Let's rewind a bit...

As Prince Grisonce slipped out the door, Limp scuffed to Mageia with a roll of his eyes, "He's the one who'll give me a heart attack."

She frowned and watched intently as the manservant relocked the door. He stuffed the key into his right pocket and faced her with his hands clasped before him. They stood like this for a good minute perhaps. She couldn't tell. All she knew was that somehow, she needed to brush against this man to take that key.

"So..."

Mageia's eyebrows raised. "So..."

"Confirm his little disclosure upstairs was pure nonsense or not."

"Honestly... I don't know."

"Hmm," he said disapprovingly. "Best ponder it. When the boy reaches a theory or an idea it takes him years to extinguish it."

"It was all... foolish talk... religious talk..."

"Nothing true about it?" he said eyes narrowed.

"I don't know..."

"Hmmm," he said. Then sighed. "Bet you're hungry. I'll make you something."

She did not refuse. He limped across the room to the kitchen, and she followed.

"Will he really try to get me an appeal?"

"He has done it plenty of times, but by means of a written letter. Too long perhaps for his father to take the time to read. So, he just gives him what he wants."

I hope he succeeds, she wanted to say, but she didn't want to place all her trust in the Strange Prince. His stuttering may not be his only defect. His eyes were haunting, especially when he glared at Limp before he left.

"Would you say he has a clear mind?"

"You mean to say, is he not crazy?" Limp gave a humored chuckle that exposed him to be more relaxed than he put on. "I've known that boy since he was a babe. He has more of his mother in him, I'd say..."

Mageia heard a hint of admiration in his voice as he trailed off. His hands were quick though, pouring hot soup from a dish into a glass bowl. He grabbed silverware and placed her at one of the empty seats. She sat down, but he slipped back into the kitchen.

She observed the beautiful designs on the bowl and the silverware and felt out of place. If only Dean was here to see her dining with royal fineries. Grief flooded through the doors she had been trying to keep sealed.

Blessed Naphri, goddess of health and emotions, give my family peace especially Dean, she prayed.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Limp said placing a roll wrapped in a napkin beside her bowl. He sat down with his own bowl of soup and roll and studied her face trying to suppress the flooding emotions.

"I'm okay," she managed to say. "Thank you for this."

This is most likely my only last decent meal, she wanted to say.

"No do not thank me. I hate being thanked for being courteous."

"But that's what you're supposed to do."

"Yes. I know, but we are supposed to be courteous anyways," he said. "Plus, I know how the prison guards work. They never feed the prisoners effectively."

"I guess they don't want to waste money on the condemned."

"Perhaps..." he drifted off directing his attention to his meal. Within seconds he shook his head, sorrow flooding his own eyes. "I am so sorry about your ordeal, my lady."

She shrugged. "The gods have spoken apparently."

"Well... If what Gris says is true, they may have other plans in motion."

"I will be forgotten like all others before me in the Dungeons."

"I guess you have lost all hope within the past hours," he said. "Again, I am so sorry."

She stared at the man most likely in his early forties. Despite his defect and being a slave, he was quite handsome with a strong jawline. His left eyebrow appeared to bounce on its own accord as if dancing to the thoughts in his head. Back straight like a wood slab, and the way he ate his soup with pristine movements, Mageia would've thought he was a Royal in disguise. If she had the courage to say, she'd compliment on how much he and the prince looked alike. Especially their curly hair, though Limps was combed back in a smooth elegant motion. They seemed very close, she had noticed, which the man may take pride in.

"My parents they um... always told me that I was special. The gods gave you to us- whatever that meant," she said shaking her head.

She recalled what the prince had explained to her. Yet still, she couldn't come to terms with this information.

"I do have questions and concerns."

Like how I survived my execution. She scratched her head and gave a great sigh.

"The Fair Trees of the Holy Lands, they possessed magic. I heard stories how they weren't like normal trees. They'd grow on their own with no seeds planted. They were purple all over from root to bark to the very leaves hanging from the branches. Like the Old Forest and the Dauntless Mountains once were, the Holy Lands was said to be the heart of magic, a portal or a bridge to the Serene."

Limp soaked in her words and nodded after a while. "I've heard the stories too."

"Purple. Purple magic..." she muttered remembering her parents talking about this once.

"Purple like your eyes," Limp said. "I must say. Purple eyes aren't normal, which means you aren't normal."

She gave a slight smirk, "Careful, Limp. You're starting to sound like the Prince."

He gave an appreciative smile and went back to eating his soup. Mageia didn't want to think about this nonsense, but it was now stuck in her head. Probably for good.

Silence followed as they ate. She made sure to consume all of it, savoring every spoonful of the vegetable broth and thick chicken pieces. It was delicious and something she did not mind being her last decent meal. Despite it all, her belly still churned with unease, mainly about everything thus far.

"This was good," she said wiping her lips.

Limp nodded, "Ah. Our Chef Laje is a god in the kitchens."

Limp rose and took their bowls back to the kitchen, leaving her smiling at his statement. Mageia then rose and took an innocent stroll into the Prince's bedroom. If the mess was gone, she'd say the room was a nice living quarter for someone like Prince Grisonce.

Please holy gods let him succeed.

To be honest, she'd rather work in the harsh airs of the Runes or taking lashes from a slave master than having to rot in a dark dingy cell. Alone. Cold. No one ever left the Dungeon without rat bites, sores, sicknesses, virtues in tack, or lying in the morgue. It was better than death, but if she couldn't get an appeal within two weeks, she would never get one. It was known.

"He always hates it when I clean and touch his things, but..." Limp shrugged snatching up clothing left to right and plopping it over an arm. "Quite indecent I say, especially when you're planning to have female visitors. He never notices anyways."

Mageia watched him savage through everything, separating into piles on the bed. He even smelled some things and didn't look at all disturbed or annoyed. She couldn't tell whether his behavior was normal for someone who was a slave, or that he deeply cared for the Strange Prince in an intimate way.

"How long have you been his slave?"

His mouth opened and closed, brow wavering with some unreadable emotion. For a while he concentrated on the task, until finally he answered. "Actually, young lady, I've been a slave since I was ten. Long time ago. His mother – gods rest her soul- assigned me to him after he was born. I was twenty-one, I think. Been there for him ever since."

"You've been a slave for the Royals for a long time. Why hadn't he freed you?"

"Gods no. He would fall apart if I was to go. Believe on that," he chuckled although, Mageia sensed he wasn't telling the full truth.

She shook her head wondering why she cared suddenly. It's not like she will be here after this evening to be included in their strange friendship. On that note, she'd rather be far away from Limp, the Prince, and the palace, gathering the Lost Ones and moving away from Ardania.

"My Lady,"

"Yes?" she said realizing she had dazed out.

"Do you have any family? Friends?"

"Friends who I call family, yes."

"Your thieving friends, I assume?" he said with a disapproving look.

"If you say so," she said. "We steal only to survive."

"No need to explain yourself. I understand clearly the reasons of your actions. This kingdom has truly gone heartless as of late. You'd think the Golden King was on the throne. Your family. They must be worried about you."

"Probably," she said turning away to squeeze back the tears in her eyes.

"Awe child," he said clicking his tongue and shaking his head in empathy. "If you'd like, I could give them a message for you."

Mageia spun around and gasped feeling a pinch of joy igniting in her heart. "Would you really do that for me?"

He shrugged. "Why not? I may be strict, but I am not heartless."

She approached him and felt too fidgety with gratefulness to stand still or express her appreciation.

He gave a laugh. "Grab some parchment from upstairs, write your heart out, then tell me how to deliver it to your family."

Mageia for the first time since being caught gave a bright smile and a laugh mixed with grief and joy. Who knew there was such a thing? She wasted no time. She ran to the Prince's study, found paper and an inked quill, and returned to the dining table.

Everything she wanted to say to Dean, the teen elders, and the children, poured out of her. Limp smiled and shouted across the room. "Where should I deliver it?"

"Um...um..." she said unable to gather her thoughts. When she did, she chuckled. "The Arynliit Bakery on Grinner Street in Midlaan. Just tell him it's from me and he'd know what to do."

"Arynliit?" Limp said pausing for a moment as if falling deep into thought. The food in her gut did a sudden churn. He then looked at her, his mouth opened and closed then pursed with wonder. Mageia gasped, remembering Trekon once worked at the palace and had to have crossed paths with Limp before.

The backdoor thudded open and Mageia turned with a start and her defense wall rebuilt. She expected to see a royal escort checking in on the Prince, or that soldier Dargany, or even better the Prince himself with good news. Instead, it was a teen slave rushing in.

"Limp," she called.

"Right here," he said unable to see the person around the curtain.

The girl scurried up the steps and crossed the kitchen. The lighting of the room brought her face to life and exposed her visible defect. All over her dark brown skin were pinkish white patches. They reminded Mageia of Dean's pink birthmark along the side of his face. The girl's defect, though, did not affect her beauty especially with her long black hair pulled into a single braid down her back.

When seeing Mageia, the girl gave a dark accusing look in place of the possible questions flooding her mind.

"Hasana," Limp said.

She came around the curtain, pulling it back just a bit. "Hey Limp. Didn't Mira tell you to call the maids to do this?"

"I don't mind," he said dismissing the topic. "What's wrong, now? How are things going downstairs?"

"Nothing's wrong. Those you place in charge are getting things done swiftly."

"Good, good. Best show my face eventually," he said checking his timepiece with a frown. "I'm waiting for Dargany to return."

"Oh, I see," she said cutting Mageia a nasty eye.

Mageia pretended not to notice and finished her letter to the Lost Ones. The girl had to be close to Mageia's age, but it still made Mageia curious about her life before being condemned to servitude.

"And the progress of the Luncheon? The pack up for the trips to the border? The carriages for the parade? Everything-,"

"Good, good, good, and good, Limp. No worries," she said. "Seems like everyone is less nervous and works better when you and Gris aren't around."

Limp chuckled, "Oh really now?"

She grinned at her taunt. She handed him a hanger to help him in the task of preparing a pile of clothing for the wardrobe.

"So, are you checking in on me, young lady, or do you need something?"

"Checking on you, because you know- you're old," she said, and Limp scuffed. Mageia frowned at their familiarity. "No but really, Orlan sent me though."

"From the Luncheon?"

"Uh huh. Said Gris wants you to return the gift with no delay."

"Gift?"

She nodded, "That's what he told Orlan. Said it may be the wrong kind."

"Wrong kind of what? Are you sure you received the message, right?"

Mageia's eyes widened. That gift was her. Something's wrong. She folded the letter, quietly but fast, and rose from the chair. If something did go wrong, the Prince needed her back to the Taefo right now. She glanced at the open door and felt her pulse rise with adrenaline.

This is your chance. Maybe your only chance.

She had to make her escape now. With the Ceremony preparations going on, there was no possible way of escaping once she was back in the hands of guards and within the gates of the Taefo.

She pretended to stroll into the kitchen, eyes focused on the open door. Limp grabbed a few garments on hangers and turned for the wardrobe. This gave her the only opportunity to make a run for it. She liked Limp and thanked him mentally for his kindness, but apparently the Prince failed so she had to take matters into her own hands.

"I'm sure, although Orlan was kind of confused. Perhaps Gris bought something he didn't like."

"Gift?" Limp repeated shaking his head. "If he brought something, I'd know about it."

Hasana picked up a pair of Gris' trousers, scrunched her nose, and flung them into the dirty pile.

"Gris said it was urgent. That you'd understand."

"Return the gift..." he said pondering the message then froze. He gave a great gasp that startled Hasana. He spun around to look at Mageia at the table, but she was already gone.