Numbers were always tracing about in his head. For as long as Kiaran could remember, that had been the case; he would count anything that he could, then count it again, then again if there was nothing else to do. Numbers just floated in his mind. They stuck there, too- when he was a boy, apples were sixteen silver pieces per. Now, they were twenty two silver pieces per, but that was beside the point. The point was that Kiaran knew his numbers. He knew that it had been eight years, three months, two weeks, and five days since he had been caught.

He also knew that he had one more year, one month, two weeks, and three days until he was a free man again. He recalled that his magic ring had cost eight gold pieces. He remembered that he had used it for two years, eight months, three weeks, and six days until he was caught. Now, he was here. He was a servant. He was nothing. To be fair, it wasn't entirely different from how things had been before- but at least there, he controlled his own nothingness. Here, Kiaran was ordered around and sneered at. The entire staff knew why he was there, and they looked down on him for it. Many of them were serving in repentance for petty crimes, too, but apparently they were his better because they hadn't used magic.

Or, at the very least, they hadn't been caught using it. Some had gloated and teased him about that, though Kiaran doubted the truth of what they said. Either way, it didn't matter. Kiaran was teased, though tolerated, but that was the best of his welcome. Even now, he took his simple meal- leftovers from the royal family's lavish food- and promptly left the kitchen with his bowl of bits. He went to an ugly, unused part of the garden to eat. His meal was silent, and numbers danced in his head. He shut his eyes, then opened them again; part of a still pool was in this little bit of flora, so the servant peered into it.

What did he expect to see? Something different? Some benevolent, magical lady who would take him away from here, and return him to the bliss that was the magic he once knew? No, that was asinine. All that Kiaran saw in the water was himself: dark skin and only a stubble of black hair growing over his scalp, dark eyes- angry eyes, perhaps- and muscles and scars under his loose, tan vest. His legs would have been in a similar state, if he looked at them, under his tan breeches. Kiaran wore know boots, leaving his feet as calloused and tough as the palms of his hands.

Kiaran did mostly physical work; it was due to that that his clothing was so open. He did not usually need to be presentable, which suited him well. Kiaran had been a lumber worker, once, before coming here. Now he did yard work, mostly, and cared for animals when bid to do so, but all of it was physical work.

But he didn't bother to spent much time reflecting on that- after all, he worked well with numbers, not memories. Or at least, not ones like those. So, finished with his meal, Kiaran stood and went to the kitchen, and returned the bowl. His day was over, and he was ready to return to his quarters, when an annoyed butler stopped him. "You," he'd said, with an aggressive point. "Find Princess Isobel, would you? It is late, and her highness needs her rest." After receiving a grunt of recognition from Kiaran, the butler left, and the servant swore under his breath. She could be anywhere! He could spend all night looking for her.

But perhaps luck was with him, for a maid, beating a rug, paused to look up at him. "I sa' 'er goin' t' th' westurn towa," the girl said. Kiaran thanked her, and started for it. That was certainly a start, and it was nice to hear someone not tease him about the ring he'd had, for once. The tower was four hundred seventy two steps away, and contained three hundred sixty four steps. It was strange that Isobel would come here; this tower was mostly empty, save for some store room supplies on the lower level, as far as Kiaran was aware. But royalty was strange, and he was certainly out of any sort of loops.

He reached the top door and would have knocked, but curiosity took hold of him instead. He peered through the keyhole. The princess was looking at the door, nervously, then turned away, and conjoured a chair. Magic! The princess, using magic! In shock, Kiaran was frozen for a moment, and in that moment, Isobel sat down into her new chair and shut her eyes. Kiaran straightened up, and considered his options: he could confront her, or he could use this... No, that was risky. Who would believe his word over hers?

But he could try. So, fearlessly, Kiaran opened the door. "Princess Isobel?"