"Mostrosty may be the god of death, but he is a merciful god. It is said he does not care for his job, taking life from this world to be sent to the next. Let us relieve him of his duties today and send these traitors off for him." - King Jorgen II, of the Kingdom of Biljvank, just before leading a cavalry charge into the left-flank of the 2nd Van Niljveld Rebellion, 8th of Pictosh, 320 PR

Jolijn sat alone in her room, her family crest hung proudly over her doorframe. A single black rose, in full bloom, emblazoned on a field of gold. It was funny, actually, that their sigil should be that of a black rose. The gold in the background made sense, they had made their fortune in the mines of the Olde Biljvank Peaks. That stretch of mountains ran one-thousand miles before colliding with Birakonai Mountains, which then continued another fifteen-hundred miles south until the world flattened out into the Cuugashi Steppes at the southern most part of the continent. Their home, Biljrend and Biljvank Castle, were built into the base of the mountain now called Mount Jaap-Jan - the native centaurs of the Hilleg Tribe had a different name for it; though she could not remember it, she knew it loosely translated to "the bulwark." For almost three centuries the Biljvanks had dug deeper and further into the mountains, claiming more and more riches to adorn themselves with. Father says the people eat well and are content, but how do they know for certain? Do they know how much wealth their lords sit upon? Perhaps she could do something about it when she is crowned.

Gold for wealth was obvious, but the usage of the black rose had always felt funny. Aside from being rich nobility, the Biljvanks boasted a proud heritage of being strong warriors and brilliant strategists. The very first war they fought was against their, now, greatest vassal, House Zelderloo. A crushing victory was achieved in a matter of two months, so the stories tell it, nearly wiping out House Zelderloo altogether. Their saving grace was Vaars III opening the front gates to Castle Zelderloo and immediately kneeling before Jorgen I. It was the best option for the newly crowned twelve year old, having had first his grandfather, Vaars I, and father, Vaars II, killed in battle only two weeks apart from each other. From there, Jorgen I conquered all of their immediate neighbors - the Rodizijls, Diependels, and Mathijas, all now subjugated and loyal vassals. Grand conquerors they were, and often times harsh enactors of 'justice' when one of their subjects saw fit to question their place in the kingdom with a revolt or two. Though, the kingdom was powerful, food was plentiful, and the Biljvankian economy was usually bursting at the seems with the flow of trade and wealth. During times of peace, things were calm in the kingdom, the people were prosperous. Perhaps the rose makes perfect sense, then. Graceful and beautiful to look at, but willing to strike out with force if not treaded upon with caution. Black. The rose was black. Not to show it was dead, no, that's not how father used to explain it. 'Black symbolizes our strength, my dear girl. It is the darkest of colors and blocks out all of the rest if it so chooses.' 

Jolijn found herself staring at the crest, a blank expression controlling her face. She was told the Desramaux sigil is almost the exact same, but with the colors reversed - a golden rose on a field of black. What were their reasonings, she wondered. They were not known for their rich mines of precious minerals, nor did they boast a particularly strong military heritage. The Desramaux's were conquerors in their own right, of course, but most of their conflicts would stretch themselves out while still maintaining fewer casualties than would be expected. Vastly different from the Biljvank tried and true method of hitting your enemies with a hammer as hard as you can repeatedly. Desramaux's rose was far more graceful than her families. Merging the two might bring out the best in both of their ruling styles. The strength of the black thorn with the beauty of the golden rose petals. With the wedding now less than three months away, Jolijn found herself thinking of how the two dynasties might bolster one another more often.

'She spends all day in their these days.' Jolijn jumped to her feet as the sound of a disgruntled twenty-year old man found its way into her head. It sounded oddly familiar, like the guard who was usually posted outside of her door when Layrnwy was elsewhere. Hans was his name; a simple looking man, he tended not to speak to her unless he had to. When he did, however, his voice was low and gruff, as if he'd eaten his soup too quickly and scorched the inside of his throat. She'd been hearing him more often lately, though he always denies having said anything. Just now, though, it did not sound like it was coming from the door, it was as if he were in there with her. Asking him might put her mind at ease, but she knew he would pretend to be clueless to what she was talking about. 'No, my lady, I think you are mistaken,' is how he would put it, a slight smirk on his face as he says it. It was obvious he did not like being on guard with her; most of the guard didn't, keeping watch over a princess was less important than a prince. But, the prince was dead, so they had no choice in the matter.

Jolijn thought to the other day with Layrnwy, what she had heard, what she knew she heard. The Buraddouddo could deny having said it all she wanted, but Jolijn was certain she heard her say what Layrnwy insists remained in her head. 'She may be the future queen, but she is still a brat.' How could she have heard her say something if she hadn't said it out loud? The idea that she somehow read Layrnwy's mind was absurd. There was someone approaching, a maid by the sounds of the sloshing water in the wash bucket. Jolijn could faintly hear into the hallway by pressing her ear up against her large wooden door. It was Jorieke, she would usually make her rounds washing floors and collecting waste where she found it. Hans and Jorieke were talking, though Jolijn could not fully hear what they were saying. Whispering! Oh it must be interesting if they feel the need to be discreet with their words. Jolijn closed her eyes in an effort to listen more closely, blocking out any distractions that might keep her from catching every word.

"Come now, love, you know I have to stay here until her majesty decides to leave, or that pointy eared one decides she can be bothered to do her job again." Hans' voice was suddenly crystal clear, though he was still keeping a hushed tone.

"Well, alllll right then. Perhaps I could keep you company then?" Jolijn imagined Jorieke winked after she said that, her voice indicating ulterior motives. How long have they been together?

"Scrubbing the floors while I stand here? Oh yes, very good company." Hans was speaking a little louder now, prompting Jorieke to quietly shush him.

"Do you want the princess to hear us?" her voice in a scolding tone.

"I'm sorry love, is this better?" Jolijn could picture it all in her head. Hans leaning in closer to whisper into his lovers ear. Though, she never imagined Hans to be the romantic type. Then, the thought somehow felt as if it were not here own. Hans places his lips on Jorieke's, rather relentlessly, though Jorieke returns in kind. Wait. Jolijn pressed her ear as far against the door as she could. No wonder her imagine had gone wild, that was actually happening! She could hear the, well, sloppy, sounds of the guard and the maid. How bold of them to do so in the middle of the hallway. Perhaps she should 'catch' them. A little harmless fun to differentiate today from the normal dull and mundane that was waiting, waiting to be married, waiting to be crowned, waiting to have a child, waiting to - well, die. That was her purpose, so she felt sometimes. Yes, she needed to liven things up a little. She grabbed the door handle, slowly twisting it open, and flung the door wide open, poking her head around the corner.

Where did Jorieke go? The hallway was long, so if she'd darted off in either direction she'd still be quite visible. Jolijn looked around with a puzzled look having commandeered her face from what had been a gleeful expression. Hans slowly turned his head to face the princess, cocking it slightly to the side to show curiosity.

"Is everything all right, my lady?" Jolijn was forced back to reality as she swung her head to meet Han's gaze.

"Where did Jorieke go?" This question gave Hans a bit of a start, his eyes widening with surprise and confusion.

"Well, I cannot say. I think she had just passed through. How did you know?"

"I thought I had heard the two of you talking." Hans cracked a smile at this and chuckled to himself.

"No, my lady. I'm afraid you were mistaken. Jorieke and I have never uttered much more than standard pleasantries when we pass each other in the castle."

"You... you and she were not just talking? Whispering?" Hans lost his smile and quickly took a face of clear confusion.

"No, my lady. Jorieke nodded at me as she made her way passed, and I returned the nod." Jolijn's heart began to pound rapidly, the palms of her hands grew hot and sweaty. She swallowed hard, as if that bit of saliva was the last drop of water in all of the world.

"Oh. She didn't ask to keep you company?" Hans simply shook his head slowly, holding firm to his confusion.

"I - uhh. I sometimes - umm. Hope, she does. She's very, lovely, my lady." The young man stiffened up his stance as he realized how casual he'd allowed himself to be in front of royalty. Jolijn's eyes widened as she flew back into her room, slamming the door behind her. She stumbled across the room. She was going to vomit. No. Yes. No. She did not know. The room began to spin all around her. Crystal clear visions of Hans running into her room and checking on her came into sight. It was as if they were actually happening. Hans burst through the door, seeing Jolijn beginning to faint he catches her. Holding her with the strength of a lion, he brought her to her bed and laid her down. He went to leave, but not before Jolijn cupped his chin and brought his lips to hers.

Then the vision disappeared. There was no Hans. No inappropriate kiss, no fainting into his arms that, frankly, could use some work. What was she seeing? Where was this all coming from? Jolijn ran over to her bed, throwing herself onto it, her hands pressing deeply into her temples. Her mind felt as though it were about to burst. The visions of Hans had disappeared and given way to so many more. She saw Hans in a large bed having sex with Jorieke, she on all fours, his hands firmly on her hips. But there was also her uncle Thijn, who was on a walk through the Zelder Woods looking much thinner than when she saw him just yesterday; he was dragging behind him the largest deer she had ever seen, shot cleanly through the neck. Father was there now, he was practicing his sword, but who was he - Jurran. He looked as he might today, a full beard clung to his face, his shoulders had broadened and he bore a large scar across his chest. She watched her father and brother practice with their swords, lunging and parrying one another, all the while conversing about the future of the realm. Hein was taller, more built and holding a child in his arms, a young boy by the looks of it. Rikkert was leading a cavalry charge, his sword out stretched, ready to slice through any foe that should challenge him. The servant Rhiedry was on a farm, collecting the harvest with his children.

Every image swirled and danced in front of her. A collage of thoughts, fantasies, and desires. Jolijn pulled hard at her scalp, attempting to yank the mirage from her mind. She let out a blood curdling scream as she sits straight up in bed. The room is spinning, faster and faster still. She can hear her door swing open but she cannot tell if it is real. Spinning. Spinning. Spinning. Black as a rose.

A giant owl scours the horizon, on the prowl for its next kill. An elk, a moose, perhaps an unfortunate traveler attempting to traverse a mountain pass. Fascinating creatures, giant owls. Capable of growing to be the size of a house, some of the Grey Giantkin have been able to tame them and ride them into battle. Or, as they are more commonly used, travel from mountain to mountain as both creatures hunt. Hekket thought back to a conflict when she was a young girl, only seven or eight years of age. King Jurren II, 'The Silver Sword,' had attempted to short change the Malakokinko'mauveden Clan during renegotiations of their treaty. As it had been for almost a century, the Malako Clan would provide a regiment of their fifty strongest warriors should the Kingdom ever be at war. In exchange, Biljvank granted them clan autonomy; they could rule themselves as they saw fit within their own lands, though they were technically under the jurisdiction of the Kingdom of Biljvank, granting them access to royal aid should they ever need it. Jurren II was known for his ambitions, and he attempted to raise the regiment demand to fifty percent of the clans fighting force. Every adult member of the clan was considered a warrior. However, Jurren II did not stop there. He also wanted to encroach on the clans territory, a section of Mount Mauveden that was suspected to contain iron deposits. The result was a two-year war between the Kingdom and a majority of the Grey Giantkin clans.

Fifty of those magnificent creatures, all with an elite warrior guiding it, rained talons upon the cavalry of the Biljvank, tearing horses in two and carrying soldiers high into the sky, releasing them to reach an earthen demise. Jurren II finally called for an armistice after House Zelderloo and Rodizijls threatened to rebel if peace was not brought about soon. The resulting treaty dulled The Silver Sword, keeping the original demand of fifty warriors as well as granting all Grey Giantkin clans a wider range for hunting in the mountain, an addendum added by House Zelderloo to keep themselves in a good light in the eyes of the clans. Being the house whose lands border the most clans, it only made sense to give such concessions in exchange for better dealings with their enormous neighbors.

Hekket pulled her gaze back from the window now and finally returned her attention to her children, both of which sitting still awaiting their mother's response. Rikkert sat up tall, adorned in a more casual attire today - a black jacket over a Zelderloo Silver ruffled shirt; not a military insignia in sight. Hein, on the other hand, was dressed rather his usual way - a clean white button down with a thicker black and gold jacket for warmth. Both held wine glasses in their hands, Rikkert slowly enjoying a crystal wine, Hein fiddling with an amber.

"It's obvious she's gone mad." Hekket finally let come from her lips, her gaze focused more on Hein, awaiting his reaction. Rikkert simply shrugged his eyebrows, giving a slight knowing look to the side before taking a sip from his glass. Hein kept his gaze into his wine, swirling the orange liquid around slowly before taking a large gulp. I didn't realize I'd raised cowards. Hekket's face fell down into a scowl. Daggers began to form in her eyes, awaiting who to aim them towards. Noticing her slight change in disposition, Hein finally found the courage to say something.

"Mother, I do not know that we can so easily write this off as, madness." his voice directed towards her with his eyes fixated on his glass still.

"And why not?" she focused her blades at Hein now, her right hand going to the small table beside her bearing her own drink of choice - amethyst.

"Well. We don't know exactly what happened."

"She screamed at the top of her lungs until they gave out."

"Well, yes, but - "

"Her fingers had been dug so deeply into her own hair, the physician first had to stop her bleeding before he could see to her hysteria."

"Yes, however - "

"She says she heard voices and saw peoples thoughts."

Hein went to respond but seemed to pull the words from his mouth as they tried to get out. A slight cough was the only real noise he made, as he proceeded to dab his mouth with a handkerchief, keeping it tightly in his hand. Rikkert went to open his mouth but Hekket sliced her gaze to him now, forcing him to keep quiet until Hein finally responds. Hein held the handkerchief to his mouth and gave a quick cough and hack as he cleared his throat.

"We do not know what went on her head. Nor do we know what has caused this... affliction." Hekket rolled her eyes into the back of her head, uncrossed her legs and directed her entire body at her younger son.

"Regardless of what it is, or what has caused it, it is not what we need in our leadership."

"What exactly are you implying, mother?"

"Nothing. Nothing I have not made already crystal clear. She should not inherit the throne. She is too young, too naïve, and now it seems she is losing what little mind she has." Both of her sons shuffled their feet at such remarks. To be said in front of the king could be considered treasonous, but in the company of her own family, the duchess felt at ease to speak her mind freely.

"So, what? You believe Jolijn should be replaced? By whom exactly?"

"Possibly the next in line, her uncle Thijn." Both Hein and Rikkert chuckle at such an idea.

"Mother, we all know Prince Thijn, while kind of heart, is in no way prepared to rule even a grain storage, let alone the entire kingdom." Hekket gives a smirk, crossing her right leg over her left and resting her right elbow on her knee, wine glass clasped over foot.

"Very well then. It would fall to one of you." Hekket found herself now treading into territory she had only ever kept inside. Jurrien is a good king but he will doom the dynasty and the entire kingdom with it. It was time the line of succession be brought to a new branch of the family, one that was already strong, already held youthful and accomplished heirs. Neither of her sons seemed thrilled at such a proposal.

"Mother..." Rikkert finally got up the nerve to join the conversation it seems. "Do you not think we are thinking to hastily? The princess has only just fallen ill. We should have faith in the abilities of our priests and physicians to treat her affliction. Perhaps she will get better in due time." Rikkert glanced his gaze over to his younger brother, an attempt to gain more confidence in what he'd said by having the support of Hein's approving stare. He has always babied his brother, ever since his diagnosis. Walking on egg shells around him with any issue, always stepping into arguments he fears might bring out a fit. A good brother, Hekket supposed, but an increasingly difficult son. In private he was deathly loyal to her, but as soon as he hears Hein's side of an argument, he will side with him if it means protecting his brother's lungs.

"Is that how you truly feel, Rikkert? We should wait and let fate decide how this kingdom will crumble? Wait and pray to Darion that the Princess Jolijn learns to live with her disease, with the potential of having to regularly seclude herself from her people just in the name of her own fragile health? Yes, that is such a magnificent future that awaits us all." Hekket let out a huff as she took a long sip from her glistening purple glass, confident she has landed a devastating blow in this battle to bring her sons into her plot.

"The girl must be removed." A short silence ensued after she said this, Hein squinting into his wine.

"What if it were me?" He glanced up at her, an unusual level of sternness in his questioning.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What if it were me, mother? If, Jurrien died before having children and father were still alive."

"Well don't silly, Hein. Rikkert would be heir."

"So you would have nothing to worry about." a shift in the air finally hit Hekket as she realized Hein's source of being disgruntled.

"I would have your health to worry about."

"In the off chance I became heir. My disease keeping me from performing my royal duties. Sequestering myself away just for my fragile health. Dooming us all because of an illness I have no control over, could kill me at any time, and requires constant treatment so that I might live the semblance of a normal life." The two clashed their daggers mid-air, Rikkert on the sidelines holding a shield so as to escape the fray. My own child. What ridiculous hypotheticals. The Dragon's Grip has not only weakened your body, but it would seem your mental constitution and integrity as well.

"I will not take such absurd insinuations from my own flesh and blood."

"You would have me replaced, find some distant Biljvank relative to take over. Or perhaps one of your Zelderloo brood." Hekket's eyes flared up as they now reached for the longsword. She felt her blood flow increase rapidly as her heart pounded with rage. To be insulted by her own child in such a way. The arrogance, the audacity to dare question her familial loyalties. To speak of her kin as some mass-producing hive of crown snatchers. She let her eyes burn back into Hein's.

"Yes. Yes I would."

Hein stormed out, nearly knocking his glass off the end table as he marched out the door. Rikkert quickly rose to follow.

"Sit." He turned to face her, now having the full brunt of her glare all to himself. He slowly lowered himself back into the chair.

"Why would you say such a thing?"

"I do not like lying to my children." Her rage winding its way down, Hekket's voice returned to its usually state of cold ice.

"That shouldn't matter when one of your children could die if he let's the stress take him over."

"Hardly a quality you would want in a king, would you?" She eyed Rikkert as she took a sip from her glass. Rikkert's own anger began to subside now as a look of shame seemed to take over.

"Oh do not feel ashamed for such thoughts. It is only natural that you should be concerned for your brother's health and its effect on the kingdom's." He let out a deep sigh as he finished his drink.

"We should be looking after him, not getting him riled up. Do you want to be the reason he dies?"

"Of course not, and do not ask such a preposterous question again. I have always loved both of you equally. Always loved this kingdom, this dynasty. I do not care if I upset him. I know he will come around eventually."

"But what if he does not?"

"Well, it seems it did not take much to convince you." Rikkert's expression dawned confusion and then begrudging realization as he stood to fill his glass.

"I need no convincing that we should always be looking out for the kingdom." Rikkert holds the bottle up to read its vintage. "What you seem to be planning, I would rather not discuss."

"And why is that?"

"It is treasonous." Rikkert recorks the bottle and makes his way back to his chair. He'd filled his glass rather full, nearly spilling some as he walked back. Quickly downing a gulp, he leaned back and gave his mother a monotone look.

"Seeking to save the kingdom from itself is the furthest thing from it." Rikkert's expression became annoyance as he sighed and gulped down more of his crystal clear liquid.

"Yes, but it seems to imply doing something that many would see as treason." The continued to stare at one another, each finishing their drinks in the raging silence. Rikkert placed his glass on the side table and made his way to leave.

"You would be the next in line, you know." Hekket's words had the desired effect of stopping Rikkert in his tracks, forcing him to listen.

"Aad would be heir." He remained motionless, back still to her, anticipating more from his mother.

"Think on it." His shoulders dropped as he released a small exhalation.

"I should check in on Hein. Goodbye, mother."

Hekket remained in her chair, thoughts of legacy filling her mind.

The image of Jolijn digging her nails deeper into her skull, trying to tear and rip through the skin to reach her mind, clung to the thoughts of King Jurrien II. It had been two days since the incident, and it was all the court could bring themselves to discuss - despite the kings demand that they cease all conversations on the topic. Rumors will spread, they always do. Whispers in the shadows will continue to find their way into peoples ears, whispers that could be considered treason to one ear and genius to another. More than likely the Duchess Zelderloo has already sent a falcon north to her family, a more than likely vain attempt to hatch a plot. Jurrien remembered his father's ravings about the woman. 'I will never understand what your uncle sees in the woman. A marriage of convenience, yes. A marriage for an alliance, to stabilize the realm and reap in Zelderloo silver, absolutely. But how he found himself in love with her on top of it all will always baffle me.' Still, despite his aunts - less than savory - ways, Jurrien felt the need to allow her to stay in Biljrend and Castle Biljvank. The woman was family at the end of the day, and family takes care of each other.

Pushing down the thoughts of how Hekket could spin such a terrible event as happened two days ago in her favor, the king made his way down the grand halls of Castle Biljvank. It was mid-day, the sun was now directly above the castle, pouring its warm rays through all windows, providing somewhat of a blinding experience for anyone not accustomed to the architecture of the castle. Castle Biljvank was designed to have around half of its windows on the northern side and half on the southern side; it was also designed to have twice the number of windows than that of a normal castle of its size. The reasoning for this, according to the architect, was to ensure constant sunlight throughout the day as well as cool moonlight at all hours of the night. Being a new kingdom with less funds than they would like, this allowed the Biljvanks to spend less on light sources as well as building materials; more windows meant less wall meaning less brick. Over the last two centuries, some have attempted to update the castle, placing windows along the eastern and western sides of the castle to allow sight lines from those rooms. However, it still remained that nearly eighty percent of all windows were along the northern and southern sides. This excess of windows could provide an assault of light to someone crossing from east to west depending on the time of day and weather conditions. Such an assault was what Jurrien found himself marching through as he approached his daughter's room. It was as though the gods were guiding him there.

Before reaching Jolijn's room, however, the king turned right to enter Jurran's old room. Similar in structure to his sisters, the former prince's room had three large windows along the northern wall, with the bed placed with its head to the western. A desk sat against the eastern, an upholstered chair with a giant black rose sewn into its back sat idly in front of it. Between the bed and desk sat a large green rug with red rose bushes sewn throughout. Upon the rug sat a small round table and two chairs, each opposite the each other and angled out to face the windows. To the left of the doorway on the southern wall was "The Prince's Mosaic." It was the Biljvank family tree, beginning at the roof with King Jaap-Jan I, and slowly descending down to where it rested today; about halfway down the wall were etched the names 'Jurran' and 'Jolijn,' a small crown sat above both. When an heir is born, the royal mason will add the small rose crown, which will then be expanded upon when they are crowned king. Jurrien placed the finger tips of his left hand gently on Jurran's. Twelve generations of Biljvanks adorned the wall, some of them, like Jaap-Jan I and Jorgen I, had other etchings added to them to denote major accomplishments during their reign. Jaap-Jan I had a mason's hammer, denoting his founding of the dynasty and creation of the kingdom. Jorgen I had a golden sword wrapped by a black rose, marking his conquests of all their neighboring kings. Jurrien found himself wondering what they might etch on his name; perhaps a laurel like his father to boast of the peace his reign brought, or a batch of wheat to mark the prosperity his people currently experienced. Perhaps, perhaps they will put nothing at all. Jurrien let his fingers slip from the wall as he walk back to the door, taking one more sweeping look of the room, undisturbed for so long now, before he made his way out.

Layrnwy stood opposite the hall, keeping a keen watch over the princess' chambers. She had her usual Buraddouddu armor on, her long and thin blade at her side. Buraddouddu swords were unlike any the king had ever seen before. They were thin, with their blades shaped with a slight curve that still came to a point at the top, but was only sharpened on one side. Without the usage of a shield, one would assume the soldier was left open, but the Buraddouddu blade was light enough to be used with deft movements to act as both shield and sword while still being strong enough to remove limbs. Buraddouddu are supposed to be some of the greatest fighters in the world, or at the very least on the continent of Eruc. If only she had been there for Jurran.

"Your highness." Layrnwy gave a small bow as the monarch closed the door across the hall, now standing before her.

"Good day to you, Layrnwy. How has she been - today?" the king's voice caught itself before that last word, a slight cough.

"She has been quiet. She has not gone to leave, neither have I heard a noise from the room." Jurrien nodded his head in thanks before cracking the door open so as to peak inside. It was as he had expected it to be. Her breakfast still sat at the round table by the windows, untouched by the looks of it. No doubt she sent away the kitchen staff who should have brought her lunch about an hour ago.

"Did Oskar bring lunch?" the king asked, pulling his head back to hear the reply.

"No. He came by to grab the remains of breakfast, but, when he saw it was untouched, decided to leave the princess be." The king let out a grunt.

"I'll have to speak with him. He is to bring her meals regardless."

"I believe he was afraid. My king." Layrnwy's hesitance to call him by his title made Jurrien grunt once more. Sick, ill, crazed, insane, possessed; whatever they all wanted to say about her, she was still her princess and heir to the throne. And he was still their king, and they would do as he said. Jurrien poked his head back in, this time a little further.

Jolijn was underneath her covers, the large golden duvet pulled up to her chest, her pillow held firmly wrapped around her head. She was in pain. She may have been trying to hide such expressions, perhaps to make herself feel better, but he knew his own daughter well enough. He knew what was happening well enough. Jurrien pulled back to speak with Layrnwy again.

"Make sure we are undisturbed." the king then let himself into the room entirely, quietly shutting the door behind him. The princess did not move at the noise, though it was quiet she must have heard him enter. He tried to keep his mind blank, an attempt to provide her some form of respite. What was racing through her mind was something the king could not bring himself to imagine. Terror. Angst. Dread. All of these words popped to mind but were quickly thrown to the wayside. He would not allow such miserable ideas to flow from his mind to hers. Finally, he had found his way to her bedside and sat by her legs.

"How are you feeling?" After a moment of motionless silence from both, Jurrien brought about the inquiry. Jolijn at first did not respond, she did not even move. Her eyes remained glossed over, blankly staring out through the windows and towards the Fields of Biljvank.

"I - I am alive." she said unmoving, her face still expressionless as it looked into the void. Jurrien sighed deeply before placing his hand gently on her face.

"Jolijn, listen to my voice. I know you are there. I know what is happening to you." Jolijn allowed her eyes to tilt upwards to meet her father's. The pain she was holding back was all to visible staring into her eyes.

"I know, because I have seen it before." His daughter, his sweet blooming rose, began to shiver despite feeling as though she were burning up. The pain she was feeling, the fear coursing through her veins; he had hoped to never see such a thing again.

"What is happening to me, father?" Jolijn managed to squeak out, tears now welling up under her eyes.

"You have what some in our family would call, a gift. A gift the Biljvank's have known for twelve generations now." Jurrien watched as a tear drop broke free from the rest and descended down the side of her face to the bed sheet below.

"Our ancestor, King Jaap-Jan I was many things. A statesman, a conqueror, a cruel warrior, and founder. But he was also careless. Towards the end of his reign, within the mines of Biljrend, they found something. A large, well, egg. It appeared to be made entirely of amethyst. Such a discovery meant only one thing, however; there was a dragon's nest within the mountain, and they had buried one of their eggs within an ore vein. Now, this terrified the people, some fearing they would have to abandon their new home. But, Jaap-Jan would not have it. We can best a dragon, he believed, and we shall not give up such a gift. The gift being the egg. How a dragon egg was to be a gift, many did not understand, for if it hatched, well, they would all be - well, never mind that." Two more tears dropped from her eyes, trailing across a still expressionless face. The fear in her eyes had not yet subsided. Jurrien gave a slight sigh and continued with his tale.

"So, Jaap-Jan had this egg. He kept it in his study, going over it day and night with his greatest scholars. They were attempting to tap into its magic. As you know, my child, dragon's are the strongest source of magic in our world; some argue the only source in fact. So, our ancestor wanted to break this egg and steal its connection to the weave of arcana through Yarucasna that all other's in our world had lost. They performed experiments on it, the exact details to which, I do not know. They are written down somewhere deep within our library, guarded from public viewing. It was during one of these experiments, that Jaap-Jan, and his son Jurren I, that the egg finally gave a reaction. Written down in the king's journals, it is described as shaking violently, as a crystal glittering began to form around the egg. It remained in this state for two weeks, according the journals. At the end of those two weeks, it released a burst of energy which enveloped all who were in the room, which included the two kings."

Jurrien felt his daughter's head shift, she had now adjusted her pillow to prop her head up, allowing her to more directly look at and listen to her father. That was good. She was responding, her mind was becoming distracted. It would take more than stories to protect her, Jurrien knew that all too well, but it was having the desired effect.

"At first, there did not seem to be any change. But, then, it is said to have begun much like it has for you. Jaap-Jan could hear advise from his council before they had given it, Jurren learned of his son, Joren's, illness before the physician had made it to his door. They, along with three scholars who were with them, had found themselves able to unwillingly read the minds of those around them. Very quickly, though, it began to overtake the five, driving two of the scholars into madness and ultimately ending their own lives - ehh," Jurrien sighed deeply, disappointed in himself for letting that detail slip. Jolijn was still looking at him, listening. The clouds in her eyes seemed to have cleared, even just a little.

"Well, I have already said it. They took their own lives to end the constant influx of thoughts, dreams, fantasies and all other forms of thought from others storming into their own minds. But, the other three were able to find ways to control the voices of others. Finally, they developed a method for training which they passed on to others once they discovered the hereditary nature of what they called 'ziende.' It was this very method that your brother trained with when he showed signs of having ziende." At this, Jolijn's eyes all but pushed the gloss off of themselves, brightening as the terror flung from them. At last, she was returning to him, returning to the world.

"Jurran had this?" Jurrien slowly nodded his head yes.

"He struggled just as you are now. But, through training with a priest of Mata, he was able to control his ziende. He could do great things with it. Things I know you will do as well." Jurrien smiled as he patted his daughters cheek before wiping away her tears.

"Thank you, father."

"We are going to get you all that you need, my child. This, gift, that our family owns has seen itself in many generations, and it will continue to poke its head out from your descendants as well. I only wish I had known this was happening to you sooner." The princess slowly forced herself up to embrace her father. A startling surprise to the monarch before he smiled and returned the embrace. After a moment, she pulled herself back and seemed to be chewing through something in her mind now - hopefully a thought only of her own.

"There was more you wanted to tell me." Sadly, it seemed, it was not. There would be no keeping of anything from her anymore, it would seem.

"Yes, but, another time. You are tired, you must eat and regain your strength." Jurrien patted his daughters hands before going to get up. He hesitated for a moment. It was important news, though troubling at the same time. He grunted to himself.

"Very well. I received a falcon this morning. It would seem, King Francois III has fallen quite ill and requests the wedding be at Desramaux Castle, as he fears he would not be able to make the two month journey to Biljrend. Phillipe has taken up all responsibilities and all we are to do is arrive on time."

"Two months? Will I still be able to, to, ehh, study? With the priest?" Jurrien saw the fear begin to creep back in from behind his daughters eyes. He knelt down and placed his hand on the back of her head, pulling it down to plant a kiss on top of it. Letting go, he grabbed her hands in his and placed them on the bed.

"The priest will travel with us. Volka. They were who worked with Jurran, and so, now they shall work with you. You will be taken care of, my child. For as long as I live, I can always promise you that."