The Chronicles of Fidget

By Justine Higgins

Episode One: A Typical Day at the Office

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

My feet pound desperately into the hard-packed dirt as I race toward the clearing. A bush claws at my shirt, but I push on, the twig snapping as I rush by. Through the trees I can see a mass of white fur and the blinding flash of sunlight on polished steel. I hear a deep growl, then a snarl. I hope I'm not too late.

She raises her sword, feet planted like she was trained, determined to hold her ground. The creature lunges, and she quickly rolls out of the way, grass clinging to her tunic as she springs to her feet, sword between her and the monstrous white beast. But it turns too quickly, swatting at her sword with its massive paw, sending the weapon flying out of her hand and spinning away into the forest, the steel twinkling in the afternoon light. She backs away slowly as it stalks toward her, eyes darting around for an escape. Her back bumps into an ancient sycamore, and for the first time, she starts to look nervous.

With a mighty battle cry that shakes the very foundations of the earth, I rush to the rescue, leaping between the ferocious monster and the now helpless fair maiden, brandishing my sword. It takes a swipe at me, but I dodge with ease and slash at it with my trusty steel, striking it in the shoulder and drawing blood, the red liquid staining the creature's white fur as it trickles out of the wound. It growls at me in fury and lunges, but I... fall to the ground? What just even happened? Where did that root come from? I swear it wasn't there two seconds ago. Oh God, this thing has terrible breath. Has it ever heard of chewing a sprig of mint after it eats?

Hi. My name is Fidget. Don't ask me why my mother decided to name me that. It's really embarrassing. Has something to do with me being a bit of a twitchy kid and a rather unfortunate incident involving horse manure when I was about three months old. But that was twenty-five years ago. Ancient history! I'm sure you're much more interested in why I now have a polar bear sitting on my chest, huffing its noxious breath into my face and attempting to rip out my throat. Honestly? I don't know. I mean, it's because the girl I'm supposed to be protecting decided to go fight one. Though why there is a polar bear this far south is anyone's guess. I mean, we're not tropical, but we're not exactly close to the North Pole either, and I'm pretty sure we don't have one in the royal menagerie.

And speaking of royal, I suppose I should introduce you to the real star of the show. Allow me to present Her Royal Highness, Princess Magdalene Helena Rosendow, a.k.a. Maggie, a.k.a. A Royal Pain in My Ass. In case you hadn't guessed it already, I'm her bodyguard. Except it's really hard to protect someone who keeps insisting on running away and fighting freakin' polar bears. Without you.

So I've got this polar bear sitting on my chest now. It's getting kind of hard to breathe, not because it's sitting on my lungs (which it is, by the way) but because OH MY GOD ITS BREATH IS THE MOST HORRIBLE SMELL ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH. Is that a bit of raccoon stuck between its teeth? Gross.

Now, I know you're all quite anxious to know if I am about to become dinner for this very lovely, very pissed-off creature, which I probably will in about five seconds. But I think, since we have these five seconds (four now) we should pull back and look at what got me into this situation in the first place. I'll give you a hint. Her name starts with an M.

It all started this morning when-

Well, actually, it probably started last night. I mean, I know I wasn't supposed to be eavesdropping, but really, it's kind of hard not to overhear when they're screaming like that. I mean, half the kingdom probably heard. But I'm just a lowly servant. It's not my place to get involved in familial matters. Besides, no one in their right mind would want to get in between those two.

Right. This morning. A perfectly ordinary morning, by all accounts. As usual, I wake up just as the first feeble rays of predawn light push their way through the tiny window into my cramped, private quarters on the second floor of the main barracks. It's only a single room, barely large enough to fit a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a stand for the chainmail shirt and steel helmet I never wear, but because of my position I get it all to myself. Which is more than most of the other guardsmen can say.

I quickly pull on my workout clothes and head outside for my morning run. Today, like most days, I run along the base of the outer wall surrounding the greater palace grounds. One lap is about a mile, and I do three of these. It's important for a guardsman to stay in shape. Kinda hard to protect your charge if you've got terrible cardio.

I don't even make it to the front gate when I hear a shout behind me.

"Fidget, wait up!"

I turn. It's Allard, the new guy. Well, sort of new. He's been with us about three months now. The King ordered a fifth person be added to the team when things started getting tense with Corban, our southern neighbor. Insists on running with me every morning, and training with me every chance he gets. It's a little weird, but I don't mind, I guess.

Ah, well, I suppose that's just one of the many curses of being born a prodigy.

"Thanks man," he breathes, falling in step beside me. He used to have trouble keeping up when he first started, but now he matches me stride for stride as if it's the easiest thing in the world. "Gonna be a nice day, huh?" He grins over at me, his dark brown eyes so bright and naive and clueless.

"Unfortunately," I grumble.

"Aw, c'mon, don't be so cynical," he fires back, still smiling, his fine dark hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. I don't kwow how he can be so damn cheerful. Weather this good only means one thing.

"Just give it time, Allard," I reply. "You'll learn to hate sunshine soon enough."

That makes him laugh. "If you say so."

The sun is full up by the time we head back to the keep. However, Maggie won't be up for a while still, so we have a few minutes to do drills and spar before we actually have to get ready for work. In front of the armory, I can see Hama, our Master of Arms, attempting to wrangle a bunch of half-asleep trainees into some semblance of a formation. He's a bear of a man, 6'6" with broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and biceps the size of watermelons. A big red beard streaked with white covers most of his face, and his big booming voice can be heard clear on the other side of the castle.

"C'mon you lousy lot!" he bellows. "Stand up straight, square those shoulders. You want to move up in the world, like Fidget and Allard over there? Or do you want to be stuck in a watchtower the rest of your miserable lives?" He waves at us as we pass by. I smile and wave back, watching the boys struggle to fix their posture while Allard ducks into the armory to grab two spears. We rotate which weapon we train with, depending on the day. It's good to know a variety of fighting styles. In our line of work, you have to be prepared for anything.

Some of the boys glance over at me while I wait, their determination to impress slowly pushing away the cloud of sleep. Most of them will probably end up out on the wall, or if they're lucky, guarding the front gate. It's a tough business, being a guardsman. But maybe a few of them will have what it takes.

Allard and I spar for about half an hour, each of us working up a good sweat as we put each other through our paces. Allard may still be a bit naive, but he's a talented fighter, and as much as I like to complain about him, I actually really enjoy sparring with him. It's been a while since I've met someone that can keep up with me.

But soon our time is up, and it's time to hit the bath house and get ready for the day. By the time we make it into the soldiers' mess, most of the guys that have come off graveyard shift have cleared out, leaving the big hall fairly empty. Still, we all end up in our usual spot in the far-left corner, between the large hearth and the back door.

There are five of us assigned to guard the princess, and we eat breakfast together every morning. A "pre-workday meeting" of sorts, so we're all on the same page when shit inevitably hits the fan. Oh, I suppose I should introduce everyone. You've already met Allard, our resident bright-eyed optimist who, despite being only a year younger than me, still has a lot to learn about the world. Then there's Dwight and Mason. They're about thirty, I think. They've been friends since before they were trainees, and if it weren't for the fact that they look absolutely nothing like each other (Dwight is tall, dark-skinned, and built like a battering ram, and Mason is about as pale and skinny as they come) you'd think they were telepathically linked twins or something.

I'm not kidding, they have this crazy ESP thing going.

And then there's Stefan. He's the oldest of us (39), and the only one of the Queen's guardsmen who wasn't reassigned or retired after she died. He also kind of hates my guts for coming out of nowhere and taking the prime seat as Maggie's shadow when I was only nineteen. But I like to think we've moved past that.

I mean, come on. It's been six years. He's gotta let it go sooner or later.

"Alright fellas," I sigh, setting my tray down on the table and taking a seat on the bench next to Allard. Dwight, Mason, and Stefan sit across from us. "It looks like nice weather today, so you all know what that means." I quickly stuff an entire buttered biscuit into my mouth.

"Oh come on Fidget, don't be such a fatalist," Dwight says, his deep voice resonating like a church bell. "Maybe she won't today."

"She and the king did argue for a while last night," Mason interjects. "There's a ninety-five percent chance she's still upset and will do something reckless just to irritate him."

"Which is why we need to be ready," I reply, washing down my biscuit with some slightly stale coffee. "Dwight, Mason, I want you guys keeping an eye on her usual climbing spots. Allard, the stables. Stefan-"

"Patrol and look for things that break pattern," he finishes with a sigh. He rolls his eyes at me as he daintily sips his tea. "You don't need to lecture us. We've all done this before."

"Yes, and Her Highness is a master escape artist," I fire back, trying hard not to sound annoyed. "For once in my life I'd actually like to stop her before she gets herself into trouble."

Dwight and Mason nod in agreement.

"Well, then perhaps you should get going," Stefan sneers. "It is almost time, isn't it?"

I glance over at the big clock over the front door. It is almost time. I down the rest of my coffee and stuff a cold sausage into my mouth. Then it's off to work.

I always go in through the kitchens at the back of the keep, avoiding all that traffic in the main hall. Take the servant stair up to the third floor, then head to the northeast wing where the royal apartments are. I arrive outside Maggie's suite with two minutes to spare. The guard posted outside her door perks up when he sees me, and gives me this huge smile. The night people always look so relieved when I show up. Though, to be fair, I'd be happy to see me too if I had to stare at an empty hallway for eight hours every night. We exchange a professional nod, and then he departs. His shift is over, and now it's my turn.

I'm only waiting about a minute when the door opens. Ariel, Maggie's maid, steps out first. She's a tall, wiry woman in her late thirties, with long flame red hair, icy blue eyes sharp enough to cut glass, and a permanent no-nonsense expression on her face. I raise an eyebrow at her, silently asking the usual question and hoping that I'm wrong, that Maggie is in fact not planning something (though let's be honest here, if that ever did happen, it'd probably be considered the first sign of the apocalypse). But she shakes her head and throws me an apologetic look, then steps aside to hold the door open while Maggie herself glides into the hall, looking real sour in a froofy hot-pink silk dress that clashes horribly with her muddy green-brown eyes, her dark curls pinned back in just the way she hates.

This is going to be a long day.

"Good morning, Your Highness," I say, offering my arm. Maggie takes it reluctantly. "I hope you slept well?"

"It was all right," she says, half-heartedly covering her yawn with a well-worn hand, the pads of her light-brown palm calloused from hours practicing with a wooden sword.

We walk down the hall together, out toward the main stair. As soon as no one is around, I lean down and whisper, "What's with the dress? I thought you hated that thing."

"I do," she grumbles, her face strained. "I just thought I'd look nice for Daddy Dearest." There's a bite of anger in her voice. Definitely still upset about last night. I wish I could say something, somehow make it better, but all I can manage is a sympathetic look before a page comes rushing down the hall, whizzing past as he hurries to deliver a letter to someone more important than us.

The main hall is busy, lots of people running around. There must have been another skirmish. I remember when it used to be quiet in the hall when I'd walk Maggie to breakfast, just servants doing their chores, guards at their posts. But not anymore. These days, the mayhem is almost normal.

People stop as we cross the hall, bowing and greeting the princess as we pass them, others smirking at me when they think I'm not looking. But I see everything. I mean, I am a guardsman. I’m supposed to see everything. You'd think they'd know that.

Pretty soon that's over (thank God) and we've entered the Small Dining Room, where breakfast is already laid out on the table. The King is there already as well, stacks of papers and letters spread across his end of the table. He's dressed plainly, a dark green cotton tunic over a white cotton shirt, and there are ink stains barely visible on his dark fingers. For the first time, I notice a bit of gray starting to creep into his close-cropped black hair.

"You're late," he says without looking up, his voice hard like a hammer on an anvil.

Maggie takes her seat at the other end of the table, glaring at him. A serving girl places a plate in front of her and starts to dish things up. I slip through the serving door on the other side of the room and disappear into the hallway that leads back to the kitchens. I figured out a long time ago that if I stand in just the right spot I can see into the dining room without them seeing me. Not that they would look over here anyway. We're only servants, after all.

"Mother always said it was rude to bring work to the table," Maggie says, her voice full of ice.

The King stiffens. He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead. "Eat your breakfast," he replies, keeping his eyes on a letter he's pretending to read.

Maggie flinches like she's been slapped in the face. Her jaw tightens and her eyes get glassy, but she doesn’t cry. She hasn’t cried since- but that was a long time ago.

"I'm not hungry."

Sometimes I just want to scream at them. Like, I know fifteen-year-olds aren't supposed to get along with their parents, and I know the King is busy with being, well, the king (not to mention this thing with Corban has got him more stressed than usual). But seriously, these two take stubborn to a whole new level.

"You are not leaving this table until you eat your breakfast." The King's voice is harsh and commanding, but still he doesn't look up.

Maggie angrily snatches up an apple and takes a bite, and, chomping as loudly as possible, gets up from her seat and exits the room. I stare at the King, eyes tracing the frown lines on his dark forehead.

"Aren't you supposed to be following her?" the King says, still not looking up.

And that's when my brain catches up with what's happened. I race after Maggie, dodging people as I cross the hall and try to ignore the stifled laughter. Surprisingly, she hasn't disappeared. Even more surprisingly, she's actually going to her morning lesson. On her own. Without someone telling her to.

Sign of the apocalypse?

Maggie has her lessons in the library, a huge room that takes up nearly the entire south wing of the castle. It has two levels, a large main floor with tables and couches in the center of the room to sit at while you read, and an upstairs balcony that is mostly additional book storage, but offers a great view of the seating area below, as well as a great view of the giant floor to ceiling stained-glass windows in the south wall. I always enter first and do a quick scan of the upper floor before allowing Maggie to enter. Not that we've ever had a problem. That balcony just makes me nervous, especially recently.

But today, like most days, the library is fairly empty, with just the usual fan club hanging out on the upper level. And by fan club, I mean the two douchiest knights on the continent and their rotating cast of douchy friends who come in here to watch Maggie study. Though, actually, most of them are probably here to watch Elaine. It's hard to tell.

"Well this is a surprise."

I jump at the sound, but it's only Elaine, appearing from between the stacks of shelves to my right, an ancient tome held reverently in her delicate hands. Today she's wearing a pale yellow cotton dress with embroidery on the sleeves and around the collar in light blue thread, and her strawberry-blonde curls are held out of her face by a series expensive looking silver hairpins with sapphires set in them.

"Your Highness is never on-time, let alone early," she continues, crossing the space to our usual table and gently setting the book down. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Maggie doesn't say anything, just pouts and flounces down into an empty chair at the table, continuing to chomp on her apple. I slide over to my usual spot, another table beside the window, about ten feet away. I have a good view of the room from here, easy to keep an eye on the potential suitors on the upper floor while still being out of the way.

"You skipped breakfast again, didn't you." Elaine frowns down at Maggie as she opens a leather bag sitting on the chair next to her and beings pulls out the necessary supplies for the lesson: parchment, ink, quill, more parchment; and places them on the table in front of Maggie.

"I had an apple," Maggie fires back, waving the half-eaten apple at her. "And what's all this for? I thought Tuesday was history day."

"It is," Elaine replies. "I want you to take notes this time."

Maggie stares up at Elaine like she's suddenly grown an extra head. "You want me to what?"

"I want you to take notes," Elaine repeats slowly, not bothering to hide the condescension in her voice. "Your penmanship needs practice, and also writing this down will help you remember." And it will actually force Maggie to pay attention instead of zoning out. Elaine, you beautiful clever woman. Who is so, so, so out of my league.

Not that I can really afford the distraction, what with Maggie being Maggie and all.

Elaine, in case you were wondering, is the illegitimate child of Duke Vanuel (a very important person), and although bastards aren't allowed to inherit, they're still considered nobility (if their parents choose to claim them). Which is how she ended up with a first-rate education and a job as Maggie's personal tutor and a million lesser knights trying to woo her ALL THE FREAKING TIME. Seriously, don't these guys have better things to do?

Today"s lesson is about the Magic Wars, a topic I personally find very fascinating. See, we used to have magic (we don't anymore), and there was always this tension between the magic users and non-magic folk. In fact, for most of this continent's history, the ruling class were all mages, and a person's worth was measured by their ability to use and manipulate magic energy. Anyone who couldn't do that was considered inferior and more or less treated like a slave.

That is, until about three hundred years ago, when the people finally said, "enough is enough," and launched a rebellion against the mages. (To be fair, the Suvian empire was already starting to fragment due to infighting amongst the elites, the rebels just took advantage of the situation.) And the leader of that rebellion was a knight by the name of Sir Lionel Rosendow (yes, Maggie and the Arden royal family is descended from him). Sir Lionel was really awesome, he- well, it's sort of a long story, and I've probably gone on about this for too long already. Anyway, he basically single-handedly overthrew our oppressive magic overlords and made magic itself go away. So now we don't have magic anymore and everyone is equal and happy and great.

Well, except for this little spat we're having with Corban at the moment. That's not so great.

After about an hour and a half, we stop for a break, and Maggie goes to her suite to "freshen up." I flop down on the couch in her waiting room while she disappears into her bedroom. A minute goes by. Then two. I start to examine the embroidery on the couch. Is that supposed to be an eagle or a raven? Probably an eagle, since that's the bird on the Rosendow family crest. Although, the color of the upholstery is totally wrong for this to be based on the family crest. Maybe it is a raven then. Or whoever stitched this is just really bad at birds. Not that I could do any better. I'm sure embroidering birds onto furniture upholstery isn't something just anyone can do.

After about ten minutes, I start to think something is wrong. She's been in there a while, and I mean, I know it's hard when you've got five bajillion skirts underneath your dress because ladies clothing is real stupid, but this is pushing it. Not to mention it is way too quiet in there.

"Maggie?" I call out. No answer.

"Maggie? You okay?" I ask. I knock on the door, but still nothing.

And that's when I realize I've been duped. Again. You would think that I would have learned by now, but somehow I haven't. Maybe it's because I'm secretly not that smart (I like to think I am, but it's moments like this that make me have my doubts), or maybe because a naive part of me believes that maybe today, just maybe, she won't run away and I won't have to chase after her. Again.

I try the handle, but it's locked. Of course it's locked. Guess I'll just have to kick it down. Again. Ariel is gonna be so pissed.

I mean, I guess I could just go around. But that'll take forever. Not to mention it's way less fun.

I'm just starting to raise my foot when the lock clicks and the door swings open. Ariel scowls up at me with those icy blue eyes of hers.

"Were you about to kick down the door again?" she asks, sharp gaze flicking between my partially raised foot and my guilty face.

I quickly put my foot back on the floor. "No, of course not," I reply, my voice shaking just a little. "Why would I do a thing like that?"

"You keep this up and the King is going to start docking the repair costs from your pay," she says, still glaring up at me.

I heave a sigh. I don't have time for this. "Balcony or stairs?" I ask.

"Balcony," she replies, opening the door all the way and letting me into the room. Maggie's obnoxiously pink and fluffy dress lies abandoned on the floor, along with those dainty little shoes. A rope, probably stolen from the armory, is tied to the balcony railing.

I step outside just in time to see Dwight come trotting out of the garden. He waves up at me.

"Which one did she take?" I shout down at him.

"G3," he yells back. "Mason's gone around, to try and cut her off before she makes the outer wall."

I sigh. He won't make it. There's just too much ground to cover. The G3 climbing spot is about as far from either gate as you can get, so unless Stefan just happens to be in the right place at the right time (which, let's be honest, is not going to happen), our goose is well and cooked.

I climb down the rope as fast as I dare, landing lightly on the ground beside Dwight.

"Go to the stables, help Allard with the horses," I say. "I'll pursue on foot until you guys can catch up."

Dwight nods. "You want me to place a bet for you?"

I roll my eyes. "C'mon, you know I never bet on myself."

"If you insist," he replies.

I try to ignore him and take off into the gardens. It's bad enough that all the other guardsmen laugh about me behind my back. I don't need to give them my pay as well as my pride.

Climbing spot G3 is a rough patch of wall hidden behind a large willow tree on the east side of the garden. The stonework is old and uneven, creating plenty of easy hand and footholds for even a mediocre climber. The hard part is getting down the other side. The castle proper is elevated up above the parade-grounds, so while my climb up was only about ten feet, it's about a thirty-foot drop down the other side, with significantly fewer places to grip the wall. The only way to do it really is as a controlled fall.

I really hate this part of my job.

Just don't look down, right?

Somehow I make it down without dying (or breaking both my legs). The stretch between here and the outer wall is mostly open space, a mix of grassy fields and barren earth. In a time of crisis, you could camp several thousand men here. But mostly the cavalry just uses the space to practice their maneuvers.

One of the outer wall patrols has already found her climbing rope by the time I arrive. The instant they see me running up the steps, the guardsmen's anxiety melts into relief. There wasn't an intruder after all, just a royal escapee.

"Her Highness run away again?" one of them asks, a tall caramel-skinned lad about my age. I think his name is Fred?

I don't answer, just sigh and pause to catch my breath. You'd think I'd be pretty good at sprinting up all these stairs by now. But the stonework is old and steep, and the outer wall stands over sixty feet high – twice as high as the inner wall. My stomach churns a little.

"Can one of you run back to the stables real quick and let the others know which gate to use?" I ask, slowly getting my breathing under control. I am really not looking forward to climbing down this wall.

The three guardsmen stare at each other for a moment, then Fred and the other younger one fire off a quick round of rock-paper-scissors. Paper beats rock, and poor Fred is forced to hustle back to the keep.

"I'm pulling this up after you're down," the senior guardsman (Darius? I know it starts with a D) grumbles at me, tapping Maggie's rope. I nod. It's protocol. Can't just leave this hanging here for anyone to use.

I heave a sigh and swing my right leg over the parapets, straddling the wall. It's a long way down. I try not to think about it too hard. As many times as I've had to do this in the past few years, it somehow never gets any easier.

Deep breath. Grab the rope. Slide over the edge. Don't look down 'til you hit the bottom.

After what feels like forever, my feet finally hit solid ground. "Alright!" I yell, waving at D. He waves back, then starts to pull up the rope.

I turn toward the forest, scanning the ground for Maggie's trail. It isn't hard to find. There's about a hundred yards of cleared space between the outer wall and the trees, and Maggie's little footprints are clear as day on the dusty ground. Once I enter the forest, it gets even easier, her footprints practically leaping out of the softer soil. Not to mention all the bent bushes and broken twigs she's left in her wake. She's certainly not trying to be stealthy. Not that she ever does. She knows she can't hide from me.

I settle into an easy jog, following her trail at a steady pace. It's better to give her a little space, especially when she's upset. Let her blow off some steam before I have to drag her back for judgement. However, I also have to be careful not to take too long, or else I'll be the one in trouble.

I've gone about a mile when I start to feel like something's off. Maggie's path, it's not meandering anymore. She's started to run with purpose, like she's running toward something, rather than away. But where the hell is she going? There's nothing out here. It's literally just fifty miles of untamed forest between here and the start of Lord Dupont's land.

Unless... There have been rumors. Just rumors. But she wouldn't- well yes she would. This is Maggie we're talking about.

Suddenly the forest looks a little darker, the trees a little more sinister. The air is cold, like the bite of late winter. Except it's almost summer.

I shouldn't be here.

A low growl echoes through the trees from somewhere up ahead, and my heart leaps into my throat. Whatever made that sound is big. Too big. We get wolves through here sometimes, but whatever beast is growling up there is definitely not a wolf.

Maggie. Her path is heading straight for whatever that thing is. Oh god. Why didn't I hurry? What if it already got her? What if I'm-

The beast growls again, and then I hear a shout. An angry shout. Maggie's shout.

Next thing I know I'm sprinting flat out, feet pounding into the forest floor. Up ahead, I can see a clearing, but there are still too many trees. All I can make out is something very big with white fur.

I run faster. The gap is closing.

Another frustrated yell from Maggie. I see the glint of sunlight on steel as her sword goes spinning into the bushes.

An involuntary yell rips itself from my throat as I dash out from between the trees, skidding to a stop between Maggie and the bear. It swipes a paw at me, but I duck, the razor sharp claws slicing through the air just inches above my head. I counter, stepping forward and swinging my sword in one fluid motion.

Thunk.

Crimson stains the perfect whiteness of the bear's fur. It glares at me with pitch black eyes, snarling as I yank my sword free. It lunges, and I step back, crouching slightly to duck its paws, ready to stab at its unprotected underside.

Except a root snags my heel and I tumble down onto the grass, polar bear landing heavily on top of me. Air rushes out of my lungs, and for once I'm glad I can't breathe as it huffs its foul breath into my face. And yes, that is raccoon stuck in its teeth.

How long have I got left now? Three seconds? Two?

You know, I never really put much thought into how I'd die. Though I'm pretty sure that even if I did, I never would have thought to put "mauled by polar bear" on the list.

One second now.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see something shimmer. Sunlight on steel.

Maggie plunges the knife deep into the crease between shoulder and neck. The polar bear roars, leaping up off my chest and swiping at her with its giant paws. Air floods back into my lungs as Maggie rolls out of harm's way.

The bear turns on her, enraged. I spring to my feet and rush toward it. The white beast stands up on its hind legs, towering over Maggie.

I leap up onto the bear's back and draw my sword across its throat. Maggie jumps out of the way as crimson blood sprays out of the wound onto the ground, staining the grass.

The bear wobbles for a moment, then it and I tumble to the forest floor, striking the ground with a resounding crash.

I untangle myself from the body and stand up. Maggie is just staring at me.

"Are you alright?" I ask reflexively.

She takes a deep shuddering breath. "What the hell was that?" she yells.

"Excuse me?" I sputter, my brain struggling to catch up.

"What the hell? I totally had that under control."

Oh, is that it? No gratitude at all. I just saved her life, and do I get a thank you? Never.

"Sure you did," I snap back, "Right up to the point where the bear almost ate you."

"It did not almost eat me!"

I roll my eyes. "Just keep telling yourself that."

Maggie glares at me, then stalks off into the bushes to find her sword.

I look down at the bear, lying motionless in the grass, the red seeping into the dirt and staining the earth. It's a shame I had to put it down. It was a beautiful animal.

"You alright?" I ask again when she returns.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replies, but I can see the way she's clutching her right arm.

"Let me see," I say, gesturing for her to come closer.

She glares again, but holds her arm out for me to look.

"Aw shit, Maggie, your dad's gonna kill me," I say as I run my fingers along the cuts in her forearm. They're not deep, but still bleeding quite a bit.

"Ow!" She snatches her arm back as I poke a more tender part. She grips it with her other hand. "He doesn't need to know," she says.

"Oh, like you can hide something like that from him."

"I'll just tell him I fell into a thorny bush. He doesn't need to know about this." She gestures at the bear. I don't turn around. I can't look at it without feeling a little disgusted with myself.

"You know Maggie, I'm getting real sick of your bullshit," I say. "All this running off, getting hurt-"

"I'm bored!'

"It's my job to keep you safe, Maggie!"

"I can take care of myself."

"Well clearly you can't," I say, gesturing at her injured arm.

Maggie just glares at me, unable to come up with a good comeback for the first time in her life.

"Look, I know you've got issues with your dad," I continue, trying my best to calm down, "but can you please find a way to vent that doesn't involve running away all the time? Because chasing after you every other day is exhausting."

And then she laughs. After all that, she laughs at me.

"What, you think this is funny?" I yell, the frustration burning out of me.

"Not really," she says, "I'm just glad you finally grew a pair."

What?

I stare at her stupidly, not sure what to make of that statement. "I- I've always had a pair," I stutter.

"Oh please. I've been bossing you around since I was nine and this is the first time you stand up to me?"

"Let's take care of your arm," I say, quickly changing the subject. "Don't need you bleeding to death.'

"It's not that bad," she replies, rolling her eyes at me. But still, she trudges forward, taking a seat on a nearby log and holding out her arm for me to look again

I kneel before her and take her arm, gently this time. Slowly, I peel back the ruined sleeve of her shirt, exposing the cuts. Maggie flinches from the pain, biting down on the inside of her cheek so she doesn't make a sound.

They really aren't that bad. Deep enough to bleed a lot, but not deep enough to do any serious damage. The arm will be sore for a few days, but then everything will be back to normal. If only Dwight would hurry up with those horses-

Crash!

Speak of the devil.

Dwight and Mason burst through the trees, weapons drawn. The horses skid to a stop before us, both of them looking a little bewildered. A bit behind them, I can hear Allard coming through at a slower pace, probably leading mine and Maggie's horses.

Mason blinks and sheaths his sword. "What's with the polar bear?"

"Not sure," I say. "You guys bring a first aid kit?"

"Allard has it," Dwight replies, sheathing his own sword and dismounting, though he still looks a little nervous, eyes darting around as he peers into the forest. Did I miss something?

A moment later Allard crashes through the bushes into the clearing, extra horses in tow.

"What, no Stefan?" I ask, glancing back at Dwight and Mason.

Dwight shrugs, still staring out at the eerily silent trees. "Couldn't find him, didn't feel like waiting." Why is he so on edge? The bear is dead.

"Allard, pass me the med kit?" Mason asks as he dismounts, keeping half an eye on Dwight.

Allard fishes the first aid kit out of his saddlebags and tosses it to Mason. I get up and step out of the way as Mason approaches. He's always been better at this part. Instead, I fall in beside Dwight and stare out at the trees with him, trying to find whatever it is that he's looking for.

"Do we need to do a perimeter sweep?" I ask after a moment.

Dwight frowns. "You can if you want, but I doubt you'll find anything."

I shoot him a questioning look.

He sighs, forcing himself to relax a little. "Felt like we were being watched for a moment. But it's gone now." A pause. "Might just be imagining things."

"Maybe," I say. "But you're right more than you're not. Animal or human?"

Dwight considers for a moment. "Human. I think they may have been watching you two, and then left when we showed up. If there was ever anyone there at all."

I walk back toward the dead polar bear and try to retrace its steps through the forest for a bit. When I reach the edge of shouting distance, I start to circle back around, taking a more winding path through the trees as I search for clues. But there isn't any evidence another person was here. There isn't even any evidence that there were other animals here. Which is very weird.

"All done," Mason calls just as I'm coming back. He helps Maggie to her feet, her arm cleaned and freshly bandaged.

"Alright," I say. "Let's go home."

We saddle up and head out, the four of us falling into formation around Maggie. I've got point, with Dwight and Mason flanking, and Allard bringing up the rear. We take our time getting back, trudging through the trees at a slow and steady pace, giving Maggie time to get her story straight before she has to face her father.

It's nearing midafternoon by the time we emerge from the trees. Extra guards have been placed on the north gate since our departure, and a shout goes up from the lookout the instant we're spotted. I glance back at Maggie, but she's already wearing her Expressionless Royal Mask™. Not that there's anything I can do to help anyway.

The King is waiting for us at the inner gate, standing stiffly below the archway with his arms folded angrily across his chest.

"Magdalene Helena!" he booms, his deep voice echoing across the open space like a roll of thunder. I don't even need to look back to know that Maggie's pissed. She hates it when people use her full name.

I pull to the side and dismount, passing my horse off to one of the stable hands before going to hold Maggie's horse for her. Her face is still set in that mask, but up close I can see that her jaw is tight and angry, muddy green-brown eyes hard and furious.

"What is this?" the King growls, gesturing at Maggie's injured arm, his own dark brown eyes hard and furious like his daughter's.

"I fell in a thorny bush," Maggie replies, head held high, her voice measured and even.

"My study, now," he snaps, then turns on his heel and marches back into the castle.

Maggie sucks in a sharp breath, looking like she's going to yell. But after a second, she just lets it out in an exasperated sigh, her mask falling back in place. Reluctantly, she trudges after her father.

I pass her horse to another stable hand and follow them into the keep, always staying at least ten feet behind them. Yeah, it's my job to follow Maggie around, but at times like this, it's better to keep my distance. Getting in between those two is a recipe for disaster. As much as I complain, I do actually like my job and would really like to not get fired.

We march to the King's suite in silence, the building tension rolling off both of them in waves. It's almost a relief when we finally arrive and I take up my usual position inside the King's waiting room, the two of them retreating into the privacy of his study.

Well, relative privacy. Even the heavy oak door isn't enough to muffle their shouting. It's like last night all over again. And the hundred nights before that. Sometimes I wonder if they've both gone deaf.

"Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?" The King's thunderous voice is only slightly quieter from behind the heavy door.

Silence.

"Well?"

More silence.

"Give me your sword."

"Why?" Maggie's voice is sharp, but I sense a hint of fear.

"I'm your father. Do I need a reason?"

"Yes!"

A pause.

"No. No, Magdalene, this has to stop. I have humored you for long enough."

"Humored me? Is that what you call it?"

THUNK.

The King must have slammed his fist into the desk.

He heaves a heavy sigh.

"Magdalene, I-" The King pauses. "A princess is not supposed to be off fighting monsters, Magdalene. I gave you the sword, I gave you fencing lessons, I did not give you free license to go gallivanting across the countryside unsupervised."

"So if I had supervision you'd let me go?'

"We are about to be at war, Magdalene! You are the future queen, you cannot go jeopardizing-"

"I don't care! I don't want to be queen!"

The door flies open and Maggie runs out of the study, face red from yelling. The King appears at the doorway, his own dark cheeks flushed with anger.

"You come back here right now, young lady!"

Maggie shoves open the waiting room door and disappears into the hallway. The King sighs.

It's times like this I want to scream at him, throttle him, make him see what he's doing to her, get down on my knees and beg him to see reason. But I'm just a servant. An important servant, but a servant nonetheless. I know my place.

So I leave, following Maggie through the castle. I start to get nervous when she makes a bee-line for the gardens, but she isn't running, only going to her hiding place. There's a gap in the hedges near the northwest corner of the gardens that leads into a narrow corridor between the hedges and the wall. It's grassy and quiet, a good place to lay down and take a nap and not be bothered for a long time.

Maggie flops down in the grass about ten feet back from the opening and closes her eyes. For a moment, I think she might cry. But Maggie never cries. Not over anything. Even at her mother's funeral, she didn't shed a single tear. I could tell she wanted to, but there was something holding her back. The same thing holding her back now.

I settle into my usual spot just inside the gap. From here I can see a good chunk of the gardens, and most people won't notice me unless they know exactly where to look. I glance over at Maggie. I want to say something, but I don't know what. Not that it's my place to say anything. Besides, she's just a spoiled brat, a royal pain in the ass. What does it matter?

And yet somehow, I can't help but feel bad for her. She is just a kid, after all.

"Hey, Maggie?" I call, my voice soft and hesitant.

"What do you want?" she growls, not even bothering to look over at me.

I start to ask if she's okay, but then I stop myself. What a stupid question. Of course she's not okay. In fact, she'll probably yell at me if I ask her that. But what else am I supposed to say?

"Why is he so mean to me?" she asks suddenly, rolling onto her side and staring back at me.

"I don't think he means to," I say slowly. "He's just got a lot on his plate right now."

"He's always got a lot on his plate," she grumbles. "It's his excuse every time, and I'm getting sick of it."

I return my gaze to the gardens, not sure what to say.

"I mean, I've got these memories of him, from when I was little. He's smiling, laughing. He would play with me all the time. I remember sitting on his knees and him reading me a story. But then... I mean, it was like Mom died and he just forgot how to be a dad."

It was true, the King had taken his wife's death very hard. It was tough on all of us. Especially since... well... but nothing was ever proven. It's all just speculation. Only those crazy conspiracy theorists really believe it wasn't an accident.

"Why don't we play hooky tomorrow," I say.

"What?" She sits up, shocked.

"I'm serious," I insist. "Let's just go for a ride tomorrow. Screw all this."

"Who are you and what have you done with Fidget?"

"You know," I say, grinning, "I'd actually let you go on adventures sometimes if you just took me with you."

"Really?"

"Please, I'm twice as bored as you are."

"Nuh-uh."

"Maggie, I have to watch you being bored all the time. Do you have any idea how boring that is?"

She laughs. I smile.

"Thank you," she says.

Wait, did she really just say that? Two signs of the apocalypse in one day. One more and the world might actually be ending.

She sighs and gets to her feet, brushing the grass off her tunic. "I should get dressed for dinner," she says, though I can tell she doesn't want to.

I get up too and take a peek out into the garden. It's still empty. Wait, no, someone's coming. I retreat back a step, sliding into the shadow of the wall.

Hold on, is that the King?

"What is it?" she asks, voice barely more than a whisper.

"Your father is looking for you," I whisper back, keeping my eyes on the King as he wanders around, searching for our hiding spot.

"Does he look mad still?"

"Not really? It's hard to tell from here."

Well, he doesn't really look mad. More tired. And worried. Though it seems to me the tired and worried is starting to become a constant thing for him.

Maggie sighs. "Might as well get this over with, I guess."

I shoot her a questioning look. "You sure?"

She nods.

I slip through the gap and step to the side, making space for her to follow. The King jumps at the sound, hand reflexively flying to the hilt of a dagger hanging at his hip.

"So that's where it is," he says, slowly relaxing. Or, relaxing as much a man can when he's responsible for the fate of an entire nation. "I knew it was around here somewhere."

There's an awkward pause. Maggie and the King stare at each other, as if waiting for the other to apologize first. But Maggie will never apologize first. Or ever. She's the most stubborn person in all of existence. Expecting an apology from her is like expecting an alligator to sprout wings and fly. Though, I suppose the same thing could be said of the King.

I guess she had to get it from somewhere.

After what feels like forever, the King clears his throat, looking uncomfortable.

"Magdalene," he begins, "I know I- I know I haven't been the best father to you... these last few months, and- in light of- with the way things are currently, I don't-" The King falters. I've never heard him stutter this bad before. "Magdalene, you have to understand. As king, I am responsible for the entire kingdom and all the people in it. And as much as it breaks my heart to say this, they have to come first." A pause. He swallows, looking nervous. "Which is why, after careful thought, I've- I've decided to send you to live with your Aunt Iliana for a while."

"What?"

"It's much farther from the border, you'll be safer there, which means you'll have more freedom to come and go as you please. And, I think that- that with you so close to coming of age, I think it is important for you to have a female figure in your life."

Maggie doesn't answer. Instead, she drops her eyes to the ground, looking defeated.

"I- I'll have preparations begin tomorrow. You'll leave next week."

A pause.

"I only want what's best for you, Magdalene."

Oh dear. That was not a good thing to say.

"How do you know what's best for me?" she explodes. "You don't even know me!"

And then she's running flat out, sprinting through the gardens, trying to get away from her father as fast as possible. She heads straight for her room, taking the stairs two at a time. I barely keep up, arriving at her suite just in time to have her slam the heavy oak door shut in my face.

Well, that could have gone better.

I sigh and lean against the cold stone wall outside the door. What a day. And yet, I can't help but smile.

This might be a terrible thing to say, but I don't really care whether or not Maggie is upset about getting sent away. I mean, I do care, but at the same time this is a great thing for me. I finally get to get out of this stupid castle. No more jokes behind my back, no more guards making bets on how long I'll take to drag Maggie back for judgment. I mean, we've gone on trips before, but not like this. An extended stay, someplace else? That's never happened.

Yes. This will be good for us. A change of scenery is just what we need. And the extra freedom means Maggie will run away less. At least in theory. This is Maggie we're talking about.

Suddenly the door opens. I snap to attention, but it's only Ariel.

"I think she's turning in for the evening," she says, sounding tired. "I can take it from here, if you want to clock out early."

"Thanks," I reply. "I'll put Stefan on door duty until the night guys come on shift."

She nods. "You win anything?"

I roll my eyes. "You know I never bet on myself. It's bad enough it happens at all. I don't need to encourage that kind of behavior by participating."

She gasps and throws me a look of mock surprise. "My my, Fidget. You're starting to sound like a real grown-up!"

"Oh shut up." I try to be angry, but I can't suppress my grin. I just feel so light. We're finally getting out. Finally getting a fresh start. A chance to prove that I'm more than just the royal babysitter.

"What's got you so cheerful?' she asks, looking genuinely curious now.

"Oh, nothing," I say, grinning ear to ear like a madman. "Goodnight, Ariel."

I turn away from her and start walking down the hall.

"Oh that's not fair," she calls after me. "Fidget, come back here!"

But I'm already at the corner, and there's a bounce in my step. I haven't been this excited about anything in a long time. A fresh start. Those words just sound so nice. Like suddenly everything's going to be alright.

And yet...

Something nags at the back of my mind. In the midst of all of this good news, something isn't quite right. But I can't put my finger on it.

Maybe I'm just imagining things. Maybe I've just gotten so used to the daily grind that I've forgotten what it feels like to actually be happy. Maybe my stupid brain needs to shut up and let me enjoy the moment. Let that stupid nagging feeling be a puzzle for another day.