III

"...a bloodbath prevented, it is believed, by the interventions of Mrako, advisor to the Kandor Family in the time immediately before the Dark Age..."
                                                                                                                  Xanaran Royals-- V. Clemra




"Good morning."


Rane started awake and saw the silhouette of a man in the doorway. He could make out no feature of the man's face, though something in his voice put him immediately at ease.


"Good morning, sir."


"You are Rane, are you?" The man asked, ever so gently.


"Yes, and, if you don't mind my asking, who are you, sir?"


"My name is Koram, I have been assigned to show you the grounds, and acquaint you with your duties." Rane had not considered the fact that he would have "duties"; he did not much like the idea.


"Just give me a moment to get dressed." said Rane-- forgetting to add "sir", a gaffe that went apparently unnoticed.


"Of course" said Koram, withdrawing with a dancer's grace and silently closing the door.


Rane rubbed his eyes, this was not at all how he had envisioned his coming to the Palace. He had been naive, he supposed. In his mind he had seen the Queen rushing to him, professing undying love, doing away with the King, and crowning him. He had not expected this muddle of affairs, nor to be signed on at the Palace as a mere Attendant. He sighed, dressed, and stepped out of his room.


He could now see Koram in the full light. Koram was thin, with dark hair and eyes and an utterly neutral  expression.


"Follow me, please." And Rane did.


Koram led Rane down a narrow stairway and through an even narrower hall.


"This is the servants way through to the kitchens," said Koram, "and through here you may access the front grounds. Food will brought to you during your breaks. Where were you last employed?"


"I've never been employed, sir."


A pause.


"How is it that you came into service here?" Neither expression nor tone of voice changed in the slightest.


"I...I was here for the public feast and got to talking with the King and Qu--"


"You spoke to The Family? Who introduced you?"


"Well, no one we just...  got to talking."


It was  unnerving that Korams face and voice never altered; it was obvious he was dissatisfied with this response.


"You will forgive my probing, Rane, but it is my experience that members of the public have no oppurtunity to 'get to talking' with The Family. But I am clearly mistaken in that, aren't I? It matters little in the end. Here is where the washing is done, and down there is the latrine."


The continued out onto a terrace overlooking the city. The view was majestic! A sea of turrets and roads and people.


"Have you ever been to the city, Rane?"


"No, sir."


"Well, we have some time before evening, let us see some of the more eccentric districts while we can."

II

“There’s a new boy around the place– called Rane–  I think. Mama and Papa seem to simply adore him, though I can’t at all see why. He’s dull, provincial, and he has a terrible laugh: a sort of high cackle. He’s not unbearable or anything like that, but I certainly do not see what they see in him. I suppose I’ll warm up to him in time.
I had my magic lesson today. I hate magic! It seems to come oh so easily to everyone but me! And it doesn’t do anything, not really. What is the use in making things glitter or float, or appearing places one could just as easily walk to?  Though the lecture was uplifting. They had a guest Dwarf, he was saying that in all the world Xanara is the most active in terms of magic. In fact, he said that the practice has utterly died out in certain places. I would so love to visit such a place!” 
Noted for it’s poignance, the diary of Princess Valora chillingly augurs the Dark Age, and even, some scholars argue, The Fall.
--Excerpt from Histories, by R.H Mucler


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Queen Allendre sits in her chamber room. Very slowly she twists a ring around her finger–  the little silver band that Lyron gave her. An attendant elf woman sits crocheting on the floor. Allendre sighs.
“Would you send a rose over to Rane?” Allendre says quietly.
“Immediately, your Majesty.” says the elf, leaving.
Allendre bites her lip, and slowly moves her fingers through her hair. She cannot account for these feelings. These compulsions. Just yesterday she was perfectly happy: Walking the grounds, chatting with her maids, dining with Lyron. But today she is all agitation, all nerves...all guilt. She thinks of Rane’s face, and a little tension flickers through her chest, and she hates that it does, and she thinks of Lyron, and she twists a ring around her finger.


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King Lyron sits in his chamber room. Very slowly he twists a ring around his finger–the little golden band that Allendre gave him. An attendant elf man stands silent by the door. Lyron sighs.
“Would you send a rose over to Rane?” Lyron says quietly.
“Immediately, your Highness.” says the elf, leaving.
Lyron bites his lip, and slowly moves his fingers through his beard. He cannot account for these feelings. These compulsions. Just yesterday he was perfectly happy: Walking the grounds, chatting with his guards, dining with Allendre. But today he is all agitation, all nerves...all guilt. He thinks of Rane’s face, and a little tension flickers through his chest, and he hates that it does, and he thinks of Allendre, and twists a little band around his finger.


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Rane sits in his chamber room, twisting two roses in either hand.

I

Rane had never met a witch before; she was nothing of what he had expected. He had been told they were either hideous, and old, and evil or intoxicatingly beautiful. This particular witch was neither: plain of face and speech and manner. Despite all this, he trusted her enough to spend his last Kandor on a love spell. He had a very special woman in mind for it: the Queen of Xanara.


He had wanted free of his father for years now, and having no trade nor money for an education, he knew the next best thing was the love of a rich woman. His plans had accounted for every detail: he knew exactly how to get to the palace, exactly when and where she would be, and exactly how to cast the spell. He had now only to get to the palace, get to her, and cast it.


The journey was an uneventful one: passing through little villages just like his, being teased by elves and harassed by fairies just as always, but the city of Xanara itself was quite a shock! Rows upon rows and towers upon towers! People and dwarves and elves and wizards all bustling off in different directions– he had never seen so many creatures and so much excitement in all his life. And the palace – the grandest structure he had ever imagined! Taller than any other and cast in gleaming white stone. Tonight, he knew, was a grand feast open to the public, and there was already a line forming to enter the place.


Once in, and having taken in the grandeur of the palace’s design, he became terribly bored. He had many hours to wait before the feast. He had journeyed for days and days and just now, he thought, he would practice the casting of the spell one final time. He pointed the stone away from him, said the incantation softly, and pretended to pour the vial of potion onto the stone. Perfect, he thought! He curled up in a little gap between pillar and wall, and drifted off to sleep.  


He woke late, and had to fight for a seat near the high table where his Queen was. She was there with her husband and daughter, laughing and chatting away. She was attractive, for an older woman, with dark red hair and fair skin. He ate a little, and stole himself to cast his spell. He moved over to a side wall, so to better aim the stone, and began the incantation. Two unexpected things happened once he had poured the vial of potion onto the stone. The first was that both the king and queen immediately turned to look at him, with very similar looks upon their faces. The second: that he looked back on both with love in his heart.