There was a time when the castle was alive, bustling and active. Filled with people moving to and fro, carrying out the tasks they where assigned to keep the royal family and the kingdom at it's best. Sometimes it could be too loud, too many people rushing up and down the halls outside the doors to Bazel's study. His brothers darting in and out to ensure the youngest of the princes had not died under piles of dust covered tomes, despite him being an adult and not needing to be checked on as though he was a child...especially as they had seen him at breakfast. His father knocking on his door and asking Bazel to come to the garden. To ask him when he was going to get married and give him grandchildren, though his brothers didn't have children either. Bazel had found it annoying that they never ceased pestering him, never let him be to study.<br/><br/>Oh, how he missed those days.<br/><br/>The castle was silent, an empty crypt. Guards stood still, stone gargoyles with glass eyes. Stares vacant and fixed off into the middle distance. They're expression ones of ecstasy, as though they'd just come from having the best sex they'd ever had. Given the viper that now slithered about the dull remains of the once vibrant castle Bazel wouldn't be surprised. Or rather wouldn't be surprised if the witch wasn't also having sex with the men she'd enchanted.<br/><br/>If Bazel wasn't prone to spending more time with books than people he might have been able to catch the early signs. To notice how his brothers and father had taken to the foreigner with more haste than they should have.  He'd admit the woman was beautiful. Long red hair brightened with threads of gold, skin the same color of terracotta, and eyes the color of fresh minted gold coins. She was curvy, with thick thighs and a narrow waist, though not much in the bust department. Of course the fact didn't stop the guards from talking about her, something Bazel wished they didn't do outside his door as their conversations got more than a bit vulgar. But none of that should have mattered to his brothers or father. The witch was not Gawen's type, no he much preferred women who where taller than he was and built like the battle maidens of the north. Not to mention Gawen wouldn't risk angering his wife and getting pitched in the pond. Balthazar wouldn't risk their treaty with the Sunar Empire to the east since Balthazar had organized the treaty so he could marry the second princess. His father was still besotted with Bazel's mother though she had died when he was just five years old.<br/><br/>Bazel stopped, the ghosts of his foot steps echoing down the abandoned hall. There in the pale light of the moon hung a portrait of his mother. Long gold hair falling about her shoulders in large ringlet curls, eyes the same color as morning light and pale skin spattered with freckles. He'd grown up hearing how amazing she was, kind and considerate, a perfect mother and queen. He was also often told that he looked so much like her. He had the same golden hair though it had a soft wave rather than the curls his mother was known for. His jaw was sharper and his nose more like his father's but he had the freckles. Golden brown speckles over his face and over much of his body. His eyes where far different, not so much in their shape but color. Bazel's eyes where the same color as new leaves, golden flecks in them as though sunlight was filtering through trees.<br/><br/>He turned from the portrait and continued on his way. If she'd still been alive would it all have been different? Would the witch not have been able to enter the castle so easily. Would she have known something was wrong? Or would they still be in the same position; his family bewitched and him being pressed to marry the woman who was not just turning his life but the entire kingdom upside down.<br/><br/>Well wondering about the what if's helped him none. Instead he had to do something. Anything.<br/><br/>Bazel had a plan, not that he knew if it would succeed but he had to try. He didn't even know if the person he'd picked to help would. Simply because the man had rescued him from bandits didn't mean he was willing to take on a witch, but he had to try.<br/><br/>He pulled the small leather bound journal from his pocket and flipped to the page where his one time rescuer's name and home was located. He scanned the page and put the journal back in his coat pocket before slipping out of a servant's entrance.<br/><br/>The moon hung high and full in the sky, lighting his path to the stables. There his sole friend waited. A solid black Percheron, a gift from his uncle for his twelfth birthday. He reached out and petted the gelding's nose. His horse pushing his nose into Bazel's fingers. It shouldn't take him more than an hour to reach Emris' home, maybe two if he avoided the main roads...though he wasn't sure if he wanted to test his luck against the bandits again. Decision made he saddled Jasper and headed out.<br/><br/>He reached the village about an hour before sunrise. Every slight rustle made him jump. It was always only just a small animal scurrying about in the bushes or an owl in the trees but it sent his heart pounding. The closer he got the more his anxiety increased. She couldn't have found out already. Even if she had his plan could still work, so long as Emris agreed.<br/><br/>Bazel took a deep breath to steel himself and dismounted, once more petting Jasper's nose before heading to the door. His mouth was dry and his free hand twitched while the other tightened around Jasper's reigns. With a great deal of hesitation he reached up and knocked on the door, not loud enough to be banging but loud enough for the occupants to hear, "Hello, Emris? Pardon the hour but I would like to speak with you if you have a moment,"