*Declan*

        Declan leaned on the hilt of his sword, fingers curled around the pommel, studying the busy training yard with a gaze that missed nothing.

        "Keep your sword up, Westover!" he barked at the young southron lordling, younger son of the illustrious Arryn Westover. "Stop faltering, Pender!" he ordered the oponent, just one more of the massive Pender clan. 

        He watched with satisfaction as Tomas Pender's strikes grew more forceful, as Colm Westover stopped lowerig his sword to rest his arm. His other men gathered around the dirt ring, placing bets and cheering on their companions. Declan watched closely, calling out mistakes as the two men made them. He wished the other men would practice or warm up, but he wouldn't give an order that would just annoy his men. They wanted ti watch their peers, fine. He would let them, in the hopes that they might learn something.

        "You don't always have to block," his second in command, Haden, cut in. "You'll wear yourself out. Better to dodge, and conserve your energy." Declan saw a few of the men on the sidelines take note of that, but more were too involved with their bets or their side conversations.

        "But isn't that, well, dishonorable?" one young man, a new recruit from the Shadow Isles, spoke up, hesitant, as a few mutters cut the air. 

        "We're a fighting company, not a dance troupe," Declan growled. "By all means, bow and guard before each match and let your opponents take advantage of that. Honor doesn't matter when you're trying to keep the queen alive." 

        A crash echoed around the yard, and Declan turned his attention back to the dueling pair. The Pender boy had been knocked on his rear, his armor clanging horribly, and lay sprawled in the dirt, his sword resting a few feet away.

        Haden threw up his hands and vaulted into the ring. "Pender!" he yelled. "I hope you can tell me what went wrong! Never–never–let your opponent disarm you!"  

        "Martin! Ellis!" Declan barked. "Into the ring. You're up. The rest of you, drills in the far court. You know what to do, now go!" The two men he'd called climbed into the ring, saluted him and assumed the "guard" position. Declan let Haden take over from there. He'd just seen someone who seemed rather out of place in the Royal Guard's training yard. 

        "Lord Commander!" he called. Jon Larieux turned, frowning, and caught his eye. Declan waved him over. When he was withing earshot Declan lowered his voice. "What brings you here?" 

        The dwarf glanced over his shoulder, looking to ascertain that no one was listening. "Captain," he said with an ironic half-bow. "It's about your half-sister." 

        "Elizabeth?" Declan said. "What's happened to Elizabeth?" He was having trouble breathing. If anything had happened to his sister...

        "Absolutely nothing has happened to her," Larieux said coldly, and Declan saw a harrassed look in his eyes. "Except she's got another bloody stupid idea in her head!" 

        Declan sighed, resigned. "What is it this time?"

        Five minutes later he strode, just ahead of the dwarf who had somehow managed to keep up with his massive stride, through the palace halls, gripping the hilt of his sword with a bloodless hand. Reaching the end of that hall, he exploded into the gilt hall where Elizabeth was holding court.

        Musicians let their instruments fall with a screech; dancers fell over each other, women's skirts tangling with men's cloaks. Ladies shrieked, clutching each other, lords swore violently, some drawing decorative swords or jeweled stilettos. 

        Elizabeth, seated on a plush sofa, stood gracefully, her deep violet skirts whispering delicately, her face a carefully composed mask of shocked indignation. "Brother..." 

        "Please tell me he's lying," Declan interrupted coldly, his voice trembling, gesturing violently at Larieux, who skulked in the doorway. 

        "What...?" Elizabeth broke off, staring at her hands. "Oh," she said ruefully, her cheeks flushing with embarassment. "So you've heard." 

        "Yes, I've heard!" Declan raged, taking a step forward. "What, did you think you could keep me ignorant right up until the day you left?" Elizabeth's glare intensified, if that were even possible. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it as if she'd thought better of whatever it was she'd meant to say.

        "Captain, Lady Queen," Larieux had crept forward and now stood between them. "Perhaps this is a conversation we'd best be having in private?" 

        "Yes," Elizabeth said, imperious. "Excuse me," she said to the staring court. "I need to speak with my advisors," and she swept from the room. The two men were left to gape and hurry after her. 

        She led them to her office, in the Queen's Tower, below her private rooms. Whenever she brought him here, Declan had always been even more accutely aware of how little he belonged in her new world. It had been four years, and still he did not belong.

        He was, after all, a bastard child, born of an affair between a high-born lady and a carpenter, and even though he was the half-brother to a queen, he would always feel the bite of being illegitimate. 

        And, of course, Elizabeth's rooms were those fit for a queen, with a family of spotless repute, and Declan was, well, a lowborn bastard and a stain on that family's name. And these rooms were nothing but a cruel reminder of that stain. 

        "Declan!" Elizabeth snapped her fingers under his nose. She'd been talking for  awhile, he realized with shame. 

        "Sorry," he said, embarrassed. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and slapped him–hard–on the shoulder, as she'd done when they were young and he'd done something foolish. 

        "The queen was just asking if you–" Larieux noticed Elizabeth's glare, flushed, and tactfully shut up before she could begin carping at him. 

        "I asked," Elizabeth said, impatient. "If you understood why I have to do this myself, instead of sending an envoy or an ambassador." Her grey eyes snapped in annoyance. 

        "Because you can't trust anyone?" Declan asked, crossing his fingers that she wouldn't yell at him again. Elizabeth shook her head. 

        "No. Because, well, I suppose I need to look her in the face, this girl-child. I ordered her death once, and I was thwarted. I need to judge for myself if she really is a threat, before I do it again. Clearly there is some reason behind why she lived." 

        "Well," Declan said, resigned to his sister's whim. "If you go, I go with you." He wouldn't let her go off gallivanting half-way across the world without being there to keep her safe.

        "No!" Elizabeth all-but-shouted. "I need you here, to rule in my stead." 

        "I'm Captain of your guard!" 

        "You're the only person I trust to rule, and to keep my best interests in your heart instead of your own!" 

        "Then Lord Archer and myself will accompany you, Lady Queen," Larieux cut in. "I'll command the fleet, and, Captain, you'll pick your most trusted men to accompany us." He bowed, first to his queen, then to Declan. 

        "Yes," Elizabeth said with finality, and left the room, both men still standing there. 

        "Well, that happened," Larieux remarked, looking slightly dazed.

        Declan turned to go. Before the end of the day he still had to drill his men–although he supposed Haden could do that–polish his armor, and draw up the list of men to accompany his sister to Theoria. 

        "Captain," Larieux called him back. "A word, before you go?" Declan turned back, bowed, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword, the perfect image of a devoted guardsman. 

        "I'm at your service, Sir," he said, emotionless. He still souldn't really believe Elizabeth would name him Regent, and his shock was partially inhibiting his ability to think clearly. 

        "I spoke with the former Princess Mary earlier," Larieux said, and Declan blinked. This was not a conversation he'd expected to have. "She had certain requests that I'd like to grant. And, seeing as our queen will not be here to grant them, and neither will I, that leaves you." 

        "What are these requests?" Declan asked, wary. In all honesty, he'd mostly forgotten the girl until Larieux mentioned her. There'd never been any trouble with her, unlike with her siblings, so he'd never given her a moment's thought more than he needed to.

        "She needs a prison more suited to her birth. Even if she is baseborn, she is still the high-born bastard of a queen, much as we try to deny that fact..." Larieux fiddled with his belt. "If we could consider house arrest, in quarters more suitable for a young girl, newly flowered, perhaps with guards who would be... disinclined to take advantage of her?" 

        "I'll take care of it right away," Declan said with a bow.