Games of Chance

Two

"Hey. Hey, Jules. Are you alright?" Princess Juliana opened her eyes wide, taking note of the gloved hand that rested on her shoulder. She must have zoned out again- her small private jet was now gliding through the clouds, yet she had no recollection of it ever taking off.

"I'm fine, Roy. Really, you must stop worrying about me so much. You're so nervous it makes me nervous."

The young man who sat next to her- Roy Evarbor- retracted his hand with an almost disappointed gesture. He was the same age as Juliana, but at times, he seemed to fuss over her like an overprotective older sibling. Of course, she couldn't blame him. He had watched her parents die, and such an experience changes a person, wealthy Arcanese duke or not.

"You know, you don't have to go to this inane convention. You're the crown princess, not a maid," Roy commented, absentmindedly running his fingers over the dial of his expensive watch. "We could turn around right now. The king has plenty of less important people to run errands for him."

"But your father said we'd be stopping in New York for a day. Not for an official state visit- just for fun. I've always wanted to see New York City... the grid street layout is of much mathematical interest," Juliana trailed off dreamily, smoothing the front of her maroon peacoat.

"And you will see it, someday. As Queen of Arcana. Until then, our focus should be on your training. This is a rather blunt thing to say, and I apologize for it, but your grandfather is not going to live forever."

"My life has been my training!" Juliana let out a flustered sigh, lifting the glass of water sitting on the tray in front of her. "Being in charge of the Order of Chance isn't all about board meetings and examining technicalities, you know. Fieldwork is an equally important part of the job, and I'm not going to be any good at it if I'm never allowed to leave Arcana! That's why I agreed to go to the convention. It's not about the Hewkins or their son- what's his name- Chase. I need experience serving the Order in a capacity that does not involve sitting behind a desk all day."

"Fair enough, my lady. You win, as usual," Roy conceded, sitting back in his wide, leather seat.

"That's right," Juliana smirked, but her moment of triumph was short-lived. Her face took on a troubled look as her crimson fingernails grazed the armrests on either side of her. As an agent of the Order of Chance, she was trained to detect even the slightest anomaly in any situation, and she could... even if she didn't immediately realize what the anomaly was.

"Something's wrong," she whispered with a soft gulp. "I don't know what, but something's wrong." Judging from Roy's discreet move toward the gun hidden in the seat pocket in front of him, he felt it too. Whipping around, Juliana pressed her face to the window beside her, scanning the airspace around the jet. Sure enough, a black helicopter hovered just far enough away to escape her immediate notice, unmarked except for a single, monochrome symbol on its left flank: a jagged claw.

"Jackers," she spat, unbuttoning her coat to reveal a form-fitting sheath of coal-black flexible body armor: the Order's latest design. She smiled as she unbuckled her seatbelt, standing up in her seat. It was finally time to field-test her brand new suit.

"You had that thing activated this whole time?" Roy shook his head in disbelief as he fumbled with the dials on his not-so-ordinary watch until tiny platelets of armor began to unfold from inside it, crawling up his arm and then washing over his torso. "And I thought I was the paranoid one."

"You're paranoid," Juliana steeled her jaw, yanking off her pearl bracelet and watching as it morphed into a small double-edged spear. "I'm prepared." She stared straight ahead, confident yet apprehensive, as the helicopter pulled even with the jet. A closer look revealed that one of its doors was missing. It had at least two occupants- a masked man and a woman dressed in baggy brown clothing- in addition to the pilot. Juliana balled her hands into fists, concentrating, as the man raised a rifle and pointed it straight at the window she was looking through. She saw the probabilities in her mind's eye, clearer than ever: if he fired now, he had an 83% chance of shattering the window.