"Very well, My Queen." The Marshal pocketed the mirror and stood stoically, rigid and fierce, the very picture of obedience and strength despite the bloody state of his uniform. He waited like this even after the Queen had gone, and Dorothea released her posture to turn on him, all fangs and bristled fur.

"She can't be serious!" the princess hissed, flexing her claws. "[i]You[/i] can't be serious! To instigate a war with Verinia of all places -- with her [i]sister[/i]. What could she possibly gain from this? What are [i]you[/i] getting out of this, August Derrick? Is she paying you? Has she promised you the throne of Verinia? Do you [i]hate[/i] us so much that you would destroy the five kingdoms for revenge?" She snarled when he only gave her a condescending look, and he turned to leave. "Derrick!" Dorothea shrieked at his back. "August Derrick, don't you walk away when I'm talking to you!" But August was gone, out the back door, and Dorothea thrashed against the side of the cage in desperate anger. She managed to move it just a little along the table.

August paused in the hall to collect himself. War with Verinia. He had been expecting some kind of corruption of Itelia in preparation for its acceptance of Raquelle as its queen -- but [i]war[/i] with an outland country that had been nothing but peaceful? Where were the limits of her greed?

He set his jaw and screwed his eyes shut. He could follow her, strike her down with his sword, accept death in consequence for his crime -- but her witchcraft was still unknown to him. If he failed, he would not get another chance. If he gave Dorothea to her father, explained to him what had happened, Narissa would vanish to spread her corruption without boundaries or secrecy -- a greater enemy than one enclosed by secrecy and castle walls. No, August had to be certain. He had to remain in her confidence. He had to start a war.

There was one element in all this, however, that Narissa wasn't counting on. August paused at the door. He thought he heard the Otherworld girl sobbing. His expression turned grim. She would have to endure much more than this before long.

"Sam." He raised his gruff voice to be heard through the door. He wasn't sure [i]how[/i] this girl was supposed to solve anything -- only that he had an instinctive knowledge that she would. Maybe if he could make her trust him --

His thoughts were cut off by a crashing and thundering at the front door of the fortress, like an elephant trying to kick it down. Dorothea screeched bloody murder. August snarled, shouted through to Sam "Stay where you are!" and he ran full-tilt back to the front room, wincing as he pulled his sword from its sheath, his wound reopened and trickling blood.

The front door exploded into a thousand pieces, blown apart by fire and gunpowder. Dorothea screamed again as pieces of wood and ash rained down on her cage.

In the next few minutes there was a scuffle, the rise of voices shouting, feet scuffling, blades clashing. There was a full-blown war in the front room, while the noise of the explosion rang in their ears. Something heavy hit the floor.

Then, silence.

All was hauntingly quiet for a few heartbeats -- and then, there were footsteps in the hall. Someone knocked low on Sam's door, gentle and uncertain.

"Miss?" came a strange, high voice. He cleared his throat. "Are you all right? We've come to rescue you."

Standing here at Sam's door was a small man: a dwarf, wearing a dashing feathered hat and a tasteful goatee. He waited with his little fist poised to knock again. His dwarfish accomplices -- a younger man and a feisty woman with a long ponytail -- kept daggered watch over the Marshal, who lay unconscious after taking a tranquilizer dart to the neck.