Fitzwilliam, the heir to the Duchy of Griffith, had been staring at the ceiling of his bedroom for the past two hours, unable to sleep. His eyes were glued to a piece of wood that was strangely not painted on as the castle was being made. However, the wood did not remain in one place the whole time. Often it moved slightly to the left or to the right, though the movements were slow and gradual. Even Fitzwilliam's bed sometimes creaked as the legs of the bed moved slightly on the wooden floor. The vase of flowers on the bedside table sometimes jumped, and a bit of water spilled out.

The reason for this was because Fitzwilliam's castle was moving.

Outside the window, he could see the changing sky, as it turned from a deep dark blue to shades of pink and yellow. He could see tips of pine trees and smoke coming from chimneys, moving past the castle. His room was simple and bare for the prince of such a rich duchy. There was a bedside table and the glass vase, and next to it a silver tray with an empty plate and a glass of water. Fitzwilliam blinked and shifted his gaze to the view outside. He had his hands behind his head, his cream-colored hair messy and his blankets even more so.

He took a deep breath, and he focused as the cold country air entered his nostrils and filled his lungs. It was unusually cold, he thought, until he remembered that they were nearing the seaside. He sat up and swung his legs to the side of the bed. He flinched as his bare feet touched the wooden floor. He wrapped himself in his blankets like it was a cape, and then he stood up and looked out the window.

The news had come to them at dinnertime, two weeks ago.

Fitzwilliam could still remember it clearly. Dinnertime at their castle in Griffith was often always more like a feast for a hundred people than a meal for three. The dining table had fifty chairs on each side, and his father sat in the biggest chair, with its gold linings and the family crest.

Dinner that night was solemn for a reason Fitzwilliam did not understand, but did not specifically care about. His father, the Duke of Griffith and a servant of the King, was barely eating his meal. Instead, he held on to his wine goblet with one hand, stirring the wine gently, as his other hand thoughtfully groomed his beard, as if he was in deep thought. He had reclined on the great chair, and acted as if he was the only one there.

His mother, the Duchess Meredith, seemed irritable by her husband's thoughtful nature. She tried talking to him every once in a while, speaking about the market and the fair and some stories about the families of her ladies-in-waiting. At thirty-five, she was still strong and attractive, with her long brown hair and striking green eyes. When Fitzwilliam would try to think back on his childhood, he would always remember his mother animatedly telling stories about knights and singing songs he could not understand. She was cheerful and passionate, but that night she seemed worn out.

"The fair is gaining just as much as last year, that is true, but perhaps we should broaden out the fair grounds. I've been hearing from other counties that the duchy of Barkley's fair almost beat ours in term of income—are you listening?" she suddenly cut herself short, an irritated look in her face.

"Mother," Fitzwilliam dared to speak out for her father. "I think Father isn't in a good mood tonight."

"You don't say," his mother replied snarkily. Fitzwilliam was a bit stung by it, but he decided to let his mother go on that one. She sighed. "Dear, it's been weeks since you've had time to have dinner with us. I had ordered the meal to be special!"

Fitzwilliam expected his father to ignore her again, but he was surprised to see him close his eyes and breathe out slowly, like he was tired. He was getting old, Fitzwilliam realized. At almost sixty years old, he spent almost half of his life making the duchy what it was now, and at the same time leading battles and serving kings. Once again he felt the weight of his future on his shoulders.

"Meredith," his father said in a soft, tired voice. "I know tonight should be special, but forgive me. I've received terrible news."

The Duchess Meredith dropped her fish fork. "What is it? Pray, tell us!" she asked. Fitzwilliam leaned in closer.

His father was silent for a while, and then he put down his goblet and leaned forward on his chair. "This afternoon, I was told that Duke Ferdinand has landed at Seaport. He has brought a thousand men with him, along with his wretched wife and bastard children. His army has massacred the fishermen living in the nearest village, and now his army is camped out there."

Fitzwilliam felt chills run down his spine. He cast a glance at his mother, and he saw her face pale for a second, and then turn a rueful red. "That wretched man! How dare he? Seaport is our land, he can't just come in whenever he pleases and kill our people!" she exclaimed.

"This Duke Ferdinand...wasn't he..." Fitzwilliam began thoughtfully, until his father finished it off for him. "He's my second cousin, and he was to be duke of Griffith," his father said, annoyance evident in his tone of voice.

"Until he was cast out, wasn't he, for cases of adultery and murder?" Fitzwilliam continued on, remembering all the stories that were said about his 'Mad Uncle F'.

"A murder of a thousand people, just because he could not release his rage anywhere else!" His mother chimed in. She looked so angry Fitzwilliam was afraid she might faint.

"And now, after twelve long years, he is back." His father said, sighing heavily. "Must we truly be at war again? After all the years I've spent in war just to attain peace?" he said, partly to himself.

"But my dear, must we really fight this insolent man? We have earls and sherrifs in our side, and Ferdinand's duchy is a sea away. What is his men against our own?" Duchess Meredith argued.

"That is true, Father. Yes, what they did is horrible, but we don't have to panic too much over their presence." Fitzwilliam added.

The duke shook his head, disappointed. "How can you both be so naïve? I thought you, my prodigal son, would be able to see the bigger picture at the age you are in," his father bluntly commented. Fitzwilliam looked down at his plate of half-eaten greens, hurt by the remark. "I'm sorry, father," he said softly, but he was unheard.

"In numbers, Duke Ferdinand is not a big threat. And I truly do not want to have another war with him. But we cannot just ignore him and pretend that he did not do anything. He is smarter now. He may be an idiot, but he has somehow charmed himself into the hearts of the French nobility. And his accursed wife is a known double agent. If we don't do something about him, he will get to us before we get to him."

"We can never let him have this place, not while I'm alive," his mother cut in, nodding. "Not after everything you've done to make this land yours."

His father shook his head. "For half my life this cousin of mine tormented me with claims to my dukedom. I've always asked him, why Griffith? There are so many lands for you to take. But my dear, now I realize, I think it is not the land he wants anymore. He just wants to see me fall."

"Never, father. We have to fight this man!" Fitzwilliam cried out.

"Fight in a different way: using the brain and the mouth," his father said to him, in the confident voice he always used while giving out plans for attacks. "We will go to Seaport with our men, but there must be little to no bloodshed. The duke and I will have to talk, not as leaders but as kin. And if the man doesn't want to give in so easily, then we will have to make a deal."

"But when will we go?" Fitzwilliam asked. His father looked at him, a determined glare in his grey eyes. "We will leave tomorrow. But I have a plan for our departure: we will have to intimidate Ferdinand in every way possible."

He grabbed the large golden bell at his left side and rang it. Immediately, his right side man, Sir Lincoln, appeared in his side. "Yes, Your Highness?" he asked.

"Summon the mage, and tell all the servants and soldiers to get out of the castle grounds as soon as she arrives," the duke said briskly. The man nodded and quickly walked out.

"The mage?!" Meredith cried out, her eyes wide in surprise. "But why?"

The duke only gave a sly smile and winked his eye. "Best we follow them as well, don't we?" he said nonchalantly, "unless you want to be transported to another world."

In the end, his father had decided to intimate the Duke Ferdinand with a "floating castle".

The mage, who no one could tell was male or female or young or old, did not use their actual castle, which was made of strong marble and stone that had withstood many battles and the test of time. Instead, the mage created a new castle, made of marble and wood. It was much smaller and less grand, but it was a castle nonetheless.

Underneath the castle were long, thick wooden handles, and the duke had instructed fifty soldiers to act as if they were carrying the castle on their shoulders as they marched to Seaport; but actually, the castle floated on its own, through the arts of magic that was sought for and avoided throughout the country. "Why make the soldiers do that?" Fitzwilliam heard his mother ask as they were moving into the new wooden castle.

"When Ferdinand sees my men seemingly carrying a thirty feet tall castle, he will go out of his mind thinking of how strong my men are," his father explained, sounding quite proud.

And if Fitzwilliam were to be honest, he knew his father had every right to be proud. The floating castle was a sight to be marveled. Its secret to floating was this strange, grey cloud underneath the castle and between the handles. When Fitzwilliam touched it, his hand went through, and he realized it really was just like a cloud. How it held up a whole castle and its inhabitants he did not know, but he was too preoccupied with his temporary home to ask about it.

His father would never tell him directly, but Fitzwilliam eventually figured out the reason why they were bringing a castle to Seaport as he waved to the populace from his bedroom window on the day they left. Not only was his father intimidating Ferdinand, but he was also strengthening his claim on Seaport by putting his own property in the land. It was unheard of for dukes; often lands as far away as Seaport would only be guarded by a few of the dukes' men, but it was rare for a duke to decide to live in such a place. Far from civilization, Seaport was the poor, dark side of Griffith, and it was vulnerable to typhoons or bandits from faraway lands. But the very fact that the duke himself was laying ground there would just send the message that Ferdinand's days in the land could be counted on his fingers.

And now it had been two weeks, and in those two weeks he had experienced intensely cold nights and insomnia, and the men 'carrying' the castle began to slowly lose motivation, as word came out that they may not see any action at all if his father's plans would push through. They had left Griffith with big grins in their faces and their chins held high, but now they seemed to drag their boots on the ground.

As Fitzwilliam watched the sunrise that day, he looked down at the men 'carrying' the castle, and saw that they seemed slightly better than before. Perhaps they realized that they were close to Seaport now, and they could feel the tense air. When Fitzwilliam looked beyond the tops of the trees, he could see a slit of blue that was slowly growing wider. His heart began to race. He knew his father would do his best to make the talk as peaceful as possible, but he had never met Ferdinand; he could not tell what that man might do.

His father ordered the army to stop fifty miles from Seaport. The castle was still, and Fitzwilliam stood outside, his breath in white puffs of smoke and his hands deep in his coats to keep warm. He watched as the men prepared themselves for a possible battle, and he watched as the horses were fed and watered.

He watched as his father walked towards him, a serious but determined look in his face. "Father?" Fitzwilliam began before his father could say anything. "Don't you think that we're already giving ourselves away with the castle? I mean, sure this castle would intimidate Duke Ferdinand, but as you said, he's smarter now. What if he already knew we were coming since last week? A thirty feet tall castle can be seen from miles, I'm sure," Fitzwilliam asked.

"That is the thing: Ferdinand will expect to see the castle before him, if ever he knew about us already. But to his surprise, he will not see anything," he said mysteriously.

Fitzwilliam raised a quizzical brow. "How will that work?" he asked.

His father grinned at him, as if he was a young child excitedly showing his masterpiece to a parent. "I have brought the mage along with us, and this invaluable person shall make the castle disappear."

Fitzwilliam blinked in surprise. "W-what? What do you mean? How is that possible?"

"It's simple! The mage will just cast a spell on the castle to make it invisible, and we will just ride on our war-horses. Ferdinand would have been told to expect a large castle, and he would have already devised a plan to attack it. But when he sees that we have nothing, so to speak, he will begin to question the people he trusts," his father explained. There was a sudden glint in his eye, as if he had a new idea. "Oh! What if as our talks finish, the castle slowly starts to appear, and Ferdinand's mind will be so puzzled! Hah! Just imagine the look on his face!" he laughed.

Fitzwilliam nodded slowly. "That is a clever plan, father," he replied. His father shrugged, and he began to walk away towards the army again. "It may be true that he already knew we were coming. But if he had known already, why didn't he ever attack us before today?" he asked, not expecting an answer.

"But the duke can't be so common in war tactics," Fitzwilliam answered, speaking to himself. "The men might see blood after all."

His reverie was interrupted by the loud whiny of a nearby horse. He watched with slight interest as two soldiers tried to calm a horse that was strangely bothered. The large war-horse was bucking up, breathing hard and shaking its mane. One of the soldiers tried to hold its head down, but it panicked. It suddenly reared up on its hind legs. It kicked wildly, and the soldier that tried to calm it down was knocked down. Before the second soldier could do anything, the horse ran into the forest.

The first soldier wasn't getting up. Fitzwilliam, realizing that he may as well start becoming more visible to the soldiers he would one day command, ran towards the growing crowd. He looked down and saw the soldier, thankfully with his eyes open, but his head starting to bleed. "Am I dead?" he heard the man mutter, and a collective chuckle filled the crowd. Fitzwilliam bent down. "Why was that horse fretful?" he asked.

The man tried to stand up, but he winced. "No, no. Lay down as you tell me, good man."

"You are too kind, sir," the man said. "I was just trying to feed the horse for the rest of the journey, but for some reason it was spooked. It must have seen something in the forest."

"But for some reason, he ran into the forest rather than away from it," Fitzwilliam finished thoughtfully. "Who was that horse for, anyway?"

"It was to be your horse, sir," the man said. "But there are many other horses to choose from."

"Oh," Fitzwilliam replied. "Well, I won't have a fretful horse anyway. Prepare the next best one for me."

Fitzwilliam was being suited on to his armor when he saw the mage for the first time.

The mage was much shorter than he imagined, almost the height of a child, even. The mage wore a brown robe, with a hood pulled over its head. His father was talking to the mage and gesturing at the castle, explaining what was to be done. Fitzwilliam tried to find an angle to see the mage's face, but underneath the hood was a strange darkness, so that no features could be seen. The mage nodded, and the duke quickly walked away, urging others to step back.

The mage reached into its pocket and took out what looked like a white stone. "Chalk," Fitzwilliam heard someone mutter. He watched with bated breath as the mage stepped forward and began to draw a circle on the wall of the castle. Inside the circle, the mage drew different lines; some short, some long, and all intersecting and adjacent to one another. When the drawing ended, the mage dropped the chalk and placed its hand in the center of the circle. It bowed its head, and for a second nothing was happening...until a sudden bright light shone out from the center of the circle. It was as if the mage was harvesting sunlight. The light from the center spread from the inside, turning the brown wooden walls almost cream colored, until the light reached the tips of the towers and the whole castle seemed to be ablaze.

Fitzwilliam turned away, and saw the rising sun. If his father was trying to be low profile with this, the plan would have already blown over. For sure, the duke Ferdinand would have seen the bright illumination from miles away. He gulped hard and looked back just as the light began to fade. Slowly, the tips of the towers grew transparent, and the strange new transformation quickly spread throughout the castle.

Soon, the castle was completely invisible, and yet Fitzwilliam knew it was still there, and that if he ran into the empty air he would hit something hard. Still, it was an amazing spectacle. The mage turned away and walked towards his father. The duke nodded, and Fitzwilliam heard his father say, "Thirty-five minutes is enough, thank you." The mage walked over to a donkey that Fitzwilliam had never seen before. The mage sat on top of the donkey, and without a single word or a look back at the camp, the mage and its ride entered the forest.

"Everybody, prepare for the march!" his father cried out. Everyone quickly snapped out of their reverie and picked up their armor. Fitzwilliam's servant still seemed in a daze, so he tightened the armor himself, took his favorite bow and arrows, and boarded his new war-horse, a great black stallion. The colors of the duchy were red and gold and these colors made a strong contrast with his cream-colored hair and striking blue eyes.

Once again, he looked into the forest, where he could see the shoreline and the rising sun. He squinted, and he thought he could make out figures on the beach. The reality of the situation began to make him feel anxious.

All his life he had been training for war, though he never thought he would have to be in one so soon. If his father's plans were right, then there would not be a war, and no one would have to die. But his father had not talked to Duke Ferdinand for years. How would he know that the duke he was to meet today was the same duke he met many years ago? What if the duke had already known about the plan, but was just pretending that he didn't so that they would feel that they had the upper hand?

All his anxieties began to fill his mind and upset his stomach, and his hands were suddenly cold and numb. He was to join his father and mother at the front, and he saw them mounting their horses and looking back at him expectantly.

I can tell them to fall back, he found himself thinking. I don't want to think badly of father's plans, but there are too many risks. He took a deep breath, and urged his steed on. The army was still as he moved past their ranks, and he stopped his horse at the right side of his father. He looked up at him. He now wore his own red and gold armor, bedecked with rubies and sapphires. His helm was lined with gold, and his greatsword was on his side. His father looked quizzically at him.

"You seem tense," he said, as the chief general announced the beginning of the march. It would take them another twenty minutes to get to the shoreline, where Ferdinand and his army waited for them.

"I'm rather nervous," Fitzwilliam admitted. "What if the duke is more clever than he was before?"

His father gave a hearty laugh. "Ferdinand? No, he would never change so much. He'll always be my brute of a cousin. If only he had accepted the lineage when we were younger, then things wouldn't be so messy. But there it is."

"You are in line to be king, aren't you?" Fitzwilliam asked.

The duke nodded. "Indeed I am. I may be the king's nephew, but I am still kin...unless that old man has some bastard here or there to take the crown."

"Then the duke Ferdinand's quest for the throne would be worthless!" Fitzwilliam smirked.

His father smiled at him. "Ferdinand may be stubborn, but he is strong. We must focus on winning whatever battle we face today. And if ever I fall back, you will have to be the stronger one. The duchy rests on your shoulders," he warned him.

Fitzwilliam felt intimidated by the words. "It's too early to say that, right?"

His father shrugged. "We can never know how everything ends. We can only hope for the better."

The air by the seaside was icy cold, but the tension between the two armies was icier still.

Duke Ferdinand's army nearly outnumbered his cousin's own. He had come prepared with beast-like men with skins the color of coal, all of them holding on to crude yet sharp swords. "Savages," Fitzwilliam heard his mother whisper in horror.

If the Duke Ferdinand had known about the invisible castle, he showed no signs of it. His hair was long and a dirty shade of blond, as if he bathed it in mud every day. There were stress lines all over his face and dark shadows under his eyes. It was as if he was scowling his entire life. He was dressed in fine armor, complete with a helm; however Fitzwilliam could see rust on the edges and scratches from past battles. He was on top of his own horse, a great white stallion that seemed giant from a distance.

There was a distance of twenty feet between them, and the only sound that could be heard was the breaking of waves behind the armies. Finally, the duke of Griffith cleared his throat.

"It's been quite a while, my dear cousin," he said with a booming voice and a casual tone.

"It has been 12 years, and I still want what is mine," Duke Ferdinand snapped back. His voice was surprisingly low and husky.

"It has truly been a while, then. Ferdinand, tell me: what exactly do you want from invading my land?" the duke of Griffith asked calmly. Fitzwilliam almost had to choke back a laugh; his father suddenly reminded him of a gentle-willed monk giving a sermon.

"Your land? Your land?!" Duke Ferdinand began to shout, his eyes growing wide.

Fitzwilliam's father nodded calmly. "Yes, my land. Seaport was proclaimed to be part of my duchy when I was crowned. I know you were there; in fact, you were a guest of honor."

"Don't you dare mock me," Duke Ferdinand warned, pointing an accusing finger at him. "I remember every moment with a burning hatred. And I don't care what you think, you know the duchy belongs to me! I am the older cousin, and more favored by the king!"

"Yes you are, but the question is, why do you still want Griffith? Are you not already a duke of a fertile land in Nice?"

Duke Ferdinand seemed caught by the question and he faltered for a moment. He looked away before saying, "Yes, but that land is nowhere as good as Griffith. The people there hate me. They don't pay their dues in time! I grew up in Griffith, and the people respect me. And now with my new army, they will fear me!"

The duke of Griffith tilted his head to the side questioningly. "You've been away for more than a decade. How do you know the people there respect you?"

"They...they just do!" Duke Ferdinand replied stubbornly. "And if they don't, then I will force them to! I will kill every person who goes against me, and I will allow all the women to be raped and all the children to be imprisoned!" Fitzwilliam heard his mother gasp. He couldn't blame her; he himself was feeling enraged with the monstrosity that was before him.

His father was still unmoved. "If you do so, how will you rule over a duchy wherein barely anyone exists in, since they are all either dead or in the dungeons?"

"I will make them all work for me! A duchy does not need the love of its people to have a good harvest!"

"I have not been idle with my people, Ferdinand. They are prepared for battle when need be. They are strong and clever people; they won't back down so easily."

The duke Ferdinand smiled, and Fitzwilliam cringed at the sight of his yellow teeth. "They are prepared to fight lanky, untrained men like those in your army. But they will not expect my army!" he gestured to the men behind him, and they all raised their crude swords and gave a frightening war cry that echoed throughout the seaside. From the corner of his eye, Fitzwilliam could see the men backing off, and the horses were beginning to get restless. "Classic intimidation tactic," he heard his father mutter angrily.

He cleared his throat again. "It is too early to give away your plans as duke of Griffith. You have only taken a small part of the land, and Seaport was never my stronghold, anyway. That is, until now..." the duke suddenly paused and gestured behind him.

The timing could not have been better, as the tips of the castle's towers began to reappear in mid-air. A collective gasp swept through their army, and Fitzwilliam heard the enemy men shouting in surprise. Fitzwilliam turned to look at the duke Ferdinand, and he couldn't help but grin. The duke looked completely shocked, and he looked as if he was seeing a ghost.

Unfortunately, Fitzwilliam watched him for a second too long. The duke Ferdinand suddenly turned and met his gaze, and their eyes clashed. Fitzwilliam nearly jumped out of his skin and he quickly turned away, but the duke had his sights on him now.

"I will not be fooled by your treachery!" the duke shouted angrily. "Show me your mage!"

Everyone stopped being awestruck, and for a second the duke of Griffith looked unsure of what to do. "Why would you need to see our mage, if we had one?" he quickly replied. "This isn't about magic. This is about your claim on my land."

Duke Ferdinand ignored him. He took out his sword and pointed it at the duke of Griffith. "Show me your mage, or I will order my best archer to shoot an arrow to the center of your precious boy's heart!" he threatened, suddenly glaring at Fitzwilliam again, his sword now pointing directly at him. And to make his point clearer, a lean looking young man with leather armor on stepped out from behind the duke and raised his bow and arrow, aiming it at Fitzwilliam.

Fitzwilliam felt his body turn cold, and his heart began to race. His father and mother stared at him with wide, scared eyes, and he realized that this truly was happening: his life is at stake. He stared at that arrow, and his heartbeat was echoing louder and louder in his ears.

The duke of Griffith turned to his cousin, all calmness gone from his face. "Threaten my son like that and you will risk your entire army to be wiped out, do you hear me?!" he shouted, panic audible in his voice.

"One!" Duke Ferdinand began to count. "Oh, my god," Fitzwilliam heard his father say. He wanted to say something, but his mind was blank. He turned to look at the army next to him, and they were all unsure of what to do. If they charged, the arrow would fly. If they didn't, the arrow would still fly. And they could not show the mage.

I'm going to die, Fitzwilliam realized, and he almost could not breathe. I'm going to die today.

"Please, Ferdinand, my son has nothing to do with this!" his father pleaded.

"Your son has everything to do with this! He will become the next duke, or even the next king, if I don't finish you all off now! Two!" Duke Ferdinand warned.

"My son!" his mother cried out, bursting into tears. Fitzwilliam frantically looked around. The forest was too far. He was too exposed to make a run for it. And that archer was watching his every move. He closed his eyes shut and held his breath, waiting for the sharp pain to come.

"Three!" a high-pitched voice called out from his right. He heard a man scream in pain for a second, and then he heard something heavy fall to the ground.

He opened his eyes. The enemy archer was dead, and the mage stood next to him. The mage looked up, and Fitzwilliam almost lost his breath again. It was a little girl, with curly blonde hair and big blue eyes.

She looked at him, as if saying, "You owe me one!". And then, she snapped her fingers, and she was gone.

"Kill them!" Fitzwilliam heard Duke Ferdinand shout. "Kill them all, and bring me the boy and the mage!"