The Rokkoh Adventures

Rokkoh and the Princess, Chapter 2

At the landing of the seventh and final floor, Captain Hunt waits.

"You're late," he says, a hushed bark.

"It's a lot of stairs," I shrug.

"Follow me," he grunts with a sigh.

The door to the Court of Crowns stands tall, thrice our height and twice our combined width. The great oak things swing inward, revealing the smooth and polished stone floor and the ceiling so high that not even the largest giant could reach it. Rows of long pews form two columns, an emerald rug bordered in crimson separating as it stretches from the doors to the elevated thrones. We follow the rug to its end, finding a gaggle of guards cooing over something. Each adorn simple leather armor, a green cape like Captain Hunt's and mine covering their backs. A cough rustles among them, sending them straight and to attention. From within them steps a woman draped in an elegant dress of many colors. A gold crown with pieces of jade embedded in the short spikes sits atop her hazel head. A warm smile greets us as she approaches, a mother's smile. Her tan cheeks can hardly contain the grin.

"Captain Hunt," she says, looking to him and offering her hand. Several rings clink on her fingers as he takes her hand and presses his lips to the largest one, a silver band with a black diamond.

"Rokkoh." She turns to me, offering the same hand.

"I don't do sloppy seconds, your Majesty," I joke with a light chuckle. She returns a breath of a small laugh, but the hand remains in the air. I take it and, like Captain Hunt, kiss the black diamond.

"Ever the charmer," Queen Mathilde smirks. Remarks of how that charm used to work on her in the past comes to mind, but I hold my tongue. No matter our history, she wears a crown now. The trouble my tongue could get me into now is far more perilous than when I was a young man. Say the wrong thing to the wrong lady and it meant a hand across the face. Say the same wrong thing to the same wrong lady now and it could be a day in the stocks or a date with the hangman. Then again, Mathilde was only ever bloodthirsty on the battlefield. The real trouble would be if King Domhnall caught wind of my flirtations.

"I try my best," I offer. "How can I be of assistance, your Majesty?"

That warm smile of her fades for a moment. Her bright, green eyes flicker to from where she had come forth. I follow her gaze; behind the guards, laying on a chaise, is a thick white blanket. It sits like a tiny hilltop on the soft seat, a round head and soft rolling ripples on the way down. At the bottom, though, the fleece is tucked. From under the material, some small thing moves. A nearby guard looks to the little snowy hill, a delighted grin spreading on his baby face. I step toward the bundled blanket. The guards come together, shoulder to shoulder and blocking the way. I peer over their pip-squeak forms, finding a pink face wrapped in the white. Eyes closed, lips sucking on a pacifier, she sleeps.

"Mattie," I say low, our eyes meeting again, "did you kidnap a baby?"

"Please," she scoffs, turning away from us all and taking her spot in the row of thrones. She sits in the seat to the right of the center-most royal chair, the polished iron back as tall as me. "I had Captain Hunt do it."

An arched eyebrow questions him as I turn to face him. That rugged, tough-as-nails scowl breaks into a humored grin. He lets out a single chuckle, his eyes averting my attention. The red carpet suddenly seems intriguing beyond measure. My look remains unchanged when the carpet becomes uninteresting and he looks up again.

"It wasn't me personally," he waves me away. "Found someone who would do it for me."

"Hm," I nod, slow. "Someone from the Syndicate?"

"The Syndicate?" he laughs, a short roaring sound that proves he is still, at least in part, human. "I wouldn't ask one of them to steal an apple from the market."