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  Emberchase tenderly ran his fingers over the twin scars on the left of his ugly face. When it reached his lips, he stopped and inwardly cursed.

  Never before had he wished so fervently for the damned scars to quit making him so recognizable.

  The four guards situated around him raked his stiff form with mingled suspicion and fear, and they never tore their calculative gazes away even after they had reached the castle's battlements. A wide gallow awaited him there, and a couple of decaying corpses danced overhead, seemingly taunting him to start thinking of a final snide remark before getting his beloved neck wrung.

  The fire-dancer's heart stopped beating as if it had felt that there was no use anymore.

  Damn it. He thought he had escaped certain death when the boy had saved him before. Of course, it wasn't wise to feel so comfortable. Emberchase was beginning to regret every single decision he had made upon entering the kingdom's gates...

  Except for one.

  Now that the boy was safe, his life debt had been repaid, and there was not a single reason for him to come along with the child all the way to Xaddercrux. Good riddance, actually. Now, if he could just earn the Prince's trust.

  "Where's Prince Cosimo?" questioned the scarred man ignorantly, his eyes landing upon the youngest guard who had the pleasure of accompanying him. The lad's small shoulders tensed, and he nearly jumped with fright as Emberchase scooted closer to his side. A small memory of Asagai casually walked into his mind, and the weaver of flames almost found a smile on his face at the thought of the boy shivering from fright back at Woodsworth. Almost.

  "I... er, t–the Prince? Um, h–he's gone, gone ahead. Nursing his wound," stuttered the lanky young guard, earning a warning glare from the other older soldiers who were armed to the teeth, their bodies tough and buff.

  Emberchase said nothing in reply as he glanced surreptitiously at the shackles on his wrists. There was this undeniable urge to call unto his flames and have them free him, but the scarred man pushed such thoughts back into his head. Fire wasn't even an option; the flames were exhausted from all the dancing without anything solid to hold on to. Well, he deserved getting his neck wrung, anyway.

  They had finally reached the castle's courtyard, though the fire-dancer's suffering hadn't quite ended yet. Once the overpass encompassed their entire forms and blackened out the surroundings, leaving only a small vision of what's ahead, Emberchase closed his eyes as he blinked up at the sun. He groaned dramatically as their boots walked upon another patch of grass.

  It was Amoria Castle's inner courtyard, a smaller field only meant to be used by those of noble blood. Either the Prince played with his royal hounds, galloped on his steed, or just took a random stroll with his concubines... or just, maybe rolled on the ground he owned. Other servants of the palace who had to train horses and organize parties for a grand banquet — which often happened almost every night if the Prince requests it — had to stay on the outer courtyard.

  Emberchase had watched performances there before, and he had found it tedious that a castle could have so many open fields with barely any shade. 

  "The shackles are too tight," he finally muttered after a few more moments of silence. No, he wasn't planning to run — exhaustion had already sapped most of his energy away, anyway. The cuffs just hurt and dug into his flesh, no more. 

  Emberchase's head was cotton wool, light and foggy, and as the gorgeous statues of the Amorian rulers' reflected against the setting, almost fading pink and purple shades of dusk, the fire-dancer recalled the things he had said to the boy. They weren't such nice things to say.

  The guard on his left grunted before shoving him recklessly over the gates of cold, harsh iron. The gargoyles on the side of the  rooftops stood guard, their rocky fangs seemingly coming to life by the light of the fading sun. The Amoria Castle's towers pierced the darkening skies, their spires reaching out for the stars. They made Emberchase's head spin, but thankfully, the scene of the magnificent structure had vanished once they entered.

  More men-at-arms shot the fire-dancer suspicious glances, and Emberchase's insides squirmed at the sudden amount of attention directed to him. The damned statues of Cosimo's ancestors continued to stare, seemingly adding pressure. They weren't the most perfect sculptures, but they still conveyed the beauty only hidden in the bloodline of royalty.

  'I know I'm ugly, quit rubbing it in,' Emberchase's inner voice spat as he glared at the smooth marble walls on the palace halls reflecting his face.

  When they finally reached Prince Cosimo's throne, a few nurses and healers were still swarmed around the man and tended to such a small wound in an overly concerned manner, their plated white skirts dragging on the carpet-covered obsidian floor. They sure liked using up their gold for stupid things.

  Another pair of eyes rested upon the fire-dancer's face, and when he looked up, it was from the woman sitting on a daintier throne beside Cosimo. Her velvety green dress flowed down in waves, blending lovingly against the golden blond hair she had hung loose and pooled on her thighs. Her irises, so similar yet so different from her older brother's, shone with giddy and excitement instead of greed and gluttony. A smile, sincere and devoid of all that hidden cruelty from the person seated beside her, appeared on her small face the moment she noticed that Emberchase's eyes were on hers as well.

  Princess Shreethel. Cosimo had often commented that he was annoyed by the fact that his sister was always cooped up in the libraries, but he had spoiled her nonetheless. Only few people — mostly nobles — had gotten the honour of witnessing her presence, and they only did when such important matters aroused.

  Emberchase felt his stupid heart skipping numerous beats. It seemed like it had already forgotten the dread from the earlier capture. How faithless indeed. But such fast beats made him bold.

  "You're Emberchase, right?" Prince Cosimo questioned after shooing the healers away. Princess Shreethel covered her mouth and whispered something to her brother. The latter only nodded in reply, his pink lips pursed tight.

  A guard prodded his back with the hilt of the spear, and upon realizing that his posture was still upright, Emberchase slouched and bowed.

  "Yes, Your Majesty. The scars pretty much tell everything," answered the fire-dancer, his eyes cast downwards.

  "Why is he in shackles?" Emberchase heard Shreethel's voice even though she had tried her best to make it sound discreet. It was a lovely, sweet voice, seemingly setting him free from the cuff's painful grip.

  "Because he's dangerous," countered Prince Cosimo, ignoring his sister's growing concern and focusing his attention to the ugly fire-dancer before him.

  Emberchase loathed that stupid face looking down on him as if it had not seen anything uglier. Heat reverberated violently inside his chest, and it wasn't the pleasant kind of warmth he felt when he cooed his fiery companions to dance with him. That beautiful, angelic and seemingly innocent face made him feel so incompetent, too.

  Dangerous, eh? An ugly thorn buried itself even deeper inside the fire-dancer's heart. Perhaps the Prince wanted to witness what that word meant.

  "Free him," ordered the lovely Shreethel, her voice growing firmer with every frown adorning her sibling's still handsome face. "I know who he is. I've read the tales, and he's just a player."

 
  "That's right, Your Highnesses," chipped in Emberchase as he raised both shackled hands high into the air. The guards surrounding him flinched, and the scarred man's heart suddenly flipped over with glee.

  They feared him.

  'That's right, Emberchase,' quipped his thoughts. 'Forget all about those spears and arrows and blades aimed at your breast. You're a player, and an extremely well-known one. Show them no emotions, forget everything. Here's the stage, and they're nothing but mere audiences. Be professional. Toy with them.'

  Emberchase only let out a small, mocking smile as he shamelessly stepped forward, bemusement coating his tongue and filling it with such addictive sweetness he could not resist.

  "Well, there's no point in restraining me. Do you really think I'd wreck havoc on this place and burn everything down like a lunatic of a villain?" He surreptitiously took a peek at the young soldier behind him, and a small sigh of relief almost flooded his hot veins. The rucksack was unmoving, and it could only mean the vixen was still fast asleep.

  The fire-dancer faced Cosimo, his newfound courage feeding his mind and mouth with so many words of mockery they hurt his head. He grinned knowingly. "Or... do you indeed?" 

  "I've heard a lot of things about you, and that's why you're here," snapped Cosimo, the hint of offence lingering in his beautiful eyes. "Are you really who the tales claim you to be? Or are you nothing but a big scam, as the other fire-dancers had said, using alchemy and witchcraft to make the flames follow your orders?"

  "Am I?" taunted Emberchase, jingling his cuffed hands. "I want to show you that I'm no witch, really! But I'm like, in shackles, so if my hands come off because of these, then I suppose... I would not be of much use to you anymore, would I?"

 
  With insult written all over his face, the Prince signalled one of his men-at-arms to free the fire-dancer, whose thoughts had wondered off into the abyss for a few moments. He'd show them, he'd show them all if it weren't for the exhausted fire. They needed his torches for support, and since the boy left them behind at the crypt, the weaver of flames used up their energy to form shapes of beasts of prey.

  The shackles fell to the floor with a loud clang, and as Emberchase rubbed his wrists, he felt Shreethel's gaze on him once more. She was stunning, and those pair of eyes made him even more conscious of his own scarred face.

  "Well," the Prince began, his lips curling into an annoyingly beautiful smile, "show us the famous magic that you so unluckily possess."

  Emberchase bit back the scowl beginning to form on his face and tried remaining as placid as possible. Cosimo's perfect face screamed anything but happy, but the fire-dancer dared not be satisfied with what he had. His rational thoughts wondered why the Prince wanted him, but something else ordered him to show off, to render everybody speechless, to show that he was no scam, and most of all, to instill fear into the heart of Cosimo, the fairest of all.

 
  The weaver of flames hissed and clicked his tongue, sending out the first few verses of his courtship to the flames. Fire-words were spoken, too incoherent for the other's ears, and they cooed and coaxed the tired little sparks to come out and play again. Emberchase's heart raced, and for the first time he doubted his skill, but his wooing persevered, and tiny sparks sputtered meekly into his palm.

  The fire-dancer held them as carefully as if he was handling a newborn babe. The small sparks cracked weakly, but they stayed and silently listened to his fire-words with growing anger. He needed them so much, yet it took such a painfully long time to make sure they grew into an acceptable size that the Prince yawned, completely bored out of his wits.

  "You know," muttered the blond in a velvety voice as he leaned back into his throne, "you don't look so impressive at all. Anyone could light a bonfire by now. Just proves you're nothing but a fake scam. I should have your head pierced on the battlements for showing such pride and mockery in front of a blue blood like me."

  The soldiers behind him craned their helmeted heads and took clandestine peeks, beguiled by the mysterious witchcraft. The Princess eyed his every move carefully, as if she was trying to engrave them into her mind for a long time. The desperation and eagerness on her face said that she believed none of what her brother had just preached, and Emberchase almost smiled at her devotion to the stories. Almost.

  The fire licked up his bare arms and gently caressed his skin, only leaving a few traces of soot and comforting heat. The thin guard's mouth hung open in disbelief, and Cosimo straightened up, amusement on his face. If he thought this was going to be another show, then he had never been so wrong.

  Emberchase spun once and raised his right hand, his red wrists struggling not to shake at the stabbing sensation as he flicked them again and again. He snapped his fingers, and even though still quite sleepy, the flames entwined themselves around him and hissed crossly at the Prince, the little bits of embers flying in all directions, a few landing on the lush carpet strewn with roses. The blaze grew hotter, and the edges of the once mellow fire prickled into sharp blades, all aimed for the fairest of all.

  The guards began panicking, but no one dared step towards the fire-dancer.

  With another dramatic, slightly teasing snap, the weaver of flames brought down his hand where the fire had perched on and pointed to the regal throne — with the wide-eyed Prince Cosimo on it.

  Fire growled and hissed and snapped, their incoherent sounds of anger directed towards the blond. They flew from the weaver's hands and opened their hungry jaws, prepping themselves for a noble meal as the hands of ashen blaze readied to grip the flesh.

  Prince Cosimo screamed shrilly as he used both arms to shield himself from the menacing crimson monster, and the guards rushed towards the scarred man, their brandished spears and swords ready to strike the fire-dancer down. Another batch of fresh embers — the ones Emberchase had allowed to feed on the soft carpets — erupted into a raging beast, cackling and spitting as they clawed at the men-at-arms before wrapping themselves around their master like a protective cocoon.

  A smug smile formed on Emberchase's face. Cosimo was stupid, and he screamed like a girl.

  No one was stopping his beloved fire from snapping those limbs off the fair prince's body. The fire-dancer hesitated to stop them, his mind twisting and warping itself as it conjured up sinister images of the blue blood's demise. But Emberchase bit his bottom lip in frustration and closed his right hand with great restraint.

  Almost as immediately as they came, the roaring, raging monster vanished before they even touched Cosimo's golden hair. The prince was covering himself with both arms as his screams finally died out. When he realized what had just transpired, he immediately stood straight and shot glares towards Emberchase. Surprisingly, Shreethel smiled, and she still looked so beautiful.

  "You scoundrel! How could you show such disrespect towards me? You ought to be hanged this instant!" Cosimo huffed once, twice, his chest heaving with great effort as he leaned on the side of his throne for support. His smooth, golden locks lay distraught, and his eyes pierced the fire-dancer with complete hatred. He had never acted out of line before, he always hid his true nature, but perhaps this time Emberchase had pulled the right strings.

  "I just showed you that I'm capable of killing you here on the spot. Suppose there's nothing wrong with that?" Emberchase almost snickered as the sweet, honeyed taste of victory covered his tongue. Almost.

  The flames wrapped around him had died down, their hissing and spitting barely hearable. The guards suddenly moved towards him and grappled onto his shoulders with their brute strength, forcing the fire-dancer on his knees. Emberchase hissed at the searing heat on his back and thighs, but he dared not remove the mocking grin he had on like a mask.

  "Stop it, Cosimo! You're losing yourself again!" Princess Shreethel stood and held onto her brother's arm. "It's basically your fault for mocking him."

  "He was at it first!" whined the blond prince as he slammed his fist on the arm of his throne. He was like a little boy, and Emberchase found himself greatly amused, almost unable to contain the growing grin on his scarred face.

  "Well, I'll forgive your threatening actions... for now." There was still a frown filled with distrust on the young man's handsome face as his sister forced him to sit back down.

  "Why'd you ask for me, anyway?" enquired Emberchase bluntly, the vicelike grasp on his shoulders nearly tearing him apart. Too bad the fire's fallen asleep again. Too bad, indeed.

  "For war."

  That short answer completely rendered the fire-dancer's body numb, and he limped as the guards were about to help him stand. He reminded himself to keep the facade up, but his mocking, taunting mask crumbled down into bits, revealing the first signs of a frown marring his face.

  It was now the fair prince's turn to smile. "Yes, you heard me, dancer. I'm impressed by your unique ability to call out to fire like that, and if you actually used your head, then you'd become a powerful, ruthless ruler. I'm going to give you gold, a castle of your own, and a huge piece of land. You want servants? I'll offer them to you by the dozens. You won't have to move an inch. Participate in my war, and use your fire to topple down the enemy. It's as easy as—"

  "No," Emberchase answered firmly, his composure slowly bending, almost snapping. Almost. It was always an almost.

  Fire seeped further into his blood and set his heart of fire, and the fair princess's expecting glance no longer made him feel bold. It made him so damn furious. Fury tasted hot, and it scorched his tongue.

  "Excuse me?" The prince tilted his head to the side. His tousled golden hair fell to the side in small waves, and the fire-dancer recoiled. He was handsome, despite being twisted.

  "No," repeated Emberchase, brushing the filth coating his knees as the guards stepped away from him with a harsh shove. "You're insane if you think I'm gonna play the card of a joker."

  "Well, everyone's a little insane," reasoned Cosimo with a smile before adding, "I also expected this to be your answer. After all, you players still have conscience. But if I'm not going to get you, then maybe you ought to teach me the language of fire?"

  "No."

  The blond sighed and closed his eyes in exasperation, as if doing so might rid the entire room of the growing tension emanating from the fire-dancer. Nothing happened.

  "The dungeons it is, then."

  "Wait, just wait." Before the guards could haul off the limping Emberchase into whatever cold, sunlight-lacking place below the palace, Princess Shreethel, who had probably grown sick of being ignored by her sibling, came down the steps and held the fire-dancer by the arm.

  'Everything is a game in this world,' recited a voice inside the scarred man's cotton wool head. 'Play the right cards, tamper with the necessary strings. Use everything around you properly, and you'll be king.'

  Somehow, Emberchase thought those words of Cosimo were correct. Everyone's a little insane, and the damned mocking voice in his mind seemed like an evil, cruel thing that had developed over the years he had spent away from humanity.

  "You can't put him in the dungeon!" demanded the fair princess, defiance in her every word. But by the looks of the soldiers, it seemed like the two of them quarreled almost everyday.

  "I want you to leave him with me. I know a lot of things about them — the players — and I've read every single tale." Shreethel's grip on the man grew a little tighter, but Emberchase paid no heed. To him, everything that the lovely blonde did felt so comfortable and reassuring and soft. She was so beautiful, and he could've melted down on the floor in pure ecstasy if it weren't for all the others watching.

  Feeling that there was nothing more he could do to convince his sister otherwise, Cosimo raised both legs and propped them on the arm of his throne. He looked down on Emberchase with utter disdain, but with Shreethel blocking the way, he simply sighed and grumbled to himself crossly. "Fine."

  Emberchase almost sighed. Almost. The sister was still there, and she looked even firmer with the new task bestowed upon her. But the fire-dancer couldn't care less about the damn banter that had taken place.

  His head hurt, but he was going to live another day. That seemed like a good enough reason for him.