Times do change. Sometimes it takes years to notice the change. Sometimes one night makes all the difference.

On that one night, the second Beast attacked the Aisorbmii. The first Beast, as we know, made its way to the Kingdom, where the revolts were quietening down, and a few desperate messages were being sent.

The following account is taken from historical records.

Episode Twenty-Nine – Royal Pretenses

The pigeon loft was airy. There was a caged partition at one end, where Lady Gillian del Freya was struggling to bind a note to a pigeon's leg. It was difficult; the sun was setting, the pigeon wouldn't keep still, and she feared that at any moment her pink gloves would become soiled, which would not befit a woman of her stature.

Or former stature. The War had given her very few opportunities to show off her jingoism, except for that campaign early on where she'd organised a committee to stop those awful white feathers being handed out (they were so last season). Her husband being involved in a treacherous conspiracy to start the war against the King's wishes hadn't helped, particularly when she'd been widowed as a result.

'Ooh, thou shalt remain in a singular position while I attach this important message to thine leg, foolish creature,' she cursed.

'Doherty knows not how to remain in a singular position, dear Gillian,' said the King, entering the loft. 'I wouldst recommend to you the pigeon Caterfly, who is to mine knowledge one of the best trained pigeons it has been mine fortune to use for conversation.'

'My thanks, Majesty. Which bird is Caterfly?'

'She usually sits on the third or fourth perch, next to Alfonso.'

'Which is which?'

'Let me think... these two have blue rings on their wings. Caterfly's is on her right wing.'

'Hmm. This one has... no rings. Two stripes, though.'

'That will be Betrani. Perhaps someone is using Caterfly.'

'No, this one is Caterfly. Right wing, you said?' Without waiting for response, she reached forward and brought the pigeon nearer, managing to finally attach the message to the bird's leg. Then she scooped it up and moved to the open airway. The King stopped her.

'Let me see this bird. Blue ring... right wing. My word. My word,' he said, sitting down. Gillian released the bird into the air. 'Lady,' he said, as she turned to leave, 'Alfonso is missing.'

She turned again and moved to sit beside him, but not too close, as she dd not wish to be too familiar. 'What do you mean, Majesty?'

'Alfonso is missing. Someone must have called for him.'

'Many people call for many pigeons, sire,' offered Gillian.

'And many pigeons aren't under specific orders never to move unless they are permitted to by their masters. Alfonso was to remain within call until summoned.' The King breathed. He took a breath, for it was clear he was flustered by this. 'It's been five months, though. Perhaps it's worn off.' Gillian didn't – couldn't – know how to respond to this, so she merely looked at him, questioningly. She moved her hand on top of his. 'I have been very foolish, Gillian del Freya,' said the King.

'Nonsense, Majesty. You are very wise.'

'And because of that I can admit my mistakes as a wise man should. This war should never have begun. It has cost us lives in their thousands, almost a dozen thousand. It has ended many families, noble and otherwise, drained us of supplies... we have truly lost the war, Gillian.'

Gillian considered. Her knowledge of military affairs, aside from what colour of camouflage outfit would also serve as a dinner suit, was limited. But an organiser of catwalk showdowns was never left without an idea. She remembered the portraits from the walls of the Palace. 'Your Highness, have you considered raising the morale of the men by leading yourself? The royal armour wouldst be most splendid upon the battlefield.'

'I never sought to fight the Aisorbmii, Lady. It is true, I have little taste for their petty organisation, their arbitrary selection of leaders, their grubby customs, and especially their love for their rice pudding to be served cold.' They both involuntarily shuddered. 'But I could not order one killed unless I could prove for myself it was not him.'

'Not who, your Highness?'

The King had adopted a very guarded expression, shielding his emotion, and now regarded her very carefully. 'Lady, I remember your son, who urged us to war. The son who died. Know this, and keep it to yourself: I too have a son.

'For many years there has been no Heir to my throne, just as my brother sired no Heir to stand before me in the line of succession. But for some years I had a son. You must have heard.'

'I heard of his death, Majesty... I heard of a tragic accident, which killed him as it did my son. A poisoning, I remember it quite clearly.'

'It was a lie. My son was not killed. He was exiled. He too had a taste for cold rice pudding.' They shuddered again, in unison. 'My son is among the Aisorbmii, somewhere. My beloved Queen Srindra has been searching for him for months.'

'Canst thou not use magic to find him?'

'We have tried and failed, for five months. I asked our late Librarian, Dushkama del Rayma, to search for him psychically, but she could pierce his thoughts, and could not recognise him visually. It has been a wearisome task.'

The King placed his hand on hers. 'Dear Lady, now you know why I have tried to maintain peace, and struggled to prevent war, and why I have not embraced, or added my own powers to, the cause of our people.'

'Was I wrong?'

There was a moment there when she might have said again, patriotically but unthinkingly, that the King was never wrong. But his mood was solemn, and he had already berated that kind of response, and he wanted a serious answer. An upbringing in a society filled with ancient traditions and tales of glorified kings passing their wisdom down the ages prompted her to think of law. 'Under Kingdom law, he committed one of the most serious of crimes. And there are legends predating even the Kingdom which suggest betrayal is the gravest of sins.'

'But was I wrong?' he asked again.

There was no shield in this expression, and she saw the father's love. If her son, if Tarek ir Teriss, had done this thing to them instead of dying... would she have been so enthusiastic for war, knowing the Kingdom forces would be out there hunting her boy?'

'No,' she said. 'You were not wrong. But only because you are his father.' That sounded nice and poetic, she thought.

'In that case... I think it's time I behaved like a King.'

Slowly, deliberately, dramatically, King Arit fre Togr stood and strode towards the door, then down the stairs, and through the Palace until he came to the Armoury. He beckoned a servant to ready his horse and bring him to the Fourth Door, and with deliberate gestures instructed Lady Gillian del Freya to help him put on his Armour.

The steel was polished and intricately carved with symbols of eagles or other great birds, representing his superior perspective, and the ability to command an area far greater than the humble man could see. His sword was similarly decorated, the winged hilt coated with gold, the bird's eyes focused directly along the three-inch-wide blade which he placed reverently in the scabbard by his side.

When he was ready, he strode just as purposefully to the Fourth Door, and mounted his white steed, Kinanteor. He touched his heels to the horse's sides and the horse rose up on its hind legs, and whinnied. He drew his sword, looking the picture of legend in the twilight. Then the forelegs touched earth, and the horse began to gallop.

She ran forward to the door and watched the King ride east into the darkness, the blade swinging expertly back into its scabbard, and he disappeared over the verge.

'Good tidings, your Highness,' she said into the night.

'Your Ladyship?' asked the wrangler. 'Doth thou know when the King shall return?'

'No. He goeth to do what needs to be done, and he will return when he is done.'

'Then, your Ladyship, there are few nobles in the Palace; most of those who did not travel east have returned to their homes to tend to the revolts.'

'It wast mine understanding that most of the peasants had ceased their disenchanting behaviour,' Gillian said.

'Indeed, Ladyship, but the nobles must still regain their loyalty. There are very few, therefore, available to stand as guardian of the Palace, and your Ladyship wouldst appear to be the highest-ranking personage present.'

Lady Gillian del Freya nodded, trying to grasp the magnitude of this wardenship, and bid the wrangler go about his business as per the King's orders. Very little would change in the day-to-day affairs of the running of the Palace, except that the flag on the least-damaged turret would be lowered in his absence. She would have to clear her calendar for some days hence, indefinitely, while she tended to partitions and affairs of state, but strangely she felt up to the task.

Until the King returned.

Under her new responsibility she sat at the end of the Dinner Table, and had tea. One of the servants made her some rice pudding, from the few remaining supplies, and she enjoyed it thoroughly. When it was finished a page entered and told her of a disturbance sighted to the east, and that a scout was waiting in the Throne Room.

She moved their quickly, and at the servant's direction sat on the Queen's throne, and summoned the scout forward.

'It is an immense beast, ten feet tall, horned, with spiked shoulders and long claws. It came in the dark, its roar woke the city, and it is swift and merciless. It has killed dozens in minutes...'

'The City Guard?'

'Some were among the slain. Others are fleeing with the populace.'

'The Royal Guard?'

'Defending the Palace, as per the King's orders.'

'There must be reserves who can rally the City Guard. They must assemble.'

'With respect, your Ladyship, the Royal Guard move only under his orders.'

'He is not present,' she answered. 'He has gone east...' she could not say, where he is needed, '...to support the war effort. I am guardian of the Palace. Assemble the Royal Guard.'

'Yes, your Ladyship, at once,' said the scout, bowing and leaving the room.

She rose to follow, looking for a high room where she could look into the night and see this being for herself. When finally she beckoned a servant to show her to a useful vantage point, she looked down five storeys to the grounds where a shadow pervaded the darkness, slaying torches and fires as the people screamed.

So swiftly, so suddenly, lights disappeared on the high road leading to the Palace itself. For a moment Gillian put her faith in the moat, for was it not said that demons could not cross running water? But it did. At that moment the drawbridge lowered and the Royal Guard charged into battle, their terrific battle-cry sounding them through the night.

As heroes they died, and the Beast entered the Palace. Moments later something gave in the floor, and the building shook. She moved back to the Throne room, summoning the Royal Guards to return there and defend the centre of the Palace.

Where once there had been two Companies of the Elite soldiery, now there were perhaps fifty or sixty preparing to defend the throne room from this one foe.

They all had swords drawn, they had all the doorways surrounded, they had a reserve group to swiftly reinforce the group around the unlucky door.

The floor again shook. The great stained glass windows smashed. The floor they were all standing on tilted ever so slightly.

Then the door exploded, and the Beast, its head centred on its chest, raked its long claws through the first line of men and their swords. Shards of tempered steel clattered to the ground beside heads of brave men. The second arm swept forward gracefully and slew the first of the reserve group into shreds.

The other two groups, now knowing their doors weren't to explode, flanked the Beast and charged from either side, but Gillian del Freya, a spray of thick red blood across her blue dress, closed her eyes and sat in the Queen's throne, her hands before her, praying.

She heard it utter the sound 'Kingdom,' before smelled its heavy breath near her face. She opened her eyes and saw the blood-red pupils in black eyes, sunken behind the horrific face, the face...

'Not Queen,' the Beast affirmed, and then she lost all feeling below her shoulders, and fell off her own body...

COUGH! COUGH!

The Beast left the Palace as he'd entered, causing far more destruction, until something above the second floor gave way, and the storeys above it collapsed onto the survivors below.

The last of the family of Samfr de Samfr, who had also fallen from the fifth storey long before, died in guardianship of the Palace, whose official Residents were east, being involved in the war. King Arit, Queen Srindra, Prince... who was that Prince?

Soon we shall find out. Soon the Prince will return. All too soon.

The Next to the Custard
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