Mares....

"The finest tools power can buy," he said in a tone that might have been intoxicating had the circumstances been different. "And they even sing in a chorus of agony that courts the soul with a delight that can only be matched by the stories they tell." He ran his hand over the tools at his fingertips, allowing their shine to dance off the fire glint. His scar ran in a wave down his face and never seemed to find an end past his chin, but in spite of his ghastly appearance, his smile was that of a child who never tired of sadistic play and behind him, a man whose eyes studied his teacher's joy and candor.

Julien laid on the table, held fast by the shackles and tears running down his face; his lungs and throat aching from the screams. Just one finger left on his hand and the others kept preserved in the clay pot with brine that now sat on a ledge a few feet away. The sweat poured out as the constant heat lapped at every droplet, never sated and never ending and in one final blow, the last finger fell to a shapely blade and once again, a feral and desperate scream escaped as his body was determined to follow in hot pursuit, but the scream itself was captured by the ears of his captors, a rapturous melody they relished with a divine vigor. He, in this moment, was theirs.....

Andrew shot from sleep, throwing a defiant fist in front of him. It was caught by Eric, who was sitting at Andrew's side.
"How long was I out?" Andrew asked, wiping his eyes slugishly.
"About two or three hours, give or take," Eric replied.
The mostly silent early morning had been broken up from that time until Andrew became restless in his place. Eric had been sleeping quite soundly when Nathaniel roused him to sit up and care for his brother. The air was cool and crisp, with gales coming in short gusts; like the perfect spring rain, neither chilled nor warm, but the delicious place in between that came in the early summer months.

"Was it Julien?" Eric asked. Andrew nodded slowly.
"They're beginning to fade, but they're never gone. I see both men, Eric." Andrew answered, sitting upright in the cart.
"Both?"
"Yeah. You remember when he told us there was a man who watched the whole thing? I saw him, standing behind the Artisan."
"Wait, who's that? You've mentioned him once before, but I've only heard the name once or twice from father's mouth."
"He's a terrible man, brother. Only terrible men keep one like him around. He takes and takes and takes from people; pieces and parts you can see and some you can't. He's a monster, but he's also something else."
"What?" Eric prodded as Andrew fell silent.
"I wish I knew."
Eric leaned against the cartback, a sudden tinge of dread sweeping over him. Even in voluntary exile, it seemed, there would be only a slight reprieve. Nevertheless, it was more important to revel in the time away as much as humanly possible than to dwell in the toxicity of the city they left behind.

As the cart meandered down the lightly traveled road, the bumps became less an issue. It was clear most would have turned back by now, but with the village in sight and the stone cottage just before it, the bumps would just have to be endured. A few minutes later, the cart pulled to the house, where the housekeeper was waiting with her two daughters, ready to serve in whatever way they could. The older of the two, Sara, took one small bag of supplies and made haste into the house, where she placed it in the kitchen near a small closet. The younger, Romi, took a sack of fresh produce into the house, also placing it in the kitchen, but near the rest of the foodstuffs. The princes carried their own satchels of clothes inside, feeling no compulsion to try and find quarters in the cottage. They, instead, set things down in the main room, near the fireplace, giving Martha, the housekeeper pause.
"I can have the girls sleep at the inn in town, sires."
"Nonsense, Martha." Eric stopped her. "We're not here to put any of you out. This is a large enough house, true, but we are perfectly content to rest by the fire. Besides, during our time, we have much to work through and we can't do that if we're separated by walls. You ladies enjoy the quarters as you have. We'll be fine here."
Martha, stunned and wanting to protest, resigned her will, bowed low in gratitude, and went into the kitchen around the corner.

4 Hours Earlier....
The cloaked man, took the letter from the king, listening closely to the instructions. Once given, he ran to the stables across the plaza, packed his steed, and set off. Hard and fast he rode as the midday's light penetrated every dark crevice of the countryside. The road wound and weaved around trees and bushes and over hills and the horsemen eventually came to the cottage. He dismounted, walked to the door, and knocked. Martha opened the door with a start as normal company would not require such subterfuge. The man handed her the letter, which she, in turn, took, looking it over.
"Without removing the seal, do you recognize the name on the back?" He asked.
"Yes, sir. I do." She answered.
"This letter needs to be taken to this man tonight. I cannot do so and risk being seen by the villagers, which would upset the king's plans."
"I understand. I will get this to him this evening."
"This cannot be told to the princes, the king was very insistent upon this."
"I'll take care. You have my word." Martha was curious, but not enough to risk the full weight of the king's attention for failing to follow such simple instructions. With that, the rider remounted his horse, going back to the city by another way.

Present...
As the men prepared their sleeping arrangements, Martha and her daughters worked on the evening meal; clearing tables of the clutter that had accompanied their seasonal cleaning and pulling the more formal dining set out of storage to use that night. As the preparations were being made, Martha caught Romi stealing glances into the room where the princes and guards were, particularly when Andrew would be speaking. She smiled knowingly; she remembered those days well. Naturally, it was before the confusion in the Divide, where her husband and their father had passed, but even now, her memory of those early days were vivid and clear.
"Rom," she cautioned. "These aren't just any other boys to fawn over. These are princes and ones whose futures are spoken for. Guard yourself, that you may not be hurt needlessly." Romi gathered herself and, for the most part, took heed, but only just, stealing in a few more glances before all was cooked and put onto the table.

After the meal, Eric and the rest took their conversations into the main room near the fireplace. On a normal evening, Martha wouldn't have considered allowing dessert outside of the dining room, but tonight lent itself to it naturally, so the exception was made. As the men sat, exchanging stories and quips back and forth, Martha broke up the mood ever so briefly.
"Sorry to interrupt, boys, but I need to take a short trip into the village for a few supplies. I meant to get them earlier, but with making the house ready and such, time just got away from me. Is there anything I can pick up on the way home?"
Eric thought for a moment, reached into his pouch and pulled out a few gold coins and handed them to her.
"I could use some more of the cider I had a few days back and some sweet rolls for tomorrow morning. Please keep whatever is left for yourself and your girls. There should be plenty."
Martha was moved by the generosity of the prince. "I will see to it," she answered. "I'm also taking Sara along for the ride, so if you need anything at all, Romi can see to things while I'm away." And with that, they took their leave.

Andrew gathered up plates and took them into the kitchen, where Romi was wiping down the table and flatware.
"Do you mind if I help?" He asked.
"Oh...th-thank you," Romi answered shyly, pushing her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. Andrew had never been the shy type in the past, but here and now his nerves began to coil and flail wildly like a young pup in the throes of play. Romi was lovely, only a year older, and, if he was to be honest with himself, those stolen glances were returned in kind.

From around the corner, Nathaniel watched, chuckling a bit to himself. Eric, not following the line of thought, had to ask.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing. Andrew is just making friends in a matter of speaking. We should all be so lucky one day."
Thaddeus got up to round the corner but Nathaniel sidestepped, cutting off the attempt.
"Nah, just let them be. It's his first pursuit and he's doing quite well. Let's give them a bit of privacy, we can always tease him a bit later." And so the conversation began to die down near the fire while Andrew and Romi tidied up in the kitchen, parting ways to their separate sleeping places.

Meanwhile, Martha steered the cart through the village to the far end where one final house stood at the outskirts. She brought the cart to a stop, got down and motioned for Sara to stay in the cart.
"This should only take a moment, " she said calmly as turned back toward the house, making her way to the door. Upon knocking, an old man came to the door. They exchanged a few words, he nodded and took the letter, thanked her and closed the door behind him. Martha turned back to the cart and climbed back into the seat.
"What was that, mother?" Sara asked.
"Oh, it's nothing. Just a favor for a friend."
Having satisfied her daughter's curiosity, she returned her attentions back to the road as she maneuvered back toward the village to gather her list's worth.

As the cart left view, a pair of eyes glinted from the roof. It had been too long since their services had been put into play and now that the time had come, the figure salivated at the prospect coming. Upon breaking the seal on the letter, the watcher read the instructions and had there been anyone else in the house, they might have heard a word in the breeze.
"Good..."