As they departed the throne room, Geneva trailed Allegra like an inconsequential wisp of smoke after a processional torch.

“Allegra, I am so sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be,” Allegra replied. “What more could they do? Confine me to my room?”

Allegra strode down the corridor with renewed determination. This meeting of the magi seers might not be so mundane after all. Allegra knew of the Prophecy. Everyone did. It was the primary domain of the Four Tellers and certainly the reason they had been convened now. Her father lived in fear of the future, and that future was arriving much more quickly than anyone desired. Anyone except Allegra, of course.

* * *

“That’s your stubbornness,” Queen Nor murmured as she executed an elegant pivot past Olaf and Xander and settled back onto her throne. The Which watched her closely until the king spoke and broke her concentration.

“And your subterfuge,” he said. The king didn’t bother to look at her, focused instead on the Four Tellers as if trying to read the readers. The Which noticed the king’s blurry and bloodshot eyes and doubted that he could read much of anything.

“What news?” the king asked. “The Prophecy. Is everything as it was?”

“The Why of Mist Tier, report,” Chancellor Olaf declared. He never missed an opportunity to impose protocol. A fact about him The Which greatly appreciated.

The Why’s tone was dry and somewhat defeated. “The Prophecy remains as always, my lord. If Princess Allegra weds a common soldier, the reign of Xander the Firm will come to an end.”

At the mention of Princess Allegra, The Which risked a glance at Queen Nor. The queen registered no reaction. Nothing from Xander as well, but this portion of the report was rote and oft repeated.

The Which had indeed looked at the young woman lurking at the door, had marked her piercing expression when their eyes met. As one blessed with foresight, it always seemed an oversight to The Which that the Four Tellers always spoke about the princess without ever speaking to her.

There could be value in that conversation, The Which opined, if that intimacy were even remotely permissible.

Olaf’s voice, so unpleasant to others but not her, brought her back to the moment. “The Where of Middle Tier,” he addressed.

A hiss of strained patience seeped through Nor’s lips as The Where struggled to respond. “Isn’t it ironic, Xander,” the queen observed, “that The Where always seems to be somewhere else other than where he is?”

The queen’s barb seemed to focus the nervous advisor.

“Still…still here, my lord,” The Where stammered.

“I can see that,” Xander stated flatly.

“No, my lord…I mean, yes, my lord. Still here. I meant ‘still here’ as in still here in the capital city.” His mouth hung open as if waiting for the words to emerge. “If the actions come to pass, then they will transpire here, in the capital city of Mist Tier. Although, I couldn’t tell you exactly where in the kingdom…”