There was a crowd about the gates, several wagons waiting for entrance, and people skirting in between horses and vehicles. The guards at the gates made a tally, for tax reasons, of what came in and what went out of the city.

"Make way. Make way." The calvary captain cried, reining his horse through the crowd. People had to shy away or be jostled aside by heavy horse bodies. There was some exchange between gate guard and Ashe's captain, before the city troops began a expedient clearing of passage for the prince's company. And as Ashe passed there were cheers and salutes and the people who had been forced back in line, stared owl eyed and curious at the passage.

And as Illya passed under the reach of those statues, he held his breath, for it was like passing into another world. The air was suddenly filled with smells and fragrances, sounds and the heavy presence of a great many bodies crowded together in one place. The street the gates let into was lined with shops and taverns. A broad, paved avenue where pedestrians swarmed through the traffic of wagons and coaches and men on horse back. The buildings were close together and well maintained. Charming, detailed facades, some with shrubbery and garden plots out front. And beyond this Main Gate Street, there were other streets with other close buildings, all spiraling further and further out, gradually sloping uphill towards the looming walls of the castle.

The company stretched out, riding two by two through the crowded streets. A child ran in front of his and Kenthy's horses, chasing a dog and another of like age followed, oblivious to the iron shod hooves they risked. Kenthy laughed, in a jovial mood and yelled for the scamps to watch where they ran.

"Is -- is it always like this?" Illya asked breathlessly, staring wide eyed at a procession of buxom, almost indecently dressed young women carrying baskets of cut flowers across the street.

"Its the festival that has the city in an uproar. Usually not so many folk bandying around. Ah, look of those." Kenthy jerked his chin towards the women that had caught Illya's attention. "Ladies of the evening. They'll get a good portion of business during the festival. Ah, but its good to be back in Rhu."

From up the street there came a clatter of hooves and a company of riders thundered down the hill. Imperial guard. And the captain of the guard that had met Ashe on the way to Rhu rode up and saluted before moving to the side and allowing this new city escort to make its respects to the prince heir. They didn't pause long, merely a trading of formal welcome and respects and then Ashe was riding on, at the fore of a much larger procession that wound its way up towards castle Rhu.

There the gates were more than formal niceties. There, the walls were thick and tall, and patrolled by men from above. And the portcullis, though drawn up, was studded with iron spikes. They rode under its shadow and into the outer bailey. A great span of cobblestone paved earth that housed stables and barracks and practice grounds for men and horses. A buffer between the outer walls and the inner ones.

The calvary captain called a halt and bellowed for his men to stand down and see to their mounts. Men began to dismount, happily at the end of their journey. The imperial guard and the courtiers continued on with the prince. Illya watched their backs, oddly disappointed that the prince had not even looked back or made a farewell signal. But one supposed Ashe had things of more import on his mind.

He began to swing down, but the captain stalked up to and slapped his boot sharply, jerking his thumb towards the end of the line disappearing under the inner portcullis.

"Not you, Grunthal Forest, you're to accompany his majesty."

Illya blinked down at the dirt smeared face of the captain, then at the rather intimidating array of imperial guard and courtiers following Ashe towards the castle. The captain opened his mouth to castigate Illya's hesitation, and Illya swung his horse around before the bellow could be released and urged it into a trot to catch up.

Beyond the inner gate and the world became considerably less martial and more aesthetically pleasing. Grass grew here and sprawling gardens, and the castle itself lurched up out of the earth like a extension of granite and marble. Parts of it were hundreds of years old, parts so new that construction scaffolds still marred the new facing. It was easy for even an untrained eye to see where the architects had stopped worrying so much about defensibility and started looking for ways to make the castle more comfortable. It was not as tall as Gunthar castle, but it covered by far more ground space.

Ashe rode straight up the garden flanked road leading to the main entrance. The company spread out behind him, some of the courtiers calling to well dressed people strolling in the manicured gardens. It seemed there was a commotion in the making. There was a gathering at the steps that grew as men and women hurried to join, from either the grounds or the wide, quite elegantly carved doorway at the top of the main stairs. A bevy of liveried boys ran out to meet the horses, to take reins while noble riders dismounted. Some of imperial guard did. Others remained mounted, taking charge of their fellow's horses.

Illya supposed he ought to dismount. He had been ordered to follow Ashe, though such an order made him apprehensive. Someone took his horse in hand and he glanced nervously at a boy that paid him no more heed than he did the animal he led away.

A great deal of people mulled about the steps and their chatter filled the air. He found himself sucked into the wake of their passage up the stairs and into the mammoth foyer. He hung as far back as he could, uncomfortable in such a press of fine clothing, jingling gold and jewel trinketed chains, perfumed hair and painted faces. Even some of the men had powder on their skin and stain on their lips and eyes. The guard moved around them in anonymity, unnoticed and silent. An accepted necessity in the lives of the court. They paid Illya as little heed, with his rangers colors and his fervent wish to blend into the background. All their attention was for their prince. Who stood out among them like a masterfully crafted sword sharing a rack with a slew of gaudy, formal blades. They fawned over him and he controlled them like a master puppeteer, garnering adoration with his blinding smile and the warm touch of his eyes on this person or that, showering them with a moment of his attention that seemed a personal gift from him to them.

Then his eye chanced to cross Illya, and he lifted one gloved hand, beckoning with curt authority. There was no balking at the command here. Not if he wished to avoid more attention than had already drifted his way with the prince's interest. He slipped through the press, and wondered if he ought to salute or bow to make his attendance seem proper and military.

Ashe put a light hand on his shoulder, preventing him that formal option. "We're going to pay formal respects to the king. I'll announce Our appreciation of your services there."

"You don't need ---" he started in a panic, in no way wishing that notoriety. The prince lifted a dark brow at him and tightened his fingers almost hurtfully, warning him to silence.

"Of course I do. You saved My life. Recognition is in order."

"He saved the prince's life?"

"Who is he?"

"What happened?"

A flurry of speculation rose up, little of it confined to private whispers. All of their eyes now fixed firmly upon Illya. His face felt warm, and his breath came with difficulty. Against all better judgment his eyes met the Prince's, pleading silently not to be put in this position. Ashe's eyes were emotionless, entirely unreadable. His hand lingered a moment longer than was necessary on Illya's shoulder, before he moved it, and started to turn away.

"My lord. Prince Ashe." A fleet footed, slim, silk draped form pushed through the press of nobles, using sleight weight to her advantage as she made her way to the center of the mulling group and without formality or further greeting flung her arms about the prince heir. She barely came up to his shoulders, but her impeccably coiffured hair gave her an extra six inches of height. Illya hardly saw more than a sparkle of jewels and the pile of reddish hair before he had to step hastily back to make room for her.

Ashe obviously knew her well, and approved of her somewhat more than he did of the rest of the hangers on that had gathered around him, for he wrapped his arms about her and lifted her off her feet, lowering his head to press his face against her cheek.

"Oh, Ashe, Ashe, We thought you were dead." She was crying. But artfully. The tears ran cleanly down her cheeks, and when she pulled her face back, her eyes were clear of red or swelling. But there was a certain honest relief there, despite her careful show of emotion. She was quite beautiful, in an untouchable, divine sort of way. And Illya knew even before Ashe said her name, who she was. The lady Lurene, who Ashe had spoken at great length of in Gunthar. A confidant, a lover, a friend.

"Ah, no trust in me, my lady?" Ashe grinned down at her, his hands still on her hips, hers still lightly resting on his shoulders. The courtiers all stared covertly, knowing smirks on their faces, as if all of them were very much aware of the relationship these two shared. Illya turned his eyes away, disgusted at the avid interest. Wishing he were elsewhere. Wishing he had not seen the unreserved joy in Ashe's eyes at the sight of this lady and hating himself for that small bit of --- resentment.

"I trust you very much." She said, turning her thin, straight nose in the air. "But not always in regards to your own safety. You are rather deficient in sense where that is concerned." She stepped back from him, wiping her cheeks, then patting her hair into order. As if it were not perfectly arranged. Her eyes were forest green and filled with a certain shrewd intelligence that most of the other's in this room lacked. They passed over Illya, whom she might or might not have seen interacting with her prince, in her rush to reach him. One thin, perfectly arched brow twitched, but that was the extent of her reaction. She moved to take Ashe's arm in her own, leaning close to murmur.

"My lord prince, have you missed me very much?"

"Your comfort and advice was a sorely desired thing, Lurene."

"Ah." She sighed. "And were you much hurt?"

Ashe laughed. "Later. I will tell all, later. After a meal and a bath and this obligatory audience with my esteemed father."

Illya shifted nervously, wondering how much he would confide in her. Wondering what rumors she would hear, and how much accusation those lovely green eyes would hold when next she looked at him. Or perhaps he would be given pardon and not have to return here after this audience that Ashe insisted he be a part of. Perhaps he might return to the anonymity of the garrison until he was free to go home or be assigned elsewhere and not have to deal with innuendoes and jealousies -- those of Ashe's old lovers or his own errant ones.

Ashe started moving, arm in arm with the lady Lurene and the whole of the procession started after him. Illya dutifully walked behind him to the left. He barely noted the splendor of Castle Rhu as they navigated its halls. Only bits and pieces of wonderfully appointed corridors and snatches of large rooms through open doorways, of airy, tall ceilings and glass sided halls that looked out upon walled gardens. Nothing like the dark, oppressing passages of Gunthar Castle. Nothing of fear in these walls. Nothing of madness. He doubted ghosts roamed here. At least not until he had come, bringing with him a mournful, foreign spirit with a quest to fulfill.

It was clear this was an impromptu audience. For they were required to wait within the antechamber of what he heard called the small audience hall. The king was not yet in attendance. Some number of his pages were. And some number of older men, who exuded power like a personal essence joined the group. The youngsters parted for them with alacrity, allowing them instant access to the crown prince.

Dukes of the realm. Two of them. Ashe called them Asfur and Cyhea. Illya stared with open awe. Cyhea was the dukedom his own province lay within. Duke Cyhea his sworn lord, after the king himself. He had never laid eyes upon the man, though his cousins and older brothers had attended his court at Cyhea castle and his grandfather was a crony of the old man.

The both of them clasped hands with the prince, congratulating him on his safe return, disparaging the deceitful Seganny and the cowardly Guntharians.

"They shall pay for it, if I have my way, sir." Ashe said, and both Dukes exchanged wary glances, coughed behind manicured hands and changed the subject. Ashe didn't miss the look, that was clear from the slight narrowing of his eyes, but he made no comment. He smiled and exchanged pleasantries, and flirted with Lady Lurene. Illya stood against a wall, trapped in an antechamber with people he had not wish to in forced company with. A young woman with glittering eyes and painted red lips swished up to him, a predatory, curious look in her long eyes.

"How did you do it? Save prince Ashe's life?"

"Oh, yes, tell us." A second one slithered up next to the first, neatly cornering him. He couldn't think with the two of them boring down on him, with other's tilting their heads towards him to hear what he might say.

"It -- it was of no import." He stammered, looking for escape and seeing no possible way out. "He took a wound. I - I -- tended it."

"Ooohhh, really? What sort of wound. One taken in battle?"

He nodded his head. "And you were there? At the boarder when he fell?"

Again a silent, shaky nod.

"And when he was captured?"

"You're very handsome -- for a common ranger." The second one batted her lashes at him. Illya reddened, miserable.

The doors to the inner chamber opened and a liveried page announced that the king would receive his son, the crown prince Talisar Ashe-Vri Endarian. An expectant murmur ran through the room, the young nobles turned their attention away from Illya.

Ashe strode in at the forefront, with the dukes following him. And the others trailed behind, taking up positions along the edges of the long chamber.

If this was the smaller receiving hall, then one could hardly imagine the size of the larger one. This room alone was larger than Grunthal Forest Reach Keep's main hall almost twice over. There were rows of pews along both walls, and banners hanging from the high ceiling.

Justice, wisdom, law, forbearance, punishment. This might have been, Illya thought, the audience chamber where petitions for royal justice were brought to the king's attention. How ironic that it was where the king chose to greet his newly freed son.

The king sat at the end of the chamber, on a carved walnut throne upon a raised dais. A lush red tapestry depicting the royal family crest adorned the wall behind him. A set of spear carrying royal guards stood to either side of the throne and a robed advisor stood a the foot of the dais, hands clasped together within the sleeves of his robes.

The king of Aldania. One had hardly known what to expect. A man like Ashe, only older, perhaps. With that same warrior's build and those same hard-planed, handsome features. Only king Herval Endarian wasn't like that. He seemed old. Whether from the burden of kingship or the fact that he had sired his children at an advanced age -- he looked more to be Ashe's grandfather than his father. Regardless of the aged look of the man, he was still narrow of shoulder and face, and it was clear that he had never been the man physically that his son was. The eyes were the same. Those where what told the connection between father and son. Dark and intelligent, and coldly emotionless. Ashe could attain that look when it suited him, only Ashe never looked quite so imposing. Or perhaps that was the guards and the throne and the circlet of gold around thinning gray hair.

Ashe strode up the center of the aisle, stopped a few yards before the dais and bent at the waist in a courtly bow. He swept out an elegant arm behind him, an extravagant gesture that made his bow just a little ridiculous, and looked up from under the fall of his dark hair.

"My lord father."

The king's brows drew just a little. He stared down at his son for a moment in silence, before lifting a hand, releasing Ashe from the formal obeisance. "Welcome home, my son. We are pleased to see you fit after your trials at the hands of Our enemy."

"Quite fit, thank you -- father. I so regret causing you undue concern. You forever astound me with your far sighted wisdom, my lord."

The king lifted a brow. His son smiled charmingly.

"In cleverly guessing I would maneuver my own rescue when you decided to pull my troops out of Seganny. You were always the master tactician."

Oh, that did it. There were a flurry of low murmurs, a flurry of surprised coughs at Ashe's honey covered gibe. Most of them did not quite get it, that was clear from the looks on their faces, from the whispered consultations between them. The lady Lurene did. Illya chanced a glance at her and saw her frown, her eyes fixed on the king's reaction.

The king did not respond immediately. He sat back, folding his hands before him, looking down the distance critically at his son. He chose, after a moment to ignore it. He waved a hand and said. "Yes. How fortunate that matters turned out for the best. We've had --- conflicting reports."

"I imagine you have. There were conflicting events, but I'm sure we will go over that in detail at some later time. We won't bore all these fine people who have come to see me home with those dreary reports. But I do wish to extend my gratitude and the recognition of the court, to the ranger who without whose aide, I might never have seen the lands of Aldania again."

He glanced over his shoulder and gestured for Illya to step forward. Illya didn't want to. Illya's feet gave great protest to the act of moving forward a few steps to place his body along the cleared path of the central aisle. He moved to stand behind Ashe, aware of all eyes upon him. Aware of the king's scrutiny. What did one do in audience with a king? He found himself sorely bereft of experience. His grandfather expected peasants to bow down before him when seeking audience. Of course the king would expect no less. Even Ashe had bowed.

He dropped down to one knee the way he'd seen couriers and petitioners do before his grandfather. He bowed his head and hoped it was the correct formal obeisance.

"Then We owe him our deepest gratitude." The king said curtly. "What is your name Ranger?"

There was a moment where he almost forgot that essential part of him. He faltered, glancing up from under long strands of hair come loose from his braid, to find the king staring and the king's advisor and Ashe a looming presence at his side.

"Illya -- your majesty." He breathed softly. "Of Grunthal Forest Reach."

"One of Lord Willam's grandsons." Ashe added, as if that familial connection made some difference. Illya supposed it did, in this court.

"Ah," Duke Cyhea said. "The fey one. Willam has spoken of this one. Rather thought he was destined for the church."

Illya bowed his head at that observation. At that casual classification come straight from the lips of his grandfather. He shut his eyes for a moment and preyed they'd release him from this soon.

"Really?" It was almost a drawl from the prince, who touched Illya's shoulder lightly, a casual motion to rise. "Well how fortunate for me that he chose otherwise, eh Duke Cyhea?"

"Yes, rather." The old duke agreed. "I imagine lord Willam will be pleased the lad's made something for himself."

Illya stopped listening. Stopped seeing anything but the fine carpet under his boots. Was vaguely aware of a few more exchanges, then the commotion of people moving about the chamber, of someone touching his arm lightly and drawing him away.

"You don't do well under formal scrutiny, do you, little ranger?" A whisper for his ears alone that made him blink back to awareness. Made him realize Ashe had led him into a passage leading off one side of the audience chamber, and had a hand on his elbow and one on the small of his back.

"Gods." He released a curse on an expulsion of air. It felt as if he had not drawn breath in hours. "Why did you do that to me?" Anger welled up, spurred by embarrassment and fright.

"Do what? I was doing you a favor, you twit."

"A favor---?"

"Ashe?" One hardly heard the lady Lurene gliding down the passage behind them. Ashe took his hands off Illya and turned to wait for her. She graced Illya with a practiced smile, and leaned forward to place a delicate hand on the prince's arm. "I assume Ven is seeing that your rooms are ready? Will you go straight-away there, or can I convince you to share a bite of dinner with me?"

"I'm filthy from the road, my lady and in dire need of a bath. Forgive me this once for not enjoying your company. Tomorrow, I promise and I will regale you with tales of my adventures."

She did not quite pout. She was not, Illya thought, a woman who sulked to get her way. She did sigh, and nod her head in understanding. "Forgive me for thinking only of my own selfish whims."

Ashe grinned and brought her hand to his lips. "You I forgive anything. Oh, did I introduce Illya?"

The lady lifted a brow and turned her attention once more upon Illya. This time it was more than a fleeting perusal. This time he felt the full force of Lady Lurene's appraisal.

"Not personally." She held out her hand for him. For a moment, he stared at it, hesitating to touch her immaculate white fingers with his travel stained ones. Living in grandfather's keep had ingrained some genteel manners into him, he knew the proper way to take a lady's hand, how to bend over it in the pretense of pressing one's lips to her delicate knuckles, but not quite. A true kiss was for intimates, not dirty strangers. He let her go a little too quickly and only the wall kept him from backing up a step to put a little distance between him and her all too sharp eyes. Her smile remained fixed, as if she never noted his unease. "How can I express my thanks for such a service done for prince Ashe?"

As if she were his lady in truth. Or his lady wife. Illya inclined his head silently, not certain if he were more at ease in her company alone or the lot of swarming nobles. They were faceless and shallow. She -- she was something more all together.

She didn't know what to make of him. There was in her eyes a look of uncertainty. Of curiosity for a young man that her prince had obviously taken some interest in. And she was staring as if she expected an answer.

"There is none --- none needed, my lady." He managed. "It was -- my duty."

Ashe chuckled, amused. "Yes, he hadn't a care for my life personally. Such a good soldier."

Illya glared at him. He couldn't help it. His nerves were frayed enough without Ashe's teasing.

The lady ran the back of her hand thoughtfully across her cheek, eyes gone carefully neutral. "I can see that." She said. "Well then, I shan't keep you from your bath, my lord. Tomorrow then."

And she swept away. Ashe watched her go and sighed. "A good woman. I missed her."

No response came immediately to mind, so Illya said nothing. He stood shifting in the dim corridor, wishing he had some inkling of how to return to the outer bailey where Kenthy was and the other rangers. There was anonymity there, the comfort of blending safely in with men of like standing. And no Ashe and no Ashe's lady confidant.

Ashe started walking again, and Illya had little choice but to follow. "Is there a way back to the barracks from here?" he asked, and even he heard the tinge of desperation in his voice.

"I'll have someone take you back." The prince said, distracted. They passed servants and castle guards, most of whom enthusiastically bowed or saluted to Ashe in passing. Most of whom expressed their happiness at his safe return.

"Where are we going?" he finally asked, when they had climbed a set of what appeared to be secondary stairs and wound their way down a stately array of corridors.

"To my rooms."

He almost balked then and there, having no wish to accompany the prince to his rooms. Having no wish to find himself in that most intimate of the prince's personal spaces, but by the time he'd run those apprehensions through his mind, they were passing through a set of open doors and two fawning young men were bowing and chattering to Ashe as if they were very well acquainted with him.

"Oh, my lord Ashe, it's so good to see you again."

"We were so worried."

"No one knew what had become of you."

"Father was hopping mad that they wouldn't let him go back to Seganny. He even said a curse word."

"He never says curse words."

"We've all your things in order."

"Father had us draw a bath for you."

The two of them it seemed took turns drawing air to breath. They might have gone on babbling in their excitement had Ashe not laughed and held up his hand to stop them. Both thin, young faces fixed on his expectantly.

"Drace. Drougal. It's good to see the two of you again too. And gods, don't let your papa hear you told me he cursed or he'll have both your hides. He's a reputation to uphold, you know."

He turned the grin on Illya. "These two fine young men are Ven's sons. Drace and Drougal, following proudly in their father's footsteps as the best manservant's in any kingdom."

The two boys -- well young men, for they couldn't have been much younger than Illya himself -- beamed happily at their prince.

"And this is my friend, Illya, who is a ranger and a forester and for whom I hold great regard."

The two of them turned their attention to Illya, happily extending greetings. Illya blinked in bewilderment as the two of them reached to grasp his hand simultaneously, then bickered good naturedly over which had predominance. One could not help but smile. One could not help but feel comfortable, if not a little harried in their presence.

"I'm so happy to meet you master Illya --"

"Ranger Illya, didn't you hear the prince?"

"Master -- ranger, which is it, sir?" Drace -- he thought -- asked. The both of them looked at him expectantly and he could not help but be amazed that a man as prudish and stiff backed as Ven could have produced two such sons.

"Umm -- just Illya will be fine."

The prince who seemed to be immune to their hectic chatter, urged Illya past them through the antechamber and into the collection of inner rooms. The two young servants followed, but veered off to the left, where through the open doorway a large canopied bed could just be seen. Thankfully Ashe led him in the other direction. Through the middle sitting room and into what appeared to be a study.

There was a heavy desk made of dark, polished wood. A wall of books behind it. A veritable treasure trove of bound volumes. Not as many as King Drane had possessed in his dark library, but more than all the books in Grunthal forest Reach and it's Abby and its neighboring monasteries had to their names. There was a set of glass doors leading out into a garden, and the faint, tinkling sound of running water could be heard. He wanted to drift that way and see if there was a fountain, but Ashe drew his attention elsewhere.

"This is my small kingdom. My private domain. Not much at the moment, but I treasure it."

Illya turned, staring at him through lengthening shadows. It was at that hour between daylight and dusk, too early to light lanterns, too late for crystal clarity. My friend, he had said, for whom I hold great regard. The twins had blindsided him before that proclamation had time to sink in.

"My swords." Ashe ran his hand lightly over a selection of fine blades displayed on the wall. One out of the lot was particularly fancy, the rest were serviceable and excellently crafted. Not being a swordsman, Illya had little notion if they were extraordinary in other ways. He supposed they must be, if they were in a prince's collection. There was a shelf beside them were a great variety of Razad pieces were displayed. Sets carved of marble, of glass, of jade and crafted of gold and silver. His eyes wondered in particular to a plainer, but intricately carved wooden set of kings and princes and knights, maiden's and queens, dragons and villains.

"My Razad obsession." Ashe laughed and picked up a carved wooden dragon. "Do you play?"

"No. I watched my grandfather play many a game. It was beyond the ken of most of my cousins and brothers, though."

"A game of wits and strategy. I'll teach you sometime. I carved this set myself."

Illya picked up a piece, amazed at the intricacy -- the graceful beauty of the queen. "It's lovely. You made it?"

Ashe shrugged, putting the dragon down. "It was a talent I had in my youth."

"In your --- you don't do it anymore?"

"It's hardly a waste of time a prince heir should pursue." There was bitterness in that answer. Regret maybe.

"You should see the pieces he did that are at Summer Hall." Drougal swept into the room. Ashe cast him an annoyed glance, which the servant either did not see or ignored. "My lord, Master Ven has ordered dinner for you and we've laid out clean clothes. Shall we have the bath reheated or shall you retire to it now?"

Ashe sighed. "Now, Drougal. Thank you. And I'll need you in a moment to see Master Illya back to the barracks."

"Of course, milord." Drougal inclined his head and left.

"Well," Ashe smiled, a little tired, a bit of gloom in his eyes. "I suppose I shan't have you to myself for as long as I'd hoped. I don't suppose I could talk you into staying? Bath and Supper? Ah, but no, we wouldn't want rumor to abound, would we? No doubt your name is being bandied about the court even now. You made an impression on the fickle young ladies I noticed."

Illya's face went hot. He hadn't thought Ashe had paid him a bit of heed, during that nerve wracking wait for audience with the king. He thought lady Lurene had taken up all attention. A warm little surge of satisfaction welled up. It made his lips curve up against his will. He shook his head, pushing back errant strands of hair wound with gold and rust. "Gods save me from them. They're a horrendous group, the lot of them."

"Makes you wonder how I turned out so decidedly likable, hummm?"

His dark eyes locked on Illya's daring a less than positive response.

"What you said to them - to Drace and Drougal - about being my friend -?"

"What about it?"

"You -- you said differently on the trail here -- "

Ashe thought about that. Nodded slowly as he recalled the conversation. The angry words spoken that Illya remembered quite well.

"I was frustrated. Will you hold it against me?"

Again that dark eyed look that demanded response. That impelled it.

Illya shook his head. "No."

"Master Illya, are you ready to go?" Drougal appeared in the doorway, cloak in hand. Ashe let out a breath and waved a hand in dismissal.

"Go go. See if the barracks are to your liking. Don't let the master sergeant bully you, he's a prickly old boar."

Drougal melted away, expecting Illya to follow. He hesitated in the door, suddenly assaulted by the feeling that he was deserting the prince. That leaving now would erect a division between them that had not been there since their initial capture. Things could not be the same once Ashe was firmly replanted in his role of prince heir and Illya situated within the ranks of the guard.

Most of the time they'd been forced into each other's company he'd wished for such a separation and now that it loomed, he found it a rather distressing thought. But of course, there was no help for it. It was all for the best. So he inclined his head to the prince and walked out after the young manservant.