A Day in the Life[Nation Maintenance/Worldbuilding]

[Lux Pulchrae]

OOC: This is a worldbuilding/maintenance thread for my country, well, it's a second attempt. The first one I haven't touched in like 2 years. Didn't want to pick it back up after so long since it'd feel a bit off to do so. Hopefully I can get through some of the stories I've been wanting to tell, mostly anthology but also reoccurring stories and characters. I'm not a writer, I just like exploring ideas, but with that I don't mind any advice or critiques.

Disclaimer: Lux Pulchrae is socially an "old fashioned" country for the most part, being my take on exaggerated Mediterranean-esque hyper-Catholic nationalist countries, but they do not reflect my views. Some stories might feature topics pertaining to orientation, religion, ethnicity, gender, terrorism etc.

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"The King"

Royal Palace
Evening
2008

A warm August day at the palace was an occasion of joy as laughter and conversation rang filled the air of the palace gardens. It was one of the rare times a year that the families of both Her Majesty Queen Valencia and His Majesty Cleon III were together. The reason was nothing spectacular, apparently. Announced on a whim by His Majesty several weeks prior, he just thought a good old family reunion was a good way to keep the family healthy. A filling outdoor feast was set up with tables of food for anyone to to pick up a plate if they chose to.

In attendance was Queen-Mother Isabella di Falcone, mother to His Majesty. His Majesty's brother and Grand Duke of Amaglione, Giancarlo d'Angeli with his wife Constanza. Their son Cesare was spending his time with his cousins. On the other side, the parents of Her Majesty, Rodrigo de los Lagos and Izadora Rivera were also in attendance. So was her brother, Tomas, and his wife Maria. Their children, Antonio and Lourdes, were likewise with the other children.

Several non-relatives were at the function as well, such as the patriarchs of Lux Pulchrae's highest ducal families. Head of the Bourbon family, the ever-aging Jean-Pierre de Bourbon. Head of the de Medici family, Annibale de Medici. From the Spanish Coast, head of the Constanzas was Alvaro de Constanza y Nieves. From the mountainous northern province of Alemania, the relatively younger Roderick von Blut accompanied by his younger brother Samson. As well as His Eminence Archbishop Neromari and royal advisor Alessandre Massimo.

In typical fashion for get casual get-togethers like these, the men grouped up with the men and the women likewise. In between their cigar puffs and sips of liquor, despite their statuses, the men rarely talked of politics. It would be too much of a mood killer so it was silently agreed on not to bring too much of it into the conversations. They generally stuck to sports or current events outside the country or other types of hearsays. The wives talked amidst their coffees and teas, discussing their wife gossip.

And the children? Well that depends. Marcello, the oldest, wasn't even on the palace grounds. He was somewhere with a not-girlfriend. Pietro, the middle son, was at the palace pool house with some friends of his. Cleone, the youngest son, was around here somewhere. He and some others had set up a football match in an area of the palace gardens. And the royal princess, Isabella, was...sitting next to her mother along with her cousin Lourdes. Both entertaining their mutual grandmother as to not leave her feeling alone. But since both her grandmothers were present, Isabella had a double duty. At least Izadora had Lourdes when Isabella left. Being the teenage girls that they were, the both would rather be anywhere but here.

"So who do you think will actually win that election in America?" asked a curious Alvaro to His Majesty.

"Eh, why do I care?" Cleone shrugged, blowing smoke. Quite literally.

"Well...that's quite the apathy Your Majesty."

"America does not affect me in the slightest. Whatever crook sits in that office, couldn't care less." letting a moment pass "Besides, you think that geriatric McCain has the charisma to win? His opponent is young, smiley, and has a potential...historical characteristic for Americans."

"Quite the insight. I never really knew what you've thought of other state leaders."

"Most of them are bullshit, Don Alvaro. Excuse me a moment, I'll be back." he excused himself, leaving his cigar on the ashtray. "Mama!" called out as he approached the women "How are you enjoying the evening?" he bent over to hug her as she was seated, kissing her on the cheek.

"Oh I'm doing well figlio. Little Isabella has been keeping me company." the Queen Mother pinched her granddaughter's cheek, who feigned a smile.

"Good to know mama." he then looked to Valencia "Honey, where's Cleone?"

"Huh?" she was taken out of conversation with Giada de Medici "You asked something dear?"

"The boy, where is Cleone?"

"I don't know." she shrugged.

His Majesty sighed and tapped Isabella on the head "You, go find your brother. And don't look at me like that either." he said predicatively. Expecting a sour face from her.

Isabella stood up and excused herself and Lourdes, apologizing to her grandmother. Taking her cousin by the hand, they went to go find him. They trekked to the part of the gardens open enough for football. It was obscured by hedges from where the garden party was held but there was a tile path through it. Passing the hedge, they saw the group of boys, although it seems they switched from football to wrestling. It was Cleone wrestling Cesare, both in a clinch hold.

"CLEONE!" Isabella yelled. He looked over to see when Cesare took the chance and got behind and suplexed him, then maneuvering to a pin. The match was over and the boys got up, Cleone visibly mad. Cesare, Antonio and the others laughed.

"Why the fuck did you do that for?" the prince snarled

"Father wants you."

"Perfect timing huh?"

"We await your return oh great prince." Isabella mockingly curtsied. Behind her, Lourdes could be seen giggling. Doing the same and leaving.

The boys returned, much to the annoyance of their mothers seeing they had dirtied and mangled their clothes. At least their suit jackets stayed rather clean.

His Majesty saw that his son return and looked around to Giancarlo and Archbishop Neromari, shooting a nod. "Enrico!" he called a servant,
"Get Cleone some new clothes, I have an announcement." The servant nodded, doing as told. "Boy, come here."

"Yes sir." As he neared his father, His Majesty lightly smacked the young prince upside the head.

"Ow what was that for?"

"For getting your clothes dirty and getting your mother all uppity." he straightened out and dusted the boy's shirt off. "Now, Enrico's getting some clean clothes for you. I have a very important announcement to make."

Soon, everything was ready. Neromari had gone and changed into a more elaborate regalia, catching the eye of many. The Grand Duke Giancarlo also caught some eyes when he left and returned with a some kind of box. Cleone had changed into his clean clothes. A loud whistle came from His Majesty's mouth, calling everyone to attention. Even Pietro and his friends had been called over from the pool.

"Everyone, I would like to make an announcement. Cleone, will you please join me." Neromari and Giancarlo stood at the king's side. Visibly nervous, he listened once more and faced the three. A mantle was placed on his shoulders by a servant, Giancarlo opened the box he held and revealed a coronet. The Grand Duke of Amaglione's coronet to be precise. The coronet was taken by Neromari and placed on Prince Cleone's head, he was speechless.

"Cleone d'Angeli the Fourth," the Archbishop spoke firmly "In front of proper witnesses and sanction, placed on your head is the symbol of your inheritance, you are to succeed your father, Cleone d'Angeli the Third, as King of Lux Pulchrae. You shall reign firmly and responsibly as is your duty under God. As it has been established by this kingdom's history, your word is law, yet, you shall not abuse your station, should it be an abomination to the Lord. As drunkenness is from the abuse of alcohol, and gluttony from the abuse of hunger, so shall tyranny come from the abuse of power. Do you swear to uphold your duties if and when you ascend to the throne, should Almighty God see fit?"

He looked to his father, unable to utter a word. "I..I do".

"Then by my power shall the Holy Mother Church recognize you as heir, and by the state's power shall you inherit the throne. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen." he then bless the prince, signing a cross over him "May God guide you to your coronation young prince." Neromari smiled.

"Thank you Your Eminence." Cleone's head lightly bowed, looking more like a nod, as to not disturb the coronet on this head.

"An applause for my son!" the king encouraged, causing a roar of applause. He received pats on the back, hugs, kisses, and handshakes. As well as doubtful eyes from some of the patriarchs, who feigned congratulations.

The night passed, the guests were gone while the relatives stayed. Everyone was about to sleep. Prince Cleone lay on his bed, unable to sleep. A mix of emotions, mostly anger and sadness. It wasn't an impossibility, but it more than unlikely that he was to be his father's immediate successor. If he could, he'd punch away at the wall till his knuckles bled and his hands broke. But he remained quiet.

"Could I really do it?" he wondered.

Present Day

His Majesty, Cleone d'Angeli IV sits in his office thinking about that fateful day. He thinks about it very often. Over ten years later, and five years on the throne, he thought he's done pretty well so far.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Total Power"

Mediana, Alto Province
9pm
March 2019

"Match over!"

A bell was rung and the fighter withdrew himself from his unconscious opponent. Huffing and puffing in exhaustion as medics passed by him, through the blood and sweat, he smiled. Finally standing up, he lifted his own wrapped fist in victory and bellowed in victory amidst a cheering crowd who got even louder. The winner? Twenty-year old fighting prodigy simply known to locals as Bacchi. He had just won his 15th straight match in Alto Province's top underground fight scene, Battaglia. He was already been declared it's champion by his 10th match.

Bacchi leaned up on one of the ring's corners as his manager stepped in to help him. "Ya fuckin did it!"

"Did you ever doubt me Cato?" he smiled again, spitting out his mouthguard.

"Why would I ever doubt you? You're my money maker." handing him a bottle of water.

"Yeah," Bacchi rinsed his mouth out into a bucket "and you're my ticket out of here. Hand me a towel."

"You got a lot of blood on you." Cato noticed, dipping a hand towel in a bucket of hot water, wiping his fighter's face.

"Thank God that's hot water."

"Hey don't worry about it kid. Won't make that mistake again."

"Better not. And don't worry. This blood ain't mine, mostly."

He unwrapped his hands, the white cloth stained with blood. Letting them drop to the canvas felt like a relief as they left the ring for the locker room. Soon, Bacchi rinsed himself off and grabbed his bag. The two left the venue to a nearby trolley stop, waiting for their ride home.

"Here, your third." Cato said, counting through the winnings given to him.

"Finally. Thought you'd give it to when we got home."

"We're going to the same place. Why does it matter?"

"Principle I guess."

"You know, I told my guy about your win. He's very interested. Says he'd like to see you try out for the 'big leagues'."

"Really?"

"Sure, he says he's got a try-out fight for you in three weeks."

"Three weeks? I'm ready to go next week. Tomorrow even. I didn't break a sweat at that last fight-"

"Calm down, calm down...." Cato was silent for a moment, then begrudgingly speaking up again "I'll ask him if next week is okay. But don't get your hopes ups."

"My hopes are already in the sky!" letting out another victory howl.

Despite their manager-fighter relationship, Cato wasn't that much older, being only six years older. But, he was the boy's only way in to the fighting scene. Their relationship was more of an agreement, Cato gave Bacchi a place to stay and train, and Bacchi fought for money. Battaglia wasn't their first rodeo. They've fought in smaller circuits, but now they have a chance to make it to the major leagues: Combattimento Massimo. For underground fighters, there's no higher peak.

Lux Pulchrae, it is a very "manly" nation. In Spanish, the concept would be "machismo". Or in contemporary western terms, "toxic masculinity". If you were a man, you fought. Or at least knew how to fight. Behind soccer/football, fighting is the nation's favorite genre of sport. Although it manifests differently, be it wrestling, kickboxing, boxing, savate, Brazilian jiu-jitstu, etc. Apart from jiu-jitsu, which was mostly practiced in the Spanish Coast region, Lux Pulchrae's pride has kept it's fighting focus on western styles of fighting. Not excluded among these was the very ancient Greek martial art of Pankration. A martial art in the true sense as it was used by soldiers across the Greek world. Brought over to where Lux Pulchrae sits now by the Romans, it has miraculously survived the ages in certain parts of the country. By modern standards, it was pretty well rounded; described as a mix of boxing and wrestling while also including kicks, throws, chokes, locks and more.

While known for centuries, it was not widely practiced. That is, until the mixed martial arts boom of the 90s and 2000s. A new combat sport taking the fighting world by storm, and forcing many styles to adapt and evolve or remain stagnant. Pankration became Lux Pulchrae's answer to the mma craze, with Lux Pulchrae's very own Pancrazio, a fight promotion that tried to usher in mma to the country's fighting world. Many pankratiasts found much success while also supplementing their skills from these foreign, more modern styles.

But one stuck through it all. One boy saw no need to change, because all he knew was this. All he was taught was how to fight, and that's how he was going to make it in life. But you cannot simply walk through the doors and declare to become a fighter. There were proper channels. Channels that Bacchi didn't have much access to. So like many, the underground was his home. For now.

At last, the duo arrived home. A decently=sized apartment more than comfortable enough for the two. As soon as he got through the door, Bacchi had begun taking his clothes off while heading for the shower. Unfazed at this point, Cato picked up his clothes for washing. Soon after, he began preparing a meal.

The bathroom door opened "A rinse off is nice, a full shower is even better." the well-refreshed fighter said.

"Here, eat up. Liver stew. There's some potato and carrots and all that crap you guys eat." Cato sighed, off to wash his hands.

"Thanks."

"No problem kid. Just want you well rested, we got a meeting with the Combattimento Massimo people on Tuesday."

The clanging of spoon against bowl stopped, Bacchi looked up in disbelief. "Tuesday...that's-that's in three days."

"Yup." Cato affirmed with a wide smile. "They have an affiliate venue in Basso, we meet his guys. Fight the qualifier, then make it into the big leagues. You think you can take it?"

"I should beat you for even asking me that question." in excitement, he got out of his chair and briefly shadowboxed. "I'm pumped!"

"Here." Cato handed him a beer "You've earned it."

"Nah, I'm good. I'll get up early tomorrow to train a bit."

"You don't ever stop do you?"

"Don't see any need to." he continued to eat his stew.

Cato stopped for a moment, in thought, tapping the counter. "You know kid, I never bothered to ask ya but seeing as we're headed to something bigger: why do you do all this? Why do you fight? You're a young kid, you got a lot of potential in places most of these fighters don't. It's risky too. It's dangerous. You've broken enough arms to know it could just as easily happen to you. You're not a retard, right? You can read and write?" he smirked.

Bacchi set his bowl down on the counter, the air turned serious, his usual smile and plucky demeanor went away "I'm not gonna find the strongest out in the limelight." He turned around and headed for bed "Don't ask me again. Please."

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Hey Mister"

San Giustino, Fiore Province
Evening
March 2019

A quiet day in the semi-rural town of San Giustino. The town plaza was where everyone met around this time. It's where a lot of the markets and stores were. It's where you went to meet with friends and had lunch. Pretty decent foot traffic. One patron in particular was Ludovigo Gazzi, a local man who frequented a cafe, Di Falcone. He was well known among the townsfolk, not famous or a hero or anything but most would say "hello" and smile if they saw him.

Today was an unusually day as the sun shone bright and the skies were clear of any clouds. He sat outside at one of Falcone's tables smoking a cigarette while reading the day's paper, dressing coolly in a white shirt and khaki pants. The hot day caused the local kids to play in the plaza's fountain, screaming and splashing around, much to Ludovigo's annoyance as he tried to read the paper. Falcone's was a place he went to relax, and now he can't even do that today.

"Here you go." it was Falcone bringing coffee.

"Grazie Carmine." he thanked him, going back to the paper. It was soon futile as his attention was broken again by the ringing of a bell. Not the usual church bell, but the ice cream salesman.

"GELATO! GELATO! VENE QUA!" he yelled as he pushed his cart into the plaza. The children soon rushed to their parents for money, or some already had a lira or two to spend in their pockets.

Gazzi again returned to his paper. He was supposed to be meeting some associates in a couple minutes, but checking his watch, they seem to be late.

"Hey mister." a child-like voice spoke from behind the paper.

"Dammit. What now?" he thought to himself as he put his paper down to look at a little boy just standing there. "What do you want?"

"Can I have a lira?"

"Why?"

"For gelato."

"No." yet again lifting his paper to read. He peeked his head to the side to see if the child was still there, and surely he was. "Where's your dad kid?"

"He's working."

"And your mom?"

"Working."

"Your mom works?"

"Yes."

"That's actually pretty cool," he said sarcastically, feigning a smile "now you got 2 people to ask for money." seeing that looking at the boy wasn't worth it, continued to read while talking.

"But my mom doesn't come back until two."

"Then wait until two."

"But the gelato man won't be here by two."

"Sucks don't it?"

"You're very mean mister."

"Yeah, sometimes. You know, the whole time you've been bothering me, you could've asked someone much nicer. Like that mother over there or that guy. Look! He has two kids, he probably has enough to give you."

"But I asked you."

"I. Don't. Care."

A moment of silence passed before the boy spoke up again "Mister, are you mafiosi?"

In a flash, Ludovigo put down his paper and scolded the boy "Listen kid, don't you ever tell somebody that, ever. You can get in a lot of trouble talking reckless like that. If you were any older I'd slap you really." the kid was getting a bit too close "Where would you even get that assumption?"

"You look like one."

"Yeah and you look like a fucking gypsy asking me for money so are you a gypsy?"

"No. You sound funny. Are you from here?"

"From Bellaluce? No. Well, I wasn't born here, my grandparents are from here."

"Where are you from?"

"America." he answered, realizing "America" meant the whole continent over here. "United States."

"What state?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't know." the boy shrugged.

"Jersey." he sighed.

"Can I have a lira."

Ludovigo picked up his cigarette, taking a long drag "If I give you a buck, will you never talk to me ever again?"

"Maybe."

"Why 'maybe'? I'll give you what you want and you go away."

"What if I see you again and need a lira?"

"Then I'll shoot you! Okay I'm lying, I won't shoot you. Listen, go get the gelato man."

"Really?!"

"Yeah, tell him to come here." he finally gave in. The boy excitedly ran to the gelato man and hurriedly told him to come to the man sitting at Falcone's cafe.

The man slowly, and seemingly hesitantly, approached Ludovigo, greeting him "Buongiorno Gazzi."

"Buongiorno Guido. How much for a tub?"

"A-a tub?"

"Yeah, in your cart, you got ice cream in tubs right?"

"Yes."

"Then how much? I wanna buy one."

"I don't know." the salesman shrugged "Thirty-forty lira.."

"Bullshit it costs that much, don't you fucking scam me! Especially when they aren't full, you've been selling them all day."

"I have to consider how many sales I can make on one tub. I-I have extras in the cart. Full ones."

"Fuck it, here's fifty. Give the kid a tub."

"Are you sure?"

"Guess you don't want the money."

"FIne! Boy, which flavor?"

"Wow!" the boy had a life-giving smile on his face, causing even Ludovigo to smirk. He took a moment, thinking which. There was chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, mint chocolate chip, etc. The thinking was interrupted by a smack to the head by Ludovigo.

"Hurry up."

"Oh ok. Can I have the chocolate?"

"Sure boy." the gelato man smiled and gave him a fresh tub of chocolate ice cream. "Might want to hurry home. It'll be melted by the hour in this heat."

"Thank you so much!" he bowed his head to Guido before turning to Ludovigo "Thank you Mister Gazzi. So much!" before running to what was assumed to be the direction of his home, carrying a smile the whole way.

"That was a waste. Could have just given him a lira." Guido chimed in.

"If I wanted your opinion I would've asked, that's why your selling ice cream. Now bug off." Guido walked away mumbling curses at Ludovigo as he pushed his cart towards the excited kids.

Soon, Ludovigo's long-awaited associates finally showed up, greeting him with a kiss on each cheek before sitting down.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"A Proposal"

Royal Palace
Morning
March 2019

His Majesty Cleone IV sat at his desk, normally he had an indifferent face from all the paperwork, which he didn't mind, the less-immediate and important stuff mostly went to their proper handlers anyways. But today he was visibly unenthusiastic because in front of him sat the French Pact, or rather the representatives: Jean-Pierre de Bourbon, their senior most member. And the Pact's actual appointed representative, Claude DuBois. They had apparently come to make a very important proposal, one which wasn't disclosed as of yet.

The two sat in silence, waiting as His Majesty was reviewing some documents, giving each other side-eyes as they waited. Bourbon had a rather condescending view of His Majesty, and Cleone in turn wasn't too friendly with the French houses himself. Their tension stemmed from a long history between the two demographics that made up a majority of Lux Pulchrae, the Italians and French. In fact, the whole existence of the French Pact was due to the warring between the houses. But that was neither here nor there.

"So, on to the matter at hand." the young king said, putting the aforementioned documents down on his desk and sweeping his hair back with his hand. His Majesty had grown into a fine young man. He had a strong nose with a thick black beard. His fondness for the sun could be seen on his tanned, yet light, skin. Despite how hot it was, he still wore his full military-esque suit. "Why are you here?"

"Of course Your Majesty." Bourbon bowed his head "We come here with the most fine proposal you will ever hear." the patriarch was now older but not decrepit. While old, his attitude was somewhat youthful and his head still had his soft white hair, although short and balding now. He kept a pencil mustache above his lip, as if it were proof he was of the old guard, an era long passed.

"Your deposition?" Cleone smiled in a jesting tone.

"Ha, good one Your Majesty." Bourbon begrudgingly humored him. "But no, I come here at my most sincerest, I only ask that you show the same charity to me."

"You're right, forgive me then." the king sighed.

"It's okay. Now, we, with the full weight of the Pact, come to you with a peace offering."

"A peace offering?"

"Yes. A proposal to be exact." Claude spoke. He was a middle aged man and showing signs of balding, wearing a plain brown suit compared to Bourbon's usual striped navy blue.

"What? You want me to marry?" Cleone joked again. Then silence. A bit too long. He saw the looks on their faces, lips ready to smirk. "Oh no, I'm right aren't I?"

"It's just a thought that we wanted to run by you, Your Majesty." the representative assured. "This most tumultuous time between the two people's, the attack on Princess Isabella and the others in the January visit. The backlash with the National Police did not bode well for some of our people. Who in turn pushed back on some of your own. We figured that was the problem, we keep dividing ourselves amongst ourselves. Me, Lord Bourbon, and others have discussed constantly, we cannot keep existing like this. We have to stop thinking of ourselves as different people and start seeing ourselves as compatriots first and foremost. We are happy to humble ourselves Your Majesty. We just need your humility as well."

"Quite the moving speech Monsieur Claude. And while I agree with your sentiments, truly, I have doubts. You are right, that dividing ourselves is very unhealthy for the nation. For the people. But what would I do? How would this unity come about? Would you have me remove the cultures of your people, of the Spanish Coast? Of Alemania? Become a monolith and undoing centuries of history? That would cause greater upset. We are too set-in-stone for that kind of drastic change."

"Your Majesty, I see your contentions but none of this is meant to be immediate. This is the future of the nation I'm speaking of. And it starts with one step at a time. We burn up our misgivings, our bad histories and unite. You yourself come from mixed houses-"

"Be VERY careful with your words DuBois," Cleone sternly warned.

"Forgive me Your Majesty. But your mother is of the Spanish houses, no? And your father of the Italians. How would this be any different?"

"The difference, representative, is that those houses do not share the rivalry that our people do. There is no tension. Our histories are far too deep in bloodshed and mistrust."

"All of it can be washed away. When they see you with one of our own, of the most illustrious house, the people will warm up to the idea of unity. It's not like these types of marriages haven't worked before."

"I want nothing more than peace in this nation. But I'm still unsure."

"It's not like any previous relationships have worked out, correct? Who was that one Medici suitress?"

"Fredrica de Medici." Cleone sighed in response, rubbing his forehead "Yeah she was something. "

"And there was that one Arabess a some years ago." Bourbon chimed in.

"Not Arab and not a suitress...and who the hell told you about that?" he glanced at him.

Bourbon shrugged "Word spreads in noble halls." looking off in the distance.

"Anyways Your Majesty," Claude continued "please, we beg. Give it at least a week's thought."

The King backed up in his chair a bit, and slowly spun it around. The two guests interpreted it as a moment of thought before he returned to face them "Firstly, it's not that I have a lack of suitresses, I get letters and offers weekly." he said almost as a boast "It's just...I don't see an immediate need for one. You know? My father in his damn forties when he met my mother. My grandfather even older. That one was weird. Nonetheless gentlemen, I remain a doubting Thomas in this situation."

"Then we are sorry to have wasted your time Your Majesty." Claude bowed his head.

"No no, it wasn't a waste. Your intentions are well meaning. Perhaps I just have to soften up to the idea. A marriage is no easy task." he thought for another moment before speaking "A week to think about this sounds good actually. I'll discuss this with others and see what happens. You can come back in a week, both of you." His Majesty stood up from his chair.

The two stood as well, excitement could be seen on their faces, or at least DuBois'. "Thank you Your Majesty. Truly this meeting was an honor. We will not disappoint next time."

"Don't worry about it." He presented his ring to them. Each of the two leaned to kiss his hand, one of the utmost signs of humility and obedience. "All three of us, we shall pray on it."

"Yes of course Your Majesty. The future of our nation is at stake." Bourbon chuckled before he and Claude exited the office through its thick wooden doors.

Royal Guards standing outside the office ushered them out of the palace. From his balcony which faced the courtyard, Cleone watched as the two walked out the palace gates. It was going to be a long week of thinking.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Tryouts"

Legnomaggio, Basso Province
Night
March 2019

"HUP! HUP! HUP! HUP-HUP-HUP!" was all that could be heard as Bacchi stood in the hallway shadowboxing, wearing blue kickboxing shorts. Down the hall was the entrance to the ring. He awaited Cato who was getting some hot water. But Bacchi didn't mind waiting, he could shadowbox forever to his heart's content. Of course, he didn't go heavy before a fight. The sweat he worked up caused his body to glisten under the light. His fair skin glaring.

Even though he was young, he had an impressive physique. Arms and legs packed with muscle, a neck thick enough to challenge a noose. He wasn't grotesquely muscular like say, a bodybuilder, but one could tell it was a fighter's body. With that body came a surprisingly boyish face unharmed by his life of fighting. Whereas the rest of him, one can see the occasional scarring on his back or his chest or arms and legs, but especially his feet and his fists. If one traveled to his knuckles from his fingertips, one could see the a bumpy road-map of scars. That was his pride which one could take it away from him.

"Hey kid. Got the water." Cato arrived holding a bucket.

"Good." he smiled as he finished up his imaginary opponent with a right hook to the chin. "There we go."

"Here." Cato said as he handed Bacchi a towel "Don't want you touching me when you're all sweaty like so dry yourself off when you're done."

"I'll try."

As they got closer, more and more commotion could be heard behind the door. Neither was expecting a crowd, but here they were. Surrounding the ring were what seemed like local fighting fans who came to watch a show.

"Gee you would've thought this kind of fight wouldn't attract a crowd like this. Easily two hundred people." Cato noticed, which was a rather fair observation. Fights in the underground have a usual rule of being "anything goes". And by "anything", they mean anything. What would be illegal in pro-fighting leagues is all fair game here. Eye-gouges, crotch shots, biting, finger-breaking, etc. Nothing was out of bounds. The winner won by knockout or submission or until it was clear that he could no longer continue. So this crowd was pretty impressive.

They approached the ring which was rather odd-looking. Instead of being a ring set up above the floor. it appears the ring was in the ground so now the ring floor was level with the gym floor. Several people noticed them enter and began cheering. They were especially noticed by a couple of men in suits who began to walk in their direction.

"Here kid, lemme wrap your hands."

"Oh, yeah."

"Mister Cato and Bacchi I presume?" one of them said "We're with Combattimento Massimo, we're here on official behalf." official relative to the fighting league that is.

"Yeah yeah, pleasure to meet you. Hey you sure it's safe to have all these people here?"

"Oh don't worry about them. This is a Massimo-affiliated gym. These guys know what's up. No one's gonna bother us here. Bacchi?"

"Yeah?"

"We've heard great things about you. We hope you don't disappoint. You'll be fighting another tryout today."

"Yeah so I've heard. Who is he? What's his style?"

"We'll save that for the ring. But Massimo has heard a lot about you, and had asked us to personally wish you good luck. You get this, and you're in. You'll be in a league of the strongest fighters Bellaluce has to offer." patting him on the arm, the two officials left to their ringside seats.

The ring announcer saw the two about to enter the ring and started up his bit "Ladies and gentlemen thank you for the wait and welcome to this qualifying match! The winner will go on to fight in the illustrious Combattimento Massimo! Tonight's match will be an interesting one! About to enter the ring: fighting in the pankration style, from Alto Province, standing at one-hundred and seventy-six centimetres, weighing in at eighty-five kilograms, you might know him already or not at all, the boy making waves in the Alto Province fight scene, the Champion of Battaglia, Bacchi!" cheers and applause were heard as Bacchi pulled on the top ropes of the ring, using them to jump into the ring, garnering some more cheers.

"And entering the ring now, from the plains of Africa, coming here with nothing but the clothes on his back and mouthpiece in his mouth. He has been bursting through the Basso underground while being absolutely unheard of! Fighting in the Senegalese wrestling style, he has more than proven his worth to compete in Lux Pulchrae underground and is now setting his sights on new heights! Measuring at one-hundred and eighty centimetres, weighing in at an impressive ninety-eight kilograms, the Warlord of Senegal, the Black Beast, Omar Ndiaye!"

From the opposite side Omar stepped into the ring, while not in any flashy way, still displaying an air of confidence. Appearing to have worked up a sweat as well, glaring in stark contrast to his darker complexion. He was big too, like a wall. He had a wide chest and broad shoulders, his arms were packed dense with muscle. He wore white compression shorts, typical of many fighters. While his left hand was wrapped in typical cloth hand-wrapping, his right hand was wrapped in what looked like rope. Tightly wound and rough looking rope too. Some in the crowd took notice of this, especially Bacchi. Omar looked at his opponent, flexing his already massive arms and chest. Letting out a big smile.

"I won't try to kill you, but don't be surprised if you're put in a coma my friend." Omar spoke in French. Bacchi merely leaned on his corner with a smirk.

"Fighters, to the center!" the referee called on them. "Shake hands. You know the rules, apart from weapons, anything goes. Now back to your corners."

The two retreated, Omar began taking an orthodox stance and Bacchi calmly bounced up and down before taking up an orthodox stance as well.

"Hey kid, sorry to take your focus away, I know you wanna concentrate but good luck!" Cato wished him from the side while the fighter kept his focus entirely on his opponent. Uncertain if he even heard.

"Fight!" the referee called and backed away, allowing the two fighters ample room to approach each other. Omar inched closer and closer, taking small steps with his left hand out and open as if he were looking to grab his opponent. Bacchi, while in his stance, moved closer and closer. His hands were half-closed but were ready to strike nonetheless.

"The two slowly move towards each other, probably analyzing the other." the commentator spoke. "Who will be the first to strike?"

"HUP!" Bacchi released a grunt and launched a right-kick to Omar's head, who was barely able to block it. The kick had sent him tumbling to the floor. Bacchi took a step back, looking at his work.

"It's a hit! It looks like the Warlord was barely able to block. Just narrowly avoiding a devastating strike by the Battaglia champion!"

Omar looked up to see Bacchi simply waiting, it appears he wants to keep this standing up. But this seemed more like an insult than a kind gesture. Quickly getting up, he got back into his stance. "That damn brat." he thought to himself. "Waiting around like I was some child. He's doing this on purpose."

"Hey idiot, what's with the rope?" Bacchi goaded "You know we've evolved right? That's why we have hand wraps now. You don't have to wear ropes anymore. I'm pretty sure they have internet down there."

Knowing exactly what he was up to, Omar remained calm, getting closer again "This rope is not for me. For your face."

"Oh so he can speak."

"Your trick does not work." throwing a jab with his left, measuring his distance.

Bacchi threw his own strikes in combination, but Omar proved to be an agile opponent as he was able to dodge most of them. Seeing that he was about to throw a straight right, Omar decided to close the distance, slipping Bacchi's straight, landing a spinning right-elbow. All in seamless fashion.

"And Bacchi is hit with an absolutely devastating elbow! An almost novice mistake, he falls to the ground! Oh, and it looks like the Warlord is waiting as well."

He sat up, but remained on the floor. He saw that he had been at the other end this time and was being waited on. Rubbing his cheek, he stood back up, "How courteous of you. Such a gentleman, letting me get back up. Any lower and you might have broken my jaw. This is gonna bruise badly."

"Get up and fight me boy."

The two once more returned to their stances. The Champion and the Warlord face each other. In a swift motion, Omar grabbed Bacchi's far wrist and uppercut him with his right hand, dazing him. He want on to pummel the boy's face, who in turn, started pummeling as well. It was a straight up slugfest. Bacchi switched stances with his left now being his rear hand to generate more power, but his left hand isn't exactly his right hand, and Omar's rope was starting to cut and sting. The two went at it, bruising, cutting, bleeding. This went on for about thirty seconds until a knee flew into Omar's face, separating them.

"What a furious exchange! Neither came out of this unhurt but it looks like our domestic fighter was dealt the worst hand. His left cheek is cut up a bit, hopefully his eye is okay."

The two fighters stood at opposite ends of the ring, circling it and catching their breath. The crowd was still coming off the high of their exchange, shouting "advice" or just telling either of them to start killing the other.

"The announcer," Bacchi huffed "said your style is wrestling. But you strike using Dambe."

The Warlord's interest was piqued as he momentarily raised his eyebrows in a surprise before smiling, mouthguard showing. "Ahhh, we have a studier of martial arts? How did you know? Did you look into me?"

"Hell no, I only just heard of you. Wasn't too hard. I imagine you started out with wrestling but that wasn't complete enough. Plus the one hand all roped up basically told me. But all you've shown me is striking. Show me how good your wrestling is."

"Seems you are misinformed about Senegal wrestling. Grappling is primary, but punches are legal. And I decide if you are worthy to wrestle."

"Fine." Bacchi sighed as he casually walked up to Omar, to everyone's surprise. Like he was in the park.

Quickly taking his stance, he attempted a front kick with left leg but it was stopped by Bacchi's hands, who pushed the leg all the way up while taking a step back, putting him in an even more uncomfortable position. Then, he swept the other leg, causing Omar to fall down.

"And a knockdown! He looked as if he was taking a leisurely stroll and tripped him! How embarrassing!"

"Am I worthy yet, 'Warlord'?" he mocked.

Omar was starting to get frustrated. He stood up and began throwing one-two combinations. It's as if they were dancing with Bacchi dodging, slipping, swaying back and rolling. It appeared that he clearly outmatched his opponent.

Slipping a right punch, Bacchi delivered an uppercut and then a right inside kick to Omar's right thigh. "How did you ever make it this far?"

The Warlord had had enough and as soon as he was in range, he shot for a double leg, only to be met with a powerful right knee to the face. His nose took most of the hit and had began bleeding profusely.

"What a knee to the face! A perfectly timed strike to the nose has cause the Warlord to bleed! He baited him in!"

The two were now clinched up as the commentator spoke. Pushing, pulling, grabbing arms, pulling arms away. Until Omar had the better positioning and hip-tossed from his right side.

"Is this what you wanted?" he smiled. "To be under me like this?"

With no response, he trapped Bacchi's right arm with his legs and began pounding into his face with his left hand. All Bacchi could do was try to block with his own left hand. They were relatively weak but they weren't something to brush off either. The problem came when Omar shifted himself so his body face downward, still trapping the arm with his legs. Now the elbows came. He tried to get a hold on Bacchi's left arm but to no avail. He resumed dropping elbows.

With the power of his lower body, Bacchi pushed up against the canvas and rolled over, ending up on top. He had a wide-eyed almost terrifying smile as he returned the favor and dropped elbows and hammerfists like a madman. Holding one arm under his right leg, he used his left leg to knee Omar right in the ear, greatly stunning him. Capitalizing on the moment, he performed an armbar.

"Tap out now or I'll break your arm!" Bacchi threatened.

"Fuck you!"

"I'm only going to ask this once more! Tap out!" although his threat might have rung hollow as the armbar was not complete enough, only applying pressure. He tried to leverage himself to break the arm.

In a rash but bold move, Bacchi rolled over, twisting the already caught arm and gaining the necessary leverage. "TAP!"

"NO!"

"He has him in a devastating armbar! What will he-"

The announcer was cut off by a snap. It was Omar's arm. Members of the crowd cringed at the sound. Bacchi let go, rolling into a stand up position. A couple of heavy breaths and to the corner he went, watching the prideful fighter facing down with his arm bent the wrong way.

"Can you continue?"

"Does it look like I can?" he answered weakly yet nonchalantly. The referee helped him get up guiding the injured fighter to his corner, then lifting Bacchi's arm in victory.

"Winner!" the announcer declared, being followed by a roaring of the crowd.

Cato entered the ring to clean up his fighter and congratulate him. "You. Are. The. KING!" he lauded while wiping Bacchi's face. "You did it! We made it into the big leagues!"

The victor groggily headed over to the loser's corner, seeing that he was being attended to by medics. "You fought good Warlord. It was an honor."

Omar nodded in appreciation but remained quiet. Putting up his left fist for Bacchi to bump, showing that they were on decent terms.

And with that, the Cato and Bacchi left the ring to clean up.

"Gentlemen." the two previously met officials called for them. The man reached inside his jacket, pulling out an rectangular package, it looked rather thick too. "Your winnings."

"Whoa, it's a lot thicker than the usual winnings."

"And that's just the beginner's. If you make it up the ranks, that's when you'll be real surprised."

"If we make it up the ranks?" Bacchi spoke through his swollen cheek "More like when I make it. Might as well crown me now."

"You're funny kid. Massimo knows about your win tonight. He wants to meet you. When's the earliest you two can come down?"

"Eh, maybe a week. After my boy is all healed up and all. Can't see Massimo looking like gutter trash ya know?"

"I can meet him tonight."

"Shut up. You can barely talk. Standing is a miracle for you. Anyways guys, uh, I'll give you my number-no, you give me your number and I'll let you guys know."

"Seems fair enough." the official agreed. "Pleasure to meet you boys, have a good night." saying their farewells, the officials left to attend to other matters at the venue.

The empty bus ride back home was mostly quiet, mostly. Cato had gone out and bought some liquor for "the two of us", but he knew Bacchi didn't drink. Drunk ramblings and cheering were tonight's music while he walked up and down the aisle, occasionally earning a smile from the tired fighter.

"You seem excited."

"Hell yeah I'm excited!" the inebriated manager affirmed "You-you did great. Who woulda thought a drifter like you would get this far?"

"No one I guess." he humored him.

"Exactly-" the rest of his ramblings sounds like pure gibberish.

Eventually, Bacchi's tiredness got the better of him as he laid his head on the window, falling into a deep sleep.

Getting tired himself, perhaps partly due to his drunkenness, Cato sat back down next to his fighter. "Don't worry. After seeing that fight, it's gonna be-gonna be an even fifty-fifty split. No more thirds for you. Even less money for me, but you've earned it."

Drunk and asleep, they headed home.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Need Advice?"

Royal Palace
Morning
April 2019

In the Royal Palace's chapel, after the celebration, silence filled the air as the priest entered the sacristy. As he waited, the loud silence was usually broken, either by the creaking of wooden pews, the occasional door that was being opened somewhere in the palace, the footsteps of servants or even the breathing of fellow attendants. But His Majesty didn't mind, it didn't distract him too much from prayer.

Cleone didn't usually overstay himself at the chapel after his prayers but today he did. Soon he was alone until the palace chaplain, Father Rossi, walked up to him. He was a thin man in his fifties, naturally wearing a cassock, and his hair was graying from it's original black color. By this point the chapel was being bathed in the morning sunlight through the windows and the pews empty.

"Good morning Your Majesty." he greeted as he sat next to the king.

"Father, you know I'm no king here. There's only one." motioning his head to the tabernacle. "I'll always be Cleone in this chapel."

"Cleone the Fourth it is." Rossi joked, managing to get a chuckle out of him.

"I suppose it is."

"So, what is it this time? You're usually not in here this long. Need a confession?"

"No Father, not yet at least."

"Need advice?"

Cleone took a deep breath before a long sigh "It's just, the other day I had a meeting with the Pact. You know, Bourbon and his people."

"Mhm."

"They suggested I get married to ease these...tensions between our people."

"Oh now I see. Were they all ugly and that's why you haven't decided yet?"

"No, I didn't even agree or see any of their would-be suitresses."

"So what's the deal?"

"I don't know." he struggled to collect the right words "Maybe I don't want to marry. Maybe what they are selling me is a half-baked idea."

"So their idea is that you marrying one of theirs will ease relations between our two peoples, but you don't think it will be that easy?"

"Essentially. And I brought this up to them, they assured me that it was of course not meant to be an immediate fix. Think of it like disinfecting a wound before treating it."

"Mmm. What tensions are so prevalent that you need to marry them?"

"You know. The whole history between our two peoples. The history of blood, the cultural divides, the fighting, threats of secession, et cetera. Not to mention every now and then some protest or rally that the police have to go and put down. I can't have that happen and look like a good guy to them. Not to mention that so called Robespierre back in January. Who knows the kind of people working with him."

"That is a terrifying thought." he agreed "But maybe with this marriage, you'll be seen as a good king in their eyes. Show that you have absolutely no problem with them. And why should you have a problem? They're your countrymen too, no? You all live under the same flag. You all have the same king, correct?"

"Correct."

"You know, when Italy was uniting, not everyone wanted a unified Italy, for similar reasons you find here today. But eventually Italy became..well, Italy."

"Tell that to the Papal States." the king lightly shot back. So far in the conversation, they've yet to look at each other. While they talked, they looked up ahead at the altar.

"My point being, Cleone, that eventually you are going to have to settle. Give up. One of you anyways. Plus, the Vatican eventually settled with the Italian state."

"Yeah, sixty-seventy odd years later. I like to think I'm a stubborn man Father, I don't give up easily."

"That is your pride speaking. And not the good kind either. Remember your duty as king, your God-given duty. Don't let human pride cloud your judgment."

"I'll try."

Their conversation took a break for a moment. More silence, and the silence filled with more creaking.

"You mentioned that maybe you don't want to marry." Rossi again broke the silence "Why is that?"

"Father, I do enough as it is as king, I don't want to worry about a wife. I don't want to deal with a wife."

"What and ugly thing to say! You don't want to deal with a wife?"

"I have enough on my plate as it is. It's not a selfishness Father, I promise."

"Then why?"

"I just feel that, you know, I won't love her enough." he hesitantly admitted.

"Aww how cute. Have you been watching soap operas with the maids now?" the priest's teasing turned into a laugh, which was met by Cleone's stonefaced expression warming up to a smirk. "Is that really it?"

"Yeah kinda."

"You imbecile, being the king is exactly why you should have a wife. You're not the busiest man in the world, are you? And if you are, you have countless servants to help you. Advisors upon advisors. Family members upon family members. Handlers for almost every responsibility. Are you just nervous? Scared? It had to be me to tell you this?" Rossi pointed to himself "Your father, your grandfather, great-grandfather, the family before your family, the Ofidiani. Do you know why they are here? Because they had families. You as a man, as a non-ordained man, especially as king, should have a wife. You'd be wasting your youth, your biology."

"But my family got in the throne because the last Ofidiani king didn't have a family."

"It strengthens my point even more! Lord God forbid you and your whole family sick and die," he crossed himself at the notion "what then? No more d'Angeli lineage because you were too scared to marry."

"So you're saying I've been making excuses for myself?"

"Glad to see you've finally noticed Your Majesty. It is no different than making excuses for not going to confession. 'Oh I woke up too late. There's no priest available. Ugh the line is too long.' See my meaning? If your goal, and the Pact's goal, is to ease these tensions as a nation and that marriage has more than a zero percent chance of accomplishing that goal, what is the worry?"

Just then their conversation was interrupted by the opening of the chapel doors, the two looked back to find that it was a servant, Luca to be precise. "Your Majesty, your mother wishes to see you."

"Give me a minute, I'll be out soon." he responded. Luca bowed his head and left. Looking back to Rossi, Cleone thought to end the conversation there as he stood up "Father, I think I might give the Pact a chance. Although I do wish to continue this conversation possibly tomorrow."

"Well, you'll know where I'll be." he motioned his arm to the chapel with a smirk. "Or in the gardens, they do a pretty good job, I like to look at the flowers."

"Father, you asked what was my worry, before we were interrupted."

"Ah yes, it was more rhetorical but you still have any?"

"Yes, my mother being one of them." Cleone quickly but reverently genuflected before the alter and tabernacle before leaving.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Matilde"(Need Advice Part 2)

After the talk with Rossi, His Majesty went to his mother. His shoes clacked against marble floor as he passed through halls, he was greeted with light bows by the occasional servant, returning a smile. As it was morning, there was only one place the she could be, the family dining room.

Apart from the dining hall, which was reserved more for special dinners and large gatherings, the family dining room was where they went for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was homier and more personal, much to Queen Mother Valencia's liking. In the back of the dining room there was a door to the kitchen, which differed from the kitchen meant for the dining hall.

Cleone finally reached the dining room, pushing it's double doors, he saw his mother having her morning coffee and toasted bread, reading the news. Her greying black hair tied up in a ponytail, still in her old purple night gown. When the doors opened, she looked up to see her son.

"Mijo" she smiled as Cleone approached her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Good morning." he sat in a seat adjacent to her.

"Would you like a coffee?"

"Nah. You wanted to see me?"

"Ah yes. I did."

"So...what was it?"

"I can't ask to see my son?"

"I guess you can."

"Were you at the morning mass?"

"Yeah. Had a talk with Father Rossi about the thing."

"Thing?" she asked as she dunked her bread in her coffee. "What thing?" her mouth full.

"You know, the Pact thing."

"Oh. Did you get anywhere with that?"

"Maybe. I just might."

The news caused Valencia to look up from her coffee "You might?"

"I don't see why not. It could be beneficial to us."

"I'm not so sure. Don't jump into something like this so willingly." she sipped her coffee.

"Well, if it could help Bellaluce, why not? I mean, obviously I have to see the options they lay out for me."

"Ugh, why waste your time?"

"Okay, what is it? What's your problem?" Cleone asked, frustrated.

"Don't take that tone with me." she chided back "I have no problem at all. I just don't agree much with you looking for women of that caliber. Look for someone more...humble. Noblewomen tend to be much."

"And you?"

"Don't say that like I haven't told you about my life plenty of times." she sarcastically clutched at pearls. "You know I grew up in a humble family."

"Relatively, right?"

"Yes, we lived in a big house, but we lived with enough for the family and that was it. Your grandfather's duty was merely that, his duty. He didn't revel in the luxury of his status. Do you know why I like this dining room? This kitchen? Out of almost anywhere else in the palace?"

"No, I didn't think you had a favorite place."

"It's because that's how it was in my home. It was simple. I sometimes made my own meals as a girl growing up, I used to make all of you kids your meals too. And why? Because I knew how to. We were taught how to be women back then. Not like these girls today. That's why I don't want you marrying a noble girl. At least not one from a high-class family. She won't be a good wife for you."

"Then I'll go to some bum-hick town and find the dirtiest, raggedy girl I can find, yeah?" Cleone smiled, placing his elbows on the table.

"You know what I mean. But it's just my advice."

"Isn't that what the ONMI is for? Teaching girls?"

"The ONMI? Have you ever been?"

"Why would I? I'm not a girl."

"Most of them are practically an after-school daycare these days."

"Hmm, never thought about it."

"Why do you think Isabella rarely went?"

"She had everything she could possibly need here! Why would I care if she went or not?"

"Well, it's a good place to meet other girls, I should've taken her there more often." Valencia reminisced.

The ONMI they spoke of, or the Opera Nazionale per la Maternità ed Infanzia(National Organization for Motherhood and Infancy), was a national organization that assisted in the fields of motherhood and womanhood. The organization provided maternal education for new, expecting, and aspiring mothers. It also provided assistance, as well as actual daycare for children, despite the queen mother's comment. The ONMI also helped single mothers by providing them with housing and food while helping to find jobs and other homes. It usually worked in collaboration with local parishes for homes and local secondary schools for extracurricular activities. Girls typically start going to the ONMI at around fourteen or fifteen, and usually at the behest of their mothers, but girls that age would use it to hangout.

In recent years however, the organization has declined from the grandeur it had during the Second World War and the post-war era. But it still did what it was supposed to, some places were better than others but oh well.

The royal mother and child sat in silence for a several minutes. Cleone rested his head on the table as if taking a nap, which he eventually did. Valencia looked at him, her youngest son, he was all grown up. He was the king now. His eyes closed and his breathing audible, as if he were a child again, except now he's bigger and stronger. She'd never be able to carry him. She almost couldn't believe it. What has him so tired?

At that moment, an idea hit her head. She quietly got up from her seat as to not disturb him, leaving him alone in the dining room altogether.

Soon, Cleone awoke, only to find himself alone and some of his sleeve wet from drool. "Ah dammit." he said as he felt his beard. Drying it off with a napkin, he looked around the room again. On the table, the coffee cup was still there. How long had he been asleep? Where'd his mother go? He checked the kitchen, no one. Not even a servant. Exiting the dining room, he was met with one of the maids, Claudia.

"Good morning Your Majesty." she bowed her head with a smile. She was a young blonde, her hair was tied back as per uniform. Really, her hair was the only reason Cleone could even remember her the most out of the others.

"Morning Claudia. Were you waiting for me?"

"Oh no, sir, I just happened to be walking by."

"Oh okay. Do you have the time?"

"Um. No. There isn't a clock in the dining room?"

"No. Well whatever, I'll go check somewhere else. Thank -"

"Oh wait Majesty, your mother said should anyone see you, to tell you that she is in the nursery."

"Thank you Claudia. Have a good day."

"To you as well." she bowed her head before leaving.

Cleone sighed as he realized he had to trek to the nursery, all the way outside. On the palace grounds, there were several housings where daily servants lived. Some were young, some were old, some had families and some were simply single. Those who chose to live on the palace grounds, and had children as old as four, could have them taken cared for and that's where the nursery came in. As he approached, Cleone peeked through the window before entering. He saw his mother tending to the infants along with some other maids.

Knocking on the door, he had entered anyways. The first room of the nursery was a general play area, followed by the sleeping area in the next room behind it. Several of the children noticed him and greeted him. Valencia noticed him as well and smiled.

"Hello there. How was the nap?" she teased. She appeared to have showered and changed to a more casual red dress.

"Yeah, speaking of, what time is it?" he asked, still unsure.

"It's around...eleven?" Valencia tried to remember, then checked her watch. "Yup, eleven thirty-six."

"I was asleep for three hours?" he tried to keep his voice down in front of the children.

"You looked tired, I didn't want to wake you. I'm sorry."

"You're lucky I don't have much to do today."

"Okay shut up and come here."

"What is it?"

"Look." she gestured her head to the sleeping room. The door had a peeking window, there he saw two maids tending to the napping babies, Head Maidservant Cardenale and an another who he didn't know.

"What is it? Bunch of sleeping babies?"

"No idiota. The maid."

"Which one. Cardenale or the other one?"

"The other one. Why would I have you look at Cardenale?"

"Maybe she did something with her hair? So who's the other one?"

"That is Matilde."

"And Matilde is...?"

"She is your humble girl."

"What? Her?" Cleone could only give a shocked half-smile as he couldn't believe his mother would try to set him up with a maid.

"She's cute right?"

Valencia wasn't wrong, she was rather cute. A dainty brunette with a round face, small nose, and full brows. She was busy rocking a baby to sleep. When she was done she saw that Valencia and Cleone were watching. The former was waving for her to come over.

"She is kind of cute. But I find it highly inappropriate."

"Why?"

"I'm essentially her boss. It feels off."

"She works for the palace, not you."

"When did she start working here?"

"About a month ago. She was part of the new hires. Me and Cardenale picked them out. Oh here she comes!"

Matilde made her way through the door and greeted the two with a bow "Your Majesties."

"Psst, Teresa." Valencia called on another maid present in the play area "Cardenale fell asleep, go tend to the infants."

"Yes ma'am."

"Did you need something ma'am?" Matilde spoke up. Her voice was soft and timid. She couldn't have been older than than twenty-three, by Cleone's guess.

"Yes, I did. I'd like you to meet my son."

Matilde smiled and bowed "Hello Your Maje-"

"Not like that!" Valencia interrupted "Shake his hand, like a normal person. He has a name."

The young maid looked a bit uncertain, looking to Cleone "May I?"

"Oh of course." he shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you Matilde."

"The same, Cleone. No offense ma'am but I doubt I need much of an introduction. Few in Bellaluce are ignorant of their own king. Or me of my boss."

"Yes but have you ever met him? Have you even spoken to him? Besides, I'm your boss."

"Uh, I'm right here." Cleone butted in, but he was promptly ignored.

"No ma'am. I can't say I have."

"You're a assigned to the nursery correct?"

Matilde cheekily looked around the room, smiling "I would say so."

"Don't get fresh. How would you like to work in the King's Section."

The two looked at Valencia with mouths agape. The area of the palace referred to as the "King's Section" was a section of the second floor that mainly included the king's office, study, and bedroom. Although the study is mostly used by Cleone's father, and even then he only ever goes there to nap.

"Mother can I speak to you a second?" he rhetorically asked as he grabbed her hand and walked out into the hall. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"Trying to set me up with her."

"Maybe."

"Well stop it. Please."

"I haven't done anything. I've merely assigned her."

"Well I already have Gio posted there and he wouldn't like someone added to his spot. Especially a maid."

"He doesn't like women?"

"No, I don't want a woman tending to my room."

"Then I'll leave her out of it."

"Leave her out of all of it." he demanded before peeking his head back into the room "Matilde, it was a pleasure to meet you." before leaving to his office.

"Goodbye." she smiled and waved as he left.

"You were so awkward." the queen mother critiqued as she sat back down, entertaining one of the toddlers.

"Well, it was so sudden. Why did you want me to meet him ma'am, if I may?"

"Me? He was the one that wanted to meet you."

"Really?" she tried not to smile.

"Of course, he kept talking about this one maid he saw the other week, she was so beautiful and all that. Would I lie?"

Matilde's only response was a shrug as she started to pick up toys from the floor "I just never expected him to want to meet me. I never even knew he was aware of me. He has no reason to."

"Maybe he saw you in the halls one time."

"Perhaps."

"So what do you say? About moving you?"

"I...wouldn't be opposed necessarily."

"Then I'll make the adjustments."

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Double Birthday"

Royal Palace
Evening
April 2019

On the eighth day of April, it was a day usually of celebration as this day was a "double birthday", celebrating the birthdays of Queen Mother Valencia and Grand Duke Marcello. Although they were born on the seventh and fourth respectively. The eighth was mostly a concession to Valencia's wanting of celebrating their birthdays together. A tradition started since his first birthday until he left for his own pursuits around age twenty-five. But in recent years, he has come back to the palace with his own family to celebrate, much to the Queen Mother's joy.

This was one of the rare years where everyone could make it, Marcello was obviously in attendance with his wife Ana Lucia and their kids Giovanni and Aurora. Pietro and his wife Sofia with their daughter Giuseppina. Isabella and her husband Michele di Minore. Valencia's parents Rodrigo and Izadora, her brother Tomas and his wife Maria with the now grown up Antonio and Lourdes.

And from the elder Cleone's side came his brother Giancarlo, his wife Constanza, their son Cesare, and Cleone's near-ninety-year old mother Isabella di Falcone.

"And...smile!" the photographer demanded as he lined up the camera to capture the family. "One more..." as a flurry of flashes near-blinded some. "Done!" he notified them, some relieved as they dropped their smiles and left from their place behind the table, meanwhile Marcello and Valencia stayed, the former grabbing a knife. He offered for his mother to hold it with him like they used to do. She gladly accepted with a smile, looking at what was in front of them, a big multi-tiered lemon cake, Valencia's favorite. The mother and son duo both held the knife, holding it over the cake as the guests cheered, reaching a crescendo as the knife was plunged into the white-frosted pastry. They stood still and smiled for the pictures before distributing the cake.

Marcello took a slice, walking over to Isabella, his grandmother "Nonna!" he called to her, she was sitting in a fine chair "Nonna, here's some cake."

The old woman smiled "Grazie mille Pietro."

"It's Marcello."

"Eh?" she put her right ear towards him. She wasn't senile, in fact she was pretty good for her age mentally speaking, but as old as she is she tended to mix things up.

"Marcello! Cake!" he handed it to her.

"Ah Marcello, I didn't recognize you. You got so big. How old?"

"Thirty-four."

"So old, you're almost like me now." she giggled.

Marcello leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek "Enjoy the cake nonna."

"Hey you, leave her alone!" Marcello heard behind him, it was an artificially deep and noticeably silly voice. He turned around and it was his father with a big grin and a glass of liquor in his hand, approaching him with a hug "Happy birthday son! Well, four days late."

"Yeah, mom wants to have her cake and eat it too."

"Some of us guys are going to the lounge after the cake. You up for it?"

"Yeah sure. Maybe when the kids are asleep."

"Good, see you then." patting Marcello's shoulder and off to his mother he went Mama!."

Meanwhile, Valencia was being congratulated by her other children. Pietro, Cleone and Isabella giving a group hug to their mother with her pecking each of them on their faces with a kiss. After, Pietro's wife Sofia, was carrying Giuseppina and presented her.

"Happy birthday buela!" the toddler exclaimed as she was picked up.

"Aww thank you so much more. kissing her curly brown-haired head "Have you enjoyed the party?"

"Yes."

"Where are your cousins?"

"I don't know gramma."

"Here they are." Ana Lucia responded with a smile, holding the hands of Giovanni and Aurora.

"My babies!" she hugged them "You're getting so big!", Aurora giggled while Gio put on a little "big boy" act and showed little emotion. Noting this, Valencia lightly pinched his cheek.

"Ow!"

"There we go." Valencia smiled "Love you!" she affirmed as they left for cake. Looking to Isabella and Cleone, she shrugged "I'm still waiting to hug your kids."

"Ughh mom!" Isabella walked away "Not now."

"Then when? Almost three years married-"

"Bye!" the princess interrupted her mother as she joined back with her husband, getting as far as possible.

"And you." she look to Cleone.

"Me? What did I do?"

"It's what you haven't done." she realized she was starting to get a bit hostile and stopped, sighing "Nevermind."

The rest of the evening went fine as the cake was enjoyed and talks were had. Soon, the evening turned to night, the kids were tuckered out with Ana Lucia offering to watch over them with a couple maids to help in turns, the ladies conversed in the dining hall with their teas and coffees while the men were in the lounge room.

In the lounge, behind the door, the air was thick. Thick with cigar smoke, the smell of tobacco, burning pine, and liquored breaths. It was awfully quiet too. There were two tables being occupied by two different generations. At one table you had the older generation sitting, drinking whiskey and smoking. The sitting order went Cleone, Rodrigo, Tomas and Giancarlo. At the other table you had the younger generation of Cleone, Pietro, Antonio, Marcello, Michele, and Cesare. They spent their time playing cards, and smoking and drinking as well. They played a classic game of sette e mezzo, but instead of money, bet with watered-down whiskey shots, Michele was the dealer. The boys were already on their sixth round and Cleone has yet to win.

"Alright, I lose one more..round, I'm quitting."

"Ahh come on! You barely drank!" Marcello egged him on.

"Cleo's always been a lightweight." Antonio teased, causing others to laugh "Who else was there at the party at uh...Carlo Genovesi's."

"Ah I remember that one." Pietro chimed in.

"Oh please, don't remind me." Cleone protested. "I lose one more and I'm taking a walk."

Michele dealt the cards face down, they all checked. Cleone almost broke his straight face when he saw he had a seven.

"Cleone?"

"I stay." refusing another card.

When the round was down, Michele flipped his cards. He had a seven and a face card. Cleone lost.

"Dammit!" he took a shot, to the amusement of others present as most of them lost as well. Feeling the numbness of the liquor creeping up on him, he decided to call it quits. "Alright," he stood up "I'm done for now, I'll take a little walk."

"Aw come on just wait it out here." Marcello proposed.

"No, if I stay in this room I won't come out of here sober."

He was met with the sucking of teeth from the others as they playfully shooed him away. Smiling, the king left, out into the hall he walked about.

"Come on. He's supposed to be your baby brother, not a baby." Cesare teased.

"Alright back up a bit Cici, he's still my brother, and your king." Marcello defended, a new round was starting as Michele was dealing cards.

"Hey, I remember when we were kids, I used to put him in the ground. Happily. Forgive me for my lack of any due respects here."

On the second floor, there was a balcony overlooking the palace grounds. The gardens, the quarters, the fountain, almost all of it could be seen from here. There was actually a nice breeze tonight, gentle but refreshing. Hands on the railing, Cleone breathed in the fresh air.

"Cleonel." a voice from behind called to him. He would've turned around but he already knew who it was. Only one person ever called him that. "It's been a while since I've been up here. It still looks nice." she said as she walked up next to him.

"Lourdes." he greeted her, still looking at the palace grounds.

"You're avoiding me. Aren't you?" she looked up at him "You didn't even turn your head. And you're still not looking at me."

"I'm not. I'm just clearing my head a bit."

"Then look at me."

Cleone sighed, turning his head. She wasn't cute anymore. She was beautiful. He had already seen her earlier with everyone else, but alone it was different. Her thick brunette hair, usually wavy and going past her shoulders, was straightened and cut shoulder-length. Her fair skin was as flawless as it was before. And she still had those big hazel eyes. Her level of natural beauty was quite high, needing little make up, if any. She was still small, maybe about a head shorter than Cleone. Dainty but with a good form.

"Was that so hard?" Lourdes had a sweet smile on her face.

"I guess not." he smirked.

Leaning her head on his shoulder, now both of them looking ahead. "I've been back for months and this is the first time we've talked."

"Is that my fault?"

Sighing, she grinned "I guess not." realizing she was repeating Cleone's answer. A silence grew between them. Like chess, or fighting, unsure of the first move, neither of them spoke. Lourdes' right arm slithered between Cleone's left until she reached his hand. Her fingers touched his, but his hand remained closed, she pushed further and he didn't offer any resistance until their fingers interlocked and their silence continued.

"How long have you been king?"

"About three years."

"Three years huh."

"Just about."

"I've missed so much. All the weddings, the kids, your coronation. My own brother's wedding." her voice was getting noticeably shaky, but she swallowed it down. "I haven't had anyone to talk to. My parents still think I'm a little girl. Antony has moved away."

"I heard you went on a little date with someone." he added, hopefully her mind would change from the situation present.

"Oh, yeah. It was Jose Aldo a couple weeks ago. He was nice, despite what Isabella told me."

"What'd she tell you?"

"Just some stuff. How he's not a serious man, or that he's a womanizer. But he didn't seem that way, he was very kind. Do you know him well?"

Scratching his head, Cleone tried to word it positively "I do know him. He's a decent guy, a bit of a bachelor attitude, sure, buy nothing too egregious. He actually used to come by here rather often about a year or two ago."

"Really? Why?"

"Hell if I know, just because? He just hung around. Mostly bothering me."

"I might take him up on a second date."

"That's good. You're getting out there, meeting people."

"I'm just not sure."

"About what?"

Their hands still entangled, Lourdes shyly rubbed her thumb on his "You know, our kind of people typically don't..date around like normal people do. The first one is usually the only one. And there's no one else lined up at the door." she continued to rub her thumb.

"Well.." Cleone tried his best to think of something "maybe others just haven't heard you're back yet or don't remember you well. You know, don't be a shut-in. You're...an attractive girl, surely someone will notice you. But you don't have to find somebody of your..caliber. There are many fine common folk, I assume. Hell, the coast has the most foreigners with all those tourists, maybe you'll meet a good American or something."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I don't see why not. It's not impossible."

"No. You think I'm attractive?"

"You're not ugly that's for sure."

"Oh." the tone of her voice shifted, sounding more cold.

"No that's not what I meant." quickly trying to correct his mistake "You're..you're beautiful Lourdes. Okay? I just don't want you getting the wrong idea when I say that."

"Why not?"

"Don't be foolish. You know why. I can't do this. We can't do this. Not then, and certainly not now." the king's voice sounder firmer than before.

"You're right. I'm sorry." she said, looking down.

"It's fine."

"You know, you've certainly grown since the last time I saw you. By a lot." she giggled as she poked Cleone's stomach. He wasn't fat, or chubby even, he certainly had a decent build for someone of his office, but a stubborn stomach.

"Hey knock that out!" he chuckled "Not my fault the kitchen cooks good food. But don't worry, I'm getting it down. I swear. I got back into wrestling a couple months ago. I'll have a 'summer body' in no time, like the Americans say."

"More like a winter body." she continued to make fun. The two had a little laugh for a moment.

"Hey lighten up on me, winter was like a week ago." Cleone played along.

"Was the beard from the hibernation too?"

"Ah no, that was from me being lazy. I like it. I think it's a good look. When's the last time someone in my position had a beard?"

"I couldn't tell you."

"Exactly. It's a good way to stand out."

They soon quieted down again, still looking ahead, still holding hands.

"Cleonel?"

"Yeah?"

"Me quieres?"

"Huh? Of course I do."

"Me amas?" she rubbed her thumb slowly.

He didn't have an answer. Or rather, he didn't want to answer. He remained quiet, not sure how to proceed. With no answer, he thought best to leave. "I have to go." he turned to leave, but his left arm yanked him back as Lourdes gripped his hand tighter.

"Wait.."

"Please let go-"

"Wait!" she pleaded "Please wait." her voice softened. Grabbing Cleone's lapels, she looked up at him, eyes starting to get full of tears. They started to stream down her face "Please..." she said even softer as she pulled him towards her, closing her eyes. Her lips pecked his, then again. And again.

Almost out of pity, Cleone finally reciprocated. Grabbing her waist, their kiss got more passionate. He thought it was out of pity, however, he wasn't sure anymore. Maybe he told himself it was out of pity to feel better about what he was doing. After about a minute or two, Lourdes presented her neck to him. Approaching it, he gave it a kiss before he had truly realized what was going on. In that moment, he separated himself from her.

"I'm sorry." she placed her face to his chest.

"It's okay."

"I'm sorry."

"I said it's okay." Cleone assured her "We just..never do this ever again. Got it?"

Lourdes nodded nervously, tears calmly fell. "I'm sorry."

"Lourdes...please get over me. It'd be better for both of us." he left the balcony, going back to the lounge. Lourdes remained for several minutes. Leaning on the railing, she wiped her tears away.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Sunken Hearts"

Saint-Vincent, Nice Province
Afternoon
April 2019

A small cafe in the town of Saint-Vincent was about to close up for the day, owned by Pepe Beltreau and operated by his family. Cleaning up at the counter was his wife Minnie and sweeping the floors was their daughter Claire. Their youngest and oldest sons, Claude and Sebastian, were out getting ingredients, at least, they were supposed to be. The married couple were well into their forties, although Minnie seemed to age well compared to her husband, despite being a year older.

"They should be back by now." Pepe stared out the large window by the front door.

"Maybe they stopped for some sweets. You gave them too much for the inventory, again." Minnie suggested.

"Yeah that's a just-in-case money."

"Just in case?"

"Just in case Andres tries to rip the boys off. But Sebas should know better." Pepe was a gruff man. Thick but strong, you'd think he was a butcher. And maybe he was. Not a cafe runner. Then, he saw someone approach the cafe in an extremely rushed pace. He was damn-near sprinting. "What the hell? Is that Jean-Martin?"

The man soon reached the door, opening it violently. Pepe was prepared to hit him but he spoke up "Pierre do you have a television?"

"What? Yeah of course. The corner one up on the wall."

"Turn it on! Turn it on now! Minerva, please."

Minnie quickly looked for the remote control while Claire tried to turn it on manually with the power button. She eventually did and a terrible sight was displayed. The Notre Dame of Paris had been on fire. Claire covered her mouth in disbelief. Minnie had dropped the remote that she had finally found.

"Mon Dieu." Pepe crossed himself, also shocked.

"It's been breaking news since it happened about an half an hour ago." Jean told him.

The family soon closed up shop and headed to the local church as soon as they could. But by the time they got there, it was packed. Throughout the country, but especially in the French Quarter, churches were full. Full of prayers and people, some have even began kneeling outside. Rosaries and all manners of prayer were prayed. All through out the region church bells rang. Rich and poor alike, workers and lazies. Butchers with blood on their shirts, manual laborers with dirtied pants. People that haven't been to church in months and years attended. Even the beggars stopped begging in the French Quarter that day. People say even the dogs attended church. Some churches remained full throughout the entire fifteen hour ordeal into the next day. Others for longer.

A national day of mourning was had the next day and masses offered. The day was somber. Many shops and businesses in the Quarter were closed.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Welcome to the Big Leagues"

Citta di Fiore, Fiore Province
Afternoon
April 2019

The fighting duo were back on the move. Their meeting with Massimo was pushed back a week due to his business schedule. But the two busied themselves with other means while they waited. Bacchi sparred with local gyms while Cato was..doing his job. Didn't matter now as they were about to finally meet the big boss. They were truly surprised when a car was sent for them, they originally planned for a train ride to Fiore, but oh well. The car wasn't bad either. It was a nice fancy high-class type of car. Nice leather seats, and roomy enough to comfortably fall asleep, which Bacchi did for the whole two hour trip.

When they arrived, they arrived at the steps of Atletica Massima headquarters. It was a five-story office building, and a more modern one at that. Made of glass and metals, unlike the brick and stones they were used to. Not that it was unheard of for them, just uncommon.

They were met by a gentleman who introduced himself to the duo, "Buongiorno, my name is Luca, I will be taking you to Don Massimo." extending his hand. He was a suit with short hair and glasses, couldn't be older than thirty. Slim build too.

Cato shook it and smiled "Piacere. Pleasure to meet you. I'm Cato, that sleeping beauty over there is my fighter, Bacchi." he looked back to see the chauffeur trying to wake the boy up. "He's been, uh, real tired lately."

"Oh no worries. I know exactly who you two are. I'll be your guide while you two stay here for the week."

"No kidding."

"No kidding." Luca shook his head and smiled "Shall we go?"

"Yeah sure. I'll get our bags."

"It's okay, we'll have our people take care of that. They'll be waiting in your rooms."

"Oh. Alright, guess I'll wake him up then. Hey kid wake up." Cato lightly slapped Bacchi, a surefire way to wake him up.

"What? We here?" he said groggily as he exited the car and stretched.

"Yeah jackass. We got a little tour guide too."

"No shit."

"If you'd follow me." Luca said, waving them inside the building.

They entered and were met with a nice cool air. The first thing they saw was the front desk and the cute blonde receptionist behind it. The touring party walked past.

"Ooh Luca, who are your friends?" she teased.

"Guests of Don Massimo."

"Pleasure to meet you ma'am. Cato DeMarco."

"Likewise. Francesca Giati." she smiled as he gently shook her hand "Who's your young friend over here?"

"Name's Bacchi." the fighter answered.

"Boys, if you'd follow me please." Luca urged them towards the elevator.

"I'll see you soon Miss Giati." Cato smiled.

"You sure about that, Mister DeMarco?"

"Definitely."

"Then I'll see you soon."

The three entered the elevator where Luca pressed the button for the top floor. Bacchi looked up and saw the ceiling was mirrored, causing a huge grin to appear on his face.

"Hey check it. The ceiling's a mirror."

"You're easy to please aren't you?" Cato mumbled.

The elevator dinged as they reached the top floor. The doors slid open, they were met with a corridor which led them to a door.

"What's this?" Cato wondered.

"Oh it's Massimo's meeting room, he mostly holds business conferences here."

"Couldn't we meet him at a coffee shop or something?"

"Oh no, Don Massimo is a rather wealthy man, he doesn't see himself in such low-tier places. He prefers this more."

"When in Rome I guess." Bacchi added with a smirk.

Luca opened the door and the three entered. The conference room was full of sunlight from the spacious windows. A long sixteen-person wooden table was empty, save for the opposite end from where the trio were. At that end was a man slowly spinning in his chair. He seemed kind of old, from what they could see he wore a blue suit. The man stopped spinning when he caught a glimpse of his guests.

"Oh, and here I thought I'd be spinning all day." the old man chuckled before a silence followed. It wasn't long until it got awkward "Well, don't just stand there like retarded trees. Come over here Luca."

"Oh forgive me." Luca and the others walked towards him. "Sir, if I may introduce, Cato and Bacchi."

Massimo stood up smiling, he was noticeably shorter than Bacchi, the shortest of the trio. About a couple inches shorter. His thinning white hair combed back, his face accompanied by pencil mustache "You are Cato the manager." he shook his hand "You sure don't look like a fighter."

"Oh, well I try to keep fit once in a blue moon. Nice to finally meet you Don Massimo. Pinstripe looks really nice on you."

"Of course it does. What doesn't look good on me? Tell Bevilacqua I said 'hello'." his attention then turned to the fighter, while Cato remained with a stunned look on his face. "Wow, you are like a rock." the old man examined what he could see of the boy's arms.

Bacchi had worn a simple outfit of a white t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He felt a bit off at having his arms touched. Never had it happen like this before, it was weird.

Massimo came across the fighter's hands. While not a rare sight for him, he was surprised to see such experienced hands on someone so young. His palms callused. Going up the arm, an occasional scar could be seen. "Boy, would you mind taking off your shirt?"

"What for old man?"

"Hey kid watch it!" Cato cautioned.

"It's fine." Massimo assured "I just want to see, you seem like such the specimen. As a favor. Please."

Reluctantly he did so. Removing his shirt, his muscular body was revealed. Truly a fighter's body, toned and packed with as much muscle as possible without hindering his performance. Except now, noticeable bruising was visible. Massimo walked around him, examining the body before ending up in front of him again.

"You done? I'm not a male prostitute just so you know."

A bolt of shock and disbelief hit both Cato and Luca, causing the former to try and rein him in "Bacchi!"

"Oh-ho-ho. You have quite the mouth on you boy. Forgive me, I just wanted to see what the body of Battaglia's champion looked like. Now, you may all sit."

Bacchi put his shirt back on and sat next to his manager, across from them sat Luca and at the table end was Massimo.

"Now, to talk about your fight."

"What about it?"

"It's going to be on your last day here. Meanwhile, you'll be enjoying a little all-expenses-paid vacation. See the city, the sights, get a real good look at where you're gonna be fighting, etc. I have a tour for you tomorrow night, there's a fight, and a real good one."

"Who am I fighting?"

"A thank you would be nice."

"I didn't come here to enjoy the scenery, I came down here to fight."

"Bacchi slow yourself down." Cato placed his hand on his shoulder.

"Well," Massimo continued "That has yet to be decided. I've put out an announcement, told everyone about you. How 'Battaglia's champion has come.' Some are very eager to meet you, some didn't even bother. But you'll meet your colleagues soon enough."

"Who's your strongest?"

A chuckle slowly turned to laughter "My strongest? Well, define your terms-"

"The number one fighter in Combattimento Massimo."

"Ooh, you're a hungry kid aren't you? Hmm, number one fighter." the old man tapped his chin. It wasn't anything worth time to think, he knew the answer like the back of his hand. He just wanted to wast time. Even Luca knew this and smirked. "Well, the number one fighter would be Fausto the Unbeatable."

"Cute name? Can he back it?" Cato added.

"Why do you think he's called 'the Unbeatable'? Because he loses?" Massimo answered "He has been reigning in my ring for seven years. His current record, within CM, is about one-hundred and six fights."

The fighter smiled and crossed his arms. "One-hundred and six fights. That's the experience I'm going against." he thought to himself. But that was the best of the best in Lux Pulchrae's top underground ring. The rest might be absolute fodder. Hell, this Fausto guy might be fodder to him. But Bacchi's head was starting to get a bit too big, even he hasn't won that many matches. He had a fight record of only thirty-four matches across multiple small-time organizations. "Old man, wanna know what my record is?"

"I have an idea, but tell me."

"Thirty-four wins."

"And losses?"

"If I had any I would've told you, wouldn't I have?"

"You're a snappy kid aren't you? I like that." Massimo would have continued but a beep from his phone caught his attention. Checking it, he took a moment to read a message and stood up. "Well gentlemen, it was a pleasure to meet you. However, I am not simply an underground fight promoter, as you're well aware of. I have business to run. I will see you tomorrow to discuss things further, but for now, Luca will drive you around and show you the best places in town. You'll be staying at the Romana Hotel a few blocks from here. Welcome to the big leagues boy. Ciao."

The three stood silent in the elevator. An odd and short meeting. Bacchi didn't know what to make of it. He had more questions to ask but he supposed Luca was the next best thing if Massimo was comfortable enough to talk about the underground around him. On the other hand, Cato was internally a wreck. He couldn't sit still knowing that Massimo knew who he was. He was even too caught up in his worry to talk with whatever her name was at the front desk when they passed by.

"So Luca, you know about our world?" Bacchi broke the silence in the car, Luca drove and Cato sat in the passenger's seat.

"Your world being the underground fighting? Yes I do. I was actually a fighter myself. Not the best, but good enough to make it into CM."

"No shit. What happened? You don't look like much now."

"I broke my arm in one match. Nasty kick broke my humerus in two. The boss liked me enough so he took me in to work for him."

"Fucking hell. That must've hurt."

"Ohh, like you wouldn't believe. Well, the first few seconds were numbness, but then the pain was intolerable. The in-house doctor did the best he could. Works like new."

"You know, there's another thing that's bothering me. Why the hell is he so...nice? You know? So charitable. He's covering for us here, having you drive us around. Paying for our stay. Is that normal?"

"Depends. Some don't get as good a treatment as you. He must really like you. Probably sees potential. Either way, Massimo is incredibly wealthy. Covering for a couple of guests for a week is nothing to him."

"Now I got a question." Cato chimed in "What's the pay like?"

"Well, that depends. There's three 'leagues'. Gold, silver, and bronze. There's a higher ranking, but we'll stick to the three for now. Bronze are where new fighters, or relatively bad fighters, go. Or some that defer their promotion into silver. Everyone goes through the bronze league."

"And what's that start out at?"

"From my memory, bronze pays at about five-thousand."

"Holy shit just for show?"

"Show?"

"Y'know. Show up."

Luca smiled and chuckled "Buffone. You don't get paid to show up. You get paid when you win."

"What?" Cato said in a shocked manner "What kinda ass rule is that?"

"One that encourages winners."

"Well the losers aren't gonna stick around to fight for you if they don't get paid."

"That's fine." the guide shrugged "There are plenty of eager fighters looking to make a name for themselves. Bellaluce has no shortage of fighters. And those from abroad too. CM is for those that love to fight, not those looking to make a living. They could join Pancrazio if they want to do that."

The rest of the ride there was mostly Cato discussing the necessity of loser's pay while Luca did not budge on the issue. In the back, Bacchi smiled. Even though he had more questions, he was gonna like this place.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Bounties"

Palo Alto, Mezzomare Province
Night
April 2019

In the region known as the Spanish Coast, bounties and bounty hunters are legal. The reason for this was rather novel, almost ridiculously so. The spaghetti westerns of the sixties were extremely popular, especially when several films were filmed here, causing a subculture of "Vaqueros" or cowboys to appear. Men dressed like the cowboys they'd see on screen, from hat to boots and thanks to Lux Pulchrae's generous gun laws, they even had revolvers on their hips like the cowboys did. Eventually bounties, which had precedent in the 1800s, were reintroduced.

Out of this came many famous bounty hunters, and in turn, many infamous bounties. Any manner of criminal could be bountied, from killers to drug runners to purse snatchers and anything in between, though the state usually issues them to mid-to-high value criminals when official law enforcement methods aren't enough.

On his way to the top was one such bounty hunter, Juan Rodrigo. Sitting in a booth at a diner wearing his leather jacket, with combed-back hair, stubble and sunglasses, he drank a lemonade while reading his favorite magazine, Mujeres del Mar. But this wasn't a normal night. He was scoping out the diner for a bounty, and according to his leads, the bounty, Diego Farola, has been keeping low profile by working here. It was quite a slow night as Rodrigo and a couple were the only patrons there at the moment.

Even the number of workers were few tonight, the cashier, the cook, a waitress and the busboy. Diego was the lowly busboy. The latest photograph of him had him clean shaven with short hair. But now, he had long hair and a mustache. It would be enough to throw off first glances, yet Juan liked to take long hard looks. It was definitely him. Staring at Diego through his shades all night, there was no mistaking him. Oh, and there was the backhand tattoo of a heart pierced by an arrow he had on his left hand. That was a helpful identifier.

"What an idiot." Juan mumbled as he read his magazine. Seeing his target nearby, he had the ingenious idea of "accidentally" spilling his drink on the floor. Lightly smacking it off the table, the styrofoam fell to the ground, leaving a puddle of lemonade. "Ah shit!"

"Sir are you alright?" the waitress came over to assist him "Manuel, venga!"

"So that's his name now." he thought.

With a sucking of teeth, "Manuel" begrudgingly came to mop it up "Come on tio, be more careful."

"Hey my bad brother, it was an accident."

"Better have been."

Not one to cause a scene, Diego's attitude struck a nerve with Juan. "What do you mean by that?" taking off his shades and resting it on the neck of his shirt "Listen, I don't wanna hear that tone, especially from someone like you. It was an accident. A spill. You clean up spills, it's your job. I don't need that attitude."

"Yeah?" Diego dropped the mop "My job is also to throw out the trash, so don't make me think about throwing you ass out of here."

Juan smiled and stood up from the booth, he easily towered over his target "Throw me out, Diego." opening his arms.

The man stood still, stunned that he'd been found out. He was about to run away but his arm was grabbed by Juan's strong grip. He dug into his pants and pulled out a knife, causing the waitress to scream and other to look in their direction. The bounty hunter quickly let go.

The two faced each other, Diego had a cocky smile, he had the upper hand. He went for a stab, but his wrist was quickly grabbed. Using all his strength for this potentially lethal altercation, Juan dipped with all his might. Diego could feel his bones about to crack when suddenly he was flipped and thrown to the ground by a shoulder throw. This was followed by the intense and sharp pain of his arm being snapped.

"Ahh!"

"Calm down." Juan demanded.

"Oye! What the fuck are you doing? Talk or we'll crack your head open." it was the cook, he had come out with a baseball bat. The cashier had also come out with a crowbar.

"Alright..." he put his hands up "I'm gonna reach into my jacket, and pull my papers out. I'm a bounty hunter-" Juan's reply was cut off by his bounty's screaming "I'm a bounty hunter." doing as he said, he reached slowly into his jacket. The cook looked on anxiously, ready to pounce if he needed to. Pulling out his ID, Juan presented it to the cook, as well as the papers for Diego's arrest. "Diego Farola, known to you as 'Manuel', is wanted for escaping police custody, beating an officer and his original crime of drug peddling."

The cook examined it, looking in disbelief before handing it back to him. Just then, two police officers burst through the door, guns in hand and ordering everyone to lay down. One of the patrons had called them. Before long, they too were caught up.

Outside the diner, Juan stood with the other officers by their cars while Diego was carried away by an ambulance and taken to a medical center. The scene had caused several onlookers observing from the sidewalk.

"Dammit Rodrigo." one of the officers scolded him "Next time you got a positive ID like this, let us know. Who knows if that whole restaurant was in on it? They could have lit you up like a cigar."

"But they didn't." he smirked "He's a low rank thug who got dropped by his supplier him the second he got scooped up the first time. How's that part going by the way? You find any connections yet?"

"I wouldn't know, I'm not a detective. Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you."

"Aw come on."

The officer looked at him, then turned around to his vehicle "See you around Rodrigo."

"See ya." he waved unenthusiastically. Getting in his car, he followed the police back to the station to collect his pay. The streets had been wet from the rain, all manner of colorful lights reflected from the rain. The street lights, the traffic lights, the neon signs and club logos. Driving town the main street, they passed Las Holas, the town's new booming nightclub. Even in the rain, people were lined up to enter.

Rodrigo shot a quick glance at the club with contempt. He never liked those kinds of places: loud music, shitty dancing and expensive alcohol. And worst of all, they carried a stigma of being a hotbed of drugs. Some were, some weren't. If the cops busted in there now they'd find at least one druggie.

At the station, Rodrigo waited for his money. Leaning on the desk he watched as officers walked in and out. He wondered what it would be like to be a cop. It would've been nice, or so he thinks. The desk clerk, a young woman, soon brought him the check and its necessary documents.

"Here you go sir."

"Gracias linda." he smiled at the cute girl.

"Is that THE Juan Rodrigo?" a masculine, older voice called from behind.

Rodrigo turned around to see Julio Cesar Valdez, Captain Julio Cesar Valdez. Standing in his nice, clean, pressed uniform, he had an unwipeable grin on his face. Rodrigo didn't like it very much. A captain of the police force in the town of Trujillo, which wasn't too far away, but seeing him here was an odd occurrence.

"Captain Valdez, nice to see you. Long way from Trujillo no?"

The captain shrugged "I just came to visit my colleagues in this nice town. So, you caught one?"

"Oh yeah, some thug. Escaped custody, hid out for a couple weeks, but I brought him back."

"Diego Farola right?"

"Yeah, how'd-"

"The police custody he escaped from were mine." Valdez got closer, almost face to face. Although Valdez was a couple inches shorter, that didn't detract from his intimidating presence. "You know why I don't like you bounty hunters?"

"Can't say I do Captain."

"It's because you don't wear badges."

"Well, technically we do, we're agents of the sta-"

"You know exactly what I mean! You guys are freelancers. Stray dogs looking for scraps. Undermining what we do. Your existence is a mockery of this institution. Work for the law but are outside of it. What sailor..flies a plane? What priest officiates heathen ceremonies? What civilian arrests criminals?"

Rodrigo used all his strength not to smirk. He wanted to add that the navy did have planes, so his analogy is a bit off. But then it'd just be semantics and he didn't want his face beaten over semantics. However, a worse response came out "Maybe if you were good enough, you wouldn't need me."

The officers in the vicinity froze, carefully watching the exchange. Valdez's left hand reached to his side where his wooden baton, his grip tight. But he calmly let go and smiled. "Heh, you're right. I guess if we did our jobs better, we wouldn't need you vultures." Patting Rodrigo's shoulders and a light tap on the cheek, the captain walked away "Don't get into trouble, bounty hunter."

"Fuckin prick." he mumbled, finally able to leave the station.

He drove around, not particularly in a hurry to get back home. He very much enjoyed it. Windows down, nice air, and plenty of people to throw insults at from the car as he drove past the nightlife district. After about twenty minutes of this fun, he decided to go home.

The apartment complex didn't have a garage, so those that had cars, parked in their designated spots. Rodrigo's spot was at the farthest from the back entrance. It bothered him a bit, he could've bribed the landlord for a closer spot, but he was a cheap bastard. He didn't mind the walk. It was a rather quiet night. He stopped half-way through, standing in the quiet. The rain was so light, practically misty. He liked it, even standing in it for a couple minutes with a smile.

"Nice smile faggot!"

Rodrigo's attention was caught by the stranger's interruption. He was a fellow tenant leaving the building. He had seen him a couple times but the two never interacted. "What was that?"

"I said 'nice smile faggot'." he repeated, smoking a cigarette as he walked past.

As the two were several meters away, Rodrigo walked closer, still with a smile although now it was more sarcastic, "I couldn't hear that you bald fuck. Repeat that one more time."

The man stopped. He was a bit tubby, and in fact bald. He was just about the same height as Rodrigo, but heavier. "You deaf too? Deaf and a faggot." the man snickered. To add insult to injury, he flicked his cigarette at him. Luckily it only hit his jacket.

Wiping the ash, Rodrigo was now about arm's length away, "What's your problem? What'd I do to you?"

"I don't know." he shrugged "You're standing out here in the rain, smiling like a retard. What am I supposed to do?"

"Ignore me."

"And if I don't?"

"What's your name?"

"Hector."

"Hector what?"

"Hector Garza. Can you get on with it? I gotta go."

"Yeah sure, nice to meet you." a quick throw of a punch, and Hector fell to the ground. "Call me a faggot? Now look at you."

He finally went inside, taking an elevator to his floor. "Misu misu misu!" he called as he opened the door, his calls were met with a meow as black and white cat. She meowed again when she met him at the door. Rodrigo knelt down to pat her while she purred. "My little kitty. How was your day?" he calls her kitty, but she's almost two years old.

"Meow."

"Yeah? Mine was good too." he stood up. Hanging his jacket, he went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer before sitting on the couch to watch TV.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Lunch with the Pact"

Royal Palace
Night
April 2019

On a second floor balcony overlooking the palace courtyard, His Majesty watched in the quiet of the night as the guards changed shifts. The sound of their boots bounced off the courtyard's stone build. Gently pacing back and forth, Cleone smoked a cigarette.

"Nervous?" a voice called from behind, an older voice.

He quickly turned his head in surprise to see his mother. "Possibly. How'd you know?"

"The smell of cigarette smoke for one. You're not a cigarette person unless you're nervous."

"Oh? That easy to tell? What kind of person am I usually?"

"You're a cigar man." the Queen Mother leaned on the railing.

"True." he agreed. After a moment of silence he offered her one "Want one?"

"No thanks. Your father wouldn't like it. And I don't want to brush my teeth again tonight."

She looked at her son, seeing he something was clearly bothering him "What's got you so nervous mijo?"

Taking a long drag, the king blew out a cloud of smoke.

"Don't tell me it's the lunch tomorrow?" she smirked.

"Mom, you know what that lunch entails. My future, the possible future of the kingdom."

"Oh please, don't get ahead of yourself. Those old, half-dead fools are coming here to play matchmaker!"

Another long drag from Cleone followed her mocking of the Pact.

Putting her hands up to his face, cupping it, Valencia turned her son's head downward to look at her "Remember this: they are supposed to impress you, you don't have to do anything for them. And please make sure you pick a pretty one. Fair skinned and brunette." lightly slapping his cheek twice, much to Cleone's annoyance. "Goodnight son."

"Goodnight mother." As she started to walk away, Cleone called to her, “Hey.”

Turning back around to face him "What is it?"

She was met by a cloud of smoke, she frantically waved the smoke away as Cleone laughed...

Noon

The next day was pleasantly gentle in terms of weather. Lightly cloudy but still upliftingly sunny. The corridor leading to the dining hall area filled with the sound of approaching footsteps. A group of nine men were on their way, headed by His Majesty's personal servant Giovanni "Gio" DiNatale. Bringing up the rear were two guards, and sandwiched between were the lead members of the French Pact: Jean Pierre de Bourbon, the de facto head. Behind him: the somewhat-nervous Jacques de Mouchard, the nonchalant Charles de Marquet, Jean-Paul de Francaise who was rather apathetic to the situation, and Maurice du Nice who seemed indifferent but was content nonetheless to be here. Also present was the Pact's official representative Claude DuBois. All of them dressed in rather nice suits.

While on their way, Lord Mouchard came up on Bourbon's left side with a whisper "Jean."

"Huh?" he slightly turned his head. "How can I help you Jacques?"

"The boy-I mean the king, what's he like? You've had the most time with him if I recall."

"He's alright. Serious and reserved, at least from what I've seen. Sometimes a little too much."

"Too much? How so?"

"It just doesn't feel right. I've met plenty a powerful men, his air was much different. It's like he's trying to show off."

"Show of strength perhaps?"

"Maybe. At least he's not a powder keg like his father was."

A third man entered the conversation, Charles de Marquet with his deep voice "Gentlemen I can hear you, and I don't doubt His Majesty's servant can hear you as well. And as far as I'm concerned, he knows everything from English to Chinese, so we should keep quiet for now."

As Marquet was finished with his warning, the group reached the doors into the dining hall. The guards stationed at the entrance opened the tall, wooden double-doors, the Pact were then ushered in. At the far end of the table, Cleone, who was reading something off a piece of paper, lifted his head up to see his guests had arrived.

He smiled and stood up, walking off a bit to the side. Dressed very casually, almost as if he was going to the beach. White pants accompanying a dark, short-sleeved button-up shirt with vibrant floral patterns adorning it. Pinks and yellows and blues all around. To add to it, the first two of buttons were loose, exposing some of his chest. The members of the Pact were caught quite off-guard. His Majesty was quite casual.

Gio bowed lightly. “Your Highness if I may present-” he started, but was immediately interrupted.

“Thank you Gio. But I think I know my own guests. Gentlemen," Cleone spoke in a passably fluent but accented French, "a pleasure to finally have this meeting with you all." he said as he extended his right hand, bringing it up slightly, exposing his signet ring. "I'll save your knees the trouble, no genuflection necessary.”

Bourbon was the first to go. Walking up and kissing Cleone's ring, "Your Majesty." The rest soon followed. Mouchard, then Marquet, Francaise, Nice, and finally DuBois.

“Now that that’s out of the way, we can all have our seats.”

Soon they were all seated, Bourbon and DuBois were at Cleone’s left and right respectively. On Bourbon’s side sat Nice and Mouchard. While next to DuBois’ side sat Marquet followed by Francaise. All their suit jackets were taken, plates and utensils were set out. Glasses were also placed before them and filled with water. Two baskets of warm bread were also placed on the table along with the olive oil.

Bourbon shot a glance to DuBois from across the table. The representative noticed. He then looked to Cleone who was busy speaking to Gio. Once he saw that they were done, Bourbon spoke up “Your Majesty, if I may?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“The cause for this meeting.”

“We’ll speak about it after the meal.” Cleone then stood up to address all of them “I hope you’re all fine with salmon, cause the chefs would get mad making anything else at the moment. It should be coming very soon so don’t worry.”

“I’m fine with bread and coffee if that’s okay, Your Majesty.” Lord Nice assured.

“That’s quite fine.”

“Forgive me. I’m not much of an eater, unfortunately.”

“Oh no worries, more for the rest of us.”

Marquet and Francaise had their own little conversation as the former leaned in with a whisper. “Who do you think he’ll pick?”

“Huh?” Francaise snapped into attention. He wasn’t too old compared to the likes of Nice or Bourbon, but he tended to drift off.

“Who do you think he’ll pick?”

“Ahh. Hmm, let me remember who’s in the running again. My niece, Bourbon’s granddaughter...” Lord Francaise counted on his left hand.

“My daughter, Nice’s granddaughter, and Mouchard’s daughter Bernice.” Marquet sped him up.

“Didn’t Bordeaux throw his hat in the ring?”

“Yeah and other families too, but they were mostly merchant families.” Marquet said with an air of condescension. “I highly doubt His Majesty would pick a commoner over a noble. Even then, someone from a ducal line has a much better chance.” He had a point. While money families were respected among the noble class, and some were wealthier than even a few ducal families, their lack of noble rank knocked them down a few notches in prime candidacy for high status families.

“True. Hmm. I’d say Bourbon most likely.”

“Really? What about Margot?”

“Eh. It’s my niece. She was never really the queen type.”

“Wow, already quit eh? But why Bourbon?”

“Why not? Like it or not, her family, they are the family of the French Quarter. If this union is to ease tensions, I see no better option.”

“Ah nonsense. The rest of us are just as important as they are. I’ve raised my children right. My Lillianne is definitely queen material.” Marquet boasted.

“Okay. Since you’re so sure, want to wager?”

“Wager? On my daughter?”

“Make it interesting.” Francaise shrugged.

Marquet took a quick look at the rest of the table. They were occupied in their own conversations. “How much?”

“Fifty.”

“Fifty...that’s it?”

“Fifty thousand. You’re so adamant on Lillianne, I pick Bourbon’s granddaughter.”

“How about seventy-five thousand?” Marquet raised the bet with a smirk. But as he did so, servants entered through the door that connected to the kitchen.

Servants came, placing food on the table including cooked salmon, ziti pasta, salads and other things. They placed food on everyone’s plates until the respective person stopped them, it was customary that guests were not allowed to serve themselves at first. They could if they went for seconds. Lord Nice remained with his bread and coffee.

“Gentlemen, if you would stand please.” Cleone insisted “Let us give thanks.” he said as they bowed their heads. “In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,” Cleone led while they all crossed themselves “Lord thank you for this meal and the hands that prepared them, may the cause of this meeting have a fruitful end. Amen.”

“Amen.” everyone repeated before sitting back down. They were now allowed to eat. Soon, forks clashed onto plates, the pouring of wine into glasses from the servants was also heard. Fortunately they were all enjoying their meals. Francaise complimented the saucy pasta the most, with Mouchard across the table in agreement. Bourbon found his piece of salmon a bit too salty for his liking, but he thought it best not to complain, especially in a meeting like this. Nice was at peace with his bread and coffee.

Seeing everyone was nearly done with their meals, Cleone spoke “I’m willing to discuss this meeting right now if you everyone else is. Is that alright?”

The Pact nodded unanimously. Downing his wine, DuBois set his plate aside, bringing up a small accordion folder “May I?”

Cleone nodded and gestured his hand to continue. He waved a servant over to take his and DuBois’ plates away. The latter felt internally upset, he didn’t get to finish his meal.

“This may feel a bit bureaucratic and cold, Your Majesty, but there was no other way to present it to you.” he opened the accordion, taking out five folders. “Each of the families have offered one suitress. In each folder is just about every basic thing you need to know of each. Metrics-wise. Stuff like height, weight, age, et cetera. And pictures too. Medical records if needed as well, for the purpose of...a healthy issue.”

Cleone picked the folders up. On the tab in the corner was the name of each girl. “You’re right Mister DuBois. This is a bit cold.”

“True, Your Majesty. But the actual meetings can always be arranged. Maybe even soon. This is just a quick read-up to get familiar with them. In a sense. You can’t really get familiar with someone you’ve never met.”

He read each name on the folders’ tabs: Lillianne Belle de Marquet. Cecile Marie de Elise-Bourbon. Bernice de Mouchard. Margot Therese de Francaise. Camille de Nice.

“Is there a preferred girl among you?”

DuBois looked at Bourbon and the others “Well, we’ve never really discussed it. We decided to leave it up to you.”

“You must all have your reasons for picking these girls, no?”

“True, Your Majesty.” DuBois nodded in agreement.

Cleone looked at the folders again, “Lord Marquet.” he called out.

“Yes Your Majesty?”

“Who is Miss Lillianne?” he sat back a bit with his hands folded.

“Well, Lillianne is my daughter, Your Majesty. I believe she is quite beautiful, and I’ve raised her well enough to think she is a good choice for you.”

"How thoughtful of you." he said nonchalantly as he read the file. According to it, Lilliane was twenty-eight years old. “A bit old but nothing difficult.” Cleone thought to himself. His eyes moved to her picture, Marquet wasn’t wrong. She was a pretty girl. Round faced and fair skinned, with brownish-blonde hair and hazel. He continued to skim through her file.

He put the folder down and moved to the next one. “Cecile Marie de Elise-Bourbon.” Lord Bourbon’s attention was especially caught, he sat up even straighter. “I take it she’s..”

“My granddaughter, Your Majesty.”

“Elise?”

“Her father’s family. Emanuel de Elise.”

“She married down then?”

“Oh no, Your Majesty, I wouldn’t say she married down. His family comes from barons, but I believe he’s a fine man. He has been a fine man for as long as I’ve known him.”

“Do you know your granddaughter?”

“Yes, I have a good relationship with all my grandchildren.”

“Hmm.” he continued to read the file. The pictures kept his gaze the longest. She was cute. A nice youthful face. But like many youths, she kept an apathetic face. No hint of a smile. And a serious stare of dark brown to match. Thick, wavy, brunette hair stopped at her shoulders. And tallish according to this. One-hundred and seventy-five centimetres. “So..Lord Bourbon. Why this Cecile?”

“Well, my other granddaughters are either too young or married. And those that are neither, Cecile was my best pick. She’s a good girl and as far as I’m aware, she’s been raised right. She’s proper, polite, elegant-” Bourbon was cut off when Cleone held his hand up to stop him.

Reading Cecile’s folder, Cleone closed it and went through the other files before returning to Cecile’s. “Nineteen years old. That’s the youngest one here.”

“It’s not an issue is it? She’ll be twenty in August.”

“No, not really an issue for me. It’s just, that’s quite young. A pretty big life change for such a young girl, assuming she is chosen.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Bourbon agreed in a less enthusiastic tone now. He saw the issue His Majesty was alluding to.

Setting the folders down, Cleone looked to the guests “Do all of these girls know what they are possibly getting into? Are they even aware you’ve chosen them?” He looked at each of their faces. They all responded with nods. “Very well then.”

He picked up the next folder, Bernice de Mouchard. She was...not ugly. A bit plump but in a good way. One could tell she was shapely. But it didn’t show in her face, her light olive skin surrounded by jet-black hair. “Lord Mouchard.”

“My daughter, Your Majesty. Bernice is a lovely girl.”

“Says here, she’s a student at New Versailles.”

“Yes. She’s currently studying to be a doctor. Pediatrics.” Mouchard elaborated.

“That’s good.” he commended. He went on to the next file. And the next one, until he was done. Upon finishing the last file, he looked up from the paper. Everyone was practically frozen, staring at His Majesty. When they saw him look up to them, some of their gazes went elsewhere.

Collecting the files, he motioned for Gio, always keeping himself within Cleone’s field of view. Handing him the files, Cleone whispered into his ear. Gio nodded in understanding, leaving the room with the files.

“These were decent presentations gentlemen. But I find it hard to believe there’s only five...‘candidates’. You brought this matter up to your Estates, yes?”

“We did. And many offered.” DuBois answered with a faint smile. “But nonetheless, we felt that those of the ducal families were better for showing off a strong attempt at unity between us. They are historic symbols of power and pride. We didn’t think it’d work as well with the other, ‘lesser’ families so to speak. Not derogatorily of course.”

“I see.” he touched his chin with his folded hands “Well, I’ll give you this gentlemen, they are all very beautiful, so I commend you there.”

The king’s remark was met with light chuckles.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect,” Lord Nice began to speak, turning the heads of the other patriarchs at the table. “We come here, potentially committing to a very big decision: giving our daughters, granddaughters, or whoever, away. To you. And we try to impress you, tell you how good of a wife they would be. And I will be generous to my peers and say all these girls are perfect wives. But what assurances do we have that you will be a good husband? We do not know you very well. At least I don’t.”

Some of the dukes, like Marquet, Bourbon and Mouchard, found Nice to be bold in his speech. They avoided eye contact with either Nice or His Majesty, holding their breaths.

Cleone on the other hand, had folded his arms, sitting back. His face turned serious. Brows furrowed and a slight frown appeared. There was silence, for about ten or fifteen seconds. The corners of the king’s mouth then turned upwards into a smirk. “Lord Nice, you are very brave, either that, or you’ve finally gone senile.” his stance relaxed and he moved forward “But, all I have to say is: trust me. Trust my family to have raised me right, and trust I’ve been endowed with the Christian virtues to be a good husband. Just as I am trusting you as well.”

Lord Nice nodded slightly, seemingly satisfied by the king’s answer.

Another round of wine was poured to wash down the lunch. The room had become calm. Their attention was grabbed again when Cleone stood up.

“Gentlemen.” he said “I hope you’ve all enjoyed this nice meal. It was a pleasure having this discussion, and God willing, we will continue it again soon. But as for now, I will be enjoying a cigar outside. You are welcome to join me or stay here if you wish.”

Many followed and got up as well, accompanying His Majesty outside, or most of them anyway. Lords Nice and Bourbon stayed behind. Nice took his time to finish his bread and coffee. The others were in the lounging area by the garden. Besides the two patriarchs, the only other people in the dining hall were two guards and a servant on standby.

“What do you want?” Nice opened.

“Pardon?” Bourbon responded.

“You stayed here with me. You must want something.” he dipped his bread in the coffee.

“Is it wrong to accompany a friend?”

“No. But it’s suspicious to accompany competition in a matter such as this.” he looked at Bourbon.

“You’re my competition?” the lord smirked.

“You think you’ll get it that easy?”

“It’s not an impossibility, but it’s not a great challenge either. You really think Marquet will get it? She’s almost as old as he is! There’s been a trend among the kings to marry much younger than themselves. His Majesty's parent's are damn near twenty years apart. Francaise hardly cares for this race himself. The Mouchard girl is built like a field worker, ironic I think. That’s three down.”

“Leaving me and you.” Nice concluded “Theoretically. So there was a reason why she was so young.”

“She’s a grown woman by now, it’s fine. I just want to know if there is anything to change your mind. Maybe drop Camille and show a support for me.”

“Backroom deals are tactics of the desperate, Jean.”

“You think of me desperate?”

“I think of you unsure of your own chances.” Nice was met with silence. “But, that being said, there is a price.”

“What is it?”

“Vice-chairman of the Estates.”

Bourbon sat back and looked away. Coming back to face his peer. “That’s not something easily done my friend. Marquet and Mouchard have good shots at it.”

“I know they do. And my family is always behind. I want to be ahead for once.”

The Estates General, the gathering of all the heads of the noble families of the French quarter. Held officially twice a year, but is able to be called by a unanimous decision from the board. The “board”, a council of seven that hold executive power among the Estates General. Filled by the five ducal heads, DuBois, and Maximilien de Bordeaux. The Vice-Chairman is the second in charge of this board and thus second most prominent position in the Estates.

The position had previously been filled by Lord Marquet’s father Rene, but recently stepping out due to poor health, Charles stepped in to fill the numbers. However, the position of Vice Chairman itself remains vacant. No candidate had been unanimously approved.

“Your word can get me on that seat. You are a domino. The others will fall if you approve of me.”

“Not here.” Bourbon said, standing up. “Which way outside?” he addressed the nearby servant.

“Will you be coming Lord Nice?” the servant asked.

“Sure, why not.” he stood up, dusting himself off. Joining Bourbon, they followed the servant down the halls to the outside grounds, where the others were. Smoking and drinking, sitting on sofas around a smaller, friendlier table.

His Majesty had a nice glass of his favorite liquor, the others continued to drink wine. Never unprepared, Nice took out a pipe and set it up for tobacco.

“May I join you gentlemen?”

“Ahh Lord Nice. Where have you two been?”

“I was finishing up the coffee.” he said as he packed tobacco into the pipe.

“Didn’t take you for a pipe smoker.”

“What did you expect? I’m an old man.”

“Thought you lot fancied cigarettes.”

“Typically. I don't, however.” lighting his pipe.

Bourbon approached an empty seat next to Marquet. A servant came to pour him a glass but he waved them away.

“I was never a pipe man myself. I think I’ve seen my uncle smoke one once.” scratching the back of his neck.

"'Friends are as companions on a journey, who ought to aid each other to persevere in the road to a happier life.' And so far I am happy to call you all friends!" a sudden Italain voice came from outside the group. Every head turned, recognizing the voice. It was His Highness, the Abdicated King, Cleone III. Dressed in a white-shirt and khaki pants with his sleeves rolled up. On his left arm was Her Highness, Queen Mother Valencia, in a nice red dress.

All of the guests stood to greet them. With Nice was already standing, he placed his pipe on the table and greeted the elder Cleone. “Your Ma-”

The elder Cleone put his hand up to cut him off “‘Highness’ is fine. ‘Cleone’ is just as fine, Maurice.” He greeted Nice with a handshake, then pulled him in for a peck on the cheek. He went on to the next one and the next one.

Nice proceeded to greet the Queen Mother, ever the gentleman, kissed her hand when she held it out “Your Highness.”

Valencia simply waved at the rest, who returned with a polite nod and acknowledgements.

The father ended the greetings at his son, pecking both his cheeks. “Son, who dressed you? You look like a Cuban in Miami.” A chuckle was heard from audience before them.

His Majesty shrugged, “Saw some movies from the eighties, thought I would try it out.”

“Watch less movies.” he jokingly advised, patting his cheek. The elder Cleone turned to address the Pact and became lost in conversation.

The Queen Mother greeted her son with a kiss on the cheek. “Your father is right mijo,” she lightly tugged on his shirt “You look like some kind of nightclub patron.”

“Maybe I’m going to a club later.” he puffed his cigar, grinning. “Meet my wife.”

“Cleone! That’s no way to respond.”

“Mother, I’m joking!” he hugged her with his left arm “There are no nightclubs in the city.”

Valencia playfully smacked his shoulder. “I’m going back inside. You boys enjoy the day.”

Cleone returned to the group. The elder Cleone had taken up his own cigar, catching up with his peers.

“So have you all found a girl for this invalid yet?” he joked. Putting his arm around his son and pulling him closer.

“We’re working on it, Your Highness.” DuBois answered.

“Marquet!”

“Yes Your Highness?”

“Who are you presenting to my son?” he asked straightforwardly, taking a sip of liquor.

Caught a bit off guard, Marquet took a second to respond “Uh, my daughter, Your Highness. Lillianne.”

"Very well. And you Jean?"

"My granddaughter, Cecile."

In preparation to answer, the others were ready to answer the former king’s questioning. His Highness asked around and they all answered respectively. Pointing to one after the other while he puffed his cigar.

“Well, I’d like to see some pictures of these girls. You could be offering my boy a donkey for all I know. No offense.” he chuckled.

“They’ve been placed in my office.” His Majesty replied.

“In your office? Ah, your mother’s probably already shredding the ones she doesn’t like then.”

Everyone laughed. Either genuinely or from charity.

“Okay, okay. Va bene. I’m done whipping you all.” he picked up his and stood up, everyone followed suit. “A little toast. A thanks to all of you, for your commitment to making this nation, this kingdom of ours, whole. To think, it is my youngest son that will, hopefully, be the one to end the centuries of pettiness between our peoples. Or at least take the first step. God willing. Amen!”

“Amen!” they cheered and touched glasses.

Amidst the cheering, it hit him. Again. A gathering of patriarchs. A speech from his father. Another responsibility, outside of his control, thrusted upon his shoulders. The cheering faded away as he continued to smile. He didn’t want it.

Evening

Hours passed and everyone was gone. The Pact had gone home and dinner was coming up soon. Cleone made his way to his office, saluting the guard posted. Trying the handle, he was surprised to find the door was unlocked. He quickly opened the door to startle whoever was inside, but released a breath of relief "Father was right."

At his desk was Valencia, calmly reading over the files. "What was your father so right about?" she said as she continued to read.

"You in my office." he sighed, dropping into one of the seats in front of his desk.

"Your office? Mijo, I've been sitting in this office long before you were born."

"THIS IS MY OFFICE! NOT YOURS!" Cleone boomed, now standing.

Valencia looked up at her son. The silence between them was loud. "Forgive me for acting entitled. It was just banter." she began to stand up before Cleone stopped her.

"No, please. Sit back down. Sit, please. I'd like to hear what you think." he sat back down himself, taking a deep breath.

"Is something the matter?"

"No, it's just the stress I suppose. This, our involvement in Posteastan*. Among other things."

"I had almost forgotten about that. How is it?"

"We get casualties almost every day but things are looking hopeful for them. There are talks of ending it. If nothing, hopefully a ceasefire soon. Bring the men back home. There are also pleads of taking in refugees."

"Will you?"

"We're talking it over. A couple thousand or so. But never mind that now. What do you think of the girls?"

"Oh, I'm on the second to last one...Bernice?"

"Which ones have you read?"

"Lillianne, Cecile, and Margot. This Bernice is a bit..full."

"Is that bad?"

"No..but you know how noble girls are. Tend to be petite. And she's not a brunette. That Cecile one is also a bit tall no?"

"One-seventy-five."

"So close to you. Don't let her wear heels." she commented "Well, so far I think I like Cecile the most. And she's a Bourbon after all. Oh but Bernice would be so helpful with the children." Opening up Camille's file, the last one. "Ooh. This one is a blonde. And nice noble build. Want to see?"

"Already read them all earlier. Have fun." Cleone walked to the nearby armoire, he opened the glassed-panels, where next to a bottle of D'Or was a small case of cigars. Opening it, he took a cigar, cutting an end off and lighting it. He puffed it until it was nice and burning.

"Oh not again."

"Can't have just one."

"Dinner is coming up soon."

"I'm not hungry."

Cleone sat back down, puffing his cigar as Valencia quietly read the pages. Minutes of silence passed by while His Majesty stared at the ceiling. It didn't need to be said how much he needed this.

---

*OOC: Posteastan was(now defunct) a nation in turmoil in which Lux Pulchrae assisted. Although the nation is long gone(whoever it was hit me up lol), I still consider it part of canon.

OOC 2: I have been putting this off for MONTHS. I think the last time I wrote was in October(yep). Hopefully I can get into a normal pace. If anyone reads these, any thoughts or advice feel free to telegram (:

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Runt"

Citta di Fiore
Evening
April 2019

"My Lord, we've been waiting fifteen minutes." an impatient Cato said.

"You'll have to excuse the restaurant. It is quite popular, the wait is typical. We were even lucky to get a seat. Well, lucky is a lie." the bespectacled Luca explained, smiling.

"I go to a salumeria and get something in two seconds."

"Cato, shut the fuck up." Bacchi ordered to his companion. His head back on the seat with eyes closed.

The three were seated at a second balcony table of Giani's. Well known for it's food, especially meats. They'd be given a complimentary week of leisure in the city thanks to Bacchi's prospect into the fighting league of Combattimento Massimo. Promised front row seats to a fight on their first day, Bacchi decided a long needed rest period was in order. Their second to last day in the city, the young fighter's excitement to see the matches only grew. But in the back of his mind, something had been nagging him. A strange feeling of being watched.

"Don't tell me to shut up. I get most of our meats from there. You don't complain then."

"I complain when you bring pork." he smiled as he picked up his head from the seat.

"Ah bullshit, ya eat salami and steak just the same."

"Salami is patrician. Ham and every other way you prepare it sucks."

"Ya hear this bastard, city boy? A gladiator talking about what's patrician and what's not."

Luca chuckled at the pair of idiots. "I may live in the city but I am far from an urbanite my friend."

"Where'd you grow up?" Cato asked.

"A little town maybe two hours away from here."

Their conversation was abruptly ended by the arrival of their steaks. Or rather Bacchi's steak, Luca's vegetables and pasta, and Cato's pizza.

One slice of the knife had the steak spilling it's fluid. Bacchi looked over at the streets below. Locals and tourist alike walked the streets. Alto wasn't like this. At least not their bum town. Chewing away, he looked at all the faces that passed by. Until he saw a face that wasn't moving, only smirking, at him. Bacchi's eyes grew wide at he stood up with the speed of a bullet. Grabbing the attention of his table.

"Hey whoa, what the fuck?" Cato demanded.

Bacchi looked back at Cato for only a moment then back at the mysterious man. He was gone. "That man. He's here."

"Who?"

"No one. Just my mind playing tricks on me. Been relaxing too long."

"Fish out of water, my boy." Luca smiled "It's a common thing, I think. You're in an unfamiliar place. Your mind is trying to find familiar images."

"Hey, psychiatrist, shut up for a second. Hey, you okay?"

Bacchi gripped the railing as he stood over it. He took a deep breath and relaxed himself. Sitting back down. "Maybe you're right Mister Luca. Just seeing things I want to see."

The tension died down and the trio were able to finish the rest of their meal in peace. As they left, a man came out wanting Luca's attention.

"Luca! Luca, I'm sorry I missed you. Didn't know you were here. Had I known-"

"It's fine Giani. We just came here for a quiet meal. Don't let us bother you." he patted the man's shoulder.

"Tell Don Teodoro I said hello."

"Will do. See you soon."

The trio waited for their transport to arrive. In the meantime Luca took out a cigarette and began to smoke. They watched as many passed them by. "So, Bacchi."

"Yeah."

"Who was it that you saw earlier?"

"Just someone I used to know. Or I think I saw him."

"Not someone I know is it?" Cato wondered.

"No. It was before we met. He was a real bastard. But one day he was just gone. So I'd forgotten about him."

Luca dropped the cigarette on the floor and stepped on it. "Our ride is here." A black Rolls Royce pulled up beside them. Entering the back, they sat for a moment. "So, anything else on the agenda gentlemen?"

Cato shrugged. Bacchi, with his arms crossed, also shrugged. "We've done pretty much everything we had in mind" the former said.

Luca looked at his watch "Hmm, well, it's half-past four. There's plenty of time in the day left. What do you usually do at this time?"

"Train."

"Work."

"Hmm. Not the most exciting duo are you?"

"What do you do?" Cato asked in return.

"Most of my time is spent working. But in my free time I do like to watch the local football games. Although," he checked his watch again "They don't play at this time. Or today."

"So we're a bunch of sitting rocks then?"

"Maybe we go to the hotel, go our separate ways from there, and then meet back up in a few hours?"

"I'm game." Cato agreed. Bacchi simply nodded.

Their stay was a mere ten minutes away. Passing the gym where Bacchi was currently training, he asked to be dropped off.

"You don't got a bag?"

"I have a locker here."

"Wow already comfortable?"

The fighter shrugged, stepping out of the car. "I'll see you guys in a couple hours yeah?"

"We'll come get you." Luca answered.

Closing the door, he saw the car leave and entered the gym.

The gym, the English-titled Grappler's Delight, was a moderately sized one-floor gym. It was owned and managed by Johnny King, an English fighter who ended up in Lux Pulchrae. Although he did dabble as a trainer, he was mostly the receptionist. Once in a while he'd chime in or teach a class himself. The gym was a favorite for local public and underground fighters, many newcomers who moved to the city were fed through this gym thanks to Massimo.

In his early-sixties, he had graying black hair and a gut. He was out of shape but one could tell was strong, almost reminiscing a bulldog. Accompanied by a deep and gruff voice. At his desk he had a good view of the entrance and the mats. In-between the door and the desk was a wall of lockers. Next to that was a door that lead to the showers.

Reading over some financials, his attention was grabbed when the door's bells rang. Entering the gym was Bacchi. He didn't leave much of an impression on Johnny, just another newcomer.

Bacchi stopped in front of his locker, taking off his sweat pants and t-shirt, he was left with nothing but his fighting shorts.

"Oi Bacchi, welcome." King spoke in a really rough Italian. A tourist would have a better grasp at the language.

"Good day Johnny." he responded. Stretching his legs a bit before stretching his arms. Leaning on the lockers, he stretched his legs some more with high kicks. Done with his stretching he proceeded to go onto the mat.

The gym was wide open and spacious. It's checkered black and red mat floor. To the left, a row of eight heavy bags hung from rails. All the way in the back-right corner was a ring. On the right side was a mirrored wall. There were about twenty other trainees in the gym, practicing everything from wresting to grappling to mixed styles and anything in between. Although, as the name suggests, it was primarily a grappler's gym.

After wrapping his hands, Bacchi commenced to lightly shadowbox. Mostly keeping to himself and not one to approach others, he's already made a few acquaintances. Jab, straight, left body hook, it was his most common combo. Jab, straight, right roundhouse kick.

After about five minutes, he switched to practicing on a heavy bag. Jab, jab, middle kick. His kick were powerful. Each kick was initiated with a "HUP" grunt. Fifteen more minutes of this went by. A nice sweat was starting to glisten his skin.

"Bother you for a spar?" a voice came from behind.

Bacchi turned around to see that it was one of his acquaintances, Salvatore della Costa(Division: Bronze League. Rank: #2). Maybe about four to six centimetres shorter than Bacchi, Salvatore had a big smile. He was olive skinned and had his brown hair swept back, which would lose it's form once he started training. He wore yellow shorts that were similar to Bacchi's.

"I don't mind at all della Costa." he shook his hand.

The two moved towards the right-hand side of the gym where there was more open space. Disregarding protection apart from mouthguards, they began to lightly spar, then getting increasingly more serious as the time went by.

Della Costa threw a right high kick, but it was blocked and Bacchi reciprocated with his own middle kick to the body. Della Costa grunted to deal with the blow. Bacchi was quick, but he could tell the kick was light. After all, it was only sparring.

"You're holding back on me my friend."

"It's only sparring."

"True." della Costa shrugged.

The two moved around, shifting back and forth, trying to find an opening. Bacchi threw a jab with his left, shuffled his feet and threw a left low kick. Della Costa felt that one. His thigh felt it. He threw a push-kick with is left, which was caught by Bacchi. In anticipation, della Costa's right leg went for a high kick to Bacchi's head. Shin met hand as Bacchi wasn't able to block it with his forearm or elbow. He was thrown off-balance, taking a few steps to right in an attempt to catch himself. Meanwhile della Costa fell to the ground before rolling backwards to a standing position, laughing.

A faint smile was seen on Bacchi as well. "That was a good one." he admitted. The two re-entered into their stances. Bacchi threw several jabs, either being blocked or parried by his partner. Throwing a straight right, it was a feint. He lifted his left leg and send a harsh front kick to della Costa's liver, landing it with his heel. The latter groaned, freezing up and dropping to his knees. He put a hand up in resignation.

"You good?" Bacchi asked, more of a wonder than a worry.

"Yeah. Just need a minute. Or sixty." he went to laying on his back.

"OI!" Johnny could be heard in the background.

"My fault." the fighter chuckled.

"Pretty decent. For a runt."

Bacchi heard from behind him, his eyes widened. Without a second's hesitation, spinning to his left, he threw a right high kick. He never kicked so fast and precise before. But it was blocked, caught even. By a hand. His left leg was swept and down he went.

A deep, cocky voice began to cackle. A noticeably older man in a green military jacket and jeans stood before him. His boots dirtying the mat below him. His longish, curly hair was brushed back. A thick, matching beard was interrupted by facial scars here and there.

"OI!" Johnny King came after him "Ya dir'in' me mat. Fuck off!" the oldhead returned to his native English. As he did when angered. Other patrons of the gym began to notice, a crowd was starting to form. Some tried to help della Costa up, assuming he'd been caught in the incident, but he assured them he was fine. Everyone knew who the man was.

"My mistake Johnny." the man said back in English. Backing off until he was off the mat. Looking back towards Bacchi who was now standing up, hands at his side but ready to go in an instant. "You went straight for my neck. Bastard even memorized my height after all these years." he mockingly rubbed his neck, grinning.

"How the fuck did you find me?"

"I was gonna ask a similar question. But I knew I'd see you here eventually. Either that, or you die-"

The man was interrupted by a front kick headed for his face, but in his quickness, his left roundhouse reached Bacchi first. And down the boy went. Out cold.

"You fucka'!"

"Ah ah, my shoes are off, 'coach'." he teased, pointing to his feet. The taking off of his boots had gone virtually unnoticed by anyone.

"Ya causin' a scene! Get out now!" he shoved the man, pointing to the door. "And take ya queer boots too!" he said as he threw them. He immediately turned to the unconscious boy, some had already began to treat him. "Kid, you alright?"

Beginning to wake up, he was still groggy. Two trainees put his arms around their shoulders, bringing him over to a bench. Minutes passed by before Johnny came back around. Salvatore remained next to him, calming him down.

"You alright son?"

"I'm fine now. That fucker."

"You seem to 'ave some real mean business with that man yeah? Understand me?"

Bacchi nodded.

"I don't want anutha fight 'ere yeah? Not a real fight that is. You take it outside. And you stay away from 'im."

"You know who that is?" della Costa asked.

"I do." Bacchi answered "Guilherme Neri. He's a real bastard."

Guilherme Neri. Division: Golden League. Rank: #3

[Lux Pulchrae]

"The Three Kings"

Citta di Fiore
Evening

After the incident, Bacchi contacted Cato. He soon arrived with Luca. They found him sitting on the floor up against the lockers, both seeming worried.

"What the fuck happened! Everyone's saying you got knocked out!"

"I did." he replied in a defeated tone.

"Who?!"

"Guilherme Neri."

"Oh my." Luca was seemingly surprised.

"You know him?" Cato confronted.

"If Bacchi is right, then of course I do. Guilherme Neri, ranked number three in the golden league of Combattimento Massimo. Goes by the epithet 'Il Diavolo'. I didn't know your connection with each other was that serious."

In a swift motion, Luca's legs were swept. He landed on the floor, Bacchi's left knee was on his stomach. He could see the boy was ready to unleash a fist at his face.

"You knew I knew him?"

Getting his right foot onto the boy's hip, he promptly pushed Bacchi off before standing back up, dusting himself off. "As I said once before, when word went around that you were coming to CM, very few were interested. Neri was one of those few. He seemed very excited the following days."

"He's pretty high up there. Golden league, number three." Cato repeated.

"I need to get up the ranks. I need to fight him Luca!"

"Whoa, calm down just a bit. It's not that simple. If your skills are as good as you say, then it'd be easy, but not simple." Luca responded. "I think it's best if I explained somewhere more comfortable, I don't really like to stand and talk. "Shall we?" he invited them to follow him. "Johnny, I see you soon?" he spoke in English.

"See ya soon Luke. Tell yer boy there ain' no figh'in in 'ere again yeah? An' I don't care who sent 'im over."

"For sure boss man." he nodded before leaving with the other two.

Luca lead the two to a nearby coffee shop, somewhere they could sit down. Ordering an espresso. Across from him sat the duo.

"We're waiting." Bacchi said in an impatient tone.

"Getting to Neri will not be so easy. You haven't even started yet. Like I said, you start in bronze. You fight your way up, either you beat the number one ranked in that division or you get lucky and get a match against someone in silver. Although some matches are inter-league and unranked..." he started to go on a tangent.

"Focus!" Bacchi made Luca get back on track.

"Ah well. What I said about bronze, same thing for silver. What I said for silver, same for gold."

"What if I'm in bronze and and fight someone in gold?"

"Not a chance."

"But if I do?"

"I...I don't know. I don't think I've ever seen it." he was stumped.

"I'd be happy to set a precedent for you Signore Luca." the boy smiled.

"You're welcome to try."

"Scusi. Tuo espresso." the waitress came over.

"Grazie."

"Prego." she smiled and went back inside.

"Is Neri your end goal?"

"Crushing Neri is only a obstacle. My goal is still getting to the top. But beating Neri will probably be just as satisfying."

"Well, it's time I explain the 'top of the top'. Won't take to long." he took out a pen and started writing on a napkin.

"Emperor"
Fausto
|
|
|
"Three Kings"
|
Lars "Dutchy Boy" van der Haus
|
Gionatta Annatti
|
Carlo di Carlo

Luca presented them the napkin.

"Nice art project Princess." Cato teased

"Shut up. Okay now-"

"Why are the names above each other? Is this Lars guy above Gionatta?" Bacchi questioned.

"No, the names being above each other don't mean anything, I just don't have the space. To continue: Fausto is the 'Emperor', as you know. That's actually his rank, officially within the organization. Then you have the 'Three Kings'."

"Why three?"

"Don Massimo, ever the fight enthusiast, separates 'fighting' into three categories, styles, approaches...whatever. They are striking, wrestling, and grappling."

Luca's explanation was met with nods from the two.

"Lars the Dutch is, obviously, a kickboxer. The 'king' of striking. Now the striking itself is a mixed bag. While Lars is a kickboxer, the striking element includes fighters from all manner of styles, and anything goes as long as the fighters are standing, and striking. Elbows, fists, kicks, et cetera. Striking is probably the most 'complex' of the three. Wrestling is simple. It's nothing but a wrestling match, and again, anything goes. Relative to wrestling that is. Pin to win. Knockouts work too. And last is grappling. The goal is obviously to submit your opponent. Strikes are prohibited in the latter two."

"So Fausto became the 'Emperor' by beating all three kings I imagine?"

"That's correct. How else can you be the greatest fighter without mastering all aspects of fighting? So the idea goes."

"What happens when kings are beaten?"

"When someone becomes emperor? The spots becomes vacant and tournaments are held for them." Luca sipped his coffee. "There are times where people simply want to fight for the position of king and replace one. And there you have it."

The two remained speechless, as if in thought, though neither had one between them.

"I guess it's time to make it up the ranks." Bacchi said. Taking the napkin, he thanked the two and started jogging back to the hotel.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Ludoviga d'Arditi"

Uscita, San Lazzaro Province
Morning
May 2019

"There you are!"

"Merda!"

A group of girls, who had been smoking cigarettes behind the school, have now been caught by one of the campus' roaming sisters. The sister clutched one of the girls, grabbing the back of her school-issued sweater.

"Let go of me!"

"Not a chance! I finally caught you! You brats have been evading me for too long."

The girl kept struggling but it was futile as the sister called over a security guard. They promptly escorted her to the headmaster's office. Having been informed of the incident, the headmaster was accompanied by the mother superior, Mother Luigia.

The headmaster, one Mister Giovani Setta, reviewed some papers while Mother Luigia sat patiently and impatiently at the same time. The door opened, catching the attention of the two.

"Ah, Sister Elena. Good to see you." he greeted her.

"Don Setta." she greeted back.

In her grip was the student in question. Now seated in front of them.

"And good to see you too Miss d'Arditi."

"Likewise." the young girl said through her teeth, looking down and away from everyone. The girl, Ludoviga "Viga" d'Arditi. A third year, sixteen year old student at Mother Bacrini's Secondary School for Girls. Her thick black hair kept away from her white face by a red headband. She held the sides of the chair, swinging her legs back and forth.

"Miss d'Arditi. It's a real disappointment to see you in my office, in trouble that is." the headmaster said, taking off his glasses.

"Can we knock this whole charade off? It was just a cigarette."

"A cigarette being smoked, on campus, by a student, while skipping class. A whole group of you." Mother Luigia elaborated.

"Five to be exact." Sister Elena added.

"This isn't the first, second, third, or fourth incident. You always keep getting away. Now we know who's doing it."

"Miss d'Arditi, you are a model student. Academically speaking. But your behavior is less than so. You're not a typical girl."

"What's that supposed to mean Headmaster?" her swinging legs stopped.

"You're not..proper. From my experience with you, and reports from others. You and your little gang actually. I'm told off-campus that you wear masculine clothes. You get into fights. You smoke cigarettes in public. Is this school and the ONMI not enough? Is there trouble at home?"

"Bug off old man! How dare you! I don't need you or the ONMI telling me how to act. And neither my life off-campus nor my family have anything to do with you!" Ludoviga stood in objection.

"D'Arditi!" Mother Luigia chided "Watch your tone!"

"Stuff it you old bitch."

Ludoviga was met with a crisp smack to the cheek from Sister Elena.

"Sister Elena!" Setta stood up "Outside now!" he ordered. The sister did as she was told and left the room.

"I'm sorry that had to happen Ludoviga. But this attitude is not what we expect, and it is not something we tolerate."

"For a cigarette?!"

"For all of it! You've had other share of problems here. Last month's fight in the cafeteria for starters. I was lenient on you for that one. But the attitude you've displayed here in this office is not acceptable. I will be sending you home for two weeks."

"Two weeks?!"

"It's obvious the stresses of school are taking a toll on you and it is showing." Setta sat back down, beginning to write on a sheet of paper.

"I don't need a suspension. I love school, Headmaster."

"I can tell, but I've already said it. Intolerable. We will send the work so you're not behind on anything. We've notified your parents and the bus will be taking you home tomorrow morning. For today, you will continue your regular schedule and attend ALL your classes. That is all, Miss d'Arditi."

Setta looked at the rough girl. That was all. Ludoviga simply stood still, quiet. She felt her right eye to leak. Promptly taking out a red handkerchief, she dabbed it around her eye. Getting a last look at the two administrators, Ludoviga left the room.

Lunch
"So they're sending you home?"

"Yeah."

"What a load of bullshit."

"Yeah." Ludoviga responded in a defeated tone to Giulia Visconte, her conversation partner and best friend. A cute brunette with hair all down to her back and thick eyebrows. The two were getting their meals before heading to their table outside with the rest of the group.

"Ready to get killed?" Giulia smiled as they opened the door to the outside.

"Not really." Ludoviga's stone faced expression began to break, knowing the round of hazing that was about to start.

Outside was nice and warm, the sky was nearly cloudless. There were several tables being occupied by other groups, but the two found their table when they were waved at.

The one waving, Mirella DiMaggio, was usually the first to start the teasing. Today was no different. As Ludoviga entered within arm's reach, Mirella pinched her cheek.

"Vafanculo Mirella. Ludoviga pulled away.

"Guardarai? she teased again, causing the others to laugh. While Mirella sat alone on one side of the table, in anticipation for the other two, on the other side of the table were the rest of their so called gang: Giovanna Maiailletti, Maria Colletti and Michelina Bianchi.

Ludoviga returned the favor by tugging Mirella's ear.

"Ow."

"We're even."

"You know, you should track with me Viga." Maria suggested.

"What? Why?"

"So you don't get caught."

"I didn't get caught because couldn't run. I got caught because Elena caught us by surprise. It doesn't matter anyways because she knows all of us."

"I didn't get called down." Maria replied.

"Me neither." Giovanna added. The others soon followed. None of them were called down to the office or approached.

"None of you?"

They all shook there heads. Continuing to eat.

"That's bullshit."

"There's that mouth of yours. If you got caught and kept your mouth shut you'd still be here tomorrow." Mirella said, biting into her sandwich.

Hating to admit it, Ludoviga agreed "You're right. I just hate the way Setta spoke. Really struck a nerve."

"Maybe you need an outlet or something. Something more physical than running with Maria." Michelina spoke up "You should join wrestling with me and Mirella."

"Maybe another time. Football's enough."

"Ah that's nothing, running around kicking a ball." Mirella contested.

"Fuck off. I don't need to be on a team with a bunch of lesbians." Ludoviga teased, chuckling.

"Could've fooled me, the way you act like faggots." an antagonistic voice said as it walked past the group, mocking them. They all turned around to see Alessandra "Nordica" Falcone with her hands on her hips, behind her were two more students. A known ridiculer of the group and captain of the girls' football team.

With her long, dirty blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, she had a dominating presence despite being almost a complete opposite of the rough and unladylike group. Most of it was thanks to her one-hundred and eighty centimetre height towering over most of the girls like Ludoviga, who was one-hundred and sixty-three herself. Walking to the table, she squeezed herself in between Ludoviga and Mirella, effectively pushing the latter out. "Heard you were leaving tomorrow. I'm so sorry to hear." she put her arm over Ludoviga's shoulder, getting close to her face.

"You can cry for all I care."

Pulling her closer, Alessandra continued "When's your brother going to call me? I miss him so much."

"When you aren't such a fica."

Alessandra exhaled, calming down. "Well, I'm gonna miss you too. You're one of my best players. You know we're facing Altezzi this weekend right? And you've gone and fucked it up over some cigs!" she proceeded to briefly pull Ludoviga's ear.

"Ow!"

"When you come back and you're gonna be the perfect little girl. Capsci? Si o no?"

"..."

"Si o no?!"

Ludoviga begrudgingly nodded.

"Bene!" Alessandra cheerily said, smiling. "And please tell Rocco I said 'hello'." she stood up from the table's seat. "See you girls around." she smiled and waved, walking away.

"What a bitch." Giulia commented.

"Yeah, but she's right." Ludoviga agreed "I just gotta weather the two weeks I guess.

"VIga, your eye." Mirella warned.

Ludoviga gasped, quickly taking out her handkerchief. She hadn't noticed. How long had it been leaking? Did Alessandra see it? She wiped her face down to her chin and checked her uniform, there was already a drop of blood on her skirt.

Morning, Next Day

She had said goodbye to her friends, had gone to morning prayers and was now waiting at the bus stop. Sitting on a bench, she scrolled through her phone but even the connection was bad here. Footsteps could be heard getting closer and closer, causing her to look up, it was Giulia.

"What are you doing here? If Sister Elena sees you.."

"Who cares? I just wanted to say goodbye. I might not see you for two weeks."

Ludoviga got up to hug her. "You're so dramatic. We live in the same town."

"Yeah, but still."

They embraced for about a minute more, then the bus came around the corner.

"See you Friday?" Ludoviga asked.

"Definitely." Giulia smiled "Say hi to Rocco for m-"

"Lalalalala-I can't hear you, everyone shut up about Rocco." Ludoviga put her hand to her ears pretending not to hear. The bus stopped right at the stop. Getting on, she waved goodbye to Giulia, who returned the gesture. Off to Baretta she went.

Baretta, San Lazzaro Province

After an almost hour-long ride, the bus finally arrived in Ludoviga's town of Baretta. Dropping her off where she's also picked up. Nearby, she noticed a black car. She knew. She also knew they knew. With a groan she approached the car and entered.

"Buongiorno Signorina d'Arditi." the driver greeted.

"Buongiorno Guido."

"Didn't expect to be picking you up this early."

"Yeah, some school thing, sending kids home."

"Ah. Glad you're safe."

"Thank you. Anyone home?"

"Your mother. Your father already left for the day. Oh, Miss Carmella is here as well."

Ludoviga's eyes lit up, Carmella was probably her favorite sibling. No offense to the others.

The vehicle was nearing the house. Or the estate rather, stopping at the gate. One of the guards came and cleared them, greeting Ludoviga as they passed by. Driving down the long driveway, they finally reached the manor and she exited the vehicle. Getting her things, walked up the many steps to the house.

To her dismay, her mother was waiting at the door. Giovana d'Arditi stood in a white dress with her arms crossed. Barely as tall as her daughter, her heels made up for it.

"Mother."

Giovana stared at her in silence, furrowed brows of a seemingly angry, olive-skinned face. A servant came by to carry her things to her room.

"Is Carmella here?"

"She just went into town. Come in." she walked into the house, Ludoviga close behind. "You know we don't send you there to be kicked out, correct?"

"Yes mother." she sighed.

"Correct?" Giovana reiterated firmly.

"Correct!"

"Go to your room for now."

"Yes ma'am." she said under her breath, going up to her room. In an ascending order on the wall, there were portraits of the whole family. Ludoviga passed hers. Next was Rocco. Then Carmella. Then Quinto. Followed by Simon, Giacomo, Romeo, and her eldest brother Cesare. Her mother Giovana, and lastly at the last step, her father Baron Tomasso Quinto d'Arditi. A thin, goatee'd man. But her father all the same.

She went into her room and threw herself onto the bed.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Help Deciding"

Royal Palace
Afternoon
May 2019

"I don't want to be here." Isabella said.

"Sorry to hear that Your Highness." the driver responded as they passed the gate into the courtyard. They were directed to stop before the steps, a guard came to open the door for her.

Stepping out, she was assisted by the very same guard. As she entered the palace, she was surrounded by salutes. At the foyer, it was empty. She sat in the ornate area until a maidservant finally arrived.

"Buona sera Your Highness."

"Buona sera. Where are the others?"

"Your mother and the others are in the dining hall."

"Thank you."

Arriving at the the dining hall, she spotted them. Her mother Valencia, Marcello's wife Ana Lucia and Pietro's wife Sofia. They all sat at the far end of the main table, papers all about in front of them. Isabella's steps clacked against the wooden floor, catching all of their attentions.

"Well hello there, is 'fashionably late' still a thing among the youth?" Valencia teased.

"Haha, very funny." the princess sarcastically said, hugging her mother and receiving a peck on the cheek. Isabella proceeded to greet and kiss her sister-in-laws "So what are you ladies doing?"

"Picking the best girl for your brother." Ana said "Need help deciding."

"Adding another one to your sister-in-law roster." Sofia jested coldly, still reading.

Sitting next to Sofia, Isabella placed her elbows on the table and rested her head. "Why did you guys agree to this?"

"Because we love your brother. Annnd...I don't want to deal with an insufferable woman at family gatherings." Ana replied.

"Well, how would you know? It's not like we're meeting them."

"We're picking the best one on paper for now."

"Ughh, shouldn't Cleone be doing this?" Isabella complained "It's his future wife."

"He's busy with the civil war in that one country, now be quiet and read." Valencia said, handing her a folder.

"Well, do any of you have a favorite?"

"I think we all decided the Francaise girl and Mouchard girl are out." Sofia answered "Personally, I like Nice. Seems the best. Not as old or young as the other two in the running."

"Wait let me see the other two." Isabella requested Valencia handed her Cecile and Bernice's files. Reading over them while the others continued their conversation.

"I don't mind the Bourbon girl," Sofia said "I think the Marquet girl is too old. Cleone's what? Thirty?"

"Twenty-nine." Valencia answered.

"The Marquet girl is twenty-eight. Too close."

"Wait, why's that bad?" Isabella wondered.

"It's just not a good look. They're too close in age. Plus, twenty-eight and single?" Sofia puckered her lips, making a face.

"What?!" Isabella smiled in disbelief "Sofia how can you say that? You are a year younger than Pietro. Ana, you're what, three years younger than Marcello?"

"I didn't say anything." Ana protested.

"I'm just saying. I'm about two years younger than Michele."

"It's not the age gap, Princess, it's her age." Sofia elaborated.

"You'd rather have this Cecile girl, who's damn near ten years younger?"

"No, I already told you I like Nice."

"Me and your mother like Cecile." Ana said.

"I think she's too tall, but she's light and a brunette." Valencia added.

"What a bunch of...mmm. Disgusting." Isabella resigned herself back to reading the files.

Ana smiled, surprised at her fellow in-law. Sofia was never the conventional type in terms of social norms according to nobles, compared to herself or Valencia, so to see her disapprove of Marquet due to age was a surely an eye opener.

They continued to read and discuss. An hour went by, the decision would either be unanimous or majority. It was neither. Sofia hadn't budged while Isabella hadn't decided. While disgusted by the previously discussed opinions of the others, she concededly would not pick Marquet.

They've come to a conclusion: a tie. Two votes for both Cecile Marie de Elise-Bourbon and Camille de Nice.

They sat around, weighing the pros and cons. Isabella rested on her right hand and tapped the table with her left. Her black hair obscuring her face. "We know this. They're both pretty at least, right?"

The others nodded.

"Why don't you like Cecile?" Valencia asked.

"Well, for one, I think she's far too young to be queen. She's what? Nineteen? How old were you when you married?"

"I was about...twenty, twenty-one. Remember your father spent several years unmarried."

Isabella sighed and brought her hands up to her face, frustrated. It was almost the same, she couldn't complain.

"Why is her age such an issue for you?" Ana asked "We all married in our twenties. Most of us." she glanced to Sofia.

"Uh, excuse me? I was only twenty-eight when I married Pietro."

"Only." Ana sarcastically replied.

"Okay, okay girls. Calm down." the Queen Mother tried to control the situation.

"I'm just saying," Isabella continued "I don't think she'll be mature enough for something like this. Being THE queen. The king's consort. That is going to be a lot of pressure. Are we still not harassed by annoying journalists time to time?"

"What makes you think she won't be mature enough? Her youth?"

"You're the one that's always going around saying the noble girls today aren't prepared for anything."

"True, but I can't judge every single one."

Isabella rolled her eyes. Soon after, a servant came offering her a glass of wine. "No thank you. I'll take a water though."

"Well, apart from Isabella's grievances, mine were more reasons to pick Camille." Sofia spoke up "She's far older at twenty-four, she went to university for law. I don't even think Cecile is currently doing anything."

"Does the education matter?" Valencia asked.

"Well, I'd hope so. It builds character and all that. You don't want a ditzy daughter-in-law do you?"

"No, I've already got two." the queen mother teased. "But you're right. Although we still can't truly know this until we interview them."

"Are we flying them out here?"

"I don't know. I'm thinking of having Isabella fly out."

"Me?!" she sat up, snapped into attention.

"Yes you."

"But why?"

"Get you to do something at least. I had to interview these two."

"Interrogate." Sofia mumbled.

Valencia side-eyed her before returning to her daughter "It'd be a nice chance for you to participate." Picking up her glass of wine and sipping it, the queen mother sighed. "How about this: we take a nice little break, walk around, come back and decide a primary candidate."

"I'm fine with that." Isabella was the first to stand up. "Where are the kids?" she wondered of her nieces and nephew. She had almost forgotten about them.

"Giovani's with Marcello back in Amaglione, Aurora's in the daycare area." Ana responded.

"Giuseppina the same." Sofia chimed in.

"I guess I'll go take a walk down the halls or something." Isabella took her leave, exiting the dining hall. She soon found herself outside by the gardens, resting on bench. The thoughts of this whole things swirling in her head. Why was she, or any of them choosing who Cleone was marrying? Either he couldn't choose, didn't want to choose, or mother took it upon herself to "suggest" one. Both of them seemed alright, on paper. Literally. And then there's the interview. She hadn't been old enough to do it for her other brothers, and now that she was, she still didn't want to.

"Hey."

The princess' train of thought was broken by Ana's interruption.

"Move over a bit." the grand duchess requested, sitting down next to Isabella "Thinking about the thing?"

"A bit." she took a deep breath before exhaling "You?"

"A bit." she brushed back her hair before putting a cigarette in her mouth. Fourth times a charm as the lighter lit.

"Didn't know you still smoked." Isabella went back to laying down, placing her legs over Ana's lap.

"Sometimes I do." she took a drag "It's not like ours."

"Huh? What do you mean?" Isabella lifted her arm from her eyes

"This...selection process. Aside from the interview, it's not like how any of you had to go through all this. Marcello didn't go through this with me. I doubt Pietro did either. And you..."

"Me what?"

"How'd you meet Michele?"

"We met at an event. He knew about me, I didn't know about him."

"Did he have a choice of others? Did you?"

"Please," she smirked "I'm the youngest child of the royal family. And a princess to boot. I had suitors from here to la Grand Ciudad. I rarely met any of them."

"So why Michele?" Ana blew more smoke.

"I don't know. It just clicked. I guess they just want to be extra, extra careful. Highest position in the land and all that."

"Yeah."

A moment passed while they remained silent.

"You know, did anyone ever ask what your brother's type even is?"

"Don't know. The only one I've ever met was Fredrica. She was...something."

"Yeah, big breasted is 'something' alright."

They both chuckled.

"There was a rumor of him hanging out with a foreigner. But rumors are rumors."

"You'd think he'd have a type and pick that one right?"

"Yeah you'd think so." Isabella agreed.

"We should just agree on Cecile for now. If it doesn't work, then Camille."

"Fine! I don't care anymore. Although I would like blonde nieces and nephews from Camille."

Their attention was soon caught by an approaching maidservant.

"Your Highnesses, the Queen Mother would like you to come back to the dining hall."

They both groaned before getting up. Ana threw her cigarette on the ground and put it out, following Isabella to the dining hall.

The papers had been all cleaned up. The glasses put away. Valencia was sitting at the head again while Sofia's seat was empty. Ana and Isabella entered, sitting back down in their seats.

"Where's Sofia?"

"She went to the daycare. She sent me a message for her vote."

"Oh so she can skip this?" Isabella took her in-law's seat, now closer to her mother.

"As long as I have a decision, I don't care. So have you girls come up with something?"

"I think we-"

The doors to the dining hall suddenly opened, turning heads. Gio came in his usual firm strut, stopping just short of Valencia.

"Good afternoon Mother. If I may? It's a message from His Majesty himself."

"You may." she nodded.

"He has said, if you were not finished-"

"We were just about to decide."

"Well, then allow me anyways Mother."

"Fine."

"His Majesty has decided."

"Who?" they all spoke almost in unison.

"He has chosen Miss Cecile Marie."

Isabella dropped her head into her arms and groaned, Valencia took a deep breath, Ana simply took out another cigarette.

Gio lightly bowed and took his leave.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"This One Favor"

Estates General Hall, New Versailles, Nord Oueste Province
Noon
May 2019

The Estates General Hall, or just the Estates Hall. A massive, spacious palace-esque building. It's halls full of art, portraits bordered in gold frames, cherubic reliefs above every door and entrance. The ceilings bathed in frescos. The likeness of former kings, regents, dukes and all manner of distinguished lords lining the walls. And occupying the largest space is the meeting chamber. A room large enough to fit fifteen-hundred or so of the French Quarter's representative noblemen, which it does. The chamber was no slouch with it's high ceiling, capped by a dome, and murals of French history in Lux Pulchrae. Entering through it's large double doors, one found rows and rows of seats and desks all in a wide U-formation. All were facing towards where the council occupied, a bench elevated above the rest, overlooking their subordinates. On the wall, above the council's bench, flags displaying coat of arms of each council member's family.

And the hall was empty. Not just the chamber, but the entire hall. Save for one room behind a door in the back of the chamber. The deliberation room.

They all sat around a phone, waiting for the call. Everyone was present minus Bordeaux, Mouchard and Francaise. Bourbon tapped the desk. DuBois looked at the phone with great interest but would turn to his phone from time to time. Nice also gazed at the phone, side glancing his seemingly nervous colleague. Marquet was sipping his coffee, occasionally fixing his graying hair.

Being relatively neutral and the representative, the duty to answer the phone was DuBois'.

The phone rang, everyone snapped into attention.

They let it ring at least twice before DuBois picked it up.

"Bonjour, Claude DuBois speaking."

The others heard a muffled voice from the phone while DuBois nodded.

"Yes, of course. That's great news. Thank you very much. Yes, we’ll be available to discuss further details when things are set on our end."

Heart pounded. DuBois put the phone down. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled.

"Who is it?" Nice asked.

"They chose Cecile."

Marquet turned away, rubbing his neck. A small round of applause congratulated Bourbon as they all stood up. Hands shook as Bourbon had an excited grin on his face.

Nice confronted him, holding his hand out "Congratulations, Lord Bourbon."

"Thank you very much Lord Nice."

They nodded their heads at each other and shook hands in understanding.

With the big wait over, they all headed outside, departing to their respective vehicles and presumebly on their way home. Bourbon took out his phone, he almost couldn't hold it. Greeting him at the car was his chauffeur with an open door.

"Allo? Marie? No this is Jean. Yes. Is Marie there? Put her on." Bourbon waited for several seconds before his daughter was finally on the other end "Hello my love. I have great news, is everyone home? Ok, that’s fine too. Prepare them please. Yes, we were picked. I'm leaving the Hall right now. I'll be there soon."

Passing the gates, they were waved by the Estate guards. A police car approached Bourbon's vehicle and made its way to the front. Flashing its lights, Bourbon was given a police escort. After making it onto the highway, it was pretty much smooth sailing. Or driving. What would have been typically a two-hour drive became an hour.

Bourbon thought of what to say and how he could say it. He was more nervous than he'd ever admit. This kind of thing was talked about beforehand, but never..approved. Cecile never even knew.

As they entered the town of Saint-Vincent-sous-Mont, the town of his son-in-law Emanuel, he heard his heart pounding. Turning on a road off the main street, the police escort turned back around, beeping his siren in departure. They drove down for several minutes before the estate was in view. A modestly sized manor on a twenty-acre plot of land. Reaching the gate, they were let in.

Inside, Marie Anne de Bourbon prepared her children to meet their grandfather. Standing side by side were Andre and Margot. Andre dressed in a blue polo and jeans; while Margot, to her mother's dismay, continued to wear a modest black dress and combat boots.

"I've told you to take that lipstick off. And those boots, wear something nice."

"This is nice, it’s a dress. You're just in a sweater and jeans, hardly any nicer!"

"Careful with me!" Marie snapped back before calming herself "Have you seen your sister?"

"She's in her room." the teenager replied.

"CECILE!" she called. After no answer, Marie groaned and started going up the stairs. Turning left, she went down the hall where Cecile's room was. Music could be heard through the door "That brat." Marie muttered to herself. Taking charge, she opened the door.

The laughs of Cecile, accompanied by her friend, Emilie du Conde, were halted by Marie's entrance. The two looked up at her while sitting on the bed. The music stopped soon after.

"Hello."

"I told you to get ready! Your grandfather is here. It's very important."

With a frustrated sigh, she got up from the bed and put on a brown sweater over her tank top. Nearing the door, her mother was still in the way.

"What?"

"You're going like that?" Marie looked at her daughter, dressed in mere sweatpants.

"It's just Grandpè. I've seen him a million times."

"This.." Marie tried her best not to spoil it "He's here for a reason. But never mind now. I think I just heard him."

Downstairs, Lord Bourbon was approached by his grandchildren as he entered.

Smiling, he hugged and kissed each of them. "Oh Margot, you look so...dark." he tried to compliment her attire.

"Merci Grandpè." she smiled. Through her usually hard, brooding exterior, she was still a bubbly girl that enjoyed her grandfather's presence.

"Andre, you've gotten so big." Bourbon cheered. But this was no news to him, as his grandson was twenty-three and was done growing.

"Merci Grandpè. I've been one-eighty for a couple years now." the young man replied nonchalantly, almost tired of the compliment.

"Ah yeah, that's right."

"Where are your brothers?"

"Biron-" Andre was about to answer before being cut off.

"Biron's in Agrinord and Charles is in Spain." Margot eagerly answered.

"Ah, away from home are they? Good to hear they're okay." Bourbon smiled and nodded, greeting any servants passing by.

Steps were heard coming from the stairs, Bourbon's excitement and nervousness reached a peak when he saw Cecile descend the stairs behind her mother.

Marie embraced her father gleefully. Both pecking each other on the cheek.

"So wonderful to see you Marie."

Then came Cecile. Her face, her smile as she saw her grandfather. So full of youth. Her wavy, brunette hair was ponytailed. He couldn't utter a word as his granddaughter embraced him.

"Bonjour Grandpè." Slightly taller than her grandfather, she looked down on him with a smile. Her big brown eyes looked into him.

"C-Cecile. Mon Cici." his nervous smile whispered, he was starting to shake. "You look so beautiful."

"Merci Grandpè" she smiled, then noticed his mannerisms "Are you okay?" Cecile worried, her smile waned but remained present.

"I'm fine. M-may I talk to you and your mother, in private?"

Cecile turned to her mother, who nodded in agreement "Sure Papa. Kids, you may go." the others hesitantly left, going their separate ways.

They made their way to the living room. Bourbon had himself sit on the sofa across from the girls. Coffee and bread was brought over to them. Cecile sipped her coffee, unsure of what was to happen. She's hardly ever seen her grandfather this way, if at all.

"Was their something you wanted Grandpè?"

"Cecile!" her mother turned "Wait for him to speak."

"No, it's fine Marie." he put his hand up "It's..a lot."

"Are you sure you're okay?" she worried.

"Cecile, you've grown up very well. Raised by fine parents."

"Merci."

"You've discussed marriage before, correct?" he looked to both of them.

Marie stirred her coffee as she poured some milk. "We've thrown it around here and there." her spoon clanked against the mug.

"Rarely." Cecile sipped again. Her mind started to decipher what her grandfather might say.

"Would you ever like to get married one day?"

"Eventually."

"Eventually? Like, maybe some years down the road, yes?"

"Oui. I'm not studying but maybe some years on my own, you know?"

"Ah yes. Some 'me time'." Bourbon smiled before fading "What if it came sooner?"

A moment passed, Cecile was starting to understand. It was a puzzle and she was surely putting it together by now. "I-I don't know." she gulped "Depends on the man I-I suppose."

"Well. Would you do this one favor for me? Would you?"

Marie's eyes began to fill with tears, unnoticed by her daughter.

"Are you asking me to marry someone Grandpè?" she raised her eyebrows..

"If-if I asked you to marry...the king. Would you do me that favor?"

Her coffee fell from her hand, bouncing off her knee and shattering onto the grey rug.

"A-are you serious Grandpè? Are you for real?" she brought her hands up to her mouth.

"I wouldn't joke about something like this."

"His Majesty? Cleone? He wants me?"

"Yes!" Bourbon smiled "Now 'want' isn't the exact wording, but yes, His Majesty has chosen you."

"H-how? How!?"

"I just threw your name out there, he asked about you, and decided he liked you I suppose. Now, you don't have to say yes. And even if you do, it won't be immediate, you'll interview and court for a while, still be able to decide and all that."

Cecile turned to her mother who was fighting back tears "You knew? Does father?"

Marie nodded.

"I wouldn't be here asking you if I hadn't asked your father first."

"Can I have a moment in my room first?"

"Oh please Cici, take all the time you need." Bourbon nodded.

Cecile nodded, standing up and giving her grandfather a light bow of thanks. Heading for the stairs, she passed by a wall and saw Emilie and Margot sitting, listening in. Looking back at them, she simply hurried up the stairs, the other two followed and just as fast.

Hurriedly, they made it to her room, Margot practically slammed the door. Cecile sat on the bed, they all looked at each other in silence, only broken by the sudden shouts of disbelief and excitement.

They hugged each other, jumping up and down. The girls spoke but all their words were tangled into each other.

“IcantbelievethisIcantbelievethisOhmygoshohmygoshohmygoshNowaynowaynowaynoway.”

“Okay, okay!” Cecile separated from them, holding her hands out. “Okay, let’s calm down a bit.”

“I’m still in shock.” Margot said.

“Me too.” Emilie added.

“Should I say yes?”

“I don’t know!”

Cecile sat back down on the bed, throwing herself back. Shifting around, she rolled herself on the bed until she was under the blanket, her head on the pillow. “I’m going to close my eyes and wake up soon. This is a dream.”

Margot came up to her sister’s side, putting her left arm and leg over Cecile. “Wake me up when you wake up Cici.”

Furrowing her brows, Cecile’s tone became serious “Margot, my comforter and sheets are white. You have black lipstick on, and you’re wearing boots. Get off before you dirty my bed.”

The fourteen year old groaned but not before kissing Cecile’s cheek, leaving a mark. This had greatly annoyed her, so she sat up. Emilie was now sitting on the edge while Margot stood with her arms crossed.

“What will you do? Emilie asked, this time the excitement was gone from her voice and her tone more serious.

“I don’t know. It's a lot to take in. I was thinking maybe saying yes for now. If I don’t like it, I'll call it off.” she shrugged, smiling.

“I never thought I’d be best friends with a queen.” Emilie teased.

“I never thought I’d be sisters with one.”

“Idiots. Both of you.”

“Who even is the king? Is he old?” Margot asked.

“N-no, he’s not old.” Cecile answered, although she was admittedly unsure.

Emilie looked him up on her phone. Flanked on either side by the Elise sisters, they stared at the phone.

“March fifteenth. Nineteen-ninety.” Cecile read, along with other superficial information presented on the screen. Parents, siblings, dynasty, country, et cetera. She stared at an image of him. A bearded king he was. And he looked young too, as if the stresses of the office haven’t hit him yet.

“Well, at least he’s not, like, fifty or something.” Emilie commented.

“Yeah.” Cecile quietly agreed as she continued to look. “That’s my husband.” she thought to herself, almost in awe.

“There any princes?” Margot asked.

“Nope, the youngest is Princess Isabella and she’s already married.”

Soon after, all three descended the steps and headed for the living room where Bourbon and Marie were still seated.

“Have you decided?” the patriarch asked.

“Yes Grandpè.” she paused “I’ve decided...I’ve decided that, yes. I’ll consider it.”

Bourbon’s face lit up as he stood and approached his granddaughter with open arms. “Merci Cecile. This will be a great opportunity, I would never do anything to hurt you, any of you.” he looked to the rest of the family, seeing Emilie “And you are?”

“Emilie du Conde.”

“Oh, I thought I’d gone senile and forgotten one of you.” he shook his head “No matter. I will contact the Estates and the Royal Palace, we’ll develop this further. Hopefully, they’ll give you an interview before the month is out.”

“Let’s celebrate tonight, yeah?” Marie proposed “I’ll call some chefs over, have a nice dinner ready just in time for when Emanuel gets home. Oh, I forgot to tell him!” she realized, heading for the nearest phone.

The girls returned yet again to Cecile’s room, the news was still unbelievable. Cecile, who didn’t even have a plan for the week, had her whole life thrown off course. A mixture of fear and excitement swirled inside of everyone.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Debut"

Arena di Marte, Citta di Fiore, Fiore Province
Night
May 2019

"You think you can handle it?"

"It's nothing to me."

"We'll see."

He thought of those words as he headed down the corridor with the ring in sight, the cheers of the crowd echoed off the concrete walls. Exiting the corridor, the cheers grew louder. The lights hit him with a warm brightness, almost blinding but his eyes eventually adjusted. He didn't look around, only ahead, but even then he could still tell the arena was packed. All of its fifty-thousand seats were occupied. His face appeared on the massive screen thirty meters above the arena. His youthful face and dark, shaggy hair contrasted his veteran body. Every scar and muscle on display.

"Alright folks, give it up for this new combatant! He's been makng some noise, he thinks he can run with the big dogs! Not even in the ring yet and he DEMANDED to be given a high ranking match. Well ladies and gentlemen, he's got one! Entering in his debut match from the Mars corridor, standing at a hundred and seventy-six centimetres, weighing in at eighty-four kilograms! In the blue shorts! Unranked! The Champion of Battaglia: BACCHIIIII!"

The announcer hyped it up and cheers got louder, a noticeable amount of jeering was present too. No one liked a new comer, especially one that's given a relatively high profile match in his first fight. And even less, a "champion" making demands. Combattimento Massimo has seen its fair share of champions, both public and underground, yet many could not keep up.

"You ready for this kid?" Cato asked, rubbing his fighter's shoulders before he ascended the steps into the octagonal cage.

"I've been ready." was the last thing he said before entering the ring.

Entering the ring, the door was locked behind him. He started bouncing up and down lightly and decided to take one look around him. He smirked a bit. This was probably the nation's worst kept secret. An arena of fifty-thousand people, packed. Cameras rolling. For who? Was it televised? Streamed? And this was only an "underground" fight. No way someone in the outside world didn't know about this. And of no one knew, Massimo's pull must be insane.

"Champion of my ass!" one attendee was heard.

"Here he comes!" the announcer started up again as the opponent entered from the opposite end "Entering from the Ares corridor! Standing at one-hundred and eighty-two centimetres, weighing one-hundred kilos! Ranked at number two in the bronze league! Benamino 'The Granite Fist' Giochi!"

The cheers for him were louder as he made his way to the ring. He was noticeably larger, in stature and size. His musculature couldn't be ignored. His head was shaved as well. Chest and arms were hairy. The complete opposite of Bacchi's seemingly hairless body.

"RAAAHH!" Giochi raised his arms in a shout.

"KICK HIS ASS!"

"SEND HIM BACK HOME!"

"KILL HIM!"

Giochi started to walk around the ring, passing by Bacchi, he feinted in an attempt to make him flinch. It didn't work as the boy looked straight ahead, ignoring him.

In the middle of the ring was the referee. For lack of a better term. "Fighters to the center." he motioned them. The fighters approached each other, stopping shortly at the ref. "Okay boys, outside of weapons, anything is allowed. When we tell you to break up, you break up. Have a safe fight." the referee backed away as the fighters retreated to opposite sides of the ring.

Anything and everything allowed. Bites, gouges, soccer kicks, hitting a downed opponent, headbutts, etc. Fighting gear is also minimally allowed as long as it's part of the fighter's particular style. For example, a karateka, a judoka, or a BJJ fighter would be able to wear a gi. A boxer or MMA fighter can wear their gloves. A wrestler could wear his shoes and so could a savateur. A sumo his mawashi, and so on. Mouthpieces were also allowed. However, protective equipment such as shin-guards or head-gear were not allowed. And every fight was open weight, giving a lot of bigger guys the advantage in terms of power. There were no rounds or time limits either so good luck getting a break.

Bacchi put in his mouthpiece, only wearing hand wraps. Giochi also wore a mouthpiece but opted for bare knuckles. The two stared at each other and the horn sounded. Both took up an orthodox stance, approaching each other cautiously, feinting, flinching.

"He's sixteen kilos lighter than me, he shouldn't be too much of a-" Giochi's thoughts went silent as the punches came.

CRACK! CRACK!

Left hook. Right uppercut. Giochi landed on his knees. The match was over.

The referee came over to assess the situation. Giochi was definitely knocked out. He stared in disbelief. The crowd stared in disbelief. Then they cheered in that same disbelief.

Bacchi quickly exited the ring and headed down to corridor back to the locker room.

"Ya did it kid!" Cato rushed to his side, cackling like a mad man "Ya did it. You showed those assholes what you're worth. Taking out number two like he was a chump! Moving on to the silver league in no time!"

"Yeah here's hoping." Bacchi smiled.

A quick rinse and a change of clothes later, they were ready to leave. Passing by patrons and other fighters alike, they were met with either stares or congratulations and pats on the back.

"You did good kid. For bronze." a figure stood in front of them. Guilherme Neri. His same shaggy self in his same old jacket. His hands were in his pockets, as though not believing Bacchi to be a threat.

"Don't listen to him kid, you'll get your chance."

"Shut the fuck up you errand boy. Fighters are talking."

"Why you-" Cato was halted by a pull on his shoulder.

"Like you said, we'll get our chance. And when we do, he won't forget it." the two turned around, heading in the other direction.

"How's the family, runt?"

Bacchi stopped in his tracks. Looking back at Neri.

Neri grinned. "Yeah, last I remembered you had some cute sisters. And your brothers? If you're here, where are they? Don't tell me a little queer like you was the only one to make it here."

Bacchi fully turned around and bolted towards Neri. The latter maintained his grin, his hands still in his pockets. Bacchi threw a right haymaker, which Neri expected. What he didn't expect, was Bacchi to level change and shoot. Now behind him with a tight grip, Bacchi was in a position to suplex him right onto the the concrete floor.

With Bacchi's legs too far and his movements too quick, Neri was unable to wind a leg around Bacchi's and negate the suplex. In a grunt, Neri was lifted backwards. His left arm caught in the grip, he placed his right arm behind his head, prepared to hit the floor at full force the best he could. To his surprise, he fell to the ground like a feather.

Leaning over him with a smirk was Bacchi. No words were said as he and Cato continued to walk away.

Neri watched in a palpable rage.

"Man, that got me nervous." Cato started back up again "Let's get our pay and get something to eat yeah?"

"I heard this place has some kind of food court. We can watch the main event."

"Neri's fighting?"

"Yeah, and I want front row."

"Well, he's penultimate. One of the kings is fighting tonight."

"Who?"

"Uhh, that grappling guy, di Carlo. But it says 'normal match'. So it’s not a grappling match"

"That's probably the idea."

After being directed to the paymaster, they went collect their pay. Bacchi looked around, noticing the security-looking guys posted in the area.

They approached the counter, a bespectacled man behind protective glass was present. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt, a pen in his breast pocket.

"Buonasera." he greeted the duo in a bored demeanor as he typed away on his computer.

"We're here to get our winnings."

"Allora. ID?"

"Oh, here. They gave us this ticket." Cato handed it over.

The man reached for an envelope. Counting the money, he passed it under the opening in the glass. "Congratulation and enjoy." his bored tone continued.

"Thanks. Jackass." Cato muttered as he grabbed the envelope and turned away.

"Let's go someplace meaty."

"Eh, I want something good and fried."

"Here," Bacchi swiped the envelope from Cato's hands "You take a hundred and I'll take a hundred. Meet each other at the front row yeah?"

"Fine. I'll see you later." Cato patted his back and head in the opposite direction in search of fast food.

Putting the rest of the money in his bag, Bacchi walked around. So many people here. The area was pretty full, which made sense, it was still odd given the reason everyone was there. Nice looking restaurants and kiosks. Some turned their heads as they noticed Bacchi. The mutters began. Some tables even invited him, to which he kindly waved and declined. Until a table offered him a nice bowl of sausage and potatoes. He couldn't resist.

"Hey Champ. Come over!" the stranger called him. He sat with three other people, a guy and two girls, with two tables put together.

Bacchi didn't bother to take a note of the establishment serving him. He pulled up a chair and put it at the end on the table, handed the bowl and thanked them. "Thanks a lot guys."

"No problem. That was a good fight. Won five-hundred because of you."

"Huh, no shit?"

"Vero. The odds against you were insane." the stranger smiled. He looked to be about late twenties. A thin guy with a goatee and glasses. His hair was under a flat cap.

Meanwhile, Bacchi scarfed down his meal.

"Whoa, someone's hungry. You barely did anything in the fight." the stranger teased.

The young fighter stopped halfway. "Sorry," he swallowed "Where I'm from this is like breakfast. Only reason I actually came to the table."

"It's fine, but you eat like you were starving. Anyways, I should be apologizing. We didn't even introduce ourselves. I'm Matteo. That's Patrizio." he gestured to the man across from him.

"Gemma." a curly haired brunette who sat next to Patrizio waved.

"Carla." the other girl spoke. Similar to Gemma, except her lighter hair was held back by a white headband.

"Glad to meet you all." Bacchi nodded. "Again, thanks for the meal."

"No problem." Matteo handed him a glass of beer.

"Ah no thanks."

"Come on, celebratory victory beer for your first win. It's Alemani!" Matteo encouraged, the others followed.

"Alright fine." he smiled, grabbing the glass

The table watched him as he ate and drank. He was just a man, a boy even, but it was fascinating to them. They watched him as if they were at a zoo. They'd never seen a fighter up close.

"Where're you from?" Carla wondered.

"Me? Alto province, around there.l

"Alto province? So you're a country boy! No wonder your gulping down that bowl." Patrizio tease. Gemma nudged him with her elbow.

"So you're the 'Champion of Battaglia'. What's it like?" Gemma asked.

"What's what like? Battaglia? It's a low level promotion. They got some decent guys but nothin' really to write home about. I had to fight an African to get a spot here."

"In Africa?" Patrizio asked innocently.

The genuine question caused Bacchi to laugh. A chuckle turned into a uncontrollable tear-inducing laughing. He spent about a minute laughing, it spread to the rest of the party, but even they died down.

Gradually, Bacchi's laughter stopped. Face red and eyes watery. "Man, that was a good one. I haven't laughed like that in a while. But no, not in Africa." he stabbed at a piece of sausage. "So, what brings you four here? Women never struck me as the type to watch these matches. No offense. You usually come to these? And is it always this full?"

"Well, we came with the guys." Carla answered.

"Actually Patrizio was the first." Matteo pointed.

"I train nearby at a Pancrazio gym and heard about the matches here. It's not usually this packed, but the event has some good fights, and golden league fights are crowd-drawers. Not to mention one of the kings is fighting."

"Ahh." Bacchi gulped his beer. "I saw. What's di Carlo like?"

"He's a jiujitsu practitioner. I don't know too much, other than that he's from Solestate and that he's fought public matches abroad. Some in Japan and some in Brazil, I think."

"Jiujitsu huh?"

"You ever fought one?"

"Eh, maybe one or two. Most of my opponents were mixed fighters."

"What's your style?" Carla asked.

"My style?"

"Yeah, how do you fight?"

"Oh, if you could name it, it’s pankration."

Patrizio shot a confused glance at Matteo. A brief silence fell on them. "So like, Pancrazio? The promotion? You're a mixed fighter?"

"Not exactly." he gulped his beer again. "Call it..'old style' mixed fighting."

"I thought pankration was just MMA?"

"Eh. Not exactly the same. Better yet, it's like MMA before MMA ever became a thing. It used to be in like, the ancient Olympics and stuff. But too many people kept dying."

Their eyebrows were raised as the fighter casually continued his meal.

"Don't worry. I haven't killed anyone."

"That's all you've trained in?" Patrizio asked.

"Yeah."

"What about other styles?"

"What about them?"

"Well. Your striking seems fine. But can you grapple? Or wrestle? Can you kick?"

"Of course I can. I told you. It's not that different from mixed martial arts. Or different at all. Anything they can do, I can do."

"Maybe. But surely the Greeks didn't account for grappling and submission moves invented today."

"There's nothing new under the sun. You'll just have to see me in action. I'll be up in the ranks soon."

Just then, on a television above them where the fights were being broadcast, an announcement was made for the golden league fights to begin. There were three matches in total. Neri's match wouldn't be until the second one.

"Crap, I gotta go. I promised my friend I'd meet him ringside." he stood up.

"Hey wait. You got a number? We all live around here so maybe we could do something if you're in town." Matteo stood up as well. "How do we reach you?"

"I don't have a phone. Uh, I guess call my hotel room? You got a pen?"

"Yeah." Matteo took out a pen, proceeding to write down the information Bacchi gave him.

"I'll be staying in the city for now. I'll let you guys know if I'm ever leaving." he said as he grabbed his bag. "See you guys soon."

Waving them all goodbye, Bacchi made his way to the ring. He was eventually directed to the front row area. He looked around until he spotted Cato.

"Hey."

"Kid where you been?" Cato wiped his hands on his clothes.

"Met some guys. Seemed pretty cool. Gave me free food."

"Glad to hear. The match is going good. I forget their names but one's ranked sixth the other is ranked eighth."

Dropping onto a seat next to him, Bacchi crossed his arms and watched the match.

One was pressing the other up against the cage. The man getting pressed eventually went for a headbutt, throwing his opponent off. And it was just enough to get a push-kick in.

"And Fabio get's in a nasty headbutt against Mikail! Followed by a smart teep. Now the two have some distance." the commentator blared through the microphone.

Now Bacchi knew their names.

"Ah that's right." Cato realized "Fabio is eighth. Mikail is sixth."

"Mikail? Surprised a foreigner made it this far." Bacchi thought, remembering one of the Three Kings was a Dutchman.

"Yeah, fighting knows no borders I guess."

Fabio threw a left jab. In a display of perfect timing, Mikail grabbed his arm and performed an armlock. Kicking Fabio's left foot, they went down. Fabio's arm was now upwards, locked in a hold. Mikail held the wrist with his left hand and wrapped his right arm around his opponent's elbow, holding on to his own left wrist, ever so slightly cranking the arm in the opposite direction, pressuring the elbow.

"If he doesn't forfeit, he's gonna lose that arm." Bacchi said.

CRACK!

"There it goes."

"And Fabio's arm is bent the other way! This match is over!" the commentator declared.

Mikail stood up. Fabio's arm was bent the other way. Raising his arms in victory, Mikail walked around the ring. The crowd went wild, but not for him. Turning around, he saw Fabio standing up.

Minus his left arm, he returned to his orthodox stance.

A roundhouse from Fabio. It was blocked. Counter kick from Mikail.

Unable to block, Fabio's left side was exposed. Allowing Mikail's kick to finish the match once and for all.

"KNOCKOUT! Mikail the Turkish Terror takes the victory!"

Medics stormed the ring to take the injured fighter away. The ring was cleared and some time was given before the next match started.

The monitor that hung above the ring displayed the fighters for the next match: Guiliherme "Il Diavolo" Neri versus Philippe Laroche/.

"Here we go kid."

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! The penultimate match for the night! Making his way from the Ares corridor, weighing eighty-five kilos at one-hundred and eighty centimetres. Having fifteen wins and one loss! The Beast of Basso. The brutalizing terror. Ranked number three in the golden league. Entering the ring: Il Diavolo!"

Neri roared. The crowd loved it. His long hair was tied back now. He wore handwraps and yellow shorts. He looked around the surrounding area until he saw Bacchi, standing up. He smiled. No mouthpiece.

"From the Mars corridor, the up and coming savateur star. Seventy-nine kilos at one-eighty. The Prince of French Quarter savate! With twelve wins and three losses! Ranked fourth in the golden league, Phillipe Laroche!"

A young man entered in the accompaniment of cheers. With a slight tan and dark hair, he wore black tights. Not unusual for savateurs. As well as his black shoes. The only thing out of place was his use of hand wraps instead of the typical boxing gloves.

"Weird. Never thought I'd see a savateur make it this far." Bacchi commented.

"Yeah aren't they pretty lame to watch?"

"Yeah. But I've received a couple of good kicks from those guys. They're precise people."

The bell rang, and off they went. Neri went immediately for a running jump kick. Laroche simply moves out of the way.

The exchange garnered some laughs from the audience as the two formally got into orthodox stances. Getting close and closer, bouncing in and out, getting a proper read of each other.

"And Laroche with a kick!" the announcer commented.

The tip of Laroche's right foot hit Neri's left side of the body perfectly.

"Right in the ribs!"

A jab and a straight from Laroche, the straight countered by Neri.

"A high-level cross-counter from Neri! Followed by a right high-kick and Laroche dodges!"

The savateur returned the favor with a push-kick to Neri's right-side ribs. Or in-between his ribs rather.

"Ahh!" Neri let out a small yell. Facing Laroche again, he saw his opponent smiling. Behind him, past the fence, he saw Bacchi. "You little French faggot!"

He charged at him with punches, Laroche simply back up and dodged.

Pivoting to the left, a right high-kick landed right to Neri's head. He fell on one knee, stunned.

"And Neri's down!"

Laroche backed away.

"What a gentleman you are." Neri teased "I won't make any mistakes this time." he calmly met Laroche in the center again. The two went back reading each other, neither committing fully to an attack.

Jab, overhand. Into a shoot.

"Neri's got Laroche belly to back! What's he looking to do?!"

He flashed a malicious grin to Bacchi before executing a powerful suplex.

The savateur was laid out on his back but soon mounted. With his last bit of consciousness he lifted his head, but it was forced back down by a flurry of punches until it was clear he was no longer awake.

The bell repeatedly rang and the referee stepped in to pull Neri off.

"The match is over! Neri with a suplex, finishing it off with some ground and pound for good measure!"

The victor, Guiliherme Neri, stood at the center basking in the light, showered by the cheers.

Bacchi could only look on, the world of Lux Pulchrae's modern day Colosseum was surely a dangerous one.

---

If you have a fighter you'd like to enter into the underground arena, send me a character via telegram and any of their info that would help get a grasp on them. Some stats, their style, etc. Their win or loss will most likely be a coin toss or if I feel like they could win. (:

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Lourdes"

Rioblanco Manor, Barony of Rioblanco, Toccamare Province
Noon
May 2019

Rioblanco Manor. The private estate of the de Los Lagos family, headed by Tomas de Los Lagos y Rivera. An old family home of the noble family, and a relatively modest one, sitting on a twenty acre plot. Large but not eccentric. With it's white facades, red tiled roofs and arched entryways, very typical of a wealthy Spanish Coast home.

Inside, the maids were at work cleaning the home. In the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, fireplace and elsewhere. Outside, the gardeners and groundskeepers also happened to be working that day. The partly cloudy skies allowed the sun to beat on the workers.

And in the darkness of her room in her canopied bed, unmoving, lay Lourdes in her nightgown. Not even a sound. She laid in a deafening silence. From the other side of her door, she could hear a muffled conversation coming up the marble steps.

"Okay. Well, if she's ever at the palace, let us know. We'd love to meet her. I'll bring them all. Yes, and tell him I said 'congratulations'. Okay. Bye." It was Lourdes' mother, Maria, on the phone. She stopped at the door and knocked. The knocks pierced through the silence "Lourdes?" she called "Lourdes honey are you okay?"

She knocked once more before opening the door and peeking her head in. She sighed as she saw the dark room. The only light coming from the outside, sunlight breached through gaps between the curtains.

Her steps came closer and closer until she passed the bed and went to the windows, drawing the curtains.

Lourdes' eyes winced at the sudden flood of light.

Maria came up to Lourdes and leaned over her hair-draped face. Brushing the hair away, she pecked her daughter's cheek. "It's time to get up mija." Maria sat on the bed by her feet. "Lourdes. I know you have these...episodes from time to time. But please talk to me. To us. We’re very worried."

"..."

"Well, I was on the phone with Valencia. It seems Cleone's got himself a little queen." Maria smiled.

Lourdes' heart nearly stopped and sunk even further. Her body felt heavier, as if under an iron blanket. If she was moving before, she definitely wasn't moving now.

"Oh." was all she could muster.

"Yeah, hopefully we'll meet her soon. Some Bourbon French girl Val told me." Maria was only met with silence again. Sighing, she stood up from the bed. "Get up and shower. I'll have Imelda make you a tortilla." she planted one more kiss on Lourdes before walking out of the room. "And if you're not up from that bed by the time she's done, we'll drag you into the shower." the door closed.

Sitting up, Lourdes got off her bed, stretching before heading to her bathroom. Slipping the straps of her gown past her shoulders, it slid down her body onto the floor. She stood in front of the mirror and looked at herself. Her brunette hair was in a lazily brushed mess. Her fair skin had become pale. Her thin hourglass-esque body, which was normally well cared for, had become noticeably skinnier from her lack of eating. Lourdes' hands shook lightly as she held onto the sink, tears trailed down her face.

About fifteen minutes later, she was downstairs in a cute white dress. She flashed a faint smile when she came across a maid until she entered the dining room. At the table sat Imelda, an elder lady and the most senior maid in the household. In her early seventies with grey hair and a bit frail, she fidgeted with something in her hands.

"Buenas." Lourdes said softly.

Imelda lifted her head and smiled "Buenos días Señorit-aye." she stopped herself "Señora Lourdes. Forgive me. I still think you're a little girl."

"It's okay. 'Señorita' is just fine." Lourdes sat down at the table end. Imelda to her right. Lourdes looked down at Imelda's hands, what she fidgeted with was a rosary.

On the table was a tortilla, which was basically a circular, potato-filled omelette. But Lourdes loved them, especially by Imelda. Not possessing the biggest appetite, she cut herself a small slice.

"Oh please, eat more. There's no one else but us here." Imelda encouraged, smiling.

Timid Lourdes complied and took another slice.

The meal was mostly silent. Lourdes occasionally glanced over to her caretaker, who kept her head down, presumably in prayer. She was suddenly brought back to her time in the convent. "All those years". She quickly shook her head.

"Are you okay?" Imelda looked up from her rosary.

"Yeah...just lost in my thoughts."

"Oh." the old lady smiled, returning to her beads. Another moment of silence passed between them before she spoke up again "You know, I heard your mother talking to Jose on the telephone. He's coming over soon."

"Sounds great." Lourdes said with the enthusiasm of a rock.

Lourdes was soon laying outside with her sunhat over her face, catching sun at the behest of her mother. The calmness of the day nearly lulled her into a slumber. Occasionally lifting her head to wake herself up.

Just when everything was about to go black-

"You're gonna get a sunburn if you stay in the sun like this."

Lourdes jumped, startled by the sudden voice. Her hat fell off her face and through the blinding sunlight, a silhouette stood over her until her eyed adjusted, but she already knew who it was.

"You scared me." Lourdes covered the glare with her hand above her eyes. Standing over her was Jose. Jose Aldo de Tejada y Constanza. A tallish man, decently built too. His dark hair slicked back and his skin lightly colored in the typical coastal tan. His grey pressed slacks matched his vest against a white shirt.

"Your mom said you were out here, so I wanted to sneak up on you."

"Malvado." she said sheepishly, covering her blushing face with her hat.

"I told you ma'am. She likes me." he kept teasing.

"Haven't seen her like that in days." Maria walked up to the two.

"I should be around more."

"You should." Lourdes said in a more dissatisfied tone, her face partially covered by her hat. She sat up on the chair's edge, giving Jose enough room to sit beside her.

"You don't call me. I didn’t know if you wanted me around anymore." he put his hand over her shoulder. Her face became redder. "You should get some sun. Your skin's betraying you now." Jose got closer, pecking her cheek.

"Did you come here just to bother me?" Lourdes kept looking away, pulling herself from Jose.

"Of course not. I heard you were down so I came to cheer you up."

"You heard I was down huh?" she glared at her mother.

"Don't look at me like that. You were. Some sun and a nice date will do you good."

"Yeah she’s right. Let's go somewhere."

“Where?"

"Beats me. Somewhere in the city. Maybe a nice restaurant. You ever go to a club?"

"Not really my thing. Maybe another time."

"Aw come on. I know all the good ones. No lines or anything."

"Jose." Maria said firmly, not to press her daughter any further.

"Fine." he put his hands up “I have to go check on the ports but I’ll be free later tonight. Would you have me for dinner Lady Maria?”

“I’m not the one to ask.” she coyly said, shrugging “It was a pleasure seeing you Jose. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me Lourdes.”

Maria smiled, walking back into the home.

“So would you have me-”

“Yes.” Lourdes held on to him. Her head at his chest. “I’m sorry…for not calling.”

“It’s fine. If you need the space I get it.”

“It’s just, you were right. My mother too. I’ve been down.” her voice was noticeably sobby. Hot tears began to stain Jose’s vest. “I don’t know what hit me, but I was just in a slump and my mother came in and-.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Jose slowly wrapped his arms around her. “You don’t have to say anything.”

The occasional sniffling was heard, so Jose separated her face from his chest. Pulling out a blue handkerchief from his back pocket.

“Here, wouldn’t want to be unpresentable at my meeting later.” He smiled.

“Thank you.” Lourdes said through her choked voice. Wiping the tears from her face before wiping her nose. Attempting to hand it back to him, Jose respectfully denied.

“Oh you can keep that one. Think of it as something to remember me by. Just remember to wash it, yeah?”

In an instant, Jose’s vest was grabbed and he was pushed back against the chair. Swinging her leg over, Lourdes was now atop, still holding on. Getting ever closer, her nervous breathing could be heard. Jose didn’t move as she got closer and closer until they were practically a hair’s width apart.

“Hey this’ never happened before.” he smirked.

“Cállate.”

She closed her eyes and pecked his lips. Moving away, she opened them, seeing him still sitting there with a puzzling look. She didn’t know what to make of it. “Do something vago!” she thought.

Sitting up against the chair properly, with his left hand was on her hip, Jose’s right hand reached for her face, into her brunette mane, holding the back of her head. It felt good, Lourdes closed her eyes again and sighed in excitement, smiling.

Lourdes was pulled in and the two kissed once more.

About a minute or two passed before they separated. Finding the end of her dress, the eager Jose’s left hand slowly crept up her leg.

Getting to the thigh, Lourdes’ eyes widened “No!” she said, stopping his hand in its tracks.

Ever the..gentleman, Jose sighed “Okay. See?” pulling both his hands from her and putting them up.

Feeling a great shame, Lourdes dismounted and stood up, grabbing her hat from the floor and putting it on.

“I think I’ll be going inside.” she coldly said.

“Wait-wait. What? Why? Because of me?”

“No. I just…want to go inside now.”

Sitting on the chair’s edge, Jose reached and held her hand. “Would you still want me to come to dinner later?”

“I..don’t know. I’ll let you know later.” she began walking back inside.

“Lourdes, are you serious? Lourdes!” Jose watched as she went inside. Waiting several moments, he went inside himself. In the kitchen, he saw Maria and Imelda cleaning up. “Señora María. Doña Imelda. I’ll be leaving now. The ports are calling me.”

“So soon?” Maria looked confused.

“Yeah sorry ma’am. Lourdes I think went back upstairs.”

“Yes I saw her but she didn’t say anything. What happened?”

“Oh nothing. She just wanted to come back inside I suppose. But anyways. I’ll keep in touch.” Jose’s taller frame hunched over a bit to give Maria and even Imelda a goodbye kiss on the cheek.

They said their farewells to each other and Jose was seen off the property by a guard.

Maria’s face became stern as she looked up the stairs and headed to Lourdes’ room. Even her steps had become more serious.

Opening the door, Maria entered her daughter’s room to find her laying in her bed again. Standing by the bedside, Maria placed her hand on her hips.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” Lourdes was facing away.

“Something must’ve happened! He left minutes after I leave you two alone. What happened?”

“NOTHING!” she sat up.

“Why you-“ Maria grabbed a hold of Lourdes and made her face her “I don’t know what’s going on with you but you better snap out of it! Jose is a man of good standing and comes from good families. If you don’t like him then fine, we can find others, but you’re not going to stalk the corridors of this house like a zombie into your thirties, you hear me?”

Lourdes just looked at her mother. Then turned away, laying there. She only heard as her mother hastily walked away, slamming the door.

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours. The sun no longer shone bright enough to light up her dark room, now dimly lit by the fading sun. Lourdes remained awake. An occasional hot tear trailed across her nose into her bed. Deafening silence ruled the air until a knock on the door was heard.

“Lourdes, tu papá ha llegado. Te espera.”

“Gracias Imelda.”

Soon after, Lourdes descended down the stairs once more and into the dining room again.

“Ah there she is.” a deep voice said. At the head of the table sat the man of the house: Baron Tomas Antonio de Los Lagos y Rivera. A tall man with a fine, strong figure for his age. His greying dark hair was short and brushed to the side. His trimmed mustache had been winning the race against age and remained mostly without grey hairs.

He stood out of his chair to kiss Lourdes. She looked at him for a second. “He must have been here for a while.” she thought. Noticing he was wearing a button-up and jeans compared to his usual straight-from-work suit he’d always be in around dinner time.

“Hi daddy.” she half-grinned.

“Hola Princesa.” he hugged her, picking her up.

Her mouth widened into a smile as she was put back down.

“How was your day?”

“It was fine.”

“You leave your room today?”

“Tomas.” Maria interjected.

“What? I’m asking a question.”

“Can you at least sit down. Both of you.”

The father and daughter looked at each other before smirking and sitting down.

Taking the seat at her father’s left hand, she was handed a fish plate, tilapia and fried potatoes. Seeing her parents with a glass of wine each, she was brought a glass as well.

“Sorry I didn’t wait for you before we started eating.” Tomas apologized, cutting a piece of fish off with his fork “I was a bit hungry.”

“When did you get here? You’re not in your usual clothes.”

“Oh, I was at the ranch. Office work ended early so I headed up there.”

A moment of silence passed between them as they ate and drank.

“So how was your day? You said you left your room? That’s good.” Tomas broke the silence.

“Yeah. Just went out to the back. Get some sun.” Lourdes elaborated.

“Jose came by today.” Maria added.

Lourdes looked up from her plate, almost stunned. First to her mother, then father.

“Mom!”

“What? He was here wasn’t he?”

Lourdes sighed, looking back down to her plate, prodding her potatoes.

“That boy.” Tomas shook his head “I do-“

“Don’t like him. I know.” Lourdes interrupted.

“Don’t get fresh. He seems fine, but I’ve known about him longer and I’ve heard about him for longer too. And you,” he pointed to Maria with his pinky “You know how I feel yet you let him in here. In my home.”

“It’s good for her to socialize. It was either have him come here or stay in her room all day.”

“I’m right here.” Lourdes thought as she remained silent.

“There are plenty of good men that would be happy to meet you mija.” Tomas stated as the fork entered his mouth.

“Then why haven’t I met any?”

Maria’s eyes went from her daughter to her husband, stabbing her fish.

“You haven’t met any,” he swallowed “because you’re hanging around with him. And as long as people know you’re with him, they’re not gonna bother.”

“Then say I’m not with him.” Lourdes didn’t even bother looking up.

“Is that an attitude?” the Baron’s hands stopped, he looked up from his plate.

“No. I’m just saying. Spread your own word or something, if you want me to see others so badly.”

“How can I? What am I going to tell them?”

“Tomas.”

“‘Hello everyone, I’m looking for a suitor for my daughter-”

“Tomas.”

“‘She doesn’t clean, doesn’t cook, and sulks in her room all day, any takers?’”

“Tomas!”

He looked to Maria, her straight face silently told him to stop. He sighed, looking back to Lourdes, who’s gaze remained downward.

“Look nena, forgive me. But I, as your father, as your protector, only want the best for you. And right now, the best for you is not Jose and this…teenage fling you two are having. You're not a teenager anymore. You’re not at the convent anymore. You’re a grown woman. Think of more serious options.”

“You still haven’t told me why Jose is bad.” she responded dully.

“Because he’s a womanizing troublemaker! That’s why. He’s got a lot of standing with his peers but to us older guys he’s nothing but a stain.”

“Mom seems to like him.”

“I just think he comes from good family, even if Constanza is his mother’s family. Tejadas aren’t bad either. And he’s been quite nice the few times I’ve seen him.”

“Tejadas. They tripped over their own laces up the social ladder.” Tomas grumbled.

“If you must know, he didn’t stay long. He left pretty quickly, for whatever reason.” Maria added, glancing at Lourdes.

“Good.” Tomas’ fork sounded against the plate before it got quiet again.

The nights were usually just the three of them, everyone else had gone home. The occasional one or two maids would stay the night on weekdays to help in the early morning. Sometimes Antonio would be at the table with the rest of the family, but he was visiting friends on the coast.

“If that’s what you want,” Lourdes spoke up, her eyes still not meeting either of her parents “I won’t see him anymore.”

“Glad to hear querida.” Tomas smirked.

“Lourdes don’t list-” Maria was about to speak, when a side eye from her husband changed her mind.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing. Slipped my mind.”

“Don’t worry sweetie. I’ll introduce you to an actual man soon. A young, beautiful girl like you, I’d have to reinforce the gate to keep them out.” he teased.

Lourdes smiled. And not a fake one either. This one was real, her cheeks turned red. It was such a dumb, playful, exaggerated comment. But she liked it.

“You know, I was talking to Valencia earlier today.”

“Oh really? What did my sister want?”

“Nothing. I called her just to catch up and got hit with the news that Cleone found a girl.”

“Ah. Good for the boy then.” Tomas continued in a neutral tone “Maybe we’ll get a decent queen for once eh?” he chuckled.

Lourdes produced a half-hearted smile.

“Oh be nice. Anyways. It’s apparently Bourbon’s granddaughter-”

“Scratch what I said earlier.” he laughed again.

Maria gave up and calmly returned to her plate.

Sensing he ruined her mood, Tomas tried to heal it “Querida I’m sorry, it was just a joke. What’s today? Wednesday? We’ll go up there this weekend and say hi. Congratulate my nephew.”

Lourdes’ smile dropped.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Going for a Jog"

Royal Palace
Noon
May 2019

“I simply advise against it Your Majesty.” Gio insisted as he watched Cleone stretch just before the main door to the courtyard.

“Should I be…a prisoner in my home that I cannot…walk my own streets unaccompanied?” Cleone reached the floor with the tip of his fingers.

“It’s just, you never know.”

“Gio, it’s a quick jog around the town.”

“At least take Dino with you.”

“Please. His cardio is worse than mine, he’ll only slow me down.”

“Gio stop being a little girl. If Cleone wants to go, who’s to stop him?” a voice entered the conversation, the Queen Mother’s to be exact.

“Thank you.” he said as he opened the door. The guards on the other side stood in salute as the trio walked the courtyard toward the gate.

Cleone smiled, wearing a navy blue tracksuit and white running shoes. As they got closer to the gate, one of the two armed guards at that end spoke into their radios, then saluting the royals.

“Good morning Your Majesty. Queen Mother.” the guard, Simone, spoke. “Going for a stroll?”

“Yup. Shouldn’t be more than an hour or so.”

“Enjoy then.” Simone took out a key and opened a small door within the larger gate itself. A more personal entryway. Easier than hauling a giant gate that’s for sure.

Waving goodbye to the others. He looked down Via Reale, which was a straight shoot to the national cathedral just a kilometer away. He looked elsewhere and saw Nussio Park nearby. “Sure why not?” he thought.

Virtually across the street from the palace grounds, it was a nice pedestrian park always filled with people.

Entering the park, he got on the track-like path, seeing others getting their steps in as well.

Some of the people seated on benches or simply walking along turned their heads. “Is that the king?” they would wonder. Others knew, but seeing as he was busy, thought it best not to bother and simply waved.

After a couple laps, he made his way to the center where the fountain was. Exhausted and breathing heavy, Cleone saw a gelato man. “Maybe he’s got some water.”

His Majesty waited his turn in line until he got up to the vendor.

“What would like sir?”

“You have any water?”

“On a day like this? Of course.” Opening a compartment in his stand, he took out a bottle.

“Two bucks.”

“Two bucks?” he looked at the man. Taking out his wallet, he took out two singles “Here you go.” taking the bottle.

Cleone sat on the nearest bench he could find, finally resting. Watching the people go by. His people. Mothers pushing strollers around. Kids running past each other. Couples. Families. Teenagers. Even the stray cats were enjoying the day lazing about.

On the open field areas he could see, even more couples and families sat in the grass, on blankets, or tables. Sitting in circles, laughing. Boys wrestled. Dogs ran in joy.

The sun was really beating on him today with an almost cloudless sky.

“No one seems to notice. Or care.” Cleone thought to himself “I can’t tell if that’s good or bad. Am I that much of a recluse?”

In the midst of his thoughts, a familiar man in black crossed his view. “Father Rossi!”

Rossi, dressed in his typical cassock and cappello, looked to the voice that called him. Adjusting his glasses, he smiled “Oh, Cleone my boy.”

“Didn’t think it was possible for you to leave the chapel.”

“Well, sometimes I like to do my prayers in the park. But you’re one to talk, didn’t think it was possible for you to leave the palace.” the cleric chuckled.

Cleone shrugged “Just going for a jog. Might finish at the cathedral and then run straight back home.”

“Quite the task.”

“Steady pace. Should make it back in one piece.”
he took a sip, before realizing the father was just standing there “Oh please Father, have a seat.” he scooted over.

“Oh no worries. I’m headed back anyways. If you see Neromari tell him I said hello.”

Rossi blessed Cleone by making a sign of the cross over him. Lightly bowing his head, and bid him farewell.

Halfway done with the water bottle, Cleone stood up and began walking. Leaving the park through one exit would take him near the restaurant area of the shopping district.

The streets became narrower here, now only fit for people. Lunchtime was not as busy as dinner at these sorts of places but it never lacked patrons, that was for sure.

Cleone didn’t think to get a bite, walking past the restaurants until someone got his attention.

“Your Majesty!”

Not just his attention now, but the attention of others. Murmurs we’re heard as Cleone quickly looked at the source of the voice and saw Matilde sitting by herself.

“Miss Matilde. A pleasure to see you.” he walked over.

“Likewise Your Majesty. Sorry to call you out so carelessly.”

“No, it's fine. It seems most people don’t care anyways. So what’re you up to here?”

“Just getting a bite.” Matilde answered. Sitting at a small round table. Opposite of her was an empty chair “Please sit Your Majesty.”

“Why thank you.” he obliged, sitting across from her.

She looked different out of uniform. Her brunette hair that was normally tied back, was draped on her back and shoulders and wavy, topped with a thin black headband. And out of her dress, she wore a white, short-sleeved top and jean pants.

“I just ordered, would you want to join me?”

“Sure why not.” the king shrugged. “What’d you get?”

“Oh just a sandwich with salami. And mozzarella. And tomatoes. An-”

“I get it.”

“Here you are.” the waitress came by and placed a pint of beer in front of Matilde “Can I get you something sir?”

“Oh. Yeah I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

The waitress nodded and went back into the restaurant.

“You forgot to mention a pint of beer.” Cleone teased her, smiling.

Matilde covered her mouth, not wanting to show her grin and colored cheeks “Oh yeah. Sorry Your Majesty.”

“Matilde, since neither of us are in uniform, how about we just stick to first names, yeah? Just don’t make it a habit.”

“Oh. Of course.” she sipped her beer, tapping the table. “So why are you out of uniform Your Ma-, er, Cleone. Sorry.”

“Can’t you tell? I’m going for a jog. Or was. I was just at the park. Saw Father Rossi.”

“Ohh. That’s nice. Didn’t know he left the chapel.”

“Exactly what I said.”

The waitress came back with another pint, placing it in front of Cleone.

“Grazie.”

“Prego.”

“Kind of defeats the purpose of a run if you’re going to drink and eat a sandwich, no?” Matilde pointed out, taking a sip.

“Eh.” Cleone shrugged “I’ll just go extra hard during training later.”

“Sorry for ruining your exercise.”

“It’s fine. It was honestly less of an exercise and more of an excuse for me to see the town.”

“What do you mean? This is your town. This is the capital, your city.”

“Yeah but with my duties, and the palace grounds being big enough, I hardly have any leisure for a proper view. From the palace to the cathedral to the old capital to the park and the lake is all I’ve ever really been to. Or a drive around town.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Oh please. It’s nothing. Royal precautions I guess. Even as youths, we never went to the city proper.”

“But I imagine you’ve been around the country right? Vacations and stuff.”

“Of course-“

They were interrupted by the arrival of their sandwiches.

“Anything else?”

“We’re good for now. Thank you.”

The waitress nodded her head and left the two. Matilde was about to take a bite when she saw Cleone cross himself, she followed and bit into it.

“So,” Cleone started again “If I may ask. Where are you from Matilde?”

“Me?”

“No, the other Matilde.” Cleone smirked, picking up his pint to take a sip. Or a gulp.

“I come from Prigione. A town called Campostella. A bit of a rural town.”

“Ah yes. I can hear the Piedmontese.”

“Oop-“ Matilde covered her blushing cheeks “I didn’t know it was so noticeable. I got pretty high marks in Standard class as a girl.”

“I was only teasing but now I know for certain.”

Most rural areas of Lux Pulchrae tended to speak in the somewhat Piedmontese accent, and it was much stronger in places where French and Italian demographics were mixed up, such as Prigione. Although “Standard Italian” was what was usually taught, or supposed to be, in schools.

Some accents were just too strong to hide in Matilde’s case.

“Well, glad I could confirm your suspicions.” she smiled.

“How’d you wind up here?”

“In the capital or-”

“Here, the palace, take your pick.”

“Oh. Well, I ended up in the capital because I just wanted to get away from home, and my cousin lives in the apartments here so I thought I’d give it a chance.”

“Get away? What for?”

“Like experiencing new things. I can’t live my entire life in Campostella.” she bit into her sandwich.

“Interesting. And the palace?

“I was actually working in a restaurant like this but it was in the Rotatoria area.” Matilde answered, referring to the city’s center, the Rotatoria, or “roundabout”.

“I worked there until a couple months ago I heard from a friend that the palace was hiring.”

“But why? Why a maid?”

Matilde chewed again. Moments passed between them as she chewed. Finished, she gave her answer “It’s the closest I’ll ever get to you. The Royal family. I’d always see you all on the television. You yourself may be a bit of a recluse, no offense, but the media likes to follow your type. And people like to watch.”

“That just makes me want to stay inside more.” Cleone joked. More or less. “I do remember lousy cameras on us when we traveled with my father.”

“Cameras are gonna be on you.” Matilde’s smile dropped a bit. “On her… we can’t-“

“Yeah. I know.” Cleone responded “It probably wasn’t prudent anyways.” Downing the rest of his pint. Seeing the waitress nearby, he picked up his glass and shook it lightly. The waitress nodded and retreated into the restaurant, soon coming back with another pint. “Grazie.”

“Prego.”

They quietly ate and drank for the rest of the meal. Finishing his pint yet again, Cleone stood up.

“I think I’m just about done. Let’s walk back home.”

“Oh, sure.” she hurriedly finished her own glass. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she dug through it for her wallet when she heard something hit the table.

Cleone had placed money on the table.

“Oh no Your Majesty, I can’t have you-“

He put a hand up, stopping her. “It’s Cleone. And I already did. Let’s just go.”

Matilde knew there was no fighting it so she simply stood up and began walking with Cleone.

“Where are we going?”

“What were you planning to do today?”

“Nothing, just lunch.”

“Should we go home then?” Cleone stopped, offering his arm.

“Sure.” she smiled, taking his arm.

They walked in silence. Out of the shopping district and into the park they continued. They went practically unnoticed. As they exited the park, they were getting closer to the palace.

Cleone stopped. “We should stop here.”

“Yeah.” Matilde agreed, letting go of his arm.

They continued walking side by side until they reached the gate. The guards in front saluted.

“Your Majesty.”

“At ease. Look who I found in the wild.”

“Good find sir. Miss Piccoli, we’ll ask you to stand by. Your Majesty, you may enter.” one of the guards said, opening the personal gate.

“You’re gonna search her? She’s with me. She’s fine.”

“Standard procedure.”

“It’s fine Cleone, it’s norm-” Matilde quickly stopped, realizing what she had done, it even caught the attention of the guards, who glanced at her. “I mean, Your Majesty.”

“Good. You’ll be careful to address me properly next time.” Cleone chided her, revealing to her a smirk. “Alright enough of that gentlemen. Let her though. That’s an order.“

“Of course.”

The guards nodded and let them both pass. They walked side by side again across the courtyard until they reached the main door, saluted by more guards. They passed again, entering the palace.

Someone was approaching from one of the halls, Valencia entered the foyer.

“Well hello, seems you’ve found someone on your run.”

“Yeah, caught this one during lunch.”

“Perfect timing. Matilde, as soon as you’re ready, please join me to help with the children.” Valencia turned and retreated into the deep halls of the palace.

“Yes Your Highness.” Matilde bowed.

“I’ll see you then.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Pleasure having lunch with you.”

The two finally parted ways. Cleone to his office and Matilde to the maids’ quarters, smiling the whole way.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Falcone"

Arena di Marte, Citta di Fiore, Fiore Province
Night
May 2019

"No fight today?"

"Nah. I've talked it over with the old man and one fight a week seemed unreasonable. And unschedulable."

"And suicidal." Cato added. Eating a plate of pasta.

“Well, thanks to my near instant win, I took no damage in my last fight. I argued it and the old man got another match in about a week.”

Cato, Bacchi, Matteo and Patrizio, sat at a table at one of the arena's eateries, di Lombardi. The bronze league fights were over and on to the silver league fights. Pasta, bread, meat and beer filled their stomachs. Except Bacchi's. Water, pasta and meat was all he had for the night. He chuckled at the antics of the others before him.

Gemma and Carla were on their way, according to Matteo.

Bacchi sipped from his glass and looked around. His attention was grabbed by some cheering nearby. It wasn't loud, but noticeable. The object of praise, made the young fighter raise his eyebrows.

She wasn’t tall or big. In fact, she looked petite. But that might’ve been because of her gi. White and thick, she tied the belt as she walked. Her bare feet slapping the polished concrete. A black belt that boldly showed her experience hung on her waist. Her wavy golden-brown hair tied in a ponytail. The woman’s face seemed to be in its last stages of youth, perhaps late twenties or even mid-thirties. A slight smirk appeared on her as she passed by the cheers.

A quick glance to the side and her eyes made contact with Bacchi’s. She did a double take and was sure of it. It was him. Her demeanor changed.

“Oh shit she’s coming over here.” Cato said, downing his beer.

She walked up to Bacchi’s side, stopping about a meter short.

“Stand up.”

Bacchi, never taking his eye off her, remained seated.

“I said stand up.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Stand up.”

Having enough, he humored her and stood up. Bacchi was maybe six or seven centimeters taller.

Her hands slowly approached his right arm. Grabbing his wrist in one hand, the other went up his arm, into his short sleeve.

“You’re softer than I thought.”

“You want me to be harder?” a dumb grin appeared on his face.

“Oh no. Not yet.” she smirked. Pulling him in, she whispered softly, almost seductively, in his ear. “Don’t think I’ll be so easy to beat, boy.” letting go of the arm. “I’ll be the last silver match tonight. Come watch me.” she winked and turned around, continuing towards the arena proper.

“Who was that?” Cato asked.

“Elena Falcone.” Matteo answered.

“Notorious grappler, five-time Spanish Coast BJJ women’s champion and the only woman in the underground arena. The self-styled ‘Queen’ of the underground.” Patrizio chimed in.

“Huh. A woman. In here?” Bacchi crossed his arms, somewhat impressed.

“She’s also ranked third in the silver league. If she wins tonight, she’ll be placed second.”

“You’ve seen her fight?”

“Once or twice, but I don’t pay attention to women fights.” Matteo admitted, sipping his beer.

“I’ve seen a couple of her matches.” Patrizio said in between forks of food “Probably one of the best grapplers I’ve seen here. Most of her wins were submissions too, although she doesn’t have the most perfect record.”

“Still, for a girl to compete even in bronze says something about her.”

“You saw the way she eyed my boy here.” Cato patted Bacchi’s shoulder “She really seemed like she wanted to ‘wrestle’ real good with him.”

“Say, Bacchi. Would you?” Patrizio asked.

“Would I what?”

“Would you fight her? A girl?”

He shrugged after a moment’s thought “Eh, why not? If she’s ever my opponent. She’s a big girl, she knows what she’s getting into here.”

“I suppose.”

The four finished their meals soon after and watched the rest of the matches on the nearby screens. They watched until it was time for Elena’s match.

“Let’s go Cato.”

“Oh yeah. Nice eating with you guys. Shame I didn’t get to meet the girls. See you around.” shaking their hands, Cato stood up and put on his jacket and cap.

“Remember when she grabbed my arm?” Bacchi said as they began walking.

“Yeah? She still got you thinking about that?” Cato nudged him.

“She wanted to throw me.”

The two made their way to the fighter’s section for a front row view. The lights were bright, and the crowd was relatively quiet during the intermission. An occasional phrase or sentence can be heard from the announcer. Attendees could be seen getting up or buying stuff from roaming concession vendors.

In the fighter’s box, there were several others present. Among them was della Costa, enjoying a bag of chips.

“Della Costa!”

“Huh? Bacchi!” the young man stood up. Shaking the duo’s hands.

“Come have a seat.” he gestured to the empty seats next to him. They sat in the second row. “Nice to see you guys here.”

“Yeah, likewise.” Bacchi replied.

“What brings you here? You’re not fighting today right?”

“No. Just came to watch. Some guys I met last time invited us here so we obliged. We’ve mostly been in the eateries.”

“Ah, that’s good. Making friends already.”

“We mostly came to the seats at the request of the broad fighting tonight.”

“Elena?”

“Yeah. Me and Cato saw her while we were eating.”

“You wouldn’t believe what she did.” Cato leaned in, farthest from della Costa “Told this prick to stand and then she started to feel him up.”

“Really?”

“Well, my arm.” Bacchi corrected.

“Well then. They don’t call her ‘Sirena’ for nothing.”

“What’d’ya mean?” Cato asked.

“Never happened to me but she…‘seduces’ her opponents beforehand. You know. Flirts them up and stuff. Gets in their head.”

“Hmm.” Bacchi crossed his arms “I’ll be damned if I let her get in my head.”

“If she did that to you then she probably sees you as a challenge.”

“How flattering.”

The lights began to dim. And cheering began.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen! Are you ready?! Tonight is is a promotional match! Making her way to the ring with an impressive record of twenty-six wins and three losses! The ‘Siren of Submission’, ‘Lady Death’, the ‘Queen’ of our underground! Weighing in at sixty-six kilograms, with a height of one-seventy! From the Mars corner, the beautiful, the deadly…ELENA…FALCONE!”

Out of the corridor, she waved and smiled at the crowds. Those close enough tried to touch her as she passed by. Her second, a tall, broader man, slapped away any hands that got too close. . Passing by the fighter’s box, she saw Bacchi sitting with his arms crossed. A mean and seemingly unimpressed look on his face.

“Miss Falcone good luck!” Cato cheered, eating from a bag of chips.

A weak half-smile was all the thanks she gave him. She glanced once more at the boyish fighter before entering the ring, her second began wrapping her hands.

“You got this. Same thing as always. Don’t get in their range or stay so close that they won’t be effective, shoot when you know you got it.”

“Yes professor.”

The second left the cage and the door was locked.

“Who’s that guy? Her second?” Bacchi asked.

“Yeah.” Della Costa answered “Her trainer. Some Brazilian that used to fight here, so I’ve heard. He’s a legit trainer in the real world too.”

“Allowing a student in the underground? I thought public masters weren’t into the underground.”

“Eh. It happens.”

“And out of the Ares corridor, the rising star fighting out of Razzi! With a record of nine wins, zero losses! Weighing in at eighty-four kilograms, standing at one-hundred and eighty centimeters. He’s shown himself to be a proficient fighter but will he be able to save himself from the python-like maneuvers of Elena? Tonight we will find out! Ladies and gentlemen, entering the ring, ranked second in the silver league, give it up for Gianmichele DeRossa!”

Out of the corridor a man approached the octagon. With lightly bronzed skin and short brown hair, he wore black compression shorts with red stripes on the side. He wore yellow four-ounce gloves but no mouth guard. While a bit bulky, he was well defined, and his body was hard to pin down what style he favored.

But Elena already knew he was a well-rounded fighter. And he was well aware of her.

“Fighters to the center.” the official called for them “I want a respectful and humane fight. But as far as this goes, anything besides the use of weapons is permissible. Fight!”

He swiped his arm in between them and got out of the way. The ring was just the two fighters now.

Elena stood still holding on to her belt until she put out her right hand. “Good luck.”

DeRossa looked her up and down before hesitantly shaking her hand.

The two backed away, DeRossa got into his orthodox stance while Elena did the same, except her hands were in front of her, ready to grab.

“Lord. Grant me the skills today that I did not have that day.” she prayed in her thoughts.

DeRossa stepped forward, Elena stepped back in reaction. DeRossa then threw several punches. All Elena could do was block and even then, they still hurt, like always.

“And DeRossa takes the initiative with several jabs. He’s pressuring her it seems.” the announcer commented.

The jabs continued, Elena did her best to dodge and block. Then a kick to the left thigh came.

It wasn’t a cute feeler kick too. He wasn’t playing around. The kick made her stumble a bit. DeRossa took his chance and threw a couple of shots. She threw some back, landing a jab on his nose.

Stepping back, the two regained themselves and got closer once more. The up and coming fighter repeated his process of jabs and straights to break her down.

Then came a body shot and a left hook. She felt the shot to torso for an instant before she saw the left hook. Barely dodging it, she took her shot. Diving into his midsection, Elena’s right hand grabbed onto DeRossa’s left leg and lifted it. Her left foot placed strategically behind his foot still on the canvas, she successfully took him down.

“And Falcone lands the takedown! DeRossa wraps his legs around Falcone’s left, trapping her at half-guard. He’s hugging her tightly, now she’s the one in trouble. She’s locked in!”

With her leg caught in between her opponent’s, he hooked his feet and tightened his legs like a vice. Elena groaned in pain.

“Giving up?”” DeRossa asked with a cheap smirk.

“Not yet.”

Arching his back, he forcefully shifted his weight to the right pulling Elena’s leg towards him, rolling her onto her back.

“And DeRossa tries to reverse it! Looks like he’s trying to get on top now. Falcone’s sat up, he’s pushing but she ain’t budging.”

Elena’s left arm slithers under DeRossa’s right armpit until she reached his neck. Her right hand found her left and clasped it.

“And Falcone’s got a choke in!”

Her legs were free now. She leveraged her body that was now pressing her opponent’s head and arm against the ring floor. Her legs far from his reach and in a stable stance. She was choking him.

His feet found the floor and a mighty push was given. It was futile. The push was weak as he was losing consciousness. In a swift motion, Elena swung herself over his back. Her right arm went around DeRossa’s neck, grabbing onto her left forearm. Her left hand on the back of his head.

“And-and Elena has him again! She’s got a rear naked choke!”

Her legs wrapped around his midsection. Elena rolled onto her back and the two fighter’s now faced the ceiling. The bright arena lights. He could not fight back. Only weakly try and pry Elena’s arms from his neck. Then his senses started to fade. Slowly until everything went black.

When it was clear what had happened, the official stopped the match.

“Enough! The match is over!”

Elena broke her hold and rolled backwards to stand up. Jumping up in excitement. Her master entered the ring and hugged her.

The crowd cheered her on.

“And with this win, Falcone is promoted to second rank in the silver league!” the announcer was now in the ring, he wore his usual plain grey suit. He patted a handkerchief across his sweaty forehead. “Miss Falcone, with this win you have all but secured your spot at the top of the silver league, just behind silver’s top dog: Vittorio Maio. And you might just even skip into the golden ranks. You are the first and only woman to compete in Combattimento Massimo, and to reach where you are is nothing short of admirable. Do you have any words?”

“Of course I do Romano, plenty. But I’ll only say this.” she huffed, sweating. While short, the match was exhausting. “Just as I have done in bronze, am doing in silver, and will continue to do in gold: I will bend every man to my will. And the slight against me has not gone unnoticed.”

“Slight?” the announcer pulled the microphone towards himself before returning it.

“You know what I mean. There are fighters in gold with half as many wins. And twice as many losses And I’m coming for them whether Massimo wants me to or not.”

With that, she returned to her master and the two left the ring. Passing by the fighter’s box once more, she saw Bacchi and della Costa. The former kept his stoic appearance with his arms crossed, the latter had a big smile and clapped.

“Congratulations!”

“Thanks Sal. No word from you new kid?” Elena leaned on the railing.

The stoic youth broke his stone-faced expression with a smirk and a thumbs up “You did good lady.”

“Thank you ragazzi.” she blew a kiss before leaving to the corridor.

“What a woman.” Cato whistled.

“She’s something alright.”

“Elena Falcone.” Cato mumbled to himself. “Falcone. Falcone….” he put his hand to his chin in thought. The name rang a bell but he couldn’t remember why. “Hey della Costa.”

“Yes?”

“That chick. Is she related to anyone..important?”

“Ah, yeah. That’s Enzo Falcone’s daughter.”

Elena and her master, Pedro De Silva, waited outside the arena. Elena was now out of her gi and in a more casual attire of jeans and white shirt. As a courtesy and for the safety of the fighters, several security guards were in the vicinity.

“You didn’t need to humiliate the guy like that.” Pedro breathed out cigarette smoke from his nostrils.

“Yeah, but I wanted to. Let them know that silver league is a plaything to me. They won’t take me seriously otherwise.”

“Heh. I suppose not.” Pedro gave in. He was a reserved man for the most part. His years of discipline have molded him, for better or worse. Tall, swarthy, and bald. Most of his words were either advice or criticism.

He had come from Brazil, hearing of a land that loved fighting as much he did. Setting up shop in the city, Pedro found a surprising student in Elena. There was something in her, a desire, that didn’t match the other students. It went beyond.

A black sedan soon arrived, someone came out from the driver’s side. A portly man in a button-up and slacks approached them.

“Miss Falcone.”

“Nico.”

“Your father’s in the car.” he grabbed her duffel bag, nodded to Pedro and returned to the car, placing the bag in the trunk.

“Professor.” Elena turned to her master and bowed. Then she hugged him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it menina.” he smiled, hugging her back. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Certainly. Bye.”

Entering the car, Elena sat in the passenger seat. By the opposite window sat her father, Enzo Falcone. As portly as his driver, his greying hair and mustache exposed by the car’s light.

“Papa.” she kissed his cheek.

Smiling, he patted her head. “Figlia mia.” he said raspily.

As they drove away, Enzo glanced out the window, seeing Pedro. “If you wanted to hang around monkeys all day I could’ve taken you to a zoo.”

“Dad.”

“What? I’m just kidding. I still don’t get why you do this. It’s..it’s unbecoming-”

“‘And unlady like of me’. Yeah, I know.”

“It’s just, someone of my standing, with a daughter who goes around fighting people. They’re gonna think I don’t care about you.”

“Let them think what they want, dad. I don’t care.”

“Listen-I won’t say any more.” he put his hands up “Not now. I just want a peaceful ride home tonight.” Enzo withdrew his thought.

Down the highway, they were out of the city and approaching more secluded and private residences in the town of Pieta. Reaching the gate to the estate, the guards opened it. Elena saw the oh-so-familiar faces. She was definitely home.

Exiting the car, Elena headed directly for the front door. Entering the large home. The sound of conversation could be heard.

Her mother and her housewife friends were having their weekly coffee meet. All the happenings and gossip of the week were the discussion topics usually accompanied by whatever television program they used for white noise.

“Elena! Come over here.”

The woman sighed with closed eyes before turning around and entering the living room.

Around the coffee table sat her mother, Sofia. With her were Clemenza Mangiani, Pietra Bruno, and Maria Genoa.

“Mama.” Elena greeted her mother with a kiss on the cheek, going on to greet the other guests in the same manner.

“How you been Elena?” Pietra asked “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I’m fine. Was just hanging out with some friends.”

“You got a boyfriend Elena?”

Caught a bit by surprise, she took a moment to answer “No, not really.”

“Well you know my son Damiano right?”

“Yeah I remember him.”

“If you want a date don’t hesitate to call me.”

“Thank you very much Missus Bruno.” Elena nodded and gave a generous half-smile “If you’ll excuse me. I need to shower.”

Elena closed the door to her room and began taking her clothes until she was standing in front of the mirror in her underwear.

She examined her body for any bruises. While petite, she was well toned and had out on a decent amount of muscle in the time since she started fighting. Most of it showed in her legs and back. The abs weren’t looking bad either.

Jokingly flexing in front of the mirror, Elena stopped. Turning to her bed, she crawled onto it, rested her head onto her pillow and cried.

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Visiting: Gelato"

Royal Palace
Morning
May 2019

It was half past ten as Cleone stood on a balcony overlooking the courtyard, dressed in a black suit. The gates were opening to let a vehicle in. Through the car's windshield he saw his uncle Tomas. Has he been driving all the way from Rioblanco? Cleone entered the palace and headed for the stairs.

Down in the foyer, Valencia and Isabella waited at the door. When the de Los Lagos family entered, they were greeted with hugs and kisses.

"Good to see you Tomas."

"You as well nena." he hugged her "Where's my brother-in-law?"

"He's outside."

"Lounge?"

"Yes-"

Tomas didn't wait, already heading to the gardens. His tall frame echoed in the hall until he disappeared.

Valencia turned around back to Maria, "Sister how've you been?" the two pecked each other on the cheek.

"Nothing much since the other day. Sorry if we popped in out of nowhere. I just told Tomas about Cleone's little girlfriend and he wanted to come up here himself." Maria took her shrug off, revealing the top half of her grey dress, a maid came by and took it from her.

"Oh please, you're welcome here on my busiest day. This is your home too. At least you called ahead." Valencia said something to one of the maids, who nodded and left the scene.

"Tia." Lourdes approached Valencia timidly.

"Hola linda." she hugged her niece. "You been ok?"

"Yes Aunt Valencia, I've been fine."

"That's good. Maria, dining hall?" Valencia suggested.

"Oh sure. I’d love a coffee.”

"Tia!" was heard from the stairs as Cleone descended almost excitedly, almost showing an immaturity. He hugged Maria and giving her a kiss.

"Cleone mijo. Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"I want to see her!" Maria said excitedly "You have to show me this Cecile. Have you even met her?"

"Not...yet." he admitted "There's still the interview, then she visits the palace."

"Let me know when! I want to meet her. Do you have a picture?"

"Uh..yeah." Cleone took his phone out of his pocket, searching until he found a picture. It was one of the photos he had been given of Cecile.

"Oh wow, she's beautiful."

"Thank you very much tia. Where's uncle?"

"Outside with your father." Valencia answered.

"Oh okay." Cleone turned his head to see Lourdes and Isabella to the side "Hey."

"Hi." a small smile appeared on the girl’s face.

He walked up and hugged her. It was a strong hug, or at least it felt strong to her, almost feeling held. She would’ve hugged him back but her arms were trapped.

“How’ve you been?” he asked.

“I’ve been fine.”

“That’s good.” he broke the embrace.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Cleone smiled before a brief moment of silence passed and he spoke again. “I’ll go see uncle then.”

Soon, he too disappeared into the halls.

“I trust you girls can take care of yourselves?” Valencia teased as she took Maria’s arm.

“Yes mama."

Now only Isabella and Lourdes were left in the foyer.

"My room?"

"Sure."

The two ascended the stairs, passing a couple of maids going the opposite way, greeting the princess and her visiting cousin.

"So does tia treat you like a child too?" Isabella asked as they reached the second floor, turning left in the direction of Isabella's room.

"The opposite, I think. I'm not sure."

"I'm twenty-four. Twenty-four and married. And my mother still treats me like a teenager."

"Speaking of, where is Michele?" Lourdes wondered.

"He's in the city. Doing what? I don't know."

They entered the area of the palace where the royal family's rooms were. While most of the royal children have moved out, they still keep their claims to their old rooms, and the best is done to keep it neat for any return visits.

Isabella opened her door and entered. She was in here before not too long ago so it was a bit cluttered. Michele's luggage was next to the bed on the right side.

The princess threw herself onto the bed face-first, rolling onto her back. She patted the thick white comforter, inviting Lourdes.

Going to the opposite end, she sat gently and fell backwards. Her head next to Isabella's. Both of their legs hanging off the bed.

"How've you been cousin? How's Jose?" Isabella asked, a sense of genuine curiosity was heard in her voice.

"I've..been fine. He's fine too." Lourdes answered as she always did.

"That's nice."

"Doing anything today?"

"Me? Nah. If you want, we could do something."

"I don't know what there is to do in this place."

"Me neither. Honestly, I'm not the type to be up this early if I’m at the palace. I could stay in bed til the evening came."

"Did you eat breakfast yet?"

"Not really. Why? You hungry?"

"A bit." Lourdes patted her stomach.

“How about I take a nap and we go eat lunch. You can go to the dining hall and get yourself something in the meantime.”

Isabella sat up and got off the bed, taking off her dress. Pulling it up by the skirt and over her head, standing in her underwear. She threw the dress on a nearby chair.

“A warning would be nice.”

“Oh please, you've seen more. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll nap an hour at most. Are you sleepy too?”

“No, I’m quite fine.”

“Okay then. See you in an hour.” Isabella turned away, about to enter a slumber.

Lourdes quietly left the room, gently closing the door. Now out in the hall, she looked both ways and found it empty. With nothing to do, she began to wander. She forgot much of the palace, even as a girl she didn’t come here very often, usually staying home with Imelda.

Walking along the red-carpeted floors, she looked at the white walls, decorated in all manners. Paintings from kings of old into modern times. People and historical events of note were also displayed. Those held in higher esteem had their portraits bordered in beautifully designed golden frames. Statuettes also decorated these halls.

In all its grandeur, the halls were relatively empty. Besides her, the only other souls she saw were the citizens of the palace, the occasional maid or servant. Nodding their heads in greeting when they saw the Lady Lourdes.

Unknown to her, she ended up in the king’s section, where Cleone’s office, study, and bedroom were. Standing before the office door was a guard in uniform. Silent, stoic. His eye moved, catching Lourdes. Her eyes met his. He simply gave a slight nod.

About to turn around and head downstairs, the opening of a door was heard. Coming out of the study room was one of the maids.

Closing the door, the maid began walking, noticing Lourdes.

“Oh hello.”

“Hi.”

“You must be Lourdes.” the maid smiled. She was pretty. Fair skinned and brunette. Dressed in the typical maid uniform: a greyish-blue maid dress past the knee with a white apron at her waist, matching leggings and white loafers. She looked to be around her age.

“Huh?” Lourdes replied as if snapped out of a trance.

“You are Lady Lourdes, yes?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry. Lost in thought.”

“No worries Miss.”

“Have we met?”

“Oh, we were all given a quick brief. You know? Knowing incoming guests to better prepare ourselves and how to address them is part of the job. On my way then, don’t want to bother you.”

“It’s nothing. I don’t mind. And your name?”

“Matilde.” the young maid answered.

“You’re quite pretty Matilde.”

“Aw thank you very much Miss. Yourself as well.”

“Where were you just now?”

“Where was I? I just came from His Majesty’s study, this area is one of my rounds.”

“You see him often?”

“Pardon?”

“My cous-Cleone. You see him often?”

“Oh. Sometimes.” Matilde shrugged “I tend not to work in the room he’s in. Unless he allows it. But I keep to the empty rooms.”

The two stood in silence for a moment before Matilde spoke again.

“I should get back to work then.” she lifted up the carrier in her hand with cleaning supplies in it.

Lourdes looked at it then quickly back to her.

“It was nice seeing you then.”

“You as well Miss.” Matilde bowed her head and headed in the opposite direction.

Lourdes headed downstairs to the dining hall. When she entered, she saw her mother and Valencia talking over coffee and bread. Whatever it was, it was static. She didn’t focus on anything said. Just gossip and more gossip.

“Y Lourdes, tienes novio?”

“Eh, sabes de Jose verdad? Constanza-Tejada?”

“O si.”

“He forbade the relationship.”

“Mmm. What did you think of it?”

“Me? I didn’t mind them. He’s a nice man, well connected. Tomas says he’s a troublemaker. I’ve never heard or seen anything of the like.”

As they talked, Lourdes was about to make her way to the kitchen when she was stopped.

“Want something Lourdes?” Valencia asked.

“No tía. I just wanted a bite.”

“Come sit here, I’ll have them make you something.”

“Thanks tía.” she next to her mother, laying her head on the table.

“How do you feel about your father’s decision?”

"What decision?"

"You and Jose. You like him right?"

“I don’t care tia.” she gave a muffled answer.

“Lourdes, show some respect.” Maria said.

“Ooh, an attitude. You tired?” the queen mother teased.

“A little.”

“Then why don’t you go to sleep?”

“Because I’m also hungry. I’m waiting for Isa to take her nap so we can go somewhere.”

“Where you girls going?”

“I don’t know. She’d know the town better than me, no?”

“I guess so.”

A maid arrived with a plate, carrying a simple ham and cheese sandwich. In her other hand a glass of water.

“Thank you very much Claudia.” Valencia thanked.

“You’re welcome Ma’am. Enjoy Lady Lourdes.” the blonde maid bowed her head, holding a look onto Lourdes maybe a second too long.

“Claudia, you’re free to go.”

“Yes Ma’am.” she bowed her head again and went into the background, remaining in the hall.

“Thank you Claudia!” Lourdes thanked as she left.

Lourdes bit into the sandwich. It was alright.

She ate and drank from her glass while Maria and Valencia talked and talked until it became like white noise to her. Soon she was done.

“I’m going to papa.”

“Okay mija.”

“You know how to get to the gardens?”

“Yeah..no.”

“Claudia, please guide Lourdes outside.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Follow me please.”

Her plate and glass were taken by someone else and she and Claudia went on their way.

Maria and Valencia watched as the two left. Maria turned back to converse with her sister-in-law, sighing.

“I know, I know.”

“You know but I’ll still say it. She is not right. You need to talk with her.” she sipped her coffee.

Claudia and Lourdes eventually made their way outside. They walked until the men were in eyesight, sitting in a gazebo smoking cigars around a small table.

Lourdes thanked her guide and continued towards them.

The three: Cleone the Elder, Tomas, and Cleone the Younger, were mostly quiet.

“'Cion tio.”

Cleone turned his head and smiled, getting up. “Ohh, bella mia! Como estas?”

“Bene.” Lourdes smiled, responding in his language, as he had done to her.

“I thought you’d be with Isabella.” the former king sat down.

“She took a nap.”

“She took a nap and left you alone?” the elder Cleone furrowed his brow “No manners! That child has no manners!”

“It’s ok uncle.”

“It’s not even that. It’s the principle of it. You do not leave your guest unattended, no matter who it is.”

“I’ll let her know uncle. But we’re going out later.” Lourdes slowly walked around the gazebo. Ignoring the empty seat and coming up behind the younger Cleone’s chair. Wrapping her arms around him, she laid her chin on his head.

“Hi.” the king said.

“Hi.” she responded quietly.

“How is it up there?”

“It’s fine. I’m resting on a nice, thick skull.” she smiled at her own tease.

“Me alegro.”

She stayed on his head for another moment as more conversation passed her by. Her uncle and father talking about someone she didn't know or somewhere she’s never been. She sighed.

“Care to take a seat?” Cleone gestured to an empty seat across from him.

“Sure.” she departed from atop his head and grabbed the chair, setting it up next to him. Close enough to rest her head on his left shoulder, intertwining his arm with both of hers.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, taking a puff of his cigar.

Even though he had already asked earlier, Lourdes was about to answer with her usual “fine” yet again. She thought for a moment, how she’s really been and answered.

“I’m tired, Cleonel.” she sighed.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“And you?”

“The same.”

“I can’t imagine your life. Compared to you, I shouldn’t be tired at all.”

“It’s fine, we all have different burdens. But if you want to categorize it, I’d be more exhausted compared to your tired.”

“That’s fitting.” she smiled.

She softly tightened her arms around his. Her right hand slid down his arm until it reached his hand. His hand was closed, almost like a fist. Softly, she tried to pry his hand open, just to hold it. But his fist tightened. Her hand went back up his arm.

“Let’s do something.” Cleone stood up.

“Huh?” Lourdes let go as he got up.

“Let’s go to the city. Isabella won’t be awake for another hour and you can’t just sit here inhaling all this cigar smoke. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“I’ve always wanted to see the city center. Haven’t been in a while. Doubt you’ve been either.”

They dismissed themselves from the company of Tomas and the elder Cleone.

“Where are you going?” the former king asked.

“To the city.” Cleone responded, smiling.

Tomas looked on as the two headed inside.

“Gio?” Cleone spoke into his wrist watch.

“Yes Altezza?[/]”

“Please prepare a personal vehicle for me.”

“[i]You’re driving yourself?”

“Yes, driving myself. I don’t want any detail on me.” he stated, looking back to Lourdes “I bet he was scrambling any one he could into a team before I told him that. He probably still is.”

Through the palace they went and to the front door, greeting anyone they saw. Waiting for them was Gio.

“Gio.”

“Your Majesty, please recon-”

“Gio. I’ve already made myself clear.”

“Sir please.”

“Gio! If I see anyone but me and Lourdes, I might find a new head of staff. I understand your concern but stop worrying.” he took off his suit jacket and handed it to Gio.

“Of course.” the sevant bowed his head and had the guard open the door to the courtyard.

A grey Rolls-Royce-esque vehicle sat waiting for them. A guard had just finished inspecting it when His Majesty approached.

Opening the passenger door for Lourdes, waiting until she was seated to close it and and go to the driver’s side.

As Cleone was about to open his door, the opening of the palace doors grabbed his attention. Out came Valencia in a fast-paced walk with Maria far behind.

“Where are you going?”

“To the city.”

“Why?”

“Because while Isabella is sleeping Lourdes is alone. Might as well take her sightseeing if she’s going to wait.”

“You cannot go into the city alone. Take a team with you.”

“Mother, I'm completely fine.”

“Last time Lourdes went out into the city she and Isabella nearly got ambushed.”

Cleone simply sighed as he opened the car door and entered. Starting it up, the gates were opened. Slowly exiting the courtyard, the vehicle was saluted by the guards as it left. Having almost no vehicles in the Palace district of the capital, driving was a breeze.

As they got nearer to the Center district, traffic was more present. Not congested but noticeable. Mopeds tended to dominate and dominate they did. They were aggressive riders, almost ignorant of pedestrians.

Lourdes watched as they drove through the city. It was almost noon and quite sunny, meaning a lot of people were out and about.

“I didn’t know you knew how to drive.”

“What do you think I am? What next? You didn’t know I brushed my own teeth.” Cleone smiled.

She smiled too. A bit of a silly question, but she honestly didn’t know. She herself didn’t know how to drive. A moped was all she knew, but she learned that at the convent.

Shaking her head of the thoughts, she continued to look at the city. The buildings weren’t tall, four stories at most, maybe. She saw as others watched them. The car was surely drawing attention.

Still looking around, she could see what were undoubtedly tourists. They were white, pudgy, and dressed weirdly, untypical of locals. Probably American. But then again, what would she know? She lived hours away in the coastal region. This was a nice, grassy, foot-of-the-mountain region.

“You come here?”

“Me? Down here? Never.” Cleone answered.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I haven’t been down here in years.”

Finding a spot, Cleone parked the car.

Stepping out, he went around the car to open Lourdes door.

“Thank you.” she playfully smiled, grabbing his hand to exit the car.

“Where now?”

“Well, we’re by the center. From what I remember there were some pretty good eateries. Maybe some gelato.”

They walked. The capital wasn’t anything like the coastal cities of Grand Ciudad or Citta di Fiore, much grander with taller buildings, much more tourist accommodation with famous hotel markets and luxuries like casinos. But the capital was still a draw. It was the capital after all, the king’s city and seat of power full of history and majesty.

Passing the insisting proprietors. The two eventually stopped at Fermino’s Gelato.

“Ciao.” they greeted as they entered.

“Ciao.” the counter girl greeted back with a smile. “What would you like?”

They looked through the pane at the flavors. They had all sorts: chocolate, vanilla, pistachio, lemon, mint, strawberry. It went on for about ten or fifteen more flavors.

“I’ll get a chocolate.” Cleone said.

“Okay. And for you Miss?”

“Uh...” Lourdes looked and looked “I’ll just have lemon please.”

“Ah okay.” the girl smiled. Taking a generous scoop of each and placing them in cups, handing them spoons “Would you like anything else?”

“Do you sell anything else?” Cleone asked, taking a spoonful into his mouth.

“Just drinks and pastries mostly. The cannoli are pretty good.”

“It’d be hard to mess that up. But we’re good for now.”

“Okay. Six lira sir.”

Cleone sighed, taking out his wallet and handing her the money. They sat at one of the nearby tables.

“Not bad.” Lourdes tasted hers.

“Yeah.”

They laughed as they ate. It was a nice time.

---

I seem to be a dialogue-heavy person

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Refugees"

May-June 2019

Towards the latter half of May, Lux Pulchrae's heavy involvement in Posteastan's civil war was coming to a close with mostly positive results. Within the coming weeks, most of the troops will be coming home along with ten to fifteen thousand refugees in the following months.

Plans were made, camps were set up and netwoks established. Posteastani will be moved to areas with the space and resources to support them, mostly coastal cities. Camps were set up in Grand Ciudad, Citta di Fiore, Puerto Alto, and Nouveau Versailles.

His Majesty made a visit to the initial camp in Grand Ciudad to welcome the arrivals.

The best was done to keep families together, though some were seperated. But there were hopeful stories of couples and families reuniting after the initial settlement.

Children with no family were either taken in by another or taken to foster homes or orphanages.

There was much hesitancy from the locals as the welcomes weren't the warmest and the neighborhoods they eventually ended up inhabiting were called something to the effect of "Gypsy Town" by locals due to their Romanian-esque stock.

The best was also done in terms of welfare and job assistance. Reportedly, many of the men were either manual laborers or trademen back home. The women, those that seeked jobs, found themselves in postions as maids or waitresses, etc.

Parishes opened their doors to welcome the lost souls, but many weren't sure just yet, having come from the Orthodox faith, they now found themselves in a confessionally Catholic state.

Strangers in a new land, they remain hopeful, most of them. At least there were no wars here.

---

https://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=459117

[Lux Pulchrae]

"Lese-Majesty"

Saint-Vincent-sous-Mont, Nord Oueste Province
Noon
June 2019

Interview. Interview. Interview. Ever since word had gotten out the she was the apparent suitress of His Majesty, the press was eating her up. Young and beautiful. Pictures of her were practically everywhere, she had started to get tired of it. It was nice though. She had even garnered a nickname among fans: "Dauphine of Nord Oueste".

All these interviews but none of them were the interview. The one from the Royal Palace. Today it was a journalist from De Agrinord. A woman, Paula Martin, with blonde hair in a sort of bobcut. She and Cecile sat across from each other in the foyer, Paula sat with a pad in her hands, seemingly writing down notes and asking her questions from there. And facing both of them was a camera man recording the whole thing.

So far the questions have been standard, getting to know her and her life, but being young, there wasn't too much excitement. Not to Cecile at least.

"Have you met His Majesty yet?" Paula asked.

"Not...yet." Cecile smiled "I was promised an interview. From the Palace itself. Maybe they got lost on the way." she giggled nervously.

Paula laughed as well. "A bit disheartening to hear no? Have you heard anything from the Palace yet?"

"We get calls. I understand if they're busy. I'm certainly in no rush."

Paula half smiled before looking into her papers, galncing to her cameraman. He looked back. She looked at him in a knowing manner. His head shook negatively.

"Well, Miss Cecile, what if I said I may know the reason why?"

"The reason for what?"

"The reason the Palace hasn't reached out properly, as they're supposed to." Paula passed a set of papers to he.

It was a photo of His Majesty Cleone and a woman, they sat at a table together. At least it looked like him. He looked as if he was going for a run. In another image, the two seemed to be walking arm in arm.

"Who is this? The woman"

"We don't know. We got this from an anonymous source."

Cecile examined at the picture for a couple of seconds. Collecting herself, she replied to Paula, returning the image. "There must be an explanation, no? If it even is His Majesty. Perhaps they're just friends."

"You're right Lady Cecile. Seems like the most likely answer."

The interview continued for some time, without further issue. When Paula was soon done, she and her cameraman thanked their hosts, being shown the door and kindly guided off the estate.

Marie and Margot had been watching from the side.

"That bitch."

"Mama!" Margot was shocked.

"How dare she come here with that. And how dare the Palace! A month and no call? Papa is going to give me their number and I'm going to call them. We are llike fools sitting here." in between her commanding the maids to tidy up rhe foyer, she pulled out her phone "Allo? Papa? Bonjour! Oui, oui, grâce à Dieu. Et vous? Bien! Papa, this might be much but would you please contact His Majesty or his office or whatever. There is something going on and I don't like it. What? They asked if we've ever met him. How do you think she responded? And then that vulture journalist showed Cecile a picture. It was quite humiliating..." Marie's voice trailed in into the halls as she walked away.

In the living room, Cecile and Margot sat rather quietly on the couch. Margot laid on her back, her feet, or boots, on Cecile's lap while they were on their phones. Cecile was back and forthe with Emilie.

"You okay?" Margot asked.

"Yeah. Just...I don't know."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. She just showed me somethnig stupid."

"Is it what mama was mad about?"

"Something like that." she sighed, putting her head back, staring at the cieling. "A week? Sure. Two weeks? Understandable. Three weeks? Then concern starts to set in. A whole month? Something's wrong." Cecile thought to herself. "He picked me, right? Did someone else get really get involved?"

Preville, Agrinord Province
Evening

At the offices of De Agrinord, a little meeting was held. Paula sat in the editor's office. The editor, Jacques Nantes, went over the interview, both on paper and video. A rather no nonsense paperman with years in the industry, having the grey hair and thick body to show for it.

"This is just an outline right?" he growled in lowly voice, muffled by a tobacco pipe between his lips.

"Yes. Of course. It's too cluttered like that."

"Hmm." he continued to read. It was a standard interview up until Paula's mention of His Majesty's "friend". "What's this?" he shuffled through the papars, finding the photographs.

"It's an alleged picture of His Majesty with a woman."

Jacques sighed. "Where did you get this?"

"From Petite Brun-"

"Petite Bruno?" setting his glasses on the desk. “That little bottom-feeder. He's probably sold it to twenty other papers already. Good for him, because we won't be the ones going down. Do you know what would happen if I approved this?"

"I didn't think it would be a problem. It's-"

"Then thank goodness I'm here. Even the implication, the implication, that His Majesty would be seeing another woman while he publically seeks to court the Quarter's own 'Dauphine', would be enough to incur Lese-Majeste violations. The crown is very strict with this." he looked up from Paula, out of the window of his office into the main floor at another office in the corner opposite of his. "I have half a mind to scrap the entire interview, they probably wouldn't let us in for a second one either."

"Isn't the news for reporting the truth?"

"The truth? We're meant to report stories, as truthful as possible, that people are willing to buy. But not this. Even if I wanted to approve this, it's tabloidic. We don't even know if that really is His Majesty. We'd be starting a controversy over something we haven't proved."

“It looks exactly like him! That is him”

“Can you prove it? Did you get a name from him? That could be anybody!”

"Yeah maybe it's the king's body double! So what are you going to do?"

Pinching the space between his eyes, Jacques sighed "Cut out the part where you showed her the pictures. Try and make it as seamless as possible please."

Their attention was grabbed by a knock on the door. It was Francesco Francese, overseer for articles related matters and members of the crown. He was, in certain cases, the final editor.

Jacques gestured for him to come in.

Opening and closing the door, Francese gave them a half smile. A slim man, he wore a brown suit with a yellow shirt underneath. A head of black hair combed to the side, while a thick pair of glasses occupied his face. He had a cup of coffee in his right hand, and a folder held in his left armpit.

“Ciao.” he sighed in a noticeably uninterested tone.

“Bonjour Francese.” Jacques greeted back.

“I heard there was an interview with your little Dauphine.” he sipped his coffee, moving to a seat next to Paula, his right ankle over his left knee.

Getting up off the edge of his desk, Jacques stood up straight “Yes, Miss Paula here was just showing me the drafts.”

“Mmm.” Francese looked through the folder he brought in his arm, half-paying attention. “Well, I just came to check on you. Coincidence you’re here Miss Paula.”

“Quite the one.” she replied.

“Aren’t you in ‘Cultures’?”

“Yes.” she furrowed her brow in wonder.

“Is the Dauphine a cultural export to report on?”

“Definitely. She’s the hottest thing right now. Her pictures are everywhere. She might even surpass the Princess in popularity.”

“Not hard.” he read his pages “The royal family aren’t keen on their everyday lives making it into the articles.”

“Her Highness has always been an eager face in the media. Girls everywhere look up to her.”

“And now they’ll look to their future queen-apparent.” Jacques chimed in.

“Quite the possibility.” Francese put his papers down on his lap. “Let me see.”

“The draft?”

“Of course. I wasn’t assigned here to sit around.”

It was true. Francese wasn’t hired, he was assigned by the propaganda arm of the Grand Ministry of Education, therefore an agent of the state. Nicknamed “Lese-Majeste officers”, they reviewed any articles that explicitly spoke of His Majesty or any member of the Royal Family, looking to remove any slanderous or insulting matierials. Or anything that brought negativity to their public image. The officers were jokingly considered an honor as they are assigned to news and media organizations that have reached a certain level of influence and sizable audience. And this was done with almost all media companies.

Jacques handed over the papers. While most editors and L-M officers tended not to get along, some like Jacques understood the role, as much as he himself hated it. Francese likewise respected Jacques and tried not to step on his toes too much in his own home, as many officers were known to be very stringent.

Francese examined, adjusting his glasses. He read the transcript, the notes, and examined the photographs.

“Hmm. This..won’t fly.”

“No?” Paula said.

“Nope. Where’d you get these?”

“From-from Petite Bruno.”

“Who?”

“He’s an independent photographer that works with Quarter-based newspapers.” Jacques answered.

“Do you have any contact information on him?”

“Unfortunately no. He comes to us.”

“I’m going to have to make some calls then.” Francese sighed before standing up, walking out of Jacques’ office and into his own. And calls he made. All the L-M officers in every major paper were called.

“Hello? Yes, this is Francese. From De Agrinord. Is this Editor Rene? Yes? I’m making inquiries among all the officers. Is Berlotti there? Ahh ok. Well, there’s a Petite Bruno going around with pictures alleged to be His Majesty. If you come across it, I want it halted and sent to Berlotti. Thank you. Ok, I’m getting a call. Let me know if you get it.”

He set the phone down to light a cigarette. Looking up, he saw Jacques entering and sitting in an unoccupied chair.

“How’s the search?”

“Fine. I have an incoming.” he picked up the phone again “Hello? Yes, it’s Francese from De Agrinord. Pleasure to speak to you Gammino. Ah you did? You’re halting your story?” he looked to Jacques “I haven’t decided yet. Ours can be edited. If not then we’ll probably just scrap it. Okay. Well I guess everyone is making calls to everyone. I have a couple more calls but I’m glad I’m not the only one. Talk to you soon.”

Hanging up the phone, he was done. He sat in his chair and threw his head back.

“So what’s the move?” Jacques wondered.

“Wait until all the officers have gotten the word and we have one of those computer meetings. Personally I’m inclined to let you edit it. I’ll get back to you on that.”

“Hmm.” Jacques tapped the arm of the chair.

"Some have gotten them, some have not. That was a close one eh?"

The day went on. Paula's interview was ultimately allowed to continue, although edited. By five o’clock, around the end of the work day, copies of the photographs had reached the Royal Palace.

Royal Palace

As usual, a quiet day in the palace. The sound of hasty footsteps filled the hall. It was Gio speeding towards His Majesty’s office. Saluting the guards, who stood stoically on guard he was let through and entered. He found Cleone at his desk, writing.

“Gio!”

“Your Majesty.” he bowed.

“What can I help you with?”

“There’s an urgent matter.”

“Regarding the photographs?”

“Yes, reg-” Gio paused “You know?”

“Yup. They reached me about an hour ago from Propaganda.”

Gio breathed a sigh of relief as he dropped into a chair, his hand palming his face. A smile could be seen.

Cleone smiled in return.

“A bit redundant to notify both of us, no? You are aware it’s only a matter of time before-”

As if on cue, the doors opened, and in came Valencia.

“I want to see them.”

“Hello to you too, mother.”

“Show me!”

With a groan, Cleone pulled the copies from with a stack of papers. The images that made the rounds in Quarter paper offices were shown to the Queen Mother.

She quietly set the photos down with a sigh, sitting in the other unoccupied chair in the room.

“This is embarrassing. If the Bourbons saw these, who knows what they might do? They might even cancel the whole thing! We have to meet with the family as soon as possible.”

“What about the interview? Last I heard, you were heading that and sending Isabella to do it. That was a while ago.”

“It’s also your marriage! You can show some initiative too!”

“I have things to take care of. I don’t have time for initiative.”

“Oh but you have time to go walking around hand in hand with a maid out in the streets?”

“Apparently I do. Is there a problem?” Cleone furrowed his brow in annoyance “You were the one that introduced me to her.”

“That is irrelevant! No importa! Forget the interview. We are going to invite the Elise over this Saturday! Cancel everything Gio.”

“Yes Ma’am.” he nodded.

“If you truly want this peace, it’s time to take a step forward. No more stalling on all our parts.”

“It’s settled then.” Cleone shrugged, sitting back. Pulling a drawer open, he took out a box. Opening the box, he pulled out a cigar and lit it, taking a few puffs to get it burning.

“Do you care?” Valencia asked, watching him smoke.

“About what?” he coldly responded

“About your people. About your country.”

“What a stupid question.” he blew smoke “If I didn’t I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“This is a step towards a better future.”

“It’s one girl. Why does it matter?”

“Why does it matter?” Valencia reacted almost in a disgusted way. “What’s going on with him?” she thought. “Are you seriously asking that question? Do you want to see your people ripped apart by civil struggles? By ethnic struggles? One well placed word and the people of the Quarter would turn on us. THAT is why she matters.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m losing interest.” Cleone’s tone was rather calm. Cold but calm.

“Well you better find it by this Saturday! Do not speak to me with that attitude again! Be ready.” Valencia stood up, furiously walking out of the office, the doors slammed.

As the doors slammed, Cleone’s mouth formed into a smirk as smoke exited.

“You really like testing her limits don’t you, Your Majesty?”

“I do. Now go make the plans for Saturday.” he dismissed his head of staff.

Gio bowed his head before leaving.

Now alone, the king picked up the phone and made a call. And another call, and another. Eventually he ended up where he wanted.

“Allo?” the voice on the other end answered.

“Yes, is this the lady Cecile?”

“Oui. Qui est à l'appareil?”

“Your suitor.”

A long pause followed. Worringly long, at about a minute. It came to a point where Cleone thought she had hung up.

“Allo? Cecile?”

“A-allo. Votre Majesté. Un plaisir de parler avec vous.” her voice was audibly nervous and shaky.

“Tu préfères qu'on parle en Français?”

“Sûr! Mais,” her voice started to sound more like it was laughing “Ton Français est terrible.” she went into a giggle.

“I imagine it’s better than your Italian.”

“Hey, not fair!” she paused “What honor do I owe this call, Your Majesty?”

“Before anyone else tells you. We’ll be having you and your family over this Saturday. Just a heads up.”

“Oh. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“It’s a pleasure. At least I know what you sound like.”

“Likewise.”

“See you Saturday then Miss Cecile.”

[Lux Pulchrae]

Usurpation

Arena di Marte, Citta de Fiore, Fiore Province
Night
June 2019

Even if only whispers, it would still be deafening. The arena was packed tonight. As should be, there was a King fighting tonight.

Up above, overlooking the arena, in a VIP lounge, was the benefactor Don Teodoro Massimo, who presently entertained two guests: Mario Giuseppe Fernetti, president of the Italian Fight Commission, and Hans Groeber, a fellow magnate from the Alemania province.

Fernetti was his usual stern self, after all, he was in a packed arena hosting what was technically an unsanctioned event. Unlike the other two, he had taken his suit jacket off, sitting in a blue dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up. His black and greying hair slicked back, curling at the ends.

Almost as a contrast, Hans Adolphus Groeber was a somewhat portly and jolly fellow. Sitting in his suit, his still-golden head of wavy hair was brushed back. Above his upper lip was a matching handlebar mustache.

Tonight was steak.

Massimo and Fernetti paired theirs with a wine, Groeber as per usual had his own beer to drink.

“You know Herr Massimo, it would be much easier for me if you sold my beer here. I would not have to bring my own every time.”

“I would gladly store a fridge’s worth just in case you stopped by. But you know my contracts with Peroni.”

“Ah! Pisswasser! You can host an illegal fighting organization but you can’t stock my beer?”

Massimo shrugged with a sarcastic smile “I have business partners to appease. They sell well here.”

“Partners be damned. After tonight, it will rain Berggebräu.”

“Quite a decisive night this is.” Fernetti added.

“Truly.” Massimo agreed, placing a piece of steak in his mouth.

Not only was a King being challenged, but business deals were also being made. Not uncommon, those who knew Massimo and knew what he did, staked business decisions on the outcome of matches. From time to time that is. Even Massimo himself tended to dabble in these corporate wagers.

Tonight the King of Wrestling, Gionatta Annatti, was to fight Johannes Mensch, a handpick of Groeber’s.

They were currently in the process of starting the bronze league matches.

Overlooking the arena, one of Massimo’s guards came up next to him.

“He wants to see you sir.”

“Oh, bring him here then.” Massimo waved him in, before long he saw Benamino Giochi standing before him, the formerly second ranked in the bronze league.

He stood in a pair of fighting shorts, wearing a grey tee.

“How may I help you Giochi?”

“I want my rematch. I can beat him. That last time was a fluke!”

“A fluke eh?”

“Damn right. He had no right fighting me. It was his first match. He came to me unranked!”

“And yet he beat you.”

“He had no business-”

“It was my business! I set up whoever I want with whoever I want. If I want a bronze leaguer to fight a gold leaguer, I could have it! These divisions are simply formalities, gauges of strength and skill. And you have clearly been outmatched in both by Bacchi.”

“That little punk faggot. Set me up! I can beat him!”

“He already has a match tonight.”

“I don’t care. I’ll rip him to shreds! Come on padrone. I’ve got this.”

“Mmm.” Massimo wiped his mouth with a cloth. He remained silent for a minute before openig his mouth “Okay.”

“Really?” a smile appeared on Giochi’s face.

“He'll fight you and della Costa back to back.”

“You’re pulling my leg aren’t you?”

“Have you known me to pull legs? Are you ready?”

“I’m always ready.”

“Good, I’ll let him know.” Massimo waved Giochi away, before continuing his meal.

“What was that all about?” Fernetti asked, sipping his wine.

“Matters far below you. Giochi’s proving to be a sore loser.”

“Two fights in a row? Rather taxing no, Herr Massimo?” Groeber fixed his mustache with is finger.

“I believe so, but I also believe he has great potential.”

“He’s that good?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m willing to find out.”

In the locker rooms, Bacchi prepared for his match, shadow boxing to warm up. Since starting in Combattimento Massimo a little over a month ago, Bacchi has already racked up three wins. All three by knockout within less than a minute. Not much of a fight to watch but impressive nonetheless. Impressive enough to earn him a fight against the top ranked of the bronze league: Salvatore della Costa.

“HUP!” a roundhouse kick finished his warmup off.

“Looking good.” Cato smiled.

“Feeling good.” Bacchi stood still with his arms to the side, bending over to stretch.

His face was touching his legs now. After about thirty seconds, he stood up straight again. Then, slowly, his stance began to widen as his feet got farther and farther away from each other until he was in a perfect split. He lowered his torso until he was now facing the floor. Stretching his back, his arms formed a triangle, his hands ahead of him. He moved his hands near his chest and planted his palms firmly, slowly rising, still in a split. He rose until his arms were fully extended, bring his legs upwards, his body now “standing” straight in a handstand. He lowered himself and with a grunt pushed off the ground, standing on his feet.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Their heads turned as they heard the door open.

“Bacchi?” a man in a suit entered “Is Bacchi here?”

“Here.” he called out.

“There’s been a cahnge of plans.”

“Change of plans?” the two looked at the man.

“You will be having a rematch with Giochi before fighting della Costa. There will be half an hour for rest after the first match. If you win.”

“When I win.”

“So you’re willing?”

“Of course.”

“Glad to hear.” the man smiled before he left.

The announcement was made to the audience. Most of who groaned. But soon enough, the lights dimmed and the spotlights went on, first pointing to the Ares corridor, where Giochi would be coming out of.

“Out of the Ares corridor! Standing at one-hundred and eighty-two centimetres, weighing one-hundred and four kilos! Ranked at number four in the bronze league! The Granite Fist! Giochiii!”

Smoke poured from the entrance as Giochi appeared, wearing black compression shorts and gloves. His head was still shaved, but he had grown a bit of a stubble since the loss. His face, no longer in a teasing mood, had a stern expression.

He entered the ring stoically, shadow boxing in anticipation of his opponent.

“And from the Mars corridor! Gaining three wins and suffering no losses! Weighing at eighty-five kilograms! Standing at one-hundred and seventy-six centimeters! The Champion of Battaglia! Bacchi!”

The young fighter made a smokeless entrance with a towel around his shoulders, his warm up had given him a sweat. He raised his right fist to a now-cheering audience. Walking to the ring in yellow kickboxing shorts. His ankles and wrists wrapped in white athletic tape. His fists were bare, showing off his scars.

A confident smirk appeared on his face as he continued into the ring.

Cato, in a hoodie matching Bacchi’s shorts, took the towel, taking a moment to wrap his fighter's hands. “You got this kid.”

With the affirmation, he continued up into the ring. The door was opened and locked as he entered. Giochi’s shadow boxing ended when he entered. His gaze turned to him.

The two fighters met at the center.

“Alright, as you know, anything is allowed except weapons. Shake hands if you’d like.” the referee explained the rules, or lack of. Giving them a moment to be amicable, neither extended their hand in good sportsmanship.

Bacchi slowly looked up to the ceiling, a hint of sorrow “This isn’t fair.”

“The fuck you say you little shit.” anger swarmed over Giochi.

“Alright alright. To your positions.” the referee directed them to opposite sides of the ring. Giochi stepped back, Bacchi remained.

Looking to the young fighter, the referee swiped his hand down, indicating the start of the fight.

Giochi got into his orthodox stance. Bacchi got into his own but didn’t move, his hands up to his face almost as if in a Thai stance.

Giochi got closer, moving his head around, finding an angle until he got in range.

A left jab.

Bacchi slightly moved his head, evading the jab and performed a cross counter, instantly stumbling Giochi. The latter was then met with a left uppercut.

Two hits, just as before.

Giochi stumbled back and fell over. The match was declared over. The crowd cheered.

Bacchi raised his arms in victory, a smile on his face.

“Look out!” an audience member shouted.

Bacchi heard it through the cheers. Curious, he turned around. A fist flew into his face, knocking Bacchi back.

“And Giochi’s not done!” the commentator announced “It seems he thinks the match was called early! The officials have vacated the ring!”

Quickly thinking, Bacchi used the punch to roll backwards onto his feet. Getting into a stance, he saw Giochi running towards him and was brutally tackled.

“And they're on the ground! Giochi’s in the mount position. Bacchi’s hastily puts himself in a guard position”

On top, Giochi pounded away while Bacchi kept his hands up, blocking the furious punches as best he.

Anticipating one of the punches, Bacchi grabbed the wrist of Giochi’s descending left fist with his right hand, moving it away from them and causing Giochi to lose balance on top. Grabbing the back of his neck, Bacchi brought Giochi’s face onto his forehead, crushing his nose.

“And a headbutt from guard!”

Bleeding and momentarily stunned, Bacchi, still holding onto the wrist knuckles outward, brought his left arm around Giochi’s, grabbing his own wrist and pulling.

“And Bacchi has Giochi in a Kimura hold!”

With no second thoughts, a snap was heard.

Now, the match was over.

Bacchi pushed Giochi off of him, who was screaming in pain and unable to get up.

“And the match is truly over! Bacchi finishes the match with a kimura!”

The officials rushed into the ring once more to attend to the injured Giochi. Bacchi stood aside next to the ring’s wall, his face covered in blood. Cato stood on the other, speaking to him.

“Holy shit kid, you did it! Ya fuckin tore his arm off. You okay?”

“I’m good. Just catching my breath.”

Cato examined his companion, sweat and blood covered his face. Thankfully none of the blood was his. He hoped.

“Come on kid. Get out so we can get ready for the next match.”

“I’m ready now.”

“Now?” he looked to Bacchi.

“Now.”

Hesitating, Cato found the official, informing him of the fighter’s eager decision to start the next fight.

The official shrugged, and told the others.

In the lounge up above, the three watched with great interest.

“To fight again so quickly.” Groeber said, intrigued.

“Quite resilient. Or arrogant.” Fernetti spoke up.

Massimo watched the fight silently.

FIfteen minutes had passed to set up the next match. The fans waited in anticipation.

“And now!” the announcer started up again. “So quickly to start the next match, Bacchi will fight the original scheduled match. Entering the ring, from the Ares corridor! Measuring at one-hundred and seventy-one centimeters, weighing seventy-eight kilograms! A record of six wins and one loss! The All Rounder! Salvatore della Costa!”

Triumphant music was played as della Costa jogged through the entrance, a youthful appearance showed on his face as he smiled. He greeted and waved to crowd members.

He had just come off a win in his last match, bumping him to number one, similarly to Bacchi earning the rank of number two in his last match. Another similarity tonight was the wearing of yellow shorts, although della Costa’s had a green stripe going down either side and were somewhat longer. Bacchi’s were more akin to Muay Thai shorts.

Della Costa entered the ring, still basking in the cheers, blowing kisses and bowing.

“Della Costa has entered the ring. It’s a fight between the first and second ranked in the bronze league! Who will come out on top? Will della Costa break through to the silver league or will Bacchi usurp him?” the announcer genuinely wondered “Now both men are called to the center.”

The two stood face to face, both had amicable smiles then shook hands.

“You ready?” della Costa asked.

“As ready as I can be.” Bacchi responded, blood still on his face “I’ve beaten you in sparring more than you've beaten me. I think I got this.”

“A spar and a match are two different things.”

“You’re right.”

“Fighters, to your corners.” the official said, about to start the match.

“Don’t hold back Bacchi.”

“I won’t.”

Turning around, Bacchi saw Cato in the fighter’s box. The manager flashed a thumbs up, the boy nodded in response, giving his own thumbs up.

“Ready?” the official brought his hand up before swiping it down “FIGHT!”

The crowd deafened the arena. You’d think it was a championship fight. But these were two rather popular, young newcomers. It was practically a mirror match.

Getting into their stances, they approached each other. Feeling each other out with jabs.

Della Costa lived up to his nickname. An all-rounder. His striking, wrestling and grappling were overall decent, although he seemed to primarily be a striker.

A jab and a straight. One-two, one-two. Chasing Bacchi back.

“Della Costa is pushing Bacchi back! And a jab-”

Bacchi delivered a counter straight, and for the split second that he had, he stepped to the right and delivered a right body-kick.

“And Bacchi with a body kick to Salvatore's left side! And now he distances himself!”

Della Costa didn’t show the pain in his face but his body sure did. The left side of his torso, where the kick had struck, immediately became red. He lowered his left arm from his guard as if belatedly guarding it, before bringing it back up.

“They’re approaching each other again. Della Costa seems cautious this time. And Bacchi takes initiative this time, starting the striking exchange.”

Bacchi aimed for his opponent’s head, but della Costa managed to block and dodge, throwing counter shots of his own.

A left high-kick, Bacchi swayed back, dodging. Another exchange of punches, Bacchi dodges a jab, stepping in, he delivers a crushing right hook to the same target of his kick.

As if expecting it, della Costa spun backwards, pivoting on his left foot.

“And a spin kick from della Costa lands!”

Della Costa closed the gap and began punching. Bacchi, who was staggered and unable to anticipate them, was met with the flurry, blocking as best he could.

A left hook to Bacchi’s ride side.

A right uppercut met with della Costa’s chin as his left hook landed. He shelled up as he stumbled back.

Bacchi regained his composure before getting closer. Jab, jab, straight, left uppercut to the body. Liver shot. Della Costa lowered his arms in reaction to the before his face was met with a right elbow.

Bacchi closed the distance even further to deliver the elbow. He stepped back as della Costa laid on the ground trying to collect himself.

Perfect time to catch his breath. There was no time limit in CM, no rounds either. Fighters tended to end fights quickly, or became too exhausted until one could be taken down with minimal effort. Or, a mutual and silent agreement came between the fighters to rest. It typically didn’t last more than a a minute or two as the crowd would begin to voice their displeasure.

“You ready?”

Hanging on to the cage, della Costa slowly rose. Smiling, breathing heavily, he put a thumbs up. “I’m good to go.”

Taking a stance once more, shaking, he faced Bacchi once more. His brows furrowed, his cut lip frowned. Sweat rolled down his olive-skinned face.

“Liar. You said you wouldn’t.” he thought.

A left high-kick.

Bacchi dodged and swiftly kicked della Costa’s pivoting right leg, causing him to fall.

“And Bacchi with a foot sweep!”

Rolling to the side, della Costa groggily got up.

Bacchi stepped forward, now in a left-handed stance. He immediately threw a left kick. "HUP!" he grunted.

Della Costa examined his body movement. Everything he knew told him it was a head kick. He raised his right arm to block it. The kick was too strong, and he was too weak. Bacchi's leg broke through the defense, pushing the defendent's arm and struck his head. Everything went black.

“Salvatore is down! A head kick brought him down! Bacchi’s done it!”

The winner dropped to the ground and laid down. He drowned in the cheers, a smile ear to ear marked his face. His youthful face, once covered in blood, was now washed away by his sweat.

Paramedics came to tend to della Costa, he was able to stand, but needed help.

Bacchi watched as the stood him up. He did so as well, walking over to his beaten opponent.

“It was a good match.” he extended his hand.

Salvatore nodded. He was exhausted, but found the strength to shake Bacchi’s hand.

“Your best was better than my best.” he said before being assisted out of the ring.

The official raised Bacchi’s hand in victory. He exited the ring, met with an embrace from Cato.

“Ya fucking psycho. You did it. Two matches in a row! We’ll be golden in no time.” he congratulated his fighter.

Down the corridor they headed to the locker room to wash off.

The shower drowned out all sound as Bacchi stood still under the shower head. “What a joke.” he said to himself. He smirked.

Out of the shower, Bacchi dried himself, soon noticing the lack of Cato’s running mouth. He went to where he was, sitting on a bench by the lockers. And he was, but he wasn’t conscious.

Over him stood Neri. His hair tied back, wearing a white tank and black shorts. His hands were in his pockets. A smile appeared when he saw Bacchi.

“Hey runt. That was a good show you put on.”

Bacchi let go of the towel, standing bare. His fists were clenched.

“You gonna fight me like that? I know pankratiasts used to fight naked but you’re getting a bit too into it. At least put some underwear on.” Neri continued to tease. He bent over, touching the floor with his fingers, stretching. “You know. I hear your name all the way up in the golden league. Some of them talk about you. And after tonight, I’m gonna hear a lot more. They’re impressed by you. I told them you could clear silver in a week. They laughed. Don’t embarrass me.” and he left.

With Neri gone, Bacchi tended to his friend.

“Cato. Psst. Cato.” he lightly called.

He slowly woke up, still dazed. He mumbled as his eyes opened. Realizing what had happened, he jumped. “What? What? What? What the fuck happened? What?” he asked between heavy breaths.

“Hey calm down. It’s okay. How’re you feeling?” Bacchi tried to calm him down, holding his shoulders.

“I got a headache like someone hit me with a bat.”

“What happened?”

“I-I don’t know. Last I remember was Neri coming in. He asks for you and I say you’re showering or something. I don’t know. I keep my eye on him, you know, he’s a slimy bastard. And I tell him to get out. That’s the last I remember until now.” Cato looks up and down at him. “You know you’re-”

“Yes I know. Let’s just get out of here.”

“We gotta collect our-er-I mean your winnings first.” Cato smiled. He was helped up, groaning as his head still hurt.

Since he fought twice, and on such short notice, Bacchi was compensated and paid double, a total of twelve and a half-thousand.

“You should fight twice more often.”

“I’m good for now.” Bacchi replied as he took the bag handed to him.

The pair walked around, looking for a place to eat. They decided to stay and watch the rest of the night’s matches. Watching the silver league matches on a nearby TV, they drank and ate calamari. Fans passed by to greet and talk. The spectacle of Bacchi’s existence was eventually over as the golden league matches were about to start and no one wanted to miss it. Neither did these two.

“So a King is fighting tonight? I don’t think we’ve seen one.” Cato said with a mouthful.

“We saw di Carlo. But that wasn’t a title match. Let’s go. I want front row in the fighter’s box.” Bacchi got up, as did Cato.

They made their way to the ringside to the fighter’s box seats. Even as the golden matches were about to start, Bacchi still garnered cheers from the crowd as he passed by.

He recognized a few at ringside. A couple of low rankers from bronze, some mid level silver fighters. He said his hellos as he passed them, they simply eyed him.

“Bambino! Veni qua.”

The two heard, and looking over saw Elena gesturing to two seats next to her. Out of her gi, sitting and smiling as she watched the ring.

Cato and Bacchi looked at each other and shrugged, it wasn’t front row but whatever.

“Ciao.” she greeted.

“Ciao donna.” Bacchi responded, smirking.

“Stronzo! I’m not old. Don’t call me a donna yet.”

“Yet.” he looked to her “We’ve never really talked have we?”

“No, I don’t think we have. Pleasure to meet you. Elena Falcone.”

“Bacchi. Pleasure to meet you as well.”

“Sorry for the rough first impression. I was just on edge that night.” Elena harkened to their first meeting.

“Oh no worries. Nothing against you. Any problems we can just settle it in the ring no?”

“Hopefully.” Elena grinned “So, how’re you liking CM so far? You seem to be doing pretty good.”

“Five and oh isn’t bad right?”

“Not bad at all.”

“But twenty-seven and three? It’s criminal that you’re in silver.”

“Yeah.” Elena’s tone dulled “It is. But I’ll get into gold soon enough.”

“How long you been fighting here?”

“In CM? About four years. Just about.”

“How’d you get in?”

“It’s not a password-club.” she giggled “Anyone that fights knows about this.”

“Yeah I know but what’s your story?”

“Eh, maybe another time. Short version is I competed publicly, and my master introduced me to this.” she sat back into her seat. She took a moment to fix her ponytail. She was dressed pretty casual in a grey tank and black baggy sweatpants. “You?”

“I fought some local underground promotions in Alto. Was in Battaglia before this. I fought a Moor for a spot in CM actually! Scouters came to me.”

“That’s...interesting. What was a Moor doing in Alto?”

“Beats me. Hope he’s doing okay. He was pretty cool.” the young fighter reminisced.

“What’s your record? In total?”

“Including today? About...thirty-nine wins.”

“No losses?”

“No losses.”

“Impressive.”

The conversation continued for a bit more until the announcement was made for the golden league matches to start. There were six matches tonight, and then came the main event, the King match.

In total, the matches took about an forty-five minutes to an hour. They were considered “low rank” golden matches but that didn’t mean they were any less exciting.

The last match was none other than Neri against Mikail, the Turkish fighter. He was the winner of the first golden match Cato and Bacchi saw. He had gone from being ranked sixth to fifth since the last time they saw him. Neri remained third.

The fight ended in about three minutes. Neri laid Mikail out with a cross to the chin and finished him off with hammer punches until he was pulled off.

Neri was received with a mixture of jeers and cheers as he raised his fist. The trio at ringside watched coldly. He looked at them back, smiling before exiting the ring.

“That man is a demon.” Elena commented with a disgusted expression on her face, arms crossed.

“I know him too well.”

“You do?”

“We go way back. I haven’t seen him in six or seven years, but he hasn’t changed a bit.”

“Childhood friend of yours?” Elena teased.

“Childhood monster more like.”

The lights dimmed as spotlights pointed to the ring, and both corridors.

“And now ladies and gentlemen, for the main event of the evening!”

The match was about to begin.