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geekgirles · 2 months

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The Doll and the Dragon

Chapter 7: Aftershocks

Word count: 28,111

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Chapter Summary: "A look into the aftermath of the banquet at Bonta and what Amalia's presence in the World of Twelve means for Twelvians and Eliatropes alike."

“This is simply preposterous!”

The shrill cry echoed around the area, drowning out the cacophony of murmurs born from the latest point made. The outraged exclamation bounced against the rocks, letting itself be carried by the wind, alongside the sound of the waves washing over each other in the infinite expanse of the ocean underneath.

Wherever he looked, he could spot worried or confused glances being exchanged. Furrowed brows and pursed lips, eyes narrowed in suspicion. No matter where his eyes landed, all King Oakheart Sheran Sharm could see, even at a distance, was a group of very rattled leaders who, for once in their life, found themselves facing a problem they didn’t quite know how to solve.

He remained stoic and composed, his back straight from where he stood, even in the face of the King of Brakmar’s scandalised cry.

The Brakmarian monarch was a scrawny man in his early thirties who hid his gaunt physique under layers upon layers of expensive fabrics, such as the heavy-looking red and black armine fur coat he was wearing at the moment. Much like his much taller, red-headed general by his side, his long face was covered by white make-up that, rather than give him the refined look he was certainly looking for, made him look quite sickly. If it weren’t because the Sram King wasn’t too far away, one would have got their identities mixed up. Finishing off the gaurish ensemble, a small golden crown rested atop his elaborately coiffed raven locks, while a pair of diamond earrings hung from his ears.

After having known the King of Brakmar since he was barely of age to attend political meetings as his nation’s Crown Prince, the Sadida King had an inkling of the kind of aggravated expression he was probably making at the moment. Even being separated by several feet while standing on completely different platforms didn’t get in the way of noticing the disgruntled look on his face.

The Floating Rocks was the Twelvian rulers’ designated spot for an emergency meeting. Standing far away from any recognised nation and protected by a powerful shield casted by Bonta’s most talented Huppermages, those hovering platforms ensured no ruler would possess greater authority than the rest. Usually, such safety measure wasn’t needed, as a member of the Council of Twelve—composed by the royal families and rulers of the World of Twelve—was bound to request their fellow leaders’ presence within their kingdom to discuss important matters, thus, it’d be inevitable that the host would act as moderator between the attending parties.

That is, unless the matter at hand was so urgent, they simply couldn’t afford to waste time organising a traditional meeting. Hence, the existence of the Floating Rocks. The only real problem was that, as with meetings in most other kingdoms unless you shared a border, it was a near inaccessible location unless you had a Recall Potion with you, and those were very hard to come by as well.

He sighed to himself. Not for the first time, he lamented there weren’t more accessible means to go from one place to another. Realising his mind was beginning to wander after a beat, King Okaheart shook those thoughts away and focused back on the present.

As its name suggested, the Floating Rocks acted as a levitating archipelago, each rocky platform meant to house the representatives of each individual nation. As he looked to his side to send his son a side glance—and subtly placing a hand on his shoulder to keep him in check as he could feel Armand’s patience begin to thin as they kept going in circles in their debates—, King Oakheart let his eyes wander over to his fellows, trying to gauge their reactions.

While his red-headed general remained as stone-faced as ever, the King of Brakmar was irate, as always, and that was without the presence of Queens Astra and Selene from Bonta, who’d sent Master Joris in their stead. Not surprisingly, the Sadida thought, as it would take nothing short of apocalyptic for both rival nations to willingly breathe the same air as their hated foe. In a roundabout way, the fact that Bonta still refused to associate themselves with Brakmar even now meant things still weren’t truly dire.

Only time would tell if that would be subject to change.

For his part, Bonta’s ambassador remained impassive even surrounded by over a dozen frazzled monarchs as their over-inflated sense of self and ego fought for dominance. Not for the first time, King Oakheart found himself admiring the Bontarian envoy’s ability to keep a cool head, although he supposed Master Joris’ level-headedness most likely stemmed from centuries of practice in dealing with royals.

After all, Master Joris didn’t just serve Astra and her father before her; King Oakheart remembered him from meetings from back in his youth where he would shadow his own father in order to gain experience, much like Armand was doing at the moment. And he knew for a fact a long list of rulers preceded him within the ambassador’s long-lived existence.

He briefly shared a nod of acknowledgement with the Matriarch, the Cra’s leader and an old ally to his kingdom, if only because, for some reason, Sadida and Cra had always shared a very symbiotic relationship. His kingdom provided them with high quality wood and even crafted their bows, and in return there were always Cra stationed within their borders in order to help protect them from an attack. As the older Cra remained straight as an arrow and focused like the master archer she was, as always, she was accompanied by her second-in-command.

Years of knowing them had taught him they were clearly surveilling the scene with a critical eye. Even if they remained quiet for most of the meeting, whenever they chose to speak up, their words would be concise, to the point, and irrefutable.

Even now, Oakheart found himself taken aback by the sight of the Ecaflip King. Not to say the feline monarch was a recluse by any means. After all, it was hard not to be sociable when your people’s greatest skill was their luck and everyone’s favourite pastime was gambling, both skills that were hard to put to good use on your own unless you preferred playing solitaire. It was simply that his baggy attire and quiet nature made him even more mysterious than the Xelors, and that was saying something.

Speaking of Xelors, the Xelor King came alone. His entire visage was covered by his hooded tunic while the wrappings his people used to protect themselves from time warps hid away his physique. The only discernible features were the blue glow of his eyes and of the circular glass over his chest, shining from within his garments. And yet, unnerving as his appearance could be, his presence was grounding and constant even as he hovered in mid-air, almost like the flow of time itself.

Standing on the rock next to him was the Eniripsa Queen. With her delicate features, platinum blond hair, and grey, doe-like eyes that she accentuated with her form-hugging white and red dress, with a large mink hood hiding her wings from sight, it was easy to forget she was known as the most skilled medical practitioner in the entirety of the World of Twelve. A mistake she would make sure you paid for dearly as her knowledge on poisons was unmatched.

As his eyes wandered from one monarch to the next, King Oakheart focused back on his own position, more specifically, on his son. Only to then force himself to suppress the urge to exasperatedly shake his head when he noticed where the prince’s own eyes were focused on. Or rather, on whom.

Not for the first time since their current assembly started, Oakheart caught his son’s gaze locked with Aurora’s, the Osamodas princess. That in itself wouldn’t have been too bad, aside from their need to focus on the task at hand, seeing as they had been married for almost a year now. The real problem, however, stemmed from the fact that his daughter-in-law still stood alongside the Osamodas, her birth kingdom, rather than with them, representing the Sadida Kingdom and the territory she was sworn to protect and serve as soon as she married his son with the intent of becoming their next queen.

Not for the first time, King Oakheart wondered what possessed Armand to seek a political alliance through marriage with the Osamodas Kingdom. On the one hand, because it was wholly unnecessary, as they would have obtained almost the same privileges by any other means. And, on the other hand, because, out of all the nations comprising the World of Twelve, the Sadida King has always had the hardest time coming to fully trust the Osamodas.

Perhaps it was his own prejudice and inability to get over his culture shock, but the beast taming race’s approach to everything was drastically different from their own. Despite their dedication to their forests, the Sadida still prioritised maintaining a positive relationship and close alliance with most nations, especially the Cra, Eniripsa, and Bontarians due to their constant interaction. Meanwhile, the Osamodas’ utmost priority would always be their animals. Compared to a beast’s, it was as if human life had no meaning.

Which was, unfortunately, a behaviour he’d seen his daughter-in-law display more than once. King Oakheart had had many talks with Armand where he urged him to talk to his wife about her treatment of her maids. As a queen who didn’t value the people serving her, because it was her duty to serve them in turn, was no queen at all, but a tyrant.

But the differences didn’t just end there.

The Sheran Sharms were raised to be devoted to their people and role as protectors of the forests of the world, therefore, the entire royal family, regardless of their position in the succession line, was trained and expected to be in the front lines when performing their duties, be it leading their armies on the battlefield, or attending diplomatic meetings such as the one they were all currently gathered at at.

That was just not the case with the Osamodas.

In all the years he had been king and interacted with his fellow rulers, the last time Oakheart saw the Osamodas King before their children’s wedding was when both of them were Crown Princes attending said meetings in preparation for their own ascension to power. From that point onwards, his son’s father-in-law had remained in his own kingdom, always sending his envoys and youngest daughters in his stead. Which at the same time was ironic, as the princesses seemed to serve practically no purpose within his court while his sons were never to be seen despite being his successors.

With a heavy heart, Oakheart had to admit that was probably the biggest reason he couldn’t quite find himself approving of Armand’s marriage to Aurora, as she was the complete opposite of his beloved wife. From the moment he met her, his wife had been by his side through thick and thin, proactively doing everything in her power to lead their kingdom and ensure its well-being, even if it meant confronting him about decisions she didn’t agree with. Even when she was deathly ill and on her deathbed, his beloved rose insisted on reviewing reports and signing documents. Her people were always her top priority, and Oakheart had known, from the moment he first laid his eyes on her and she stole his breath away, that if their roles had been reversed, his kingdom would have been in good hands in his absence.

And that was precisely what was missing in Armand and Aurora’s marriage. His daughter-in-law never showed any initiative or desire to serve his people, on the contrary, she quietly remained glued to Armand’s side and basked on the privileges her new position as future queen gave her, yet never offered any ideas of her own or true support. Whereas his late wife did everything in her power to become the queen their people needed, it was clear to see the Osamodas never raised their princess to become queen, but someone else’s queen—Aurora wasn’t Armand’s partner, she was an accessory to his power.

And that was what killed the Sadida ruler inside. Had they had a daughter before his wife’s passing, Oakheart knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that his beloved would have never allowed him to arrange a marriage for her—she would greatly disapprove of Armand’s own marriage of convenience, in fact. And yet, here the Osamodas went, instead of daughters and princesses, they raised chess pieces, pawns they could use to gain power over neighbouring kings and kingdoms.

He truly feared what might happen if anything were to happen to Armand and the kingdom fell into the princess’ hands…

He was broken out of his thoughts when the King of Brakmar went on to say, “Even now, I fail to understand what your mistresses were thinking when they decided to invite those menaces to Bonta!”

His rage and disbelief were aimed at Master Joris who, after a brief pause where he let the Brakmarian’s harsh words wash over him in order to do his job, replied, “Your Majesty, inviting King Yugo and his entourage to Bonta was a suggestion made to the Council of Twelve, and it was agreed upon by the overwhelming majority of members.”

His face contorting in rage, the King of Brakmar was about to retort when the Sram King cut him off, “Master Joris speaks the truth. Queens Astra and Selene suggested we held a banquet in order to study our… visitors,” he settled on eventually after a moment of deliberation, worrying his bottom lip as he chose the right words, “and the great majority of us agreed it was the best course of action to take.”

As expected of the leader of the worshippers of the Lord of the Shadows, the Sram King had inherited his patron god’s ghoulish appearance. His face, gaunt and pale, was reminiscent of a skull, contrasting with his long, silky raven locks decorated with bone accessories that matched his long, dark robes. Much like Sram himself, the king was a calm and stoic man, completely unshakable even in the face of imminent danger. Which would be ironic, if one wasn’t familiar with the fact that his people were reputable criminals and assassins, for he was always accompanied to official events by two of his guards, gripping large scythes as they stood watch over their leader. Then again, when you ruled a race notorious for their criminal activities, perhaps guarding yourself wasn’t the most ridiculous idea you could have.

Ignoring King Oakheart’s scrutiny, the leader of the Sram raised a bony hand as he made his point, “Personally, I must admit I found myself intrigued by Master Joris’ discovery and needed to see it with my own two eyes.”

“Likewise, extending a formal invitation to the Eliatropes was probably the best course of action, as it showed we weren’t hostile, which in turn kept them from turning on us.” Chimed in the Feca King, adjusting his glasses over the bridge of his nose and gripping his staff a little tighter while his advisor took notes on her notebook.

In a way, it was a good thing they’d had no other choice but to meet up at the Floating Rocks, otherwise, the blue-haired king would already be lounging on his seat. It was incredible how a race known for their scientific inclinations and shepherd roots could have such a laid-back leader. Especially when they were also known as formidable protectors thanks to their unparalleled shields.

Unfortunately, his words only served to put the King of Brakmar further on edge.

“What good is it that we show them we’re not hostile when they will certainly not show us the same courtesy?!” He asked rhetorically, right before answering himself. “Or need I remind you of their audacity from a few months back, when they intruded upon one of our Council meetings?”

“It is true that they somehow managed to track us down and present themselves before us back then, with seemingly no leads as to our whereabouts. Who’s to say they’re not listening in on our conversation right now?” Concurred the Sacrier King, crossing his toned, tattooed arms over his broad chest. Even with no pupils to speak of, the way he raised a single eyebrow challengingly was enough to get his point across, eliciting another round of murmurs around the Twelvian rulers.

Master Joris allowed the Council to talk amongst themselves for a few more minutes, for it was important the monarchs got to express their opinion in case any of them said anything that was truly worth pointing out and dissecting. For a while, the Bontarian ambassador simply stood right where he was, with his hands behind his back as he listened intently to the conversations taking place around him. One of the antennae on his hood twitching at the mention of a certain topic, he opened his eyes.

It appeared it was high time he redirected the conversation back to its origins, lest they risked getting sidetracked.

“Esteemed members of the Council of Twelve,” he spoke up, his voice effectively drowning out everyone else in the area and drawing all eyes to him as he played the role of mediator. “While the Queens of Bonta understand your reservations, especially given the events that transpired just a few months ago, we must also keep in mind we did not know what the Eliatropes were capable of back then.” Lowering his head slightly, he continued, his voice much more solemn, “Hence, the breach in our security.”

“Which still doesn’t explain why we would allow them near us now that we know exactly what they’re capable of. Especially their king.” Pointed out the Ecaflip King, his tail twitching back and forth in unease. “How do we know they won’t open a portal and float down here right now?”

Several murmurs of agreement echoed around at the feline ruler’s observations, with some rulers going as far as looking up to the sky fearfully, as if truly expecting the portal-making race to make their entrance any moment now. And yet, Joris remained impassive. He knew this would happen. He knew, regardless of their dignified behaviour during the banquet, that the World of Twelve’s monarchs were still rather frazzled by their new neighbours, and a simple ceremony would not be able to fix that.

“Because, alongside the level of urgency behind this assembly, that is precisely why the Floating Rocks were chosen as our location.” He revealed, his pitch black eyes glinting seriously. “As you know, Bonta asked its greatest Huppermages to create a shield capable of protecting the Council from all harm,” raising his arms as far as his height would allow him to, Joris gestured at the dome surrounding them at the moment, “and that includes eavesdroppers or unexpected guests. Rest assured, oh, great leaders, for we are safe here.”

From where he stood, King Oakheart observed as his fellows exchanged glances. Some, like the Xelor King and the Eniripsa Queen, seemed to still have their doubts, whereas others like the Iop King and Pandawa Queen shared pleased grins, much more at ease. For his and his son’s part, as their eyes met, the Sheran Sharms could feel their own unease mounting. However, unlike their fellow royals, theirs had nothing to do with the possibility of the Eliatropes presenting themselves yet again—although Armand wouldn’t be too keen on them if that were to happen a second time—, but from the dragon in the room they had yet to discuss. The true reason they were all gathered there today and, more importantly, why they ever arranged for the Eliatropes to attend that banquet in the first place.

As if reading their thoughts, Master Joris continued. “Nevertheless, that is not why we are here today, as there are far more urgent matters in need of discussion.”

Eyes narrowed into slits, the King of Brakmar chose that very moment to spitefully comment, “Indeed, like why on the World of Twelve the gods would choose to send a Divine Doll to the invaders threatening our very existence!” He exclaimed, irate to the point of making his crown tremble atop his head. Then, he added, throwing his arms to the side, not unlike a petulant child trying to emphasise his point, “And a completely new one at that!”

“It is true the timing seems a bit…off.” Spoke the Osamodas representative, a lean man with long white hair and a matching beard wearing a long, dark blue robe with peacock feathers. However, he chose to be very careful with his words, as he was still talking about a Sadida demigoddess and his people couldn’t afford losing favour with the Sadidas, regardless of their alliance by marriage. “After all, as we all know, the last time Sadida created a Divine Doll was back in the Primitive Era! Why would he create another one now, and to be sent to the Eliatropes, of all people?” Caught up in his own thoughts, he shook his head ruefully, “If I didn’t know any better, I would say the Leafy God has forsaken his own worshippers.”

“I would be careful with what I say if I were you, Chamberlain Sabot.” Armand chided the Osamodas, who immediately flinched upon realising his slip of the tongue. “After all, it’s not like the Master of Beasts himself has done much for his followers ever since letting his dragons roam the world, millenia ago. Whereas Sadida planted the Tree of Life to allow us to always remain connected to our roots.”

Normally, King Oakheart would have at the very least sent his son a warning look for letting his pride and temper get to the better of him, but seeing how their god and his daughters had just been disrespected like that, he could make an exception. Besides, he could already make out his daughter-in-law’s reproachful look directed at Armand for daring to contradict her nation, completely ignoring the fact that it was her kingdom’s representative who’d disparaged their beliefs first. It was all he could do not to let out a heavy sigh.

If only Armand had found love with a Sadida, or even a Cra or an Eniripsa! It was always all about choosing one side or the other when it came to those two, and it was exhausting.

Thankfully for all parties involved, Master Joris cleared his throat in an attempt to dissolve the mounting tension. “While it is undeniable Lady Amalia’s presence is a blessing to us all, it is also true it has shaken the very foundations of our civilisation, especially after so many centuries since any Divine Doll ventured into our world. And that is what we came here to discuss today: how her presence will affect our nations.”

“Isn’t that supposed to be good news, though?” The Iop King questioned, confused, shifting his weight onto one leg while he flicked his pelt over his shoulder. The action caused the Osamodas to glare at him in revulsion, but he just sent the demon-looking people a cheeky grin and a wink. “I mean, last time Sadida sent his dolls we got the Dofus out of it. And isn’t that the reason our world is the way it is, harmonious, orderly, and whatnot?” He shrugged, not too concerned, “I don’t see how having another doll could ever be a problem.”

“Because, as far as we know, this time the doll in question isn’t here to produce Dofus, but to serve as that forsaken Yugo’s bride!” The Brakmarian monarch snapped, never one to put up with an Iop’s idiocy and shortsightedness.

“Uh, actually, he spent a good chunk of the evening explaining to everyone willing to give him the time of day that he and Lady Amalia aren’t together like that.” The Sacrier King corrected matter-of-factly, to which the Iop King perked up.

“That’s what you get for refusing to come to a party, you miss out on all the gossip.” The dark-haired Iop teased, chuckling mischievously alongside the Sacrier, especially when their teasing caused the King of Brakmar’s eye to twitch in annoyance.

“Why, you hulking brutes…” He grumbled through gritted teeth, forcing his general to send him a panicked look lest his liege risked angering the other leaders.

Unfortunately for all parties involved, they had heard him loud and clear, prompting the rest of the Council to roll their eyes in exasperation and the ‘hulking brutes’ in question to bristle at the offence, their lips curled in a pair of matching snarls.

“Why don’t you say that to my face, Powdered Face!?” The Iop King challenged, nearing the edge of his own platform and shaking a fist threateningly the King of Brakmar’s way.

“What’s the matter?” The Sacrier King taunted with a sneer, just as displeased by his comment as his fellow monarch. “Too afraid you won’t be able to bribe your way out of this one?”

Before their threats, the sumptuously clad king audibly squeaked in fright, before his own pride got the better of him and he forced himself to present himself as far more nonchalant than he actually felt. Willing the embarrassed flush at his moment of weakness to go away, he cleared his throat behind a fist before shooting the Iop and Sacrier an arrogant glare.

However, before the Brakmarian even had the chance to open his mouth to retort, Master Joris cut in, secretly desperate to nip the conversation in the bud before it escalated into a blown-out diplomatic incident and, what was worse, derailed their conversation further.

“As a matter of fact,” he started out, not-so-subtly, making himself wince at his lack of tact, “Queens Astra and Selene were just as concerned when I first explained Lady Amalia’s circumstances to them. Especially since back then we were still under the impression that she was King Yugo’s bride. That was partly the reason they saw fit to throw a banquet in her honour and invite her alongside the Eliatropes, so we could all investigate the matter further.”

“And all we got from that was…” the Feca King paused, a tinge of irony in his voice. He leaned closer to his secretary to peer at her notes from that day exaggeratedly. “Ah, yes. All we got was the Eliatrope King swearing up and down theirs wasn’t a romantic relationship.”

“Only to then all but turn a dignified banquet into a bar brawl when Count Harebourg started getting handsy with Lady Amalia, and then spend the remainder of the night glued to her side.” Armand reminded everyone, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Despite the Eliatrope King’s words, he couldn’t shake off his suspicions regarding his true intentions from his mind, let alone after witnessing the intimate dance they’d shared.

This time, King Oakheart did send a pointed look his son’s way, silently warning him to weigh his words carefully.

His hood lowering in shame, the Xelor King coughed awkwardly into his hand. “On behalf of my nation, you have my sincerest apologies for my vassal’s actions.” While he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, even from behind his hood it was easy to see his apology was directed at the Sadida duo. “Only the gods know the kind of fate that could have befallen us had Count Harebourg’s treatment of Lady Amalia angered her divine father in any way, shape, or form.”

“Speaking of,” Ventured the Eniripsa Queen, always one to indulge her curiosity. Her question caused the time-controlling ruler to turn towards her, “Have you been able to locate Count Harebourg to get him to answer for his actions yet?”

But the hooded Xelor just shook his head ruefully. “I’m afraid not. You see, given Frigost’s delicate circumstances and the Count’s own condition as a demigod, he can be quite the elusive foe, especially in his domains. We have not been able to locate him ever since he ran away from the banquet.”

“That’s quite troubling…” The Eniripsa mumbled, her blonde eyebrows knitting together in thought.

“Never mind that!” The King of Brakmar interrupted their conversation with an impatient wave of his hand. “What’s important right now is finding a way to counter this attack!”

Joris raised an eyebrow at his outburst, for once struggling to follow the king’s train of thought. “Whatever do you mean, Your Majesty? We have not come into conflict with the Eliatropes since we sent our greatest heroes after King Yugo.”

“That’s what you think.” The Brakmarian countered, narrowing his eyes in distaste. “Their possession of Sadida’s eleventh Divine Doll is an attack in itself!”

“Surely you see that doesn’t make any sense, my dear King.” The Pandawa Queen, Daihitsu, said placatingly from where she stood under her attendant’s parasol. “As Master Joris said, being blessed with a Divine Doll’s presence is a cause of celebration. We should be opening up a barrel of bamboo milk and partaking in the festivities, not wasting our time looking a gifted Dragoturkey in the mouth.”

“Except when it’s our invaders the gods have chosen to bless.” The Ecaflip King chimed in. Even though he didn’t sound anywhere near as hysterical as the King of Brakmar, it was plain to see he, too, had his reservations. “You’ll have to forgive me, my fellow Council members, but the Eliatropes having a Divine Doll by their side sounds like a very risky bet.”

The Iop King smirked, amused, “What’s the matter Meow-Meow? I thought pushing your luck was your people’s specialty?”

The feline’s frown deepened into a scowl. “All the more reason to listen to me when I say something’s a lost bet and not worth the risk.” He sentenced, his voice dangerously low as he glared straight at the raven-haired Iop.

“Yes, exactly!” The King of Brakmar exclaimed, pleased to have someone finally listen to reason, that is to say, to him. “By entrusting the Eliatropes with Lady Amalia, the gods have essentially signed our death sentence! As now they can rely on a Sadida demigoddess and we’ll be left incapable of retaliating out of fear of angering the gods. We’re sitting ducks, people!”

Joris had to resist the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance. Despite his position as Bonta’s ambassador, sometimes it was very difficult to keep his true emotions in check, especially when dealing with overly paranoid dignitaries like the Brakmarian court. Nevertheless, it was his duty to mediate this meeting and ensure no drastic measures would be taken unless it was both deemed as absolutely necessary and approved by the majority of the Council members.

With that in mind, he went on to say, “While we all understand your concerns, Your Majesty, we must keep in mind Lady Amalia’s own role. At the banquet, whenever questioned regarding her position within the Eliatrope court, she would always reply the same thing: she is here as a sign of good will between the gods and the Eliatropes, tasked with the duty of acting as a bridge between our cultures.”

“That is as enlightening as an intern explaining their functions within their job…” The Sram King couldn’t help but comment dryly, an eyebrow arched, unimpressed.

“Isn’t it obvious, however?” The Matriarch spoke up, drawing every eye to herself since it was the first time she said anything since their arrival at the Floating Rocks. Everyone waited with bated breath for her to elaborate further, as they all knew whatever she said next could change the course of their debate.

“Clearly, Lady Amalia was sent to the Eliatropes to dissuade our worries.” She said at last, her voice laced with unwavering conviction. “If Sadida isn’t troubled by parting from his youngest child like that and no other god has made their displeasure known, then that must mean they don’t consider the Eliatropes a threat to our survival, hence why we mustn’t worry about their fostering a Divine Doll.”

“Even if Lady Amalia was sent here as a sign that there is nothing to worry about, that doesn’t change the fact that the Eliatropes could manipulate her into helping them conquer our world.” The Sacrier King pointed out, planting the seed of doubt amongst his fellows once more.

“Do you truly believe the Eliatropes could be so underhanded as to manipulate Lady Amalia into turning against her divine father?” Daihitsu asked fearfully, growing worried for the first time since the meeting started. “Wouldn’t that take a lot of time they could be using to weaken our defences by other means?”

“Perhaps.” The tattooed royal shrugged nonchalantly. It wasn’t enough to dent the steel of his gaze, however. “Nevertheless, a fight isn’t automatically won by those who hit the hardest, but by those who endure the longest.”

A ripple of doubt went down everyone’s spine, causing the rulers gathered to exchange worried glances. If anyone knew anything about winning battles of endurance, that was a Sacrier.

“There I have to agree with you, old friend.” The Iop King nodded sagely. “While we Iops might not have the patience or even the brains for that, sometimes the best way to get what you want is by playing the long game. And the Eliatropes and their dragons can live for hundreds of years—they literally have all the time in the world!”

“And in the meantime they could use that time to get a hold of our resources.” The Enutrof King cautioned, a shiver running down his spine at the mere thought of those outsiders getting anywhere near his people’s goldmines or getting their grubby hands on their kamas.

While there was a semblance of truth in the old king’s words, the rest of the Council couldn’t help but sweatdrop, clearly accustomed to his skewed sense of priorities by now.

“And we mustn’t forget Lady Amalia is indeed quite young, despite her appearance.” The Sram King pointed out, raising one bony finger in the air. He exchanged knowing glances with his guards, wordless understanding going through their eyes. “Her status as a demigoddess does not necessarily protect her from being tricked, as her youth and innocence can be turned against her.”

“What are you suggesting, my King?” The Eniripsa Queen asked, her brow furrowed.

The assassin king merely shrugged. “Simply that she could be manipulated into turning against the gods while thinking she is still fulfilling her duty.” While his expression changed minutely, casually arching an eyebrow as he spoke, his voice gained the same edge as a blade that had slitted many throats with unfailing precision. “Sometimes, the easiest way to accomplish your goal is by having your enemies do your dirty work without realising it…”

“All—the—more—reason—to—get—rid—of—the—Eliatropes!” The King of Brakmar bellowed, completely out of his wits due to frustration, making sure to punctuate each word to get his point across. “Their presence has proved to be nothing but troublesome! And, if you ask me, this whole Sadida Doll situation seems quite sketchy.” He narrowed his eyes at that last part.

“I know I’m going to regret this…” Armand muttered quietly to himself, rolling his eyes in annoyance as the beginnings of a headache started to rear their ugly head. He still managed to remain fairly composed, however. “And why do you say that, Your Majesty?”

Deep down, the Sadida prince found himself agreeing with the Brakmarian. Everything revolving around King Yugo and Lady Amalia was simply too suspicious. After all, why would Sadida choose to create a new Divine Doll now, after all this time? And why entrust her to the Eliatropes when he had countless followers who would be immensely honoured to welcome one of his daughters into their kingdom? Not to mention, the Eliatrope King’s actions were contradictory. One minute he swore the doll wasn’t his bride, but the next he caused a commotion befitting of an overprotective boyfriend throwing a jealous fit after seeing his love in the arms of another man.

Even so, despite his reservations, if that was truly Sadida’s will, then he, as future king and protector of everything the Leafy God held dear, had to respect and carry it out. He tried to ignore the way his father was looking at him from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable, by averting his eyes to the side.

Squinting his eyes disdainfully at the younger Sheran Sharm, the Brakmarian ruler spat, “I simply cannot bring myself to believe Lady Amalia was brought here for the reasons she claims. The gods are hiding something.”

Such a bold, if not outright blasphemous, declaration spurred a collective, scandalised gasp to leave the throats of everyone present. While the Eniripsa Queen clutched at her chest, the Feca King exchanged horrified glances with his secretary, much like the Pandawa Queen was doing with her attendant. The Iop and Sacrier Kings were left speechless, for once, and even the Sram King allowed a shadow of unease to pass over his drawn features.

Armand, for his part, found himself seething. His mouth was curled into a vicious snarl while his fists were clenched so tightly the dark mahogany skin of his knuckles turned as white as birch crust. His frown set into a deep scowl, it took everything in his power not to snap at the other ruler. In fact, he would have most likely lost his composure if it weren’t for his father’s heavy yet grounding hand on his shoulder, wordlessly reminding him to keep his temper in check even as he shook from righteous rage.

“Are you implying the gods have ulterior motives for sending Lady Amalia to us? That Sadida isn’t being truthful?” Even though he worded it as a question, the words that left the prince’s mouth were more like he had issued a challenge. Armand dared the King of Brakmar to insult his people’s patron god in his and his father’s face. More importantly, because this was supposed to be a diplomatic meeting and they couldn’t afford to allow tensions between the kingdoms to arise, Armand was giving him an out—an opportunity to take back his words and focus back on the issue at hand rather than his deluded paranoia.

“I’m not implying anything.” He said, and for a second, Armand let the tension leave his shoulders. “I’m saying the Divine Doll’s soothing words are but a diversion; Sadida created her not to assuage our worries, but to appease the Eliatropes. Don’t you see?” He turned to their fellow rulers, throwing his arms to the side as he addressed them. “Even the gods fear them!”

Another chorus of offended gasps and pointed demands echoed around the space, loud enough they could indeed summon the twelve gods themselves if they weren’t careful. But all Armand could hear was the sound of his blood rushing to his ears, a deep growl emanating from his throat as his body shook with barely restrained fury. Even the feeling of his father tightening his hold on his shoulder did nothing to bring him back to reality.

How dare he? How dare he?! Insulting the great Sadida, the god responsible for making their world brim with nature and life, of providing both his followers and those of his companions’ with a near endless supply of wakfu.

Armand had long learned the other races tended to underestimate his kingdom and their invaluable role within their community, as they often showed complete disregard for the function their forests served. He’d heard enough scornful comments directed at the Tree of Life not to be surprised at how little the other nations cared for the Sadida Kingdom anymore.

The sheer disrespect his people had been on the receiving end of despite playing such a crucial role in preserving the balance of their world was appalling. But it also helped to fuel him and his ambitions for when he ascended to the throne. Unlike his father, who was too quick to trust outsiders and form alliances with them, Armand aimed to be more self-sufficient. Once he became king, all their people would need to prosper would be some key allies from whom they could all mutually benefit, hence, ensuring they came to each other’s aid without question in times of crises. That was the main reason behind his marriage to Aurora—out of all the other races, the Osamodas were sure to be the nation that would best understand the significance their forests held, as they also served as home to many of the animal species they cherished. Beyond that, they only needed to ensure some trade routes with the Pandawa and Amakna, and maybe even the Sufokians, and the Sadida would be able to survive anything on their own.

The prince knew his father didn’t understand, not when he’d found the perfect queen in the woman he had always been in love with, but Armand had long lost all forms of emotional attachment that would get in the way of his better judgement. It had been years since any lingering feelings got in the way of making the right, informed decisions for the sake of his kingdom. In fact, he had actually been putting off choosing a queen long enough, and it was about time he put aside any remaining heartache and put his people first, even if it meant marrying a woman he initially didn’t know, let alone love.

After all, he hadn’t had a reason to try following his parents’ example in a long while. Not since… He shook his head, frustrated with himself. Now wasn’t the time to take a trip down memory lane.

Meanwhile, as the prince got lost in his thoughts even as his father tried to get him to focus back to the present, the King of Brakmar went on with his tirade.

“If you ask me, the Eliatropes have long overstayed their welcome!” He roared, hoping to rally his fellows into following his lead and hopefully decree their unwanted visitors had to go. “If the gods themselves have seen no choice but to distract them with a Divine Doll, who knows what they’re actually capable of?!” He asked no one in particular, raising a clenched fist in the air. “I say we take matters into our own hands to expel them from our world, before they have the chance to turn what should be a blessing into a curse! Who’s with me?!”

His words, once again, elicited a cacophony of murmurs and mutterings among the royals. Each of them turning to the fellows they had nearer to seek their opinion. Before long, yet another animated debate was spurred.

It was the Iop King’s voice that first raised above everyone else’s. His usually battle-hungry expression settled into one of boredom, his muscular arms folded over his broad chest. Had he been sitting down, he would have reclined back in his chair as if he were talking about the weather instead of discussing crucial political affairs.

“As much as we Iops love a good fight, we’re not gonna fight King Yugo and his people on this one. If there’s one thing my people and I respect, that’s a good warrior, and despite his scrawny physique, the kid packs a good punch.” He smirked, the excitement all Iops felt before a good battle returning to his pupiless eyes. “Things’ll be much more interesting with him and his folks around.”

“You do realise he and his siblings are demigods, right?” The Sacrier King pointed out with a raised eyebrow, to which the Iop King just shrugged, indifferently. “The ‘kid’ is probably older than all of us combined.”

“I stand by what I said.” The raven-haired Iop stuck up his nose in mock defiance.

“While I see where you’re coming from,” The Sram King conceded, if only to be polite and to move the conversation along, “we must be smart about this. If we let the Eliatropes unchecked, that could easily turn against us. However, if we strike first, then there’s less chances of them being able to recover on time.” He gestured at his two guards, whose gripping of their scythes behind him and over their leader’s head brought to mind the image of an angel of death. “Take it from a Sram, better safe than sorry.”

“Precisely, my dear friend.” The Enutrof King concurred, stroking his beard with one hand while he played with his pet with the other. His small, beady eyes flicked from one Council member to the next. “Kamas don’t grow on trees, we cannot afford to let those Eliatropes mooch off our resources.” Then, after a beat, he added, a devilish smirk plastering itself over his features, “Although, if they were to share their resources with us, who would we be to refuse?”

“But we could learn so much from them!” The Eniripsa Queen argued, swooning as she thought back to her brief examination of the Eliatrope King and that pink-clad, flirtatious sister of his. “Think about all the centuries’ worth of knowledge we could gain from them! For all we know, they could hold the secret to curing ailments that have haunted our world for centuries!”

The other monarchs shared knowing glances, some of them even going as far as to roll their eyes at the healer. Any minute now her true intentions would shine…

“You just want another chance to talk to them and get some of their precious vocabulary.” The Ecaflip King accused matter-of-factly. Though, judging from the indignant pout on the Eniripsa’s face, he wasn’t entirely off the mark.

All around them, their fellow rulers nodded their heads in agreement. Eniripsas were renowned for their unfailingly kind nature and unparalleled talent as healers, but they tended to overlook certain key aspects in favour of their ‘word hunting’. Of course, their queen was no exception.

“I simply believe we could take this opportunity to promote a mutually beneficial cultural exchange. I am being truthful when I say we could learn a lot from them.” The fairy looked away with a small, indignant huff, even though she didn’t deny it.

“It is true their technology seems to far surpass our own…” The Feca King mused, earning himself a nod from his secretary, her long, blue braid bobbing up and down. “Quite frankly, it would be foolish to pass up on the perfect opportunity to advance our research and improve our living conditions by exchanging scientific research with the Eliatropes.”

“So you’re okay with letting the Eliatropes stay just because you can exchange notes, is that it?” The Sacrier King questioned, his eyes unblinking from disbelief. “For all we know they could use that time, or better yet, that knowledge to wipe us all out!”

“Perhaps.” The blue-haired leader conceded, not too concerned. “But above all, we Fecas are protectors. Our goddess would never give her blessing to anyone she suspected of being an actual threat to her worshippers’ survival.”

With a scoff, the tattooed king turned his body away from the so-called protector, unable to believe his ears. Dear Sacrier above, were they all truly and utterly insane? He had no doubt in his mind the Scarlet Damsel would look out for her people, for she hated nothing more than seeing humanity in agony, but his goddess’ virtue in no way guaranteed their new ‘neighbours’ wouldn’t have hidden intentions for making the World of Twelve their new home.

Sacriers may relish a good fight, as they could always count on their Iron Maiden to come out unscathed and stronger than ever, but only a fool would ignore when too much blood would be drawn from a mistake.

“I’m afraid I must side with the King of Brakmar on this one.” He finally spoke, his tone solemn, causing the Iop King’s eyes to bulge in surprise at his old friend’s admission. For his part, the King of Brakmar just sneered at the resentment in his voice when he uttered his name, as if agreeing with him was an unforgivable sin in itself. “Some battles just can’t be won, no matter how much blood you draw or how many times you get back up.”

“You already know my answer. Lady Amalia’s presence is cause for celebration, more so if it’s meant to represent the gods approving of the Eliatropes.” Daihitsu smiled, the action reflecting her boundless generosity and kindness. “So let’s wrap this meeting up, crack open some barrels of bamboo milk, and celebrate!”

But the Ecaflip King just shook his head ruefully, the constant flicking of his tail betraying his frazzled nerves. “There’s nothing worse than getting ahead of yourself.” He lamented, covering the upper half of his face with his hat. Even though it was meant to be a private comment, the way in which the Pandawas squinted their eyes at him showed they’d heard him loud and clear. Upon noticing this, he rushed to clear his throat awkwardly, averting his eyes.

“Are you implying I’m getting ahead of myself, my King?” The panda queen demanded.

The brown-coloured feline shook his head, adjusting the brim of his hat. “All I’m saying is it might be too soon to celebrate just yet.”

“Of course, we all know what you think of the Eliatropes.” The Iop King remarked sarcastically. Quite a feat indeed, as his race wasn’t known for their ability to pick up on sarcasm.

But the Ecaflip remained unperturbed. “All I’m saying is it would be foolish to bet it all on one Dragoturkey when there’s no telling who’s going to win the race.”

“Speaking of winning or losing,” the Enutrof King interjected, stroking his pet with a disinterested air. “You already know what I think about those Eliatropes—if we can get something valuable out of them, they’re welcomed to stay, but the moment I so much as have an inkling they’re after my—I mean, our— kamas,” he rushed out to correct himself, grinning sheepishly at this fellows’ unamused glares, “I’ll kick them out myself, do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Your Majesty.” The Xelor King let out a long-suffering sigh at the greedy man’s empty threats. Shaking his head, the action causing his cloak to flail around, but never enough to reveal his face, he turned to address the Council himself. “As for myself, while I must admit I, too, have my reservations regarding King Yugo and his people, I’m afraid Count Harebourg’s actions and the terrible consequences they could have had prevent me from really opposing them. You see, they could rightly accuse me and my people of failing to restrain one of my vassals, which in turn could have greatly endangered Lady Amalia.”

As he spoke, he kept lowering his head in shame, the ornate fabric over his body coming to hide even more of him from view. But then, he raised his head back up, the blue eyes of his mask shining brightly even when shrouded in darkness. “If I were to oppose the Eliatropes, I would not be just defying King Yugo, but the gods themselves as well, and that is a risk I am simply not willing to take.”

“We understand you find yourself under extenuating circumstances, old friend. You are simply looking out for your people’s best interests.” The Matriarch told him. Despite the stone-cold look never leaving her face, her voice was warm and reassuring. After all, as leaders they all understood what it was like to have to face a difficult conundrum that required you to set your personal feelings aside for the sake of your people.

After sharing a brief nod with the time-controlling ruler, the elven warrior set her piercing green eyes on the King of Brakmar, her voice unwavering. “While it would be unwise to trust the Eliatropes fully when they have yet to prove they truly mean no harm, it would be even more damning to act without having all the facts.” She declared.

Then, before anyone could react, she drew her bow and swiftly shot an arrow skywards, causing the Council to look up in astonishment, waiting with bated breath to see what happened next. Immediately after, under the rulers’ wide eyes, a bird fell out of the sky and landed squarely on the Matriarch’s outstretched hand. The action caused the Osamodas to recoil in horror, but the elden Cra simply raised an eyebrow in their direction, unimpressed with their skittishness.

It was then she continued, “Cra knows a good hunter waits for the perfect moment to pounce, after studying their prey with a critical eye. Hence, it would only work against us to attack or welcome the Eliatropes without a proper, thorough, prior investigation.”

“W-we… We concur…” Chamberlain Sabot muttered after swallowing thickly, his eyes still strained on the poor, helpless bird laying motionless in the Cra’s hand. Clearing his throat, he made sure to stand a little bit taller. “M-more importantly, Lady Amalia is with them, and she appears to be fond of them. It would be equally unwise to displease a Divine Doll. And, moreover, dragons appear to be as important to their culture as they are to ours. We, as Osamodas, cannot in good conscience turn against a race that shares some of our most sacred values.”

If Sabot was being honest with himself, he knew for a fact their nation would much rather get rid of the Eliatropes than welcome them with open arms. No in small part because of the sheer audacity of their existence and relationship to their own dragons. The Osamodas worshipped the Celestial Tamer himself, the Master of Beasts! He who brought life to the World of Twelve by letting his dragons roam free! And yet, their people had never even been granted the honour of guarding a single Primordial Dofus, but those heathens got to share such a deep bond with their own dragons?

He still distinctly remembered the way his king’s skin bristled when he heard the news, even Princess Aurora was so enraged by the fact she couldn’t help but sprout her wings and grow her talons, ready to put those unworthy fools in their place. Her father had to snap her out of her fit and remind her she was to remain by her husband’s side for the time being. They would get the chance to retaliate once she was Queen of the Sadidas and her sway over their politics was stronger.

And that was the only reason Sabot now agreed to letting the Eliatropes stay for the time being. That doll living with them was important to the Sheran Sharms and their kingdom, and they couldn’t afford to lose their favour now.

As the Osamodas representative mused quietly to himself, reflecting on the state of his own court, he missed the suspicious glare King Sheran Sharm sent his way, or the intrigued eyebrow Prince Armand had raised. Despite what he might have thought, their true intentions weren’t as well-hidden as they believed, especially after they had just insulted their patron god despite their alliance.

Master Joris, however, did notice, but chose not to comment. Despite the close relationship between the Sadida Kingdom and Bonta, they had no right to interfere in each other’s politics. The most Master Joris could do was advise them in the name of the Bontarian Queens.

Just like it was his duty to express his queens’ desires whenever they weren’t available—or refused to breathe the same air as the Brakmarian court.

“And Queen Astra and Selene are of the same mind as you, esteemed members of the Council of Twelve.” Joris finally spoke, making his mistresses’ true feelings known. While he’d feared things would get out of hand more than once during this entire exchange, things had fortunately ended up following the course the Bontarian rulers were counting on. As their envoy, it was time he showed their hand. “While having the Eliatropes around might not be such a bad thing in the end, it is still far too soon to be able to tell for certain. Therefore, they believe the wisest course of action would be to remain neutral towards them. For now, let us keep an eye on them until we can really discern their intentions towards our world and Lady Amalia, which, at the same time, means we must keep interacting with them without raising suspicions as to our true intentions. At least until we have a clearer picture of what to expect from them.”

The low, yet powerful chuckle that reverberated around the space caused the entirety of the Council of Twelve to perk up in surprise. All pairs of eyes were immediately drawn to the origin of the sound, taken aback, for it was the first time its owner said a word since the assembly began.

There, standing proud and tall beside his son, his hands on his back and a lazy grin on his lips that concealed his wise and strategic mind, was King Oakheart Sheran Sharm. By his side, Armand’s posture mimicked his father’s, but his expression was much more serious and stoic, his lips pursed in a thin line.

“Master Joris, please, do be so kind as to let Their Majesties know everything is under control. I’ll personally see to that.” He stated confidently.

“You seem awfully sure of yourself, King Sheran Sharm. Is there anything you’re not telling us?” The King of Brakmar accused, frowning deeply.

King Oakheart shook his head. “Nothing like that. It is just that this is the perfect opportunity for us.”

“‘Perfect opportunity’?” The Enutrof King echoed. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Just that my people have been awfully curious about Lady Amalia ever since we found out about her existence. After all, her birth is a momentous occasion for our kingdom. Yet another testament of Sadida watching over his humble worshippers. Needless to say, she is a source of great pride for us.”

As his fellow Council members shared murmurs of agreement, he went on, “Therefore, given my people’s interest in formally meeting our god’s youngest child, I believe I have the perfect solution to kill two tofus with one stone.” As he said that, he had to suppress the smirk from forming on his lips at the Osamodas’ scowl at that simile.

“Indeed. What my father has in mind should allow us to keep a close eye on Yugo and the rest of the Eliatrope Council and find out more about their true intentions.” Armand added. Deep down, he had his doubts regarding his father’s plan. However, they had to appear as a united front in front of the other rulers, so it was his duty to stow away his reservations for later and support his father in public.

Master Joris, who already had an inkling as to what the Sheran Sharms could be up to, nodded in response. “Very well, Your Majesty. On behalf of Bonta, please, do not hesitate to ask if you need any help with your endeavours.”

The Sadida King’s grin widened.

“Rest assured, Master Joris. Leave it all to us…”

....................................................................................................................

“Yugo! Where are you taking me?” Her delighted giggles echoed around the halls as she let herself be dragged to parts unknown.

If it had been anybody else, Amalia would have been on edge, but the feeling of Yugo’s hand gently yet firmly clasping hers as he guided her along the palace made warmth spread all over her chest and a sweet smile to grace her features. It was at moments like that that the Divine Doll knew she was safe as long as the Eliatrope King was around.

Her amused grin only widened when he turned around just enough to send her a toothy, boyish smile that made her heart flutter, bringing a finger to his lips as he did so. “You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

With his back turned to her once more, Amalia rolled her eyes good-naturedly, putting on a show of being annoyed that Yugo wouldn’t have bought even if he had been looking her way. And who could blame her? It was hard to be mad when your friend, always so sweet, promised to have a nice surprise for you.

Although the smile didn’t leave her face, the doll frowned slightly, wondering where in the World of Twelve he could be taking her. Right after their daily training routine—or, more accurately, Yugo’s training routine that Amalia eagerly ate up from her balcony—and breakfast, the king had surprised the Sadida Doll by telling her there was something he wanted her to see. While Amalia had squealed excitedly and immediately demanded he tell her what it was—only to sulk childishly but not-any-less cutely when he told her she would have to wait until they arrived—, she would be lying if she said she hadn’t already been surprised by his proposition.

Even though the two of them had been spending a lot more time together since their visit to Bonta, moreso after returning from the Eliatrope village, it wasn’t every day Yugo would dedicate his whole day to her. Normally, they’d spend the first few hours of the morning together and then each of them would be left to their own devices—Yugo would tend to his kingly responsibilities while Amalia went to class or mingled with the palace staff, maybe even talk with whatever members of the Eliatrope Council she met along the way.

Some conversations were more stilted than others, though not due to a lack of trying on her part—it wasn’t her fault the friendliest thing that would leave Efrim’s snout was a warning growl!

So she’d been (pleasantly) taken aback when right after having breakfast Yugo wanted to stretch their time together for a little while longer.

But that had been almost a half hour ago and the Eliatrope was still leading her to parts unknown, and Amalia had lost count of how many corridors they walked through and how many doors they'd passed. The more they advanced, the less servants and guards there were around, causing Amalia’s curiosity to grow exponentially.

She was about to call out to Yugo to seriously ask him where they were going, when he perked up at the sight before him and tugged at her wrist to hurry up. The doll couldn’t help but let out a yelp when her friend accidentally pulled too hard and all but dragged her with him.

And, just as suddenly, he skidded to a halt right in front of a double door, causing Amalia to bump into him as she hadn’t been expecting him to stop.

“A little warning would have been nice.” She groused as she rubbed her wrist, which was a little sore from Yugo pulling her with him.

She looked up in surprise when two partially gloved hands came to gently caress her wrist in a soothing motion, finding Yugo staring back at her with an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m sorry. I supposed I got carried away, huh?”

Shaking her head to will her blush away, the doll returned his smile with a smirk of her own, adjusting her wristbands in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “You could say that. Now, are you finally going to tell me what you got so carried away in the first place?”

Yugo snorted, the motion making the ears of his hood shake slightly. “As a matter of fact, yes, I am.”

“So, what is it?”

Instead of answering, Yugo just took a step back and motioned to the door, the playful smile never leaving his face. Arching an eyebrow in confusion, Amalia ultimately just shrugged, deciding to play along. She passed him by and stood in front of the gates. Taking hold of the handles, she turned them and opened the doors, her eyes widening at what she saw on the other side.

What awaited her inside was a vast expanse of space, a large, circular room with a composition not unlike the throne room, except it had far more natural light than the turquoise hue that bathed the latter. Not in small part due to the natural sunlight filtering through the open-window walls surrounding the room, each of them separated by a round pillar supporting the ceiling above their heads.

Another major difference between this room and the throne room was the fact that it was completely bare. It held absolutely nothing inside. At least, not anything Amalia had taken notice of.

Still slack-jawed in awe, the doll took a step inside, only for her eyes to widen for a completely different reason, gasping in surprise as she glanced down in amazement. Curling her toes experimentally she realised that, yes, instead of the stone-cold or even wooden floors she had been expecting, she was actually standing on solid soil, dirt getting between her toes.

Unable to form a single sentence, she whipped her head back towards Yugo, a question in her eyes.

He shrugged like he hadn’t just done something incredible, like this wasn’t a big deal. “I asked Chibi and Grougal for a favour.”

That small piece of information explained so much, and yet, so little. Turning her head to stare at the space before her once more, and feeling Yugo coming to stand by her side thanks to the sound of the dirt rustling under his feet, Amalia eventually found the strength to ask, “Yugo, what is this place?”

“This,” he took a step forward before turning around to face the doll, spreading his arms wide to gesture around him, “is your garden.”

She blinked. “My… garden?”

“That’s right.”

“But… But there are no plants!” She exclaimed, stepping deeper into the area and looking around, her brow furrowed.

“Well, we figured we should leave the actual gardening up to you. After all, you are the expert here, Miss Sadida Demigoddess.” Yugo explained matter-of-factly, never losing his smile.

Still trying to process the information, Amalia looked down before her body followed suit, crouching down on the floor. She examined the ground with her hands, rubbing the dirt between her fingers as she studied it and its properties. She was pleasantly surprised to find out it was fertile soil, perfect for growing all sorts of plants, especially with Oma’s volcanic ground.

While she did that, Yugo bent down as well, an arm resting on his bent knee. “Of course, using this space as a garden is just the most obvious idea. You can do whatever you want with it. This room is yours, after all.”

His voice was laced with an emotion Amalia couldn’t quite read, but she didn’t have the time to try and decipher what it meant. Looking back and forth between the dirt in her fingertips and back at Yugo, the doll’s green eyebrows knitted in confusion. “What’s all this?”

“I told you, it’s your garden.”

“Yeah, but I mean, why are you giving me a garden?” She insisted, rising from the ground and looking down at him from above. Fearing she might sound ungrateful for the clear thoughtfulness she was being treated with, she rushed out to add, “Don’t get me wrong, I love it! It’s just… that is… well… I, um… why?”

“Because this is where you live, and I want you to feel at home here.” Yugo told her without missing a beat, standing up as well to look her in the eye. He leaned closer to her, placing his hands on her shoulders, his tone reassuring. “You’re already doing so much to acclimate yourself to our culture and our customs, our visit to the village was proof enough of that, so I want to make you feel comfortable by making Oma Island a little more like your home.”

“My home…?” Amalia echoed, confused. What was he talking about? Oma Island was her home. Not only because it was where she lived, but because it wasn’t like she had settled down in many other places before. She really didn’t have anything to compare it to.

“Inglorium.” He replied simply. “Remember? You’ve told me before how Sadida’s dimension is this lush, natural paradise, where vegetation reaches as far as meets the eye.”

Oh, that was true.

At the reminder, the Divine Doll had to admit she could’ve have done much worse, as Oma Island was almost downright paradise on its own—she still shuddered at the memory of Kerubim and Atcham’s retellings of Brakmar, a nation filled with nothing but fire and brimstone. However, it was true its location meant there wasn’t a wide variety of plants, mostly palm trees and tropical rainforests, whereas her father’s domain housed all sorts of vegetation regardless of their natural habitat.

Still, she couldn’t quite understand the point behind all this.

“But Yugo, I love Oma Island as it is!” She countered, her tone patient despite her bewilderment. “Sure, it would be nice to see white dryads around, but it’s not like the island is completely barren, either.”

“Well, now you can grow as many white dryads as you want. And roses, and daisies, and peonies, and… I don’t know any more plant names…” He admitted sheepishly after a beat, rubbing the back of his head and causing a still disgruntled Amalia to snort despite herself. He soon perked up again, though. “But, hey! I bet you could also grow some trees or use your vines to great extent. Maybe you could even start an orchard and grow your own fruit and vegetables.”

He sounded so genuine, so excited for her. The child-like glint in his eyes as he listed off the many possibilities of what she could do with the room tugged at her heartstrings and caused a small smile to stretch over her face. After a second, though, her expression dimmed slightly, her brow furrowing the more she thought about it.

Amalia still wasn’t so sure. It was true the sole idea of getting to let her powers loose and let nature take over the room like the indomitable force it was sounded amazing. She’d be lying if she said she’d had many chances of cutting loose for real and making use of her magic ever since she arrived in the mortal realm. The last time she did anything similar was back when she first told Yugo, Chibi, and Grougaloragran she didn’t feel all that comfortable in her chambers and transformed the space. Beyond that, the most she got to do was summon a few vines to grab something she needed or break someone’s fall, like what happened with Lori during her first day of class.

And to be honest, she missed it. Maybe she didn’t get to practise much with her powers when she was still in Inglorium, but her father and sisters assured her that, as a Divine Doll, daughter of Sadida, the Father of the Tree People, she was one with nature; having plants do her bidding would be as easy as breathing even without much training. But it still felt so good to test the limits of what she could do… Whenever she closed her eyes and allowed herself to listen—to really listen—to the world around her, whispers of plants from far and wide would echo in her ears, entrusting her with their innermost secrets. And each time she couldn’t help but feel like it was about time she answered their call…

But she held back. She had to prioritise carrying out the gods’ will, and they never said anything about her needing to summon vines as tall and sturdy as buildings to accomplish her goal. A part of her still wondered if things would have gone differently with Count Harebourg if she had been quicker to react and maybe pummelled him to the ground with her magic…

Naturally, a part of her was thrilled at the prospect of moving past those reservations, of showing the World of Twelve once and for all what a Divine Doll was truly capable of. And for Yugo, of all people, to grant her that opportunity… Her heart almost thudded in her chest, touched beyond words by how good a friend he was. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to fully embrace that wonderful feeling.

Something was off.

For his part, Yugo had been inspecting Amalia’s face intently since she opened the gates leading to the room, looking for any sign that she was pleased with the surprise. Her initial amazement and astonishment were to be expected, and he could feel himself swell with pride when she realised she was standing on actual, workable soil. But then, an unsettling feeling grew in his gut when she didn’t ultimately break off into the dazzling smile he had been waiting for. The kind of smile that made Chibi and Grougal’s teasing over their relationship and whining over having to remodel a perfectly good room—even when Yugo knew for a fact they were always eager for an architectural challenge—bearable and worth it.

The more time passed, the more the absence of that smile made something in the Eliatrope ache in longing, his heart thudding painfully and melancholically in his chest. Almost like a grim reminder that it was there and missing some stimuli. Although, perhaps it wasn’t only longing that he felt—.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” He asked, worriedly, trying to silence the voices gnawing at him. “Because, I told you, you can do whatever you want here. You can even set up a lab to work on lethal poisons and whatnot. Nora would probably approve.” He joked, although the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s not that…” Amalia said through a mirthless chuckle, already picturing Nora’s approving smirk and thumbs-up, though she wasn’t looking at him. “I just…” She trailed off, only to close her mouth shut shortly after. The Sadida Doll remained silent for a few minutes, her gaze fixated on the floor as she seemingly pondered something, a million thoughts going behind her chocolate eyes.

Eventually, her brow knitting in concentration, she exhaled softly but with purpose, right before looking back at the king. “I’m just not sure if I should accept it. If it’s right of me to be occupying so much of your space.” She looked around, throwing her arms to the sides to gesture around her. “What if something happens and you need the extra room? This place would be much more useful if it was repurposed into a storage room or a place to house your subjects!”

“Or it would have remained closed and gathering dust like it’s been doing until now.” Yugo countered, raising an eyebrow pointedly, uncomprehending. “And what do you mean ‘occupying so much space’? Amalia, you only really have your room, which, again, wasn’t being used by anyone until you arrived.”

“Yeah, but I’m always roaming around the palace, or attending Glip and Baltazar’s lessons with the Eliatrope children, and just the other day we went to town and to Qilby and Shinonomé’s clinic! Won’t your people get mad for seeing me everywhere, even where I don’t belong?”

“Mad?” Yugo repeated, incredulous. He couldn’t help it and let out an almost manic laugh at her question… and almost immediately felt like an idiot when he took notice of the downcast expression the doll made at his reaction, looking very much like a kicked puppy.

Realising his mistake, he quickly raised his hands in front of his body as he tried to explain himself. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to laugh!” He sputtered, embarrassed. “It’s just that…” He trailed off, words failing him. He brought his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, frustrated with himself, only to let out a heavy sigh at the sad glimmer in the girl’s eyes.

Taking one deep breath, he tried again, imbuing his voice with as much warmth and comfort as he could muster. “Amalia, you have nothing to worry about. My people aren’t mad because they’re ‘seeing you everywhere’.” he air-quoted with only a touch of irony, “If anything, I’d say they’re quite pleased by that.”

Amalia still wasn’t convinced, though.

“But I’m an outsider! I know nothing about the Eliatrope way of life, and yet I’m always around. Who says I’m not intruding or abusing your hospitality?”

“I do.” He told her, without a hint of doubt in his voice. “Don’t you see? You’re not intruding or abusing our hospitality, and we’re certainly not mad at you for it. And, let’s face it, you’re not the only ‘outsider’ around here.”

As he spoke, he took her by the wrist and gently led her to stand in front of one of the large window panes on the other side of the room. Now that she was actually standing right in front of it, the doll’s eyes widened when she realised she could actually see the village from where she stood, unlike the view she got from her balcony. She was so entranced by the sight, her head snapped up slightly in surprise when the Eliatrope King spoke up again as he, too, beheld the scenery before him, his eyes shining with a profound pride for his people.

“Look at them, Amalia. They’re working so hard just to be able to call this place their home; no matter what challenges might lay ahead, they’re all ready to face them head-on.” He turned back to face her, her cheeks growing hot due to the eye contact. She tore her gaze away from him. “And so are you. In fact, I’d say you’re working harder than anyone to be welcomed here, both by us and the Twelvians. And we all know that.

“Can’t you see? If you were an actual intruder, taking advantage of our generosity, you wouldn’t even show the slightest care about us and our culture. You’d simply let yourself be pampered without offering anything in return. And that’s the opposite of what you actually do. From the moment you arrived, you made it pretty clear you’re meant to bridge the gap between us and the Twelvians, and that you’re eager to do whatever it takes to help us achieve that goal, including learning more about us. And that…” He trailed off, his voice growing thick with emotion, feeling bashful all of a sudden before saying softly, “You have no idea how much that means to us, Amalia.

“So this,” he once again opened his arms wide, gesturing at the space around him before letting himself fall into one of his portals under the doll’s surprised gaze and emerging in a different corner of the room like nothing happened. He repeated the process over and over as he talked, almost like he was giving her a tour. “This is my attempt at making you feel more at home. You’re a Divine Doll, Amalia, a Sadida. You should feel in sync with nature at all times, and if that means giving you an entire room for you to grow whatever you like, then so be it.”

Eyes glimmering from unshed, happy tears at his words, the wild beauty didn’t know how to respond. How was it possible that this man always knew exactly what to say to make her feel better? How could he always be so alert of everything going on with her, even when he had the burden of ruling a kingdom over his shoulders? And to think he’d dedicated who knew how long to prepare a room just so she wouldn’t feel all that disconnected from her roots…

Could he get any more wonderful?

Her hands over her heart and a watery smile on her lips, she mutely closed the distance between them and came to stand right in front of Yugo, in the very centre of the room. Seeing as she had yet to say a word, the king was about to ask her what was wrong when she startled him. Wordlessly, she moved her hands around, a bright, green orb of light materialising between her palms. After a few seconds where she seemed to play with the orb, she gave a powerful clap, causing it to disappear, though not before a green energy wavelength emanated from the ground in response to the action. In a matter of seconds, several vines sprouted from the ground and twirled themselves around the pillars surrounding the room, hugging them tight.

He blinked, his mouth hanging open slightly. It already looked much better than just a moment before.

Amalia made a show of dusting her hands off before placing them on her hips and turning around to admire her handiwork, a proud smirk on her face. “Well, it’s a start.”

....................................................................................................................

Yugo watched with a smirk as Amalia kept fluttering around, moving from place to place with a wide, toothy grin on her face that revealed the adorably sharp canines she so rarely showed. They were so cute, especially when the doll got this twinkle in her eye, the same kind of glimmer a little kid would get upon the promise of a reward if they behaved.

The very same glimmer she had now as she went from one corner of the room to the next, crouching down and standing back up again as the lay-out of how she wanted her personal garden to be materialised in her mind. She took everything in with a critical eye, using her hands to frame how she wanted her imaginary plants to go and if it’d look good with what she had to work with.

The Eliatrope couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to himself as he remembered a scene from just a short few minutes ago.

While he recovered from her little trick from earlier, Amalia walked with purpose into the room, her hands still on her hips as she looked around with appraising brown eyes. When she reached a spot to her right, standing between the very centre of the room and the windows leading to the upside world, what she did next left Yugo slightly bewildered, even after having just witnessed metres-high vines shoot to the ceiling in a matter of seconds.

With her back to the king’s astonished gaze, the doll began to twist her wrists around almost rhythmically, until something fell out of her wristbands and into her palm. But before Yugo so much as had a chance to curiously peer down at it, Amalia reacted quickly and buried whatever it was in the ground—which was nothing to scoff at, as Yugo had shortened the distance between them by teleporting himself to her side in just a few short seconds.

Blinking slowly, it took the Eliatrope a little more than he liked to admit to realise what the Divine Doll was up to.

“Are you… Are you planting seeds?” He asked, incredulous.

Amalia shrugged from her crouched down position, unbothered, before rising to her feet and dusting her hands off. “What can I say? That is how you start a garden, by planting seeds.”

“Well, yeah… But…” He trailed off.

Intrigued, Amalia stepped closer to him, an eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Sorry, it's just, it took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“Took you by surprise? Yugo, you do know how to plant something, right?”

“Of course I do.” He scoffed, a little annoyed she would even think that. “I might not be a Sadida, but I’m still no Iop either.”

To be fair, the only reason he knew Iops were known for not being the smartest tool in the shack was everyone’s reactions to them in Bonta… And from interacting with the Iop King and his entourage and being forced to keep them from trying to take his siblings head-on in a fight.

At his response, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Then what is it?”

“I guess I just wasn’t expecting to see you do it the usual way.” He admitted, glancing over and towards the vines that were enveloping the pillars surrounding the room in a tight hug meaningfully, an action mimicked by Amalia. “You could say I thought you’d go wild with your powers and have this whole thing turned into your very own indoor forest in a matter of seconds.”

Oh, so that was what he meant. Amalia’s smile became more understanding, even if it never lost its impish quality. She made a show of shrugging casually once more. Too casually.

“That’s true. If I wanted, I could have the whole place done with a snap of my fingers.” She snapped her fingers to demonstrate, although, thankfully, nothing happened. “But that just takes all the fun out of gardening.”

“Oh, it does, doesn’t it?” Yugo smirked down at her, amused.

“Indeed.” She nodded. Turning her back to him, she extended an arm to her side, a new vine circling around it before vanishing into thin air, like it had never been there to begin with. “You see, Yugo, while we Sadidas won’t hesitate to call on the surrounding vegetation to help us when we’re in a pinch, we actually prefer to let nature run its course, and that includes not rushing anything unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“So that means you guys don’t grow plants out of nowhere unless you absolutely must?” The king guessed playfully, as he stepped closer to the doll once more. He almost didn’t register when his body acted on its own accord and held Amalia’s arm, the one that had previously been enveloped by the vine, and began to absentmindedly rub gentle circles on her skin with his thumb.

Something fluttered within him when the doll shivered at his touch.

“P-pretty much, yeah…” Amalia breathed out, doing her best to ignore the whirlwind of emotions that had ignited at the Eliatropes’ distracted caresses. Just, what the Heck was that?!

While she was the opposite of calm and composed on the inside, on the outside she did her best not to let it show. With a voice imbued with much more poise than she felt at the moment, she added, “S-so, for the most part, I’m going to be tending to my garden the old-fashioned way.”

Okay, so she stammered a little. She was still going to count that as a win.

Yugo chuckled. “For the most part?”

She nodded, his position behind her letting him see her forest-green ponytail as it bounced up and down with the movement. His heart stopped when some strands brushed his nose, the powerful aroma of freshly cut flowers and sunlight overwhelming his senses. “Yeah, I already have an idea or two in mind…”

And with that mysterious statement, she finally broke free of his hold—revisiting that moment later, Yugo would be mortified to remember the way his body moved after hers at the action, seeking her closeness and startled by its abrupt end—and continued with the Herculean task of planting more seeds for plants the Eliatrope had to admit he could never remember the names of.

However, after a while of just staring at the Divine Doll in awe, wondering about the kind of natural paradise she would end up marvelling them with, the Eliatrope King’s expression dimmed, his lips coming to rest in a thin, emotionless line as his eyes lost the fond glimmer they’d gained from admiring Amalia, a sense of regret making them seem opaque instead.

As Amalia remained blissfully unaware, Yugo couldn’t help but revisit the same memories from the other day that had been haunting him for days now. The weight they carried gnawing at him as guilt gripped his heart and refused to let go, while his sense of responsibility and loyalty to his people held him fast, anchoring to the present and reminding him why he did all this in the first place. Who suggested he gift Amalia with her own garden.

Qilby.

Their conversation from when he followed him deep into his and Shinonomé’s clinic weighed heavily on his mind, eliciting the mixed feelings surging within him to battle each other for dominance in a futile attempt to allow him to think more clearly governed by one single emotion.

So far, guilt and regret won by a long shot.

....................................................................................................................

That day, while Shinonomé offered to keep Amalia company and entertain her so she wouldn’t be too bored, answering whatever questions the doll might have about them and their role in their community, Qilby took Yugo aside and into a separate room.

This didn’t surprise the king, after all, the main reason they even went to the village was so the eldest twins could share their latest discoveries with their king. As Amalia wasn’t aware of their role among their people, let alone the things in specific Qilby and Shinonomé had been up to recently, then it was only to be expected that his siblings would want to talk to him alone.

The room Qilby led his king to wasn’t much, just a modest office with walls covered by shelves stacked with clinical books that reached to the ceiling. A simple yet sturdy wooden desk littered with papers, ingredients, and test tubes, and an armchair in front of it were located in the far corner of the room. On the opposite corner was a filing cabinet, no doubt where they kept their patients’ medical history—not like they needed it, given their memory… The late afternoon sun peeking from between the blinds created an almost cosy atmosphere under its dim light that beckoned anyone inside to make themselves at home.

Still, Yugo kept his guard up. He loved Qilby, and he trusted him implicitly, for they were brothers and had been there for each other since the very beginning of their civilisation, even if only the bespectacled Eliatrope and his dragon sister remembered those times.

But precisely because they were brothers and they had spent centuries together, Yugo knew better than to let his guard down around the eldest Eliatrope. While Qilby never faltered in his role as medical assistant, chronicler, and researcher, his divine gift meant he always played with an ace or two up his sleeve. Little cheats no one else at the table would be able to see coming as they had all long forgotten about them in the first place.

One such trick was the wistful, nostalgic quality Qilby’s voice would gain whenever he spoke of the lifetimes preceding Chibi’s abdicating the throne and handing it to their adventuring brother. From his retellings and the yearning that not even his glasses and all-knowing condescension could hide from view, Yugo didn’t need to have a prodigious memory to realise they had been closer then, before Chibi chose him over his eldest brother to rule their people.

From then on, judging from their somewhat aloof interactions, the young king could only guess things had soured between them after that, his own distance from his brother a direct result of Qilby’s indifference towards him growing up. Chibi’s choice was a wound that had trouble healing, especially when not only could Qilby never forget it had been inflicted in the first place, but he was tasked with reliving that memory for the sake of his siblings and people over and over again until the end of time.

Even if they lived through a million lives, Yugo doubted he would ever get to fully understand his eldest brother.

“So, how’s your denial going for you, Yugo?”

Most of the time, though, the reason why the king was always tense around Qilby was his incessant teasing at his expense.

Qilby’s unnecessarily loud voice had cut through Yugo’s thoughts like a knife, the implications behind it eliciting a furious blush to spread all over his face. The little smirk he wore only served to aggravate his embarrassed brother further.

Unable to contain his irritation, Yugo immediately shot back, “For the last time, Qilby! I—am—not—in—denial!”

It wouldn’t be until Amalia asked him on the way out what he was in denial about that he realised how loudly he said that. And promptly blushed scarlet once more as he scrambled to dodge the question.

The smirk never leaving his long face, Qilby simply tutted, a finger on his chin. “If you say so, Little Brother.” He turned around and began to make his way over to his desk to gather up his papers. “I’m just saying you’ve been spending a lot of time with our dear Amalia lately.”

The king frowned, unamused, as his brother made his way to where his desk stood and picked up a stack of documents.

“I’m the person she’s closest to and the gods entrusted her to me specifically.” Yugo was quick to remind him, as if he could ever actually forget and wasn’t just playing games with him for his own amusement. “It’s only natural that I spend time with her.”

Pretending to leaf through the papers in his hands to see if everything was in order, Qilby flashed him a sidelong glance. “I seem to recall the gods sent her here as your bride.” He said pointedly, his lips curling upwards in pleasure at the sight of his squirming brother.

“Amalia knows we won’t actually get married. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be good friends.” The king insisted, his fists clenching at his sides, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Qilby.

“Is that why you’re always going on dates now, just the two of you?” His smirk turned mocking. “Or what, is Adamaï too busy to chaperone?”

“Just tell me what you and Shinonomé have found recently, Qilby.” Yugo all but spat, a warning in his brown eyes that cautioned his brother not to test him further.

The eldest brother almost winced with a roll of his eyes. Yikes! Somebody was a little touchy lately, huh?

“You’re so uptight, Yugo. Can’t two brothers just tease each other a little nowadays?”

“Your findings, Qilby.” The king ground out, his voice dangerously low and authoritative while the ears on his hood flattened against his head, a clear sign of his irritation.

His body now facing Yugo even as he remained bent over his desk, he raised an intrigued eyebrow, his eyes fixated on his king’s whitening knuckles. With a noncommittal hum and a shrug, he straightened his posture, stack of papers in hand, and closed the distance between him and his king, handing over the documents to him.

As Yugo skimmed over its contents, no doubt without understanding half of the things scribbled there, Qilby spoke again, this time much more seriously. “As we suspected, Oma Island is a rich and plentiful land. Its warm temperatures allow for vegetation to grow and keep most diseases at bay. However, it does have its limitations.”

Yugo looked up from the reports in his hands, “You said there is simply no space for large-scale production, right?”

Qilby nodded. “Since this is an island instead of solid land, we can’t exactly expand our crops, which at the same time can be quite limited in their variety and that includes the medical herbs Shinonomé and I use to treat our patients. If we do not replenish our supplies soon, we will run out of the stock we salvaged from our homeworld and the other realms we visited.

“Unfortunately, I have no idea if this world even has those same plants or not.” He admitted, adjusting his glasses over the bridge of his nose with his middle finger. “On top of that, we would require a lot of outside help to replenish said resources, help we obviously cannot get from our dear neighbours…”

Yugo frowned at Qilby’s words, knowing he was right. Even though the final objective was to reach a peaceful coexistence with the Twelvians and they seemed to be making progress in that regard, they obviously still had a long way to go before they could form strong alliances with the other kingdoms and safely rely on them for help. As they were right now, mostly confined to Oma Island until the Twelvians learned to accept them, the Eliatropes were forced to be self-reliant and self-sufficient.

That in itself wasn’t anything new, as they had always been on their own back in their homeworld, at least, until the Mechasms arrived. But things weren’t so simple anymore. The World of Twelve wasn’t theirs, and by settling in it, they had all but agreed to share it with its natives and play by their rules. Where they once only needed to be mindful not to abuse nature and its generosity and only take what they needed to survive, now they had no choice but to partake in the elaborate web of alliances and agreements that came with different nations and cultures sharing the same living space.

And given their reputation amongst the Twelvians, any course of action they took without their approval could be seen as a provocation. As a sign of their blatant disregard for their customs and boundaries. They found themselves caught between a rock and a hard place.

In other words, they were screwed.

The full extent of the ramifications of their new living arrangement weighing down on him, Yugo let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his face tiredly. “Normally, getting supplies shouldn’t be a problem for us but—.”

“But the Twelvians are most likely to get a conniption if they catch sight of one of our portals, yes.” Qilby finished for him, his stoic tone befitting of the gravity of their situation. His expression hardened. “As much as I enjoy seeing something new for once, Yugo, you have to admit our people cannot thrive under such oppressive and stifling circumstances. We’d do much better to just leave this world behind and look for another one, one where we won’t have to deal with such shortsightedness and prejudice against our kind.”

“You know we can’t do that, Qilby. It already took us long enough until we found the World of Twelve, and even if we were to find another suitable planet for us to live, there is no guarantee things would actually be better there.” Yugo reminded him pointedly, shutting his brother up with a glare. “Just like we can’t just assume every single Twelvian is out to get us.”

The accusatory tone of his voice made it clear he saw through his brother’s ill-concealed opinion of the natives of this world, an attitude they couldn’t afford to have if they wanted to live in peace with them.

The bespectacled Eliatrope closed his arms over his white tunic with an ironic huff. “Forgive me for getting that impression from the many warriors they sent after you to kick us out…”

“Not everyone wants us gone, Qilby.” Yugo insisted, his tone severe. Unbidden, his mind immediately wandered to thoughts of chocolate eyes, emerald hair and bell-like laughter.

Scoffing at the dopey smile suddenly plastered on his younger brother’s face, and with a good idea as to what—or rather who—, had caused it, Qilby coughed loudly into his hand to get his king’s attention. If it weren’t because he was clearly distracted, his rapid blinking and shaking of his head would have been amusing. As it was, however, it was plain annoying.

“If you’re done thinking about mahogany curves,” he allowed a small, satisfied smirk to grace his features at Yugo’s furiously flushed face, “we were kind of in the middle of discussing our people’s future.”

Willing the heat to leave his cheeks, Yugo took a deep breath, the dream-like fog in his mind clearing away and allowing him to focus back on the task at hand with renewed sharpness. He read over the documents in his hands again, not liking the information detailed on them one bit.

Eyes still fixated on the words in front of him, he took a seat next to Qilby’s desk, reclining against the armchair’s back. He massaged his temples as he tried to come up with a solution. “Naturally, the best course of action would be to ask the other nations for help, but diplomatic relations between our peoples are still far too tentative to risk showing vulnerability.”

“Obviously.” Qilby concurred, matter-of-factly.

Paying him no mind, Yugo continued. “I’m sure if we asked Chibi and Grougal, it would only be a matter of time before they came up with the perfect solution. Unfortunately, time is of the essence and we can’t afford to lose any…”

“As I said, Oma’s warm climate keeps at bay the brunt of diseases and ailments, but that doesn’t change the fact that we could still need the medicine for other purposes, such as treating wounds.” Qilby pointed out, his hands to his back, his expression unreadable. “That, and the main reason why there are cold and flu outbreaks every year despite being the most common type of viruses is precisely because they’re constantly changing and adapting, meaning we are not immune to contracting them.”

“I suppose we could always organise teams of scavengers to go to the mainland and get the supplies we need, but we still risk vendors refusing to sell their produce to us on the basis that we’re Eliatropes and they still don’t trust us…” Yugo continued, immersed in his own thoughts. He only vaguely registered Qilby’s point about mutating viruses, not like his brother cared, far too used to his king’s single-mindedness when it came to his people facing a problem.

“True. We might not be as conspicuous as male Srams or Sadidas, but we don’t exactly pass off as regular humans either…” Qilby agreed, using a hand to point at his own hat for emphasis. Then, stroking his beard in thought, he added, “Not to mention, we still don’t have access to their form of currency, so we wouldn’t be able to pay for it either way.”

“Yeah, I hardly doubt us stealing, even if it is for our survival, would really help endear ourselves to them.” Yugo admitted with a sigh, passing a hand through his dirty blond locks even from underneath his hood.

Watching the action curiously, Qilby couldn’t help but ask, “Have you shown her what’s beneath your cloak?”

“Huh? To whom?”

“Amalia, of course.”

Yugo’s eyes widened in shock, heat crawling up his cheeks with the intensity of the burning sun. Did he really just suggest—? He couldn’t help but scoff. Of course he did. This was Qilby, and there was nothing he liked more than making his younger brother squirm.

“Of course not!” He all but screeched, startling his brother, who jolted in his place at his outraged reaction, putting a hand over his heart. Not wanting to be heard from the other room, he lowered his voice, though it retained its edge “How many times do I have to tell you, Qilby?! Amalia and I are just friends! I’m not going to ‘show her what’s underneath my cloak’ anymore than I’m going to ask her where all her womanly attributes come from!”

For a moment, Qilby just stood there, blinking slowly and thoroughly lost. What in the Great Goddess’ name was Yugo talking about? And what was he so flushed about? True, lowering your hood or taking off your hat was a big sign of trust and intimacy in their culture, but he hadn't known his brother to be that much of a prude to react like this—.

Oh.

For once more exasperated than amused, Qilby brought a palm to his forehead, unable to believe he was about to talk about this with his brother. He never talked about this with anyone. Period. Not even with his dear Shinonomé. The mere thought made him want to jump into a portal and run far, far, far away, his responsibilities as Primordial Eliatrope and member of the Council of Six be damned.

Mustering every last drop of patience and composure he possessed, Qilby said through gritted teeth, “Yugo, I wasn’t talking about that. I can assure you, for all my curiosity and unquenchable thirst for knowledge, that is the one thing that, the least I know about, the better.”

“Oh.” Yugo visibly deflated at that admission, though his cheeks remained bright red, this time out of sheer embarrassment over his mistake. Coughing awkwardly in a futile attempt to clear out the tension, he tried again. “So w-what…” he cleared his throat again. “So, what were you talking about?”

Wordlessly, Qilby pointed back at his own hat, a bored eyebrow raised.

Immediately, Yugo felt like kicking himself. He didn’t fall to the ground from shock and embarrassment out of sheer force of will. “I-I see… So that’s what you meant…”

Qilby hummed in response, praying for their mother to either put an end to this conversation or his existence. Whatever was easier and quicker, really.

Ignoring his brother’s suicidal desires, even though he himself wanted nothing more, Yugo finally admitted, his voice cracking despite himself. “Uh… No. No, no, I… I haven’t taken my hood around her. It’s… It’s too soon.”

In response to his king’s explanation, Qilby’s eyebrows discreetly shot to the ceiling, his interest renewed. For all his bravado and confidence in his abilities, Yugo had always been the most prone out of all their siblings to bouts of severe insecurity, especially when it came to his physical appearance. The dragon blood running through his veins gifted him with unparalleled resilience and great physical fortitude, but at the high price of impeding his growing process.

Despite all the Primordial Eliatropes and their dragon twins sharing prolonged lifespans, Yugo and Adamaï felt it the strongest. While the rest of their siblings grew to look their age and remained young for hundreds of years on end after reaching a certain age, the adventuring twins spent decades of their lifetime stuck in childish bodies.

No doubt that played a huge factor in their king’s hesitation when it came to choosing a queen.

But now, the gods themselves had gifted his brother with the most beautiful flower in Sadida’s garden, and just in time for his physical body not to pose a problem for them. But, as always, Yugo hesitated, too afraid of being rejected to really trust Sadida’s little wonder doll and put himself out on the line.

He couldn’t help the smirk from forming on his lips even if he wanted to. He could use this to his advantage.

“You know,” he started, his voice purposely casual, as if he were just pointing out an unimportant, trivial fact instead of creating expectation by carefully choosing his words. “Now that I think about it, there is something we could do to solve our shortage problem.”

Taken aback by the abrupt change in topic, Yugo threaded with caution, “What?”

Qilby’s smirk widened. “Lady Amalia.”

“What?!” Yugo gasped, incredulous. “Are you crazy? How’s Amalia going to help?”

Qilby’s smirk dropped as he took invisible lint off his clothes. He rolled his eyes, exasperated at his brother’s shortsightedness. In all his years, he’d never been able to understand how Chibi could have ever chosen Yugo over him.

“Think about it, Little Brother.” He began to walk around the room, methodically picking up items and putting them back down. He took a small gardening shovel and began to deliberately run his fingers up and down it, with purposeful strokes. “She is a Divine Doll, a Sadida demigoddess. Who better to solve our agricultural problem?”

“She’s not here for that—” He tried to say, but Qilby cut him off, using a portal to appear right in front of his face, causing Yugo to involuntarily take a step back.

“She’s here to help us.” Qilby reminded him pointedly, his eyes almost manic. Squaring his shoulders, he finally stepped back and gave his younger sibling some breathing room, his expression unreadable as he adjusted his tunic with his free hand.

“Yeah, with the Twelvians!” Yugo pressed on, his posture tensing up. “And she’s already been doing that! Or have you forgotten why we got invited to Bonta in the first place?”

“Unlike you, I could never forget, Yugo.” The eldest sibling snapped, jabbing the shovel in his hand at his king’s chest, his stoic mask cracking for a second. Then, realising his near slip-up, he cleared his throat and widened the distance between the two of them, trying to regain some sense of nonchalance. “All I’m saying is, there are more ways to help us than just accompanying us to the very few instances the other races have allowed us to breathe the same air as them…” He said mockingly, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Choosing to tackle Qilby’s reservations against the Twelvians another day—he already had his hands full dealing with Efrim’s blatant distrust of Amalia—Yugo exhaled loudly. He had the feeling he was going to regret this.

“What did you have in mind?”

The way the eldest Eliatrope’s lips curled into a calculating smile didn’t make him feel much better. If anything, it only aggravated the king’s already frazzled nerves.

“Just that we shouldn’t let our precious guest’s unique abilities go to waste.” He finally said, shovelling the small gardening tool into a pot by his side. “You heard her earlier. Thanks to her very nature, she was able to recognise the humectantis planta despite having never seen it before.”

“You mean the aloe vera?”

“...yeah, that.” He pouted, annoyed.

Bringing his thumb to his chin, the immortal king reflected on his brother’s words, running over every little piece of knowledge about Amalia he possessed. Immediately he was assaulted by images of her remodelling her whole room with all sorts of plants in just a matter of seconds. Or the way she commanded those palm trees to snare Adamaï and teach him a lesson when they all went to the beach. Or how she had been quick on her feet to summon a vine to save a plummeting kid on her first day of class…

Indeed, if there was anyone who could help them with their problem, that was Amalia.

And yet…

“How do you propose we do it? Even though she is a Sadida Doll, there’s no guarantee Amalia will be able to help us.”

“On the contrary, Little Brother. If there’s anyone who should be able to help us, it’s her.” Qilby insisted, coming closer to his brother to lean close to him. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he whispered in his ear. “That girl’s powers over nature know no bounds.”

But Yugo still wasn't convinced. Eyes narrowed in thought, he questioned, “How can you be so sure about that?”

Qilby almost growled at his question. Well, it appeared he’d have to go for the kill.

The king almost gasped when the bespectacled Eliatrope used his earlier thoughts against him.

“Because it’s true. Or have you forgotten how she managed to grow what was essentially a micro jungle in her room, from stone? Growing the kind of crops and medical herbs we need shouldn’t pose a problem for her, even if she’s never heard of the plants before. As the humetanctis planta already proved—.”

“Aloe vera.”

“Shut up.”

Rolling his eyes at his brother’s childishness, Yugo allowed himself some time to think on his plan. Qilby wasn’t wrong. Amalia’s nature as a Sadida demigoddess already meant she had far greater control over plant-life than any of her mortal counterparts, the likes of which seemed to be amongst the most welcoming of their people, if only because they had their god’s daughter with them. And even if they decided to rely on the Sadidas for help, that, too, would be a direct result of Amalia’s influence.

So, technically speaking, relying on the doll’s powers alone would essentially amount to skipping a bunch of unnecessary steps.

Besides, she was always doing so much to submerge herself in their culture, and the only reason she remodelled her room in the first place was because she missed her roots and had yet to find her place amongst his people. So wouldn’t it be better if she had a way to feel closer to her own culture? If she could cut loose and experiment with her powers?

Yugo knew for a fact he would feel stifled if he couldn’t create his portals or see his siblings, and Amalia had already given up her own family for the sake of the Eliatropes’ alliance with the Twelvians. Surely, she could use something like this.

But at the same time, a part of Yugo kept gnawing at him, pointing out this wasn’t what she’d been sent here for and she could feel offended. She was to be a bridge between both civilisations, not an excuse to prevent the Eliatropes from asking for help and continuing on with their isolation from the outside world. Asking that of her would be like spitting in the gods’ name and will.

But at the same time, what were they to do in the meantime? It was far too soon to ask the other nations for help, and doing so could give them a reason to attack if they believed there was a weakness to exploit. His people could not go through another war, not again.

Never again.

And, this was all Qilby’s idea. Despite their differences and how often he got on his nerves, that was his brother, a member of the Council of Six. Their greatest priority would always be their duty to their people, the Eliatropes’ safety and well-being, and angering a Divine Doll and potentially her divine father and his cohorts could never be in their people’s best interests, could it?

Besides, if he couldn’t trust his own blood, who could he trust?

It was with those thoughts swirling in his mind that he locked eyes with Qilby. It took tremendous effort to speak around the lump in his throat. “What do you suggest I do?”

For some reason, when Qilby smiled, he didn’t feel all that reassured.

“You could always gift her her own garden. You know, give her a chance to test the limits to her powers first. And then you can start suggesting what she could grow, observing her progress and how it could benefit us… Before we know it, our shortage problem will be solved.” He said with a snap of his fingers.

Yugo was only half-listening, consumed by doubts about what he was about to do and if it’d truly be for the best. He could always ask Chibi and Grougal for help to build the garden and ask their opinion on Qilby’s plan. He would definitely have to talk about it with Adamaï, his twin brother had the uncanny ability to always say what he needed to hear most, be it good or bad.

While he pondered on what to do, he missed the way Qilby’s otherwise placid expression hardened momentarily, a scowl coming to rest on his features. Just as soon as it appeared, however, it vanished, being replaced by a comforting smile.

Yugo was startled out of his thoughts when Qilby placed a hand on his back and began to guide him outside the room. “Now, let’s go back with the girls. I’m sure your little flower must be waiting for you…”

................................................................................................................

There was no doubt in her mind the first thing she should do with her new garden was to grow some grass. Luckily for her, when she gauged the ground’s state with her palms to try and figure out how much work it would take her, she was pleased to find out she wouldn’t have to wait long, after all. She had to hand it to Chibi and Grougal, once again, their work didn’t disappoint. And their choice of using Oma’s volcanic soil was spot-on.

Amalia would be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to getting to work. As great as it was to feel the soil under her feet, nothing beat the feeling of laying atop a mantle of soft grass on a sunny day. And on starry nights, it was the perfect mattress on top of which stargaze, caressed by the cool, late night breeze. If she played her cards right—and when it came to nature, nobody could beat a Sadida at that game, not even the luckiest Ecaflip—, she would soon be enjoying the fruits of her labour.

Literally, as she fully intended to grow berry bushes and fruit trees. She loved Oma’s selection, but she could do with a little more variety.

Most importantly, though, what she was looking the most forward to was starting a small passion project of hers. She had been so busy assimilating to Eliatrope culture she had all but neglected a key aspect of her own. It was high time she changed that. Besides, if everything went according to plan, then she’d be able to be of greater help to Yugo than by just waiting around until the Twelvians made their next move.

This way, she would be actively accomplishing what her father created her for. It was a win-win, really!

Now that she knew what she’d be needing to get to work on her garden, the Divine Doll stood up, dusting her hands off as she turned to look back at her friend with a pleased smile.

Only to immediately frown in concern.

Yugo had moved from where he was when she started inspecting the room and came to stand beside a window to her right. Normally, that wouldn’t have worried Amalia, but his expression tugged at her heartstrings almost painfully, making her worry just what on the World of Twelve could have made him pull that face.

Even with his hood on, the doll could clearly see how his lips were set in a firm, thin line, the subtle movements of his jaw betraying the way he was gritting his teeth. His cloak concealed his entire body from view, but the green-haired beauty knew him enough by now to be perfectly able to picture him clenching his fists so tight, his knuckles were most likely white already.

He stared, crestfallen, at the confines of his kingdom, a deep frown nestled between his eyebrows as his eyes were imbued with an unnatural light. The deep brown she came to associate with them turned a bright blue from whatever thoughts were swirling around his mind, his gaze fixated in parts unknown. The Divine Doll knew there were only two reasons Yugo’s eyes would ever go from dark brown to neon blue; either something had caused his wakfu to build up to near dangerous levels, or he was using his wakfu vision. Seeing as there was nothing at the moment that could cause his wakfu to act up, that left his wakfu vision as the only reasonable explanation, but why would he need to use it now?

A painful pang resonated from Amalia’s core, the inner turmoil reflected in the king’s eyes causing her to subconsciously bring a hand to her chest in concern. What could have possibly caused him to feel like that? Just a few minutes ago he was even more excited about the garden than her.

Why did he suddenly look in so much pain?

As Yugo zoomed in on the joyful grins plastered across their children’s faces as they played, the placid conversations held between neighbours, and his people going on with their day, blissfully unaware of the conflicted storm brewing within their king, he kept telling himself everything he did was for them. For their sake and their happiness.

If they could enjoy the simple pleasures of a nice day out like they were doing now after their kind had been marked by so much sorrow and heartache, it was because he and the Council had done everything in their power to make it happen. They were the Primordial Eliatropes and Dragons. They were leaders, tasked since birth with the immense honour and even heavier burden of looking after their subjects. Their people’s survival depended entirely on them, on him.

And that responsibility came with the reality of being forced to make difficult decisions from time to time. It was a fact of life he had made peace with countless times over his many reincarnations. Sooner or later, no matter his experiences in each life, Yugo always came to the same conclusion: as long as his people got to thrive and live peacefully, there was nothing that wouldn’t be worth it.

And yet, now he found himself wondering if that included using the most precious flower he had ever laid his eyes on to reach that goal.

Despite himself, he could hear the crackle of wakfu running up and down his body at the thought, his teeth gritting in frustration with himself. He knew that, as King of the Eliatropes, his utmost duty would always be to his people, but a part of himself—the part that kept pulling him towards Amalia, begging every single second to stretch itself thin so he could enjoy the pleasure of her company as much as possible—, couldn’t bring itself to risk hurting her in any way.

Yes, this garden was the perfect chance for her to go back to her roots after months of walking amongst the Eliatropes, but it also served to carry out hidden intentions. He was to subtly steer Amalia towards growing what his people needed so they wouldn’t have to risk further confrontation with the Twelvians, but that wasn’t what he’d told the doll.

This garden was supposed to be her home away from home. Her chance to express herself as the divine force of nature she had been conceived as and be truly free. And yet, she was to be manipulated into what to do with her supposed safe haven from the very beginning.

It just wasn’t right!

Moreover, she was a Divine Doll! Her existence was actually deeply significant to the inhabitants of this world, something that apparently distinguished her from the rest of the gods’ children. Wouldn’t helping his people thrive even without the Twelvians’ help be beneath her? Wouldn’t it go against her father and his cohorts’ wishes? Wasn’t he just using what was supposed to be an esteemed guest for his own benefit?

But at the same time, what else could he do?! This world’s natives had made it perfectly clear they weren’t welcomed, only changing their minds upon learning of Amalia’s existence. Hence, his people had been forced to isolate themselves to avoid further conflicts, but that also meant they lived in a near constant state of siege. Their new home couldn’t provide them with everything they needed, and they couldn’t go look for supplies because their presence would put the Twelvians on edge. If they didn’t find a way to be self-sufficient, their kind was as well as doomed.

And it wasn’t like they had asked for the gods to grant them the answer to their prayers: a demigoddess with unparalleled power over nature who could no doubt help them grow whatever they needed.

Except Amalia’s presence was supposed to be key in the diplomatic aspects of their assimilation to the World of Twelve, not the perfect excuse to keep to themselves. If she learned she was only contributing to keeping Eliatropes and Twelvians apart, she would be heartbroken.

Yugo’s eyes narrowed further, his stomach churning in apprehension as he went down that particular train of thought. Yes, Amalia had been tasked since birth to act as a bridge between different nations; at least, that was what she kept telling them. As much as it pained him to admit it, they still had no way to prove the twelve gods didn’t have any ulterior motives behind sending Amalia to the world of the living.

After all, the relationship between the twelve gods and the Eliatropes was nonexistent, even after arriving at their world. Since the only goddess the portal-making race worshipped was their mother, the twelve gods had no reason to invest themselves in them. They certainly didn’t seem to so much as bat an eyelash when the Mechasms attacked. So why intervene now?

Why entrust them with such a precious gift if not because they had some ulterior motive—?

His mind immediately went blank when a warm, soft hand enveloped his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. In an instant, his connection to the wakfu around him, that which allowed for his senses to sharpen to the point of rendering the most talented Cra jealous, was severed, the neon light of his eyes giving way to warm brown once more. He let out a gasp in surprise, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to adjust to the changing world around him, before he turned to identify the origin of his surprise.

The sight of two beautiful pools, framed by emerald eyebrows knitted in concern, did not help his mind form coherent thoughts any. And Amalia stepping closer into his personal bubble while never letting go of his hand only served for the very few coherent thoughts that he did have to be consumed by the sound of his heartbeat ringing in his ears.

And yet, despite all the signs, he was still taken aback when she opened up her mouth to ask:

“Yugo, are you alright?”

Much to his chagrin, he actually jolted in place at her question. Was he really so obvious whenever something weighed heavily on his mind, or did Amalia just know him well enough by now to read him like an open book?

He honestly didn’t know which was more terrifying.

“Y-yeah..” He cleared his throat a little too loudly. “Yeah, I’m perfectly fine, Amalia. No need to worry.”

She tilted her head to the side, looking unfairly adorable doing so. “Are you sure? No offence, but you don’t look too hot right now…”

“Way to kick a man when he’s down…”

“Uh-huh!” She exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “So you are down!”

Shoot. He was one more slip of the tongue away from giving himself away. He needed to put an end to this conversation, and quickly. He’d have time to unload his thoughts when he was alone with Adamaï. If anyone could help him sort his feelings out, that was his brother.

“I’m fine, Amalia. Really.” He insisted, letting go of her hand to raise his defensively in front of his body, subtly building a wall between the two. He made a point of looking around, his expression lighting up purposely when his eyes settled on something behind the Sadida Doll. “Hey, you seemed very invested in that area earlier.” He pointed at a space located at the far corner of the room where, indeed, the doll had spent a good amount of time deciding what she wanted to go there. “Did you come up with anything cool for that?”

Following the direction his finger was pointing at, to where she had entertained the idea of building a small pond with its own tiny waterfall, Amalia almost fell for his trap. Almost. She had been on the receiving end of his endlessly frustrating yet cordial cold shoulder long enough to pick up on his attempts at being evasive. And his adamant insistence on changing the topic did not sit well with the doll.

She gritted her teeth in frustration, the beginnings of a snarl curling at her lips. No matter what he did, she was not going back to how things had been before going to Bonta. Whether he liked it or not, she was going to get to the bottom of this and find out what was wrong with him now.

“Yugo, don’t try to change the subject.”

The King of the Eliatropes, who had summoned a portal beneath his feet to move around Amalia and step closer to where he was trying to redirect their attention to, froze at the stone-laced tone of her voice. Unsure, he turned around to face her, only to wince at the sight of Amalia with her arms crossed over her chest and an eyebrow raised expectantly, almost losing itself in the leafiness of her forest-green mane.

Still, he tried, “I’m not changing the subject.”

“Yes, you are!” She scoffed, incredulous at the sheer gall he had for even trying to deny the obvious. She took one step after the other as she spoke, slowly but surely closing the distance between them. “You’re clearly not fine, yet the moment I ask what’s going on, you act like everything’s peachy and suddenly an empty patch of dirt is the most interesting thing in the world!”

“It’s not like that.” He said, and for a moment, she was inclined to believe him, her scowl softening into a patient look. “I’m not interested in the patch of dirt, I’m interested in what you intend to do with it.” He corrected her matter-of-factly, causing her jaw to drop in sheer disbelief.

Her face going red from outrage, her whole body shaking with ill-contained emotion, she all but screeched, “Yugo!”

The king at least had the decency to wince at her reaction, slightly ashamed. Okay, that definitely hadn’t been his finest moment, but he was running out of ideas!

Then, worry overtook his senses when he took notice of Amalia’s shoulders shaking; of her fists, clenched tightly at her sides; of the way her head was tilted low enough for her bangs to hide her face from view. Gulping audibly, Yugo had a very strong inkling the Divine Doll was about to lose it and tear him a new one, complaining about how difficult he was being at the moment. Honestly, for a doll, Amalia had one Shukrute of a temper, and being on the receiving end of it was something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

What she actually did instead made him wish she’d screamed at him.

Right as he was about to place his hands on her shoulders to get her to look at him, Amalia beat him to the punch, what he saw feeling like an actual sucker punch to the stomach. The Divine Doll’s eyes were big and watery, her lip trembling pitifully as she begged, “Please, Yugo. Don’t shut me out again…”

That broke his resolve.

It was like he’d been doused in ice-cold water, the realisation causing the thorny vines of guilt to take hold of his heart and squeeze it so tight it bled. What was he doing? Hadn’t he learned his lesson after what happened at the banquet? Then why was he about to repeat the same mistakes all over again?

Regardless of whether she agreed to help or not upon finding out the truth, what they intended to do still involved Amalia. It depended almost entirely on her, as a matter of fact. They couldn’t just do whatever they pleased without even letting her know. Weren’t they supposed to be friends? Wasn’t honesty key in all friendships? How could he try and take that away from her?

Amalia deserved to know. Even if she was disgusted with them and their blatant disrespect of her role and position amongst the Twelvians and refused to help them after all.

She deserved to know.

And so, with a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, Yugo said, “This isn’t for you.”

“What?” Amalia asked, blinking slowly as her brain scrambled to make sense of everything. “What isn’t for me? Are you saying you’re not mad at me or something?”

“No!” Yugo rushed out to say, before noticing her confused expression and trying to clarify. “I mean, no, of course I’m not mad at you. It’s just…” Another sigh punctuated the pause he made. He gestured to the space around them. “This isn’t for you, not exactly. Sure, you’re the only one who can actually use this place to its full potential, but that’s not exactly why we want you to have your own garden.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion, Amalia looked around the room, almost as if hoping it would present her with all the answers for her questions if she focused hard enough. When that proved to be pointless, she focused back on Yugo. “Then… Who is this for?”

“Us.” He told her simply.

“You?”

“Yes, us.” He nodded. “The Eliatropes.”

“But why would you need me to grow a garden for you?” She pressed on, trying to make sense of everything. “I saw your crops when we looked out the window. They’re in perfect health! And-and… the tree! It told me you guys are actually very good at taking care of plants. I… I just… I don’t understand.”

Truth be told, Yugo was just as lost when she mentioned the tree, before remembering Sadidas spoke their language, so it shouldn’t be too surprising. Though a new, primal fear regarding what she might tell the trees about him was beginning to materialise in the back of his mind. He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time for that.

Now was the time for being honest.

“Our crops are doing fine.” He started. “But Oma’s climate and size come with limitations as to what we can grow and not, and right now we can’t risk getting what we need from outside sources.”

“Because your position amongst the other nations is still precarious…” Amalia gasped, a new wave of understanding flashing through her eyes.

The king nodded. “Right. We can’t afford to ask the other nations for help when we’re still not even fully fledged allies. So you were our last hope, Amalia.”

“Wait, me?” The doll repeated, incredulous, pointing at herself with one finger.

“Who better than a Divine Doll to grow some plants?” Yugo allowed a small, tentative smile to grace his features. It didn’t take long for it to drop, though. “Given your powers, we were expecting you could help us grow the crops and medical herbs we needed without having to ask the other races for help… But now I realise how selfish of me that was, and I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? For what?” Okay, now Amalia was officially lost. While she had to admit she didn’t appreciate Yugo not being honest from the start, she didn’t understand what he had to be sorry for. It wasn’t like his people were using their portals to raid Twelvian markets and supplies and had turned her into their unsuspecting accomplice. Quite the contrary, really! They were going out of their way precisely to avoid any further conflict with the Twelvians.

He was just trying to look out for his people. Why did he feel the need to punish himself so much for it?

Ignoring her train of thought, the Eliatrope went on to explain. “Because that’s not what you’re here for. You were sent here precisely to help us achieve a peaceful coexistence with the inhabitants of this world, not to give us a free pass from ever interacting with them by giving us the perfect excuse not to ask for help—”

His ramblings were immediately stopped when Amalia stepped a little closer to him and placed both hands on his chest, her smile soft and understanding.

“Yugo,” she began, her velvety voice sending a shiver down his spine, “I’m here to help. Yes, my presence is supposed to put the Twelvians at ease by showing the gods bear you and your race no ill will, but that’s not all I’m reduced to.”

“I know you’re not.” He tried to protest. Absent-mindedly, he took one of her hands in his and began to rub gentle circles on the back of her palm with his thumb, his finger caressing the white fabric of her wristbands. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.” She cut him off once more, though not maliciously. She just wanted him to stop overthinking everything before he provoked his own mental breakdown. Her cheeks warming, she tried to ignore the fluttering of her heart at the feeling of his thumb running over her skin. “All I’m saying is there are many more ways I can fulfil my duty beyond presenting myself to the World of Twelve.”

“But helping my people has nothing to do with it.” Yugo pointed out.

“On the contrary, it has everything to do with it.” She took a step back, taking her hand off her chest to gesture at the space around them. “Don’t you see, Yugo? I was sent here with you for a reason, and that was to help you make yourselves at home in any way I could, and if you need me to do some gardening for you… Well,” she shrugged nonchalantly, “I can honestly think of about a million other things that would be much worse.”

“So you really don’t mind?” His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it sounded like a desperate cry to his ears. But the Eliatrope couldn't help it. He needed to make sure Amalia felt comfortable doing this. If she didn’t, then he would shut the whole project down and gather the Council to come up with some other solution to their problem.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she admitted, “Yugo, this is my home, now. What kind of person would I be if I weren’t willing to lend a hand to my own home?”

At her words, Yugo broke into a grin so wide, so blinding, that for a moment Amalia felt like she was looking directly at her father’s face, without his mask. And as the grateful Eliatrope enveloped her in a tight hug, their laughter mingling together in the air as he joyfully spun her around, Amalia thought quietly to herself that she had sort of lied earlier, when she said she would do anything to help her new home.

In truth, there was nothing she wasn’t willing to do to help him.

......................................................................................................................

The wind picked up slightly in the vast confines of the desert, under the pale moonlight, grains of sand danced in the air, rocked by the breeze. A Boowolf’s howls echoed in the distance, highlighting the bleak fate that awaited whoever was foolish enough to stay around for too long. A fair warning to stay away from trouble one would be foolish to ignore.

Although, much like your screams when no one was around, considering how desolate the area was, could it really be said anything was heard at all?

In the middle of the vast expanse of nothingness, stood a series of ruins, dilapidated buildings that now were nothing more than a shadow of their former glory. Xelor’s clock had not been kind to them. Where once stood imposing fortresses and majestic palaces, home to unparalleled knowledge and thriving civilisations now long lost, all that was left were limbless statues and a bunch of bricks carelessly piled up and gathering dust.

Much like with your screams, could it be said the Kingdom of the Winds ever existed when all that was left were its ruins?

However, in the middle of this forsaken place forgotten by gods and worshippers alike, the ground opened in two, revealing a long staircase that seemed to lead deep underground, almost as if it were connected to the very centre of the planet. A figure trudged down its stairs, a gloved hand tracing the wall next to them for support as he descended. His steps were slow and deliberate, as though he was trying to delay the inevitable and taking his sweet time reaching ground level was the only way he could achieve that.

He let out a low, humourless chuckle when, at long last, his feet landed on solid, sandy ground. He, of all people, should know things always came sooner or later; a clock’s hands never stopped ticking, never stopped stealing away precious moments. And yet, Xelor had the strange compulsion to stretch every single second of a person’s suffering into a merciless eternity while splitting one’s joy into milliseconds. Fleeting moments meant to leave a lasting impact on whoever lived them.

Gods, he scoffed disdainfully, his eyes narrowing in disgust even behind his mask. Could their disconnection and indifference towards the people they claim to protect be any more obvious?

The more time passed and the more those same gods who were supposed to always be looking after them let slide, not caring for the consequences those disasters had on the World of Twelve, the plainer it was to see they didn’t really see Twelvians as their loyal followers, but as flesh puppets they could toy with for their own amusement.

Not even their own children were safe from their divine parents’ self-centredness and egotistical nature. Their very existence should be a sign of greatness, however, most of them remained forgotten, unheard of. An undisclosed piece of information never to be shared around polite company, like a shameful secret. And yet, everyone knew of their existence, like a shouted whisper.

Even from their position behind his back, his fists tightened significantly as his mind was flooded with images of forest-green and pear-like curves, tainted by the memory of a rustling cloak and neon-blue eyes.

He snarled.

It was obvious even the most sacred of their children were nothing more than pawns under the gods’ thumb.

“Hmm, back so soon?” a mocking voice he knew far too well purred, the playful sound doing nothing to hide the sick satisfaction its owner felt by ribbing him. “I thought you were ever so busy taking care of your precious Frigost?”

“I come bearing important news from the political circles of the World of Twelve, Ush.” Count Harebourg explained, without deigning to turn around as he talked to the black-furred Ecaflip. “For that purpose, I request an audience with Lady Echo at once.”

Ush hummed, his eyes closed as he dozed over a piece of debris that used to be a statue of the god Iop, his tail flicking back and forth. Stretching as he yawned, he lazily opened one yellow eye to glance down at the overly serious Xelor aristocrat.

“Oh? Is that so?” He said, making himself comfortable in his spot and leaning his head against one of his claws. “And, pray tell, what could possibly be so important as to demand Lady Echo’s immediate attention, hm?”

But Harebourg would not budge. “That is a matter concerning Lady Echo and I, Ush. This is for her ears only.”

The Ecaflip rolled his eyes, bored, before yawning once more. “What’s the fun in a two-player game? Aren’t we supposed to be all on the same team? What’s with keeping things secret between the coach and you, my good Count?”

By that point, the Count had finally turned to face his fellow demigod, the scowl deepening behind his mask at his insolence. How someone so flippant could have been selected to be entrusted with the task of looking after their world was beyond him. The only other person he believed to be worse than Ush would be Toxine, and that was only because the deranged Sram’s very nature made it impossible for her to look after anything without breaking it at some point.

Before the Xelor demigod could so much as utter another word, however, a third voice joined their little, reluctant conversation.

“Ush is right, Harebourg. The Brotherhood is supposed to work as one—if you have something to share with Lady Echo, we should all be informed as well.”

“Kali.” The Count acknowledged the Sacrier’s presence curtly, but refused to say anything else.

A burst of irritation flashed through Kali’s bi-coloured visage, her lips pursed in a disapproving line, but she pushed the feeling back down as she came to stand before the aristocrat. Her pupiless eyes remained impassive even as she said, “So, what is it that you wish to tell us?”

“Uh-uh-uh.” In response, he wagged one gloved finger in the air chidingly. Even with the icy mask on, it was impossible not to hear the smirk in the Count’s voice. “Didn’t you just say so yourself, dear Kali? We should all be present before I can share any news. And I believe that three members can hardly count as ‘all’.”

“Well played, Harebourg. Well played…” Ush, who had jumped from where he had been resting to the floor, coming to stand to his full height between his two cohorts, admitted reluctantly. At the same time, a sneer curled at the corner of the Sacrier’s inky lips.

“You know as well as we do most of us are away on missions.” Kali was quick to remind him, seeing right through his tricks.

The Xelor actually had the audacity to shrug in mock innocence. “Then I suppose I won’t be sharing my news with the Brotherhood. Although I must insist Lady Echo at least, as our esteemed leader, should be in the know so she can plan accordingly.”

The Sacrier demigoddess was struggling to hold herself back from lunging at him and ensnaring her fellow demigod with her blood until he suffocated when something from behind him caught her eye. At the sight of it, it didn’t take long for the scowl on her face to be replaced by a smug smirk as she straightened up. By her side, observing her sudden change in demeanour, Ush pouted and his ears drooped in disappointment at the apparent lack of incoming bloodshed.

“Looks like you might still have to fess up after all.”

When all the Count could do was let out a confused grunt, Kali limited herself to pointing at some place behind him, standing confidently with her hand on her hip. This time, both Count Harebourg and Ush followed her extended finger. But while Ush perked up at what he saw, his tail swaying mischievously in anticipation, the Count had to bite down a curse.

How he hated having to report to the rest of the Brotherhood. One thing was fulfilling his end of the bargain to Lady Echo, as she was the one who recruited him in the first place with the promise of making the gods and guardians pay for their abandonment of his realm, but another very different thing was having to answer to people he barely interacted with nor cared about most of the time.

It was true they would have to be in perfect sync when the time came to carry out their plan and take their respective places in the Krosmic order, but he would like to be able to enjoy his last few moments of freedom before that happened. He’d never understand how the entirety of the current pantheon hadn’t gone insane from dealing with one another for millenia. It was impossible that they could all stand each other.

That had to be the only time the Xelor would ever find himself sympathising with his divine father. The mere thought of having anything in common with that deadbeat left a bad taste in his mouth.

Although it was nothing compared to the bitterness he felt when he spotted about half of their order gathering at their hide-out when they were supposed to be away carrying out their respective missions. At least Toxine and Black Bump were nowhere to be seen. He really didn’t have the energy to put up with a psychopath and a pervert, respectively.

The first to arrive was Coqueline, giggling without a care as she rode on her loyal Gobgob familiar Cancane, who literally came bouncing down the stairs, its body morphed into a ball with a spear-headed tail. More than once, Harebourg found himself wondering why, as an Osamodas, she didn’t just grow a pair of wings to fly from one place to another.

Even though the petite Osamodas was one of the oldest members around, her child-like physique and personality didn’t seem to have caught up with her chronological age, for even now she still threw herself at Kali’s arms like a small child would do with her older sister. As always, the girl’s infectious enthusiasm was one of the few things that could get Kali—and most other members of their alliance, as a matter of fact—to calm down and genuinely smile.

The only other surefire way to brighten the Sacrier’s mood came in the form of a large, portly Pandawa demigod with a reversed colour palette going by the name of Poo. Unlike his divine mother and mortal counterparts, whose fur was primarily white with black accents, Poo stood out because his shaggy fur was mostly black with white accents.

Really, he looked more like a stray Bow Wow than a Pandawa demigod on a good day.

And yet, his jovial and home-oriented personality—with his love for cooking, interior design, and housekeeping—, as well as his girth, hid a formidable and extremely agile and swift fighter. His prowess in hand-to-hand combat was such, he could disarm pretty much any opponent in the blink of an eye. And his alcohol resistance was so high he could outdrink an entire tavern’s worth of customers single-handedly and still act somewhat lucidly.

And Kali loved Poo for everything that made him Poo.

Even Harebourg had to admit the two of them shared something incredibly special. Something mortals would only experience once in their lives, while demigods were lucky if they got to witness anything similar once every lifetime. He had been by Lady Echo’s side since those two were children fresh out of the orphanage, and the many years they spent together only served to bring them closer.

They were truly fortunate, to be able to build their lives alongside someone who would actually get to live just as long as them… Most demigods didn’t have that privilege—either they fell in love with a mortal and spent the rest of their unending days missing that love, or they simply resigned themselves to the kind of loneliness that came with eventually outliving everyone you care about and didn’t even try to find true love.

Indeed, Kali and Poor were extremely lucky to have found each other.

The Count’s fists clenched at his sides at the painful reminder of what he had just lost. And all because of that forsaken Elia—.

“Is it true, Harebourg?” Coqueline asked out of the blue from Kali’s arms. Poo had come to stand beside his beloved and the two had just pulled away after greeting each other with a kiss.

“Huh?” The Xelor blinked behind his mask, taken by surprise for once. “What is true?”

The pink-haired Osamodas just rolled her eyes dramatically, sharing a knowing glance with her Gobgob familiar, as though accustomed to her fellow demigod not paying attention to his surroundings. “What I heard you say earlier about having important news to tell us, of course.”

Immediately, he built his icy walls back up. “That is correct, Coqueline. However, as I’m sure you know already,” he said pointedly, making sure the beast-taming child understood he did not appreciate her eavesdropping, “I’d much rather inform Lady Echo. And only Lady Echo.”

“Oh, you’re no fun…” She pouted cutely, letting herself fall from Kali’s grasp and crossing her arms over her torso as she sulked the moment her feet made contact with the ground, picking up a small cloud of dust in her wake.

“Speaking of Lady Echo, where is she?” Poo chimed in, his large hand over his love’s much smaller shoulder as he looked around in search of their leader.

It was a voice, coming from far away, that answered, “The Mistress has been trying to locate a child of Iop that is worthy of joining our cause. But alas, no such luck as of yet.”

Then, emerging from the shadows, a large, imposing beast leapt down on the ground alongside the gods’ children, a tremor reverberating inside the ruins at his landing. Soon enough, the pale moonlight revealed the imposing form of a greyish Boo Wolf towering over them, his sharp canines glinting as he spoke.

Nobody flinched, being well acquainted with the creature.

“Sipho! How nice of you to join us.” Ush commented sarcastically, an intrigued eyebrow raised. “Normally, wherever your mistress goes, you’re close behind her.”

“I was tasked with a different mission.” He explained simply, ignoring the Ecaflip’s ill-concealed barb against him. Then, his body began to morph, losing height until he was barely taller than Coqueline. Where once were the canine features of a wolf; ear, claws, and fangs gave way to the hairless, lanky body of an amphibian. However, the whitish fur coat over the dragon-born’s upper body remained, as did his large, pupiless, black eyes.

Kali, ever the focused one, pressed on, concerned, “Still no luck in finding an Iop, Sipho?”

The dragon shook his head. “No. For some reason, Iop hasn’t been siring as many offspring as he used to. And the ones available just won’t cut it.”

“I’ve always liked that Goultard guy.” Coqueline added her two kamas. Her small outburst against Harebourg forgotten, she scurried over to the corner of the room and began to crawl up a statue, perching herself over a headless Sacrier’s wing and swinging herself back and forth.

“He does have the experience, immortality, and power we’re looking for.” Ush agreed, holding his chin pensively with his sleeveless arm. “Not to mention, he is actually smart for an Iop. That in itself is rarer than finding a Primordial Dofus in the middle of the road.”

“That’s true, however,” it was Poo’s turn to be the voice of dissent, “he is also fairly unpredictable. The last thing we need is to unleash upon the world an even bigger warmongering meathead than his predecessor.”

As the conversation went on around him, Harebourg’s irritation grew. He did not have time for this, he had a realm to look after and he was already wasting enough time as it was coming here to inform Lady Echo of his findings. The next Iop to become a part of the Brotherhood of the Forgotten could be Khan Karkass’ reanimated corpse, for all he cared!

And to think this could all have been a conversation through magic crystal…

“If Lady Echo won’t be joining us tonight,” he snapped, his voice carrying over the room and silencing everyone present even though his tone remained as stoic as ever, “I shall be taking my leave. I will relay my findings at a later date.”

Kali tried to protest, reaching out to stop him. “Hey, wait a minute—!”

Just as the Xelor demigod had turned around and begun his march up the stairs leading outside, a soft giggle echoed around the halls, causing everyone gathered to halt what they were doing and look around in anticipation.

“My dear Count, always fighting against the clock. As always, you prove you will make a fine time god.”

The flapping of wings was heard, the sound bouncing off against the walls, followed shortly after by a soft thud! as the owner of the voice landed on the sandy floor. A pair of majestic, feathery wings—one white as snow, the other the colour of wine—reflected the pale moonlight. A rustling sound preceded the moment her legs, a pair of powerful, dark talons, gave way to a silky curtain of black fabric that went down her feet, now the same pale green colour as the rest of her skin, going from her fingertips to the tips of her elongated ears and elegant face.

Lady Echo’s observant, yellow eyes zeroed in on the retreating figure of the Count, a placid smile on her face that hid the unbending steel the Eniripsa demigoddess reserved for her enemies—and for her most unruly followers.

In an instant, the Count had one knee on the ground while the other remained bent in sign of respect towards his leader, his head hung as he used one fist to anchor himself.

“Well, here I am, Count Harebourg.” Lady Echo said, extending her arms to the side as she tucked her uneven wings back in, the extra limbs disappearing without a trace into the tattoos on her back. “I must admit, I find myself feeling quite intrigued by the gravity which you treat your findings with. It must be quite important for it to rattle you this much.”

The winged woman gave her Xelor chosen a few more minutes to gather his thoughts and explain himself, but when that didn’t happen, she sent him a pointed look, urging him to speak up. Instead, raising his head momentarily, the Count made the smallest gesture with his head towards his fellow demigods, fully conveying his refusal to reveal anything in front of them. His stubbornness caused the markings on Echo’s face to contract minutely, vexation making its presence known before her features softened again in an attempt to remain patient.

Even though the Eniripsa already knew what the problem seemed to be, Kali still stepped in, “Harebourg refuses to share his findings with us, my Lady.” She glared at him, her own exasperation tingeing her voice. “He’s been adamant on speaking with you in private ever since he arrived.”

“I simply believe this is a matter that concerns you first and foremost, Lady Echo.” The aristocrat defended himself.

In response, Lady Echo just hummed in acknowledgement and took slow, deliberate steps towards some debris laying around. Then, she sat down daintily on top of the rubble, her legs crossed and one dangling over the other. Leaning forward, she rested her chin on her knuckles, her horns making her look imposing even with her relaxed posture.

“Now, now, Harebourg. You know the rules.” She chided him, almost as if she were talking to a small, misbehaving child. “Our mission is to protect the World of Twelve from anything that might harm it, seeing as the gods cannot be trusted to lift a finger on our behalf.”

“I know.” The Count said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I know you know.” She flashed him a proud smile, the dimples on her face deepening. She didn’t lose her jovial voice even as she said, “Then I expect you to know we cannot achieve our goals if we don’t manage to work as one.” It was then that her voice turned more sombre. “If you have important news concerning all of us, it is imperative you share said news with the entirety of the Brotherhood, not just me; for that is the only way we will be able to organise ourselves and act accordingly. Understood?”

Even though it was phrased like a question, her words left no room for rebuttals.

“Yes, my Lady. I understand.”

“Excellent.” The lazy smile was back on her lips. “Now, then. What was it you wanted to tell us?”

When a few minutes passed and Harebourg had yet to say anything, a frown settled on Echo’s brow; she did not appreciate his silence. Then again, Harebourg had always been a bit of a wild card amongst her followers. While he still deferred to her and her authority, and his powers over magic and ice magic were nothing to scoff at, his single-mindedness when it came to ruling over Frigost oftentimes made him near unpredictable and, what’s worse, unreliable.

There was no doubt in the Count’s mind: if it came between his realm and the Brotherhood of the Forgotten, he would choose Frigost in a heartbeat.

Which was the reason why Echo kept a close eye on him. Who knew the consequences they would have to face all because of his skewed sense of priorities? Her patience at his silence thinning, Echo was about to ask again when the Xelor aristocrat finally spoke up, his words causing her to freeze up better than any of his spells ever could.

“The rumours are true. Sadida has created an eleventh Divine Doll, and he’s handed her over to the Eliatropes.”

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

A loud gasp resounded around the chamber at his revelation and then, everything was silent. The Brotherhood of the Forgotten exchanged worried glances, dreading what such a development would mean for their cause. Eventually, all eyes landed on Lady Echo, trying to gauge their leader’s reaction to such disturbing news.

As for the Eniripsa demigoddess herself, she remained perfectly still, almost unaffected by the shocking revelation. However, if one were to look closely, they would notice the slight tremor in her posture, the tension on her shoulders, and the almost imperceptible way in which one of her hands clutched at the fabric of her dress.

So the rumours were true, there was a new Divine Doll roaming around their world, a new Sadida demigoddess. After all those centuries, that in itself was an extremely astonishing development not even her order, in all their years of existence combined, could have predicted. This could certainly change things.

However, there was something even more disquieting about her presence.

“You said she’s been handed over to the Eliatropes. Explain.”

Her usually warm and affable voice had been replaced by cold steel, befitting of the seriousness of their situation.

With a nod, Count Harebourg went on to elaborate, raising his face to look Lady Echo in the eye. Not even his mask could hide the sheer venom in his voice as he spoke of the foreign race.

“Her name is Amalia, me and the other rulers first heard of her from the lips of Master Joris of Bonta.” He pursed his lips in distaste at the mention of his old foe. “Apparently, there had been sightings of a Sadida woman on Oma Island and he’d been sent to investigate.”

“They feared the Eliatropes had kidnapped her…” Ush deducted, earning himself a stiff nod from the Xelor.

“But she wasn’t a mere Sadida, was she?” Even though Echo voiced it like a question, the answer was a foregone conclusion at this point.

Harebourg obliged her with a nod. “There is nothing mere about her, my Lady.” The earnestness in his voice actually took his comrades aback. In all the years they had known him, the only thing Count Harebourg ever got passionate about were Frigost and carrying out his revenge against the gods and Lady Jiva.

Ignoring their shocked reactions, he went on, “After Joris himself attested to her being a Divine Doll, the world leaders scrambled to organise a banquet in her honour, one that doubled as the perfect opportunity to size the Eliatropes up and their true intentions, more so after learning of the gods’ choice to entrust Amalia to them.”

Echo’s eyes narrowed, intrigued. It was Coqueline, however, who voiced everyone’s thoughts, perking up from her perch on Sacrier’s beheaded neck.

“So they actually bother to lift a finger for the first time in centuries and it’s all to the benefit of a bunch of outsiders that don’t even worship them?” She hissed, standing on all fours with her back arched in displeasure. By her side, Cancane stuck his tongue out in disgust and disapproval, reflecting his mistress’ mood.

Then again, Coqueline thought, why was she even surprised? Osamodas was supposed to be the Celestial Tamer and yet he allowed for the animals in this world to suffer day after day. Not even his followers seemed to care about the creatures they summoned beyond their own pets. If anyone knew about giving preferential treatment to those who didn’t deserve it, it was him.

From his bent down position, the Count tensed up, his own outrage at the situation shining through his stiff shoulders. He had to muster every ounce of self-control he possessed not to let his emotions get the better of him and to remain composed.

It was easier said than done when you watched what should have been yours be handed over to some undeserving fool.

Eventually, he managed to say, “Apparently, Amalia’s presence among the Eliatropes is supposed to be seen as a sign of good will between them and the Twelvians.”

“They’re clearly trying to send a message.” Kali guessed, her pupiless eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Indeed. And the message is that if the gods feel confident enough about their odds to send one of their own to the outsiders, then their worshippers have nothing to fear.” Echo concluded for the Sacrier, her tone distant. She jumped to her feet and began to pace around the ruins pensively, a finger on her chin as her dress rustled against the sand, leaving trails behind. Her lips curled into a cruel smile, her clear resentment for the beings ruling over them apparent. “They’re trying to gaslight us into thinking everything is fine when even they are too afraid to confront the Eliatropes.”

“Typical.” Ush scoffed, a deep growl emanating from his throat as his hackles raised.

But their leader didn’t seem to have heard him, too lost in her own thoughts. Eventually, she let out a mirthless chuckle. “Using your own child to do your dirty work, huh? Why am I not surprised…?” She sneered, muttering darkly to herself.

Kali stepped closer to the Eniripsa as Harebourg raised to his full height, all eyes were on their leader. “What do you want us to do?”

“Should we finally do something about the Eliatropes?” Poo added, coming to stand behind his lover and putting his large hands on her shoulders for support.

But Echo surprised them when, without even turning around to look at them, she simply waved them off. “Leave them be. They are not of our concern.”

“But Lady Echo!” Harebourg was quick to protest. Truth be told, one of the many reasons he wanted to reveal Amalia’s existence to her was because he firmly believed that would have finally motivated her enough to mobilise and put those pesky outsiders in their place.

With Lady Echo’s permission, nothing stopped him from going after that arrogant, undeserving fool that was Yugo.

The Eniripsa sent him a sidelong glance, unbothered. “The people of this world are distrustful and treacherous by nature, Count Harebourg. You of all people should know that. The problem with the Eliatropes will sort itself out in due time.”

”Then what do you suggest we do, Mistress?” Sipho, ever the loyal one, was already by his mistress’ side, looking up to her and her guidance. He practically melted when she patted him on the head.

The smile on her face was dangerous.

“Simple. We prepare to meet our newest recruit.”

At her words, her chosen demigods exchanged surprised glances once more, before a feeling of excitement overtook them, knowing what it all meant. Without needing to be told twice, each of them rushed over to a different corner of their lair or returned home to wait for instructions on what to do next.

As she watched her followers go or talk animatedly amongst themselves, Echo’s mind wandered to the new Divine Doll, Amalia. So she had been created with the sole purpose of entertaining an alien race on behalf of the gods and their followers. Poor thing, groomed to be a sacrificial Gobball. Echo felt bad for her, she really did. Each and every one of the demigods she had taken under her wing (sometimes literally) had been abandoned by the same gods who claimed to always be looking after their followers, forced to roam the ends of the world looking for answers and wondering what they had done to deserve such fate.

Eventually, all of them always came to the same, startling realisation: if the gods could be so callous to their own flesh and blood, who was to say it wasn’t a matter of time before they abandoned their worshippers, too?

Amalia’s predicament was the perfect example. Even before her conception, she had been given up to appease a bunch of outsiders the gods were too afraid to do anything about. If they didn’t do anything about it, before they knew it, the World of Twelve would follow, controlled by the whims of the Eliatropes all because the twelve gods cared more about saving their own skin.

A sad smile curled at Echo’s lips. It was ironic, in a way. Amalia’s tragic fate would end up serving as the gods' undoing, at least once she realised the futility of trying to please a father who never once cared about her and her sisters.

Just as she thought that, Echo turned around slightly, her voice sombre as she spoke into the void. “What do you say, Lacrima? Are you ready to meet your little sister?”

From within the shadows, a figure stood, her fists clenched tightly to her sides as her whole body trembled in outrage. Her face contorted in anger and helplessness, her teeth borne, and a single, stray tear ran down her cheek, unable to contain it anymore after hearing everything.

After all those centuries, she believed she had long run out of tears to shed. But it appeared she was wrong. When it came to Sadida, she was always wrong.

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geekgirles · 5 months

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The Doll and the Dragon

Chapter 5: Brown Eyes, Blue Eyes, Green Eyes

Word Count: 29,752

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Chapter Summary: "Tensions rise when an emissary from Bonta invites the Eliatrope King, his siblings, and especially the Divine Doll living with them to an official event in Bonta, and the fact that Yugo and Amalia's relationship hasn't been quite the same since they came back from their little adventure certainly doesn't help. But things only get more complicated when the appearance of a new rival makes Yugo's blood run cold."

He was mesmerised the moment she stepped into the room. It was as if she alone reflected all the light shining down on them, drawing it to her body and leaving everything else in total darkness.

She was indeed a beacon of light and hope amidst the miserable hole that had become of his existence in the last few centuries. And all because he’d learned too late you couldn’t rely on anyone but yourself.

Oh, but when his eyes first landed on her, he knew he had finally found the one person who truly deserved to be by his side. Just one wayward look from her brown eyes had been enough to melt his frozen heart, breathing new life into an old carcass whose only single-minded focus had been his people’s protection and well-being. How much they would be able to benefit, having her ruling by his side. Just one look at her was all he needed to know she was the key to solving every single misfortune ailing his people.

She was simply exquisite. His fingers itched to reach out to her and be able to run his hands up and down her body, marvelling at the unparalleled softness of her mahogany skin; kneading her supple flesh until every inch of her skin was covered with his fingertips. He couldn’t help but bite his own lip at the sight of hers, pouty and plump, beckoning him to bite down on them and taste her. How did he burn to weave his fingers through her forest-green locks, the idea of inhaling her soft fragrance almost enough to bring him over the edge.

She was simply divine. A true gift from the gods. Her tantalising, childbearing hips swayed back and forth in a most alluring dance, drawing all eyes to her scrumptious figure even as it was hidden from view with those rags he made her wear.

His gaze turned dark as he left his beloved’s sight to settle on him. So aloof, so distant, so indifferent. So unworthy of her. He didn’t know the true extent of the challenges one must face for his people. He couldn’t treat such a vision of loveliness like she deserved to be treated. He didn’t deserve her.

And there was nothing he wouldn’t do to make her his.

.....................................................................................................................

Yugo had had no way of knowing the chain of events that day would unravel. In fact, not even Chibi would have been able to predict the turn things were about to take that day.

The Eliatrope King and his siblings were gathered at the council room, having their first non-Amalia-related meeting practically since she arrived, when he was overtaken by a strong sense of déjà vu. Right as Shinonomé was in the midst of giving her and Qilby’s report on their latest findings on a medicinal herb they’d been growing, the doors burst open, a very disgruntled-looking member of their elite guard panting as he struggled to catch his breath.

His eyes were wide with shock.

Before Phaeris could even finish demanding an explanation for why he would interrupt a Council meeting, the guard managed to blurt out an answer that chilled them to their very core:

“An… an emissary from…from Bonta is here… He… He wishes to…to see you, Your Majesty.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Yugo had already teleported out of the room, his pace brisk and alert at this unexpected development. The pit in his stomach only grew worse when the guard informed him of the emissary’s extraordinary abilities—he only demanded an audience with their king after beating most of the elite guards single-handedly.

In the midst of such worrisome news, Yugo couldn’t help but be impressed. If he really was that good, then how come he hadn’t been sent alongside the rest of this world’s heroes to face him last time? The thrill-seeking part of him couldn’t help but muse about how that might have actually made things more interesting back then.

When he finally made it in front of the gates guarding the throne room, the Eliatrope made the split-second decision of not entering through them. That was what their ‘guest’ would have been expecting, after all, and he wasn’t in the mood to entertain any intruders. So, with a snap of his fingers, a portal materialised right underneath his feet and transported him right above his throne, allowing him to land on top of his seat with practised ease.

Much like what happened the last time they had company, Yugo certainly hadn’t been expecting what stood right in the middle of the room.

Bonta’s emissary was a remarkably small man, even shorter than Glip. He wore a patched-up grey romper and slippers, with a leather belt adorned by a rather large metal buckle. Beige fingerless gloves covered his hands, and a short-sleeved dark blue coat with a fur collar was draped over his form. He seemed to carry some sort of wooden backpack on his back.

But the strangest thing of all was his skin. It was dark, remarkably dark. But it wasn’t like Amalia’s mahogany skin. No. Bonta’s ambassador was black as coal from head-to-toe, the only exception was his pointy, grey nose. Even his eyes were black! Truth be told, it took Yugo a minute to realise that, no, his coat’s hood—which was adorned by two woolly antennae—didn’t obscure his face; his face was pitch black, too!

Not for the first time since their arrival, the Eliatrope King quietly wondered to himself just where on the Krozmos his people ended up. The World of Twelve could not be considered normal. First, living dolls sent by the gods, and now this.

Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable.

As Yugo and Bonta’s emissary entered a staring contest, both of them willing the other to break the silence first, several flashes of light followed by the sound of someone landing on the floor was all Yugo needed to know his siblings had arrived. The king didn’t even have to break eye contact with their uninvited guest to know Adamaï was hovering beside him.

Finally, Yugo had had enough.

“I sure hope you have a good explanation for your intrusion, Mister…?”

“I’m known amongst the Twelvians as Master Joris, Your Majesty.” The emissary, Joris, responded immediately, lowering his body as a sign of respect. “And with all due respect, I believe you should find my explanation more than satisfactory.”

“That I have a hard time imagining.” Yugo commented with a raised eyebrow, before his expression turned dark. “After all, you seem to have attacked some of my guards and trespassed on our property.”

Joris’ voice remained eerily calm even as he explained himself, “I apologise if any harm has befallen your people, King Yugo, but I was tasked with a mission and fulfilling it is my highest priority.”

“Oh.” It was Adamaï who spoke, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he regarded the ambassador cautiously. “And pray tell, Master Joris, whatever could it be?”

He remained as stone-faced as ever. When he slung his log-backpack out of his shoulders, the Council tensed up immediately, each and every one of them taking on defensive and offensive positions in case the little man tried anything. However, the aggression in their eyes was replaced by pure shock when Master Joris simply placed his backpack on the floor next to him as he lowered himself on one knee as a sign of respect.

And even that was nothing compared to their astonishment at his next words:

“Queen Astra of Bonta has sent me here to inquire about the Sadida woman living on the island with you.”

At that revelation, Yugo almost choked on his own spit. All around him, his siblings shared worried, perplexed glances at the accusation, even if they tried to hide their surprise around their ‘guest’. A Sadida woman? What? They hadn’t had any contact with the outside world since the Twelvians sent their warriors after him! Where in the Great Goddess’ name did they get that idea from—?

And then the truth dawned on him.

Amalia.

While it was true Amalia looked indiscernible from a human, she most certainly was not. Her presenting herself in her doll form the very first time they met more than confirmed that. But that still didn’t explain why Bonta’s queen was so certain they harboured a Sadida woman with them. More importantly, it didn’t explain how they’d come to be privy to that piece of information.

If he wanted answers, he would have to be very careful with his wording.

“I’m afraid I’m obligated to inform you that no Sadida woman lives here, Master Joris.” Technically, that wasn’t a lie.

Master Joris narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly. He understood what was going on here. You didn’t become one of the queen of Bonta’s most trusted envoys without learning a thing or two about high politics, after all. If he wanted answers, he would have to provide some of his own until he managed to gather enough intel.

“With all due respect, my King,” He started, his head bowed in order to appear non-threatening. Although he had to admit it might be too late for that after his treatment of their guards. “We were informed of her presence by some Cra soldiers that were flying over the area. I do not know how deep your knowledge is on the races populating our world, Your Majesty, but a Cra’s sight is second to none, and their sense of honour is unparalleled.” Joris finally raised his head to look deep into the Eliatrope’s eye, his words laced with the utmost seriousness and sincerity. “They would never lie about something like this.”

Yugo’s eyes widened like saucers at his words as they finally provided him with the missing piece to complete the puzzle, and he could sense his siblings had the same reaction. The Cra sentinels from a few weeks ago! But when could they have seen—? But of course! Phaeris informed him of their ‘visit’ the very same day he and Adamaï took Amalia out of the palace. They must have caught sight of her then!

As he gathered his thoughts, Efrim snarled at the emissary, and for once his king was grateful for his distrusting nature, “And what exactly were those Cra doing around our territory in the first place? Does their strong sense of honour not apply to spying on others?”

However, Joris remained unperturbed, meeting the dragon’s accusatory glare with a stony glance of his own. “Rest assured, this has nothing to do with your people being spied on.” He wisely chose not to comment on how, technically speaking, Oma Island wasn’t their territory; they just claimed it for themselves and no one had been willing to take it back yet. “Cra are often sent on reconnaissance all around the World of Twelve. Their stumbling across your people was not their intention.”

Their suspicion hung heavily in the air. While Nora kept her brother from acting rashly, the rest of the Council members all tried to convey the same thing to Yugo through their eyes: “We cannot risk causing further trouble with the Twelvians, find out what he wants and send him away.”

Which was much easier said than done after what Master Joris said next, “It was during one of those missions when, trying to use their eyesight to better locate themselves, they saw a young Sadida woman by your side, Your Majesty.”

His hands clutching at the armrest of his throne for support, Yugo forced himself to remain as composed as possible, knowing how showing too much emotion could have terrible consequences.

“I understand, Master Joris. However, I maintain we do not have a Sadida woman with us. Those Cra soldiers were mistaken.”

Once again, Master Joris’ whole demeanour remained unchanged. He had seen far too much in his long life to let himself be swayed so easily. “Your Majesty, I beg you to listen to what I have to say: a Cra’s eyes are never mistaken. The other kingdoms are already aware of the situation and on high alert, especially the Sadida Kingdom. They fear you might have taken one of their own.”

Or a betrayal, it’s what went unsaid, but everyone heard it loud and clear nonetheless.

“If you do not return her to her people or, at the very least, explain why she is here with you, this could result in war.” Joris sentenced, his eyes severe as he implored the Eliatropes to see reason. And yet, despite himself, the dark-skinned Bontarian couldn’t help the feeling of apprehension taking hold of his heart and squeezing it tight.

Given the outcome of sending their greatest warriors to battle King Yugo, he sincerely feared the Twelvians would fail despite the overwhelming odds in their favour.

The chance of living in peace with the Twelvians slipping from his fingers right under his nose, Yugo was left with no choice but to make a rash decision. His siblings, especially Adamaï, could chew him out for it later.

Praying to the Great Goddess that this wouldn’t come back to bite him, he finally said, “We don’t have a Sadida woman living with us.”

Joris barely suppressed the urge to sigh and shake his head ruefully. So that was it, huh? They’d rather face war than come clean. Queen Astra would not like this, and Prince Armand would most likely throw a fit at their insolence, and while King Oakheart would try to remain level-headed and composed, even he would not be able to let this offence go. They were going to war.

“Thank you for your time, Your Majesty.” Master Joris bowed his head one last time before raising to his feet. However, just as he was about to grab hold of his backpack and be on his way, his fingers froze at the king’s next words just as he was about to reach for the handle:

“She is a Divine Doll sent by the gods themselves as a sign of good will. We have not caused the Sadida nation any harm.”

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Joris allowed himself to lose his composure. Whirling back around to face the Eliatrope monarch—and noting the discreet, astounded looks the blue-and-white dragon by his side sent him—, he couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“What did you just say, Your Majesty?”

For once, it was Yugo who remained unperturbed. “The young woman the Cra saw isn’t a Sadida.” He paused, weighing his next words carefully. “Well, not exactly. She is a Divine Doll that was sent to us by the gods about two months ago. She’s been living with us ever since.”

Joris could not believe his own ears. A Divine Doll, sent to the World of Twelve? After all this time? He had to be sure the Eliatrope King knew what he was talking about. He simply could not know the significance those dolls held to their world.

“A Divine Doll, you say? And pray tell, which one of Sadida’s ten dolls lives on Oma alongside you, my King?”

Yugo braced himself for what was sure to come next. “His eleventh doll, Amalia.”

Bonta’s emissary almost had to do a double take. Then, he blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. He implored the gods to give him some kind of sign he had heard him wrong. He had to have heard him wrong. There was simply no way he actually said there was an eleventh doll. Had Prince Armand been there, he would have already attacked the Eliatrope with a giant carnivorous plant for daring to disgrace his culture so brazenly.

“Your Majesty, I’m afraid that is impossible. Sadida only made ten dolls back in the Primitive Era.” He forced his voice to remain as even as possible, choosing his words very carefully. It looked like they indeed had taken a Sadida prisoner and were either mocking their beliefs or she had lied about her identity. For what purpose, he could only wonder.

“Perhaps that is so.” The new voice forced Joris to turn around in surprise. It belonged to an older-looking Eliatrope with a white tunic and glasses. “Indeed, from what I’ve gathered, Sadida created ten dolls in the Primitive Era, but I believe my king never said anything about this doll being from then.”

The Bontarian furrowed his brow, intrigued. “What are you implying, Master…?”

“Qilby.” He supplied simply, his tone far too affable for the kind of bombshells he was dropping. “And I’m simply speaking the truth, Master Joris. Our dear doll was not created in the Primitive Era, but she was made especially for our king.”

Qilby’s claim feeling like a suckerpunch, he only vaguely registered what the bespectacled Eliatrope said next, “Yugo hasn’t lied once during this entire conversation, Master Joris. The woman the Cra soldiers saw is not a Sadida, yet she is indeed Sadida’s eleventh doll.”

If what they were saying was true… That, that changed everything. He had to make sure. He had to see her with his own two eyes before he risked causing a commotion amongst the Twelvians. If Sadida had truly created a new Divine Doll after all this time… It would shake the very foundations of their civilisation.

His resolution unshakable, he turned once again to face the King of the Eliatropes, “Your Majesty, I request an audience with this Divine Doll.”

Yugo could feel himself bristle at the request, his death grip on his throne turning his knuckles white. His whole body went taut at the mere notion of introducing Amalia to the Twelvians. For a moment, he seriously considered declining, but then he looked around him, his dark brown eyes registering everyone staring expectantly back at him. He looked at the few guards remaining, the sight reminding him of the fact that Master Joris had only attacked his subjects because he and his people still didn’t consider the Eliatropes as one of their own.

And then he thought of Amalia, how her presence was supposed to be a sign of good will, a bridge between the Eliatropes and the races native to the World of Twelve. He almost let out a mirthless chuckle at the reminder. The gods sent Sadida’s most precious flower yet they didn’t do anything to ease their worshippers into accepting them. And then, as if his mother Herself were looking out for him, he remembered Qilby’s words from back when Amalia first entered their lives:

“Not even them would be able to reject our presence for much longer if they learned we have their gods’ blessings.”

Yugo couldn’t help but let out a small gasp at the memory. Loath as he was to admit it sometimes, Qilby’s prodigious memory and his matter-of-factly nature had saved him more than once. They reminded him once again of the place Amalia occupied in their lives:

She was their key to earning the Twelvians’ acceptance.

Ignoring the strange pang in his chest at his thought process, telling him for some reason that wasn’t quite it, the king eventually allowed a pleased smile to tug at the corner of his lip. With a gracious nod towards Master Joris, he turned to the guard that had warned them of the Bontarian’s visit. “Please, Elias, escort Lady Amalia to the throne room.”

“Yes, my King.” With a deep bow, his arm to his chest, Elias did as he was told. As soon as the portal flickered into existence, he was gone.

Catching Master Joris standing tall—or, well, as tall as someone so short could stand—and alert as he waited for Amalia to arrive, Yugo couldn’t help but feel a little sheepish. With a clear of his throat to gain his attention, as soon as the emissary’s black eyes flickered over to him, he explained, “My apologies, Master Joris, but I would suggest you get comfortable.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty, but if Lady Amalia truly is a Divine Doll, then it is imperative I greet her with the respect she is due. Introducing myself to her while sitting down seems hardly appropriate.”

“Oh, and I respect your commitment to protocol, Master Joris. It’s just that it might take them a little while to arrive.”

“I was under the impression that your portals served to transport you from one place to another almost immediately?”

The emissary didn’t miss the way the king and the dragon by his side exchanged meaningful glances. “That is true. However, Amalia will not be coming through a portal.”

Joris quirked an eyebrow at that.

.......................................................................................................................

Saying Amalia fell off her bed in surprise when one of the palace’s elite guards stepped out of a portal and into her room wouldn’t have been right. So the two of them had agreed not to speak a word of the incident. However, that was nothing compared to how taken aback she’d been upon being informed Yugo requested her presence at the throne room.

As Amalia kindly rejected the guard’s—Elias, he introduced himself as—offer to go through one of his portals and allowed herself to be escorted to the throne room, the doll couldn’t help but let her mind wander. The current state of her relationship with the Eliatrope King at the forefront of her mind.

The distance he drew between the two of them hadn’t lessened any in the past few weeks. If anything, it only grew a little bit wider each passing day. It was so frustrating, to know the cordiality you were treated with was nothing compared to the warmth you’d once been subjected to. The kindness and care Yugo used to treat her with could put the sun’s rays to shame, whereas now that stiff politeness of him could put out any fire.

They had yet to have any more meaningful conversations since they returned from the beach, their current interactions amounted to little more than pointless small talk and awkward greetings. The longest the two of them had held a conversation as of late had been when she begged him to talk to Glip and Baltazar about attending their classes.

Ever since then she shared longer, more meaningful conversations with her classmates, some of whom still had trouble remembering irregular verbs, mind you; than the one person on Oma she thought she could call her friend.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t frustrated. And mad. Oh, she was so mad at him for daring to give her the cold shoulder without so much of an explanation! One second they were out and about on their first adventure and having a great time, and the next he acted like having her around was physically painful! And now he summoned her to the throne room like nothing happened? Now he wanted to talk to her?

What gives?!

And why the throne room, of all places!? Couldn’t he have just knocked on her door to talk to her like a normal person? Or, seeing as he was anything but ‘normal’, was it really so hard to visit her balcony and ask for a moment of her time? Apparently it was, for he just had to summon her to the freakin’ throne room like a gobball to the slaughterhouse.

Stealing a quick glance at Elias’ back, the Divine Doll went to discreetly and quickly rub the side of her face with the back of her hands, trying to keep the tears at bay. More than anything she felt hurt. So terribly, incredibly hurt. Her heart would give an uncomfortable squeeze whenever she dwelled too much on her own loneliness. And yet, she couldn’t help but wrack her brain every night as she went to sleep in a desperate attempt to make sense of it all. But no matter how much she tossed and turned and tortured herself, she always came up empty-handed. She just couldn’t understand.

All she knew was Yugo was pushing her away and she didn’t even know what she’d done wrong.

Just as the stinging in her eyes was beginning to become too much to bear and Amalia could feel her throat beginning to constrict into watery sobs, Elias halted abruptly. Looking up in surprise, she saw they had finally made it to the throne room. They’d finally made it to Yugo.

Placing a hand against the gates, the guard asked her, “Are you ready, Lady Amalia?”

Scrambling to blink her tears away and to smooth out her clothes and touch up her hair, all in an attempt to present herself as put-together as possible despite her turbulent thoughts, Amalia gave him a resolute nod.

“Yes, I’m ready. Thank you, Elias.”

With a nod of his own, the young guard opened the gates and welcomed her inside. Entering that room for the first time since she first arrived, Amalia let her gaze wander and reacquaintance itself with what lay inside.

Supporting the weight of the massive oval dome acting as their roof stood eight malachite columns forming an arch, causing the light filtered through the windows to bathe everything in a greenish blue hue. Each of them were separated by what at first glance looked like large stained glass windows but that, upon closer inspection, one could see were actually portals connecting to the different areas around the island to grant their subjects easier access—something she learned from asking Glip about their own portals located around their classroom.

Standing on the other side of the room, meant to be the first thing you saw upon opening the doors, was a long staircase connected to the throne. Amalia hadn’t seen many in the relatively short time she’d been alive, but she had to admit the sight was as impressive now as it had been when she first arrived. Sculpted in stone, the back of the throne branched into two large and imposing dragon wings; an actual green-coloured stained glass window depicting the Eliatropes’ emblem—a spiral formed by an Eliatrope baby and a dragon cub—could be seen right between the two wings.

Now that she looked more closely, Amalia could make out six hollowed spaces located at specific spots on the wings, but before she could try and discern what they truly were, she was brought back to the present by her heart skipping a beat when she accidentally locked eyes with Yugo.

Heat coming to her cheeks at their brief interaction, she bashfully turned her head away, reprimanding herself on seemingly forgetting she was supposed to be mad at him. Just as she did that, however, her gaze ended up on a mysterious little man instead, the sight causing her to blink in surprise. This time, she had to bring a hand to her chest at the powerful thud resounding in her ribcage at the sight of him.

She didn’t know how or why, but this man held a lot of power. She could just feel it.

Yugo’s voice cut through the fog in her mind, and she had to bite down her bottom lip to prevent herself from sighing. She hated how much she missed the sound of his voice.

“Amalia, allow me to introduce you to Master Joris.” He gestured at the man from his throne. “He’s been sent here on behalf of the queen of Bonta.”

Amalia blinked, shocked. Oh, that… That was new. Shaking her head slightly to gather herself up, she curtsied to their guest. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Joris.”

For his part, Joris had to admit that for the first time in a very long time he was left quite stumped. The young lady before him was a true vision of loveliness, with her soft and delicate features, her silky green hair, her doe-like eyes, and her elegant figure. He had a feeling she had to be the most beautiful Sadida he had ever laid his eyes on. The only one he believed could eclipse her beauty was the late Queen Sheran Sharm, whose hand had been the most coveted amongst the nations until she eventually chose to marry King Oakheart.

Truth be told, the resemblance was uncanny.

However, perfect as Lady Amalia looked, she was still just a Sadida. Her complete lack of doll-like attributes like stitches or the leafy headband Divine Dolls were known for were proof enough of her utter lack of divinity.

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Amalia.” He greeted back, his manners impeccable even as he feared he was being duped. “Forgive me for being so brazen, my Lady, but His Majesty has informed me of your heritage?”

“My heritage…?” She echoed, not sure where this was going.

“Indeed. I was told you are Sadida’s eleventh doll.” He explained. “And that you were sent here by the gods?”

Oh, so that was what he meant. Amalia let a small smile grace her features. “That is correct, Master Joris. Father created me to be Yugo’s’ bride.” She stated proudly, completely unaware of the way her declaration had Yugo panicking inside. Okay, he did not mean for that piece of information to slip out. And judging by the way Master Joris’ eyes widened in surprise, there was no way he hadn’t heard her.

Ignoring the way the Council of Six collectively lost their minds as they tried to figure out how to do damage control of the situation without screaming their lungs out hysterically, Amalia went on, “He says I am his masterpiece.”

Even in the midst of his internal screaming, Yugo couldn’t help but agree with the Leafy God. Amalia was truly a marvel of nature. Regardless of how her sisters had turned out, it was clear the nature god had outdone himself. Which, more often than not, only made his already difficult life harder.

“I am sure Sadida Himself is very proud of the outcome, Your Grace… if what you say it’s true.”

That made her frown, uncertain. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I beg your pardon, Lady Amalia, but I was sent here to inquire about the sighting of a Sadida woman living on Oma Island alongside the Eliatropes. You see, such a thing could have rather… unfortunate consequences we ought to avoid. Which is why I am here, to make sure there is nothing to worry about.”

“But there isn’t any Sadida woman living on Oma Island…” Amalia muttered, squinting her eyes, uncomprehending.

“That is what King Yugo said as well, yes.” Joris nodded, before his dark gaze met Amalia’s brown eyes, a small shiver running down her spine at the intensity of his stare. “He explained you’re actually a Divine Doll, but I’m afraid that is something I must verify myself.” Then, raising his palm up, he gestured towards her, “If you don’t mind…”

Despite the rocky state their relationship was in, Amalia found herself staring back at Yugo for guidance. “I don’t understand…”

His heart squeezing in pity at the sight of the doll’s discomfort, Yugo offered, “I believe Master Joris is trying to ask you for some proof that you are indeed a Divine Doll, Amalia.” His voice was so soft and reassuring he surprised even himself.

He tried to ignore the way his siblings exchanged knowing glances as they gestured at him with their heads.

Again, Amalia blinked, only this time she was more surprised at the simplicity of the answer. “Oh, really?” She asked, turning back to the emissary for confirmation.

“If it’s not too much trouble, my Lady…”

While Master Joris remained as stoic and alert as always, his hands behind his back as he awaited for Amalia to prove her identity, the Eliatropes and their dragons braced themselves. Adamaï in particular snapped his mouth tightly shut. They were already used to the doll’s demonstrations of divine power and were half expecting some kind of mystical wind to pick up at any given time and scoop Amalia up while leaving a mess of leaves or flower petals in its wake.

In fact, they were so ready for some kind of chaos to ensue they couldn’t decide whether to be disappointed or relieved when Amalia disappeared behind a harmless puff of smoke instead. Both the Council of Six and Master Joris could only look on, perplexed, as a small brown and green rag doll emerged from the puff of smoke and walked over to Bonta’s emissary.

As soon as they were just a few inches apart, Amalia smiled up at a speechless Master Joris before bowing down deeply. “As I said, my name is Amalia, Master Joris. I am Sadida’s eleventh Divine Doll. I hope this is enough to prove my identity.”

For his part, Joris just… stared, almost unblinkingly. Okay, even he had to admit this was new. On the bright side, it also proved that Lady Amalia was definitely one of Sadida’s dolls.

Snapping out of his trance, he cleared his throat a little awkwardly. He returned Amalia’s bow with a small one of his own. “It is more than enough, my Lady. My apologies for doubting you.”

“I trust this is enough to assuage your queen and the other nations’ concerns?” Yugo stated, his demeanour outwardly calm despite the undercurrent of powerful emotions running below his skin. He didn’t even have to look to know his siblings shared the same fears: the last thing their people needed was another war for their right to exist.

Which is why a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders when Master Joris nodded in response. “Rest assured, Your Majesty. This should be enough to put our rulers at ease.” But just as Yugo and his siblings were about to release a sigh of relief, the emissary’s next words caused them to stiffen up again, “However, I hope you will understand I must inform them of Lady Amalia’s true nature. This kind of development, Sire, is… It’s truly astounding for our people, you see.”

“I understand.” The Eliatrope barely suppressed the urge to groan and rub his face in aggravation. Still, there was something he had to ask. “But do tell me, Master Joris, will this affect my people and our relationship with your leaders in any way?”

“All I can say for certain, King Yugo, is that they will surely grow interested. As I said, Lady Amalia’s presence is a very serious matter.”

“Do you mean my presence might cause problems?” Amalia inquired with a worried hand to her chest, her doll-like appearance only showcasing the vulnerability she was displaying at that moment. She had mostly remained silent during the two men’s exchange, but her worries had spiked up at the thought of causing trouble for the Eliatropes.

Distantly, Yugo couldn’t help but notice it was kind of adorable… Before realising what he was thinking and forcing himself to focus on the conversation at hand with a shake of his head.

Master Joris was quick to raise his hands in a placating manner. “Oh, no, my Lady. It’s not that. Trust me, no Twelvian would be foolish enough to try anything against one of Sadida’s dolls.” From the corner of his eye, Yugo could see Nora releasing a sigh of relief at that. He honestly felt the same way, as it meant their people should be safe as long as Amalia was with them. His eyes flickered back to the ambassador when the Bontarian added, “Although I should probably warn you your presence will warrant their interest in you. Expect more news from Bonta in the near future.” He told that last part to Yugo, turning to meet him directly in the eye.

“We will, Master Joris. Thank you for your visit.” It’s what he said, but deep down Yugo was far too occupied begging Eliatrope to let this be a one-time thing.

And thus, with one last polite bow to both the king and his bride, Master Joris picked his backpack up and, under everyone’s astounded gaze, disappeared in the blink of an eye, a gust of wind the only indication he had ever been there.

“Okay, I think it’s high time I said what’s on everyone’s minds”, Chibi spoke up for the first time since they met their unexpected guest, gesturing wildly at the space he had just occupied, “What in the Great Goddess’ name was that guy?!”

While his siblings shared their theories on the mysterious little man that had just turned their world upside down, Yugo’s eyes fleetingly met Amalia’s, before the two of them averted their gazes as quickly as if they’d been burned, a flush on their cheeks that didn’t go unnoticed by Adamaï.

.........................................................................................................................

Sure enough, just as Master Joris had promised, barely a week after his surprise visit, a Cra-crafted magic arrow drove itself into a wall, startling them all. To say Glip almost had a heart attack as he saw it pass right under his nose, literally, would be an understatement. With class cancelled that day due to the sudden fright, the Council of Six met up once again for an urgent meeting, apprehension behind their every move as they all gathered around their king to discover the contents of the letter.

Unsurprisingly, it was a letter from Master Joris informing them of Queen Astra and the other rulers’ reaction upon discovering they harboured Sadida’s youngest daughter. Surprisingly—and by that they meant shockingly, astonishingly, heart-attack-worthily—, the World of Twelve’s different nations had convened amongst themselves and reached the decision to extend the Eliatropes an invitation to Bonta, where they would all meet up in a banquet meant to celebrate such wondrous occasion.

All they asked of the Eliatropes in return was that both King Yugo and Lady Amalia were present. Beyond that, any other member of their ruling class was welcomed to attend as well.

Once they got over their initial shock and excitement over what that could mean to their people, the most cautious members of the Council—namely, Mina, Phaeris, Chibi, and Grougaloragran—warned them they had to be careful. As great an opportunity as it was, they could not let their guards down, therefore, it would be wise if some members stayed behind to oversee and protect their kingdom in case of an attack or an emergency.

They all agreed wholeheartedly with that. Not surprisingly, Efrim was the first to volunteer to stay behind, and Yugo couldn’t help but feel grateful for that. His youngest brother’s hostile and distrustful nature, especially around Amalia, would not do them any favours with improving their relationship with the Twelvians. And seeing as Glip, Baltazar, and Shinonomé would remain as well and they weren’t exactly battle-oriented, then having the more combat-ready Efrim around was actually the wisest choice.

As they all discussed how they would proceed and how they would behave at the festivities, Yugo couldn’t help the strangled yelp that escaped his lips when Nora roughly grabbed him by the hood and yanked him down to her eye-level. Her pink eyes glimmered with the utmost seriousness, the kind that she usually reserved solely for battle.

Struggling out of her grip, he scowled at her. “Nora, what are you doing?!”

But she remained unbothered, her hands on her hips and her face as expressive as a rock. Rather than acknowledge his rightful outburst, she just stated flatly. “You have to summon the Royal tailor. Now.”

The king’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s true it’s been a while since we last donned more formal clothing, but—.”

“It’s not that!” Nora snapped. Giving her brother’s words some thought, though, her hand to her chin, she then admitted. “Alright, that too. After all, we can’t exactly present ourselves to what’s supposed to be a civilised party wearing our battlesuits; we must showcase our people’s own rich heritage and history to the other rulers. But that’s not what I meant!”

“Then what did you mean?”

Nora actually rubbed her face in frustration, groaning exasperatedly as she went. Each passing day the reason why Yugo never got married was less of a mystery and more of a foregone conclusion.

“Amalia, Yugo. I mean Amalia! The Twelvians think she’s your bride, meaning she will be our queen!” She hissed, causing her brother to flinch at her outburst. “If we want to show them we are serious about coexisting peacefully, we must show them Amalia is one of us so they'll have no chance to try and drive us away!”

Just as she finished her little spiel, she brought a hand behind her back and opened a portal. Sticking her hand inside, she flicked Efrim in the back as a warning to keep his mouth shut. Knowing him, no doubt he was about to protest and insist the Sadida Doll was definitely not one of them.

“Nora is right.” Shinonomé agreed, coming to stand by her sister as she stared directly into her king’s eyes. “As impressive as Amalia’s shapeshifting can be, I highly doubt she’ll be able to replicate our traditional ceremonial clothing. She needs a professional’s help.”

“Grougaloragran would appreciate a new ceremonial tunic as well.” The black dragon piped up, though he shrank a little into himself at the unimpressed glances his siblings were sending him. Feeling a little bashful, he rushed out to say, “That and we should show the Twelvians we are taking this invitation seriously. We must look the part.”

Yugo could only look back and forth between his siblings in disbelief, his mouth agape. Groaning quietly to himself, a hand to his temple to soothe his rapidly impending headache, he couldn’t take it anymore. Sometimes his siblings were impossible.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah!” He exclaimed loud enough for them to hear. After a short while of him gesturing wildly at them, their heads finally snapped to look back at their king, expectantly. “Have you all forgotten already?! Despite what Master Joris and the Twelvians seem to believe, Amalia is not my bride! I’ll have to clear up any misunderstandings at the celebration before they can cause any trouble!”

“Well, duh.” Phaeris chimed in, shrugging. Yugo could feel himself staring owlishly at the turquoise dragon; that had to be the least dignified reaction he’d seen of him in the several centuries they’d been alive during their current reincarnation.

Unperturbed by his king’s stare, the dragon went on, as if what he was about to say were common sense, “It is important we explain the situation with Lady Amalia, it’s true. Otherwise, they might accuse us of lying to serve our own purposes.”

Some of the tension left Yugo’s body. “Yes, that’s right. Thank you, Phaeris.”

But Phaeris wasn’t done. “But, as Nora pointed out, it is also imperative we make it clear that Lady Amalia is with us, lest we risk being deemed as undeserving by the other nations and they try to take her away.”

“Which would then rob us of any immunity Lady Amalia’s presence might grant us by virtue of her being a Divine Doll.” Mina finished for him, sharing a meaningful nod with her twin.

“In other words, you’d better summon the Royal tailor as soon as possible, Yugo. We’re going shopping!” Nora announced, throwing one hand in the air in celebration. Truth be told, the tone of her voice sounded more like she was just looking forward to getting some new clothing, rather than preparing for an extremely important diplomatic mission.

As the rest of the Council murmured in agreement all around him, Mina and Chibi discussing things like the overall design of the outfits they would commission, Yugo eventually gave up with a sigh and a helpless shrug. He arched an eyebrow when Adamaï landed softly by his side, an encouraging grin on his maw.

“Look on the bright side, Brother. You’ve been thinking about summoning the Royal tailor on Amalia’s behalf for a while now. Now’s your chance.” He winked playfully at him.

Yugo snorted at his brother’s antics. “Oh, Ad. You always know just what to say.” He rolled his eyes, only half-joking.

......................................................................................................................

Lately, the best way Amalia had to describe her life would be by saying each day felt like a tornado passed by and turned it all upside down, swooping her up as it went. One day Yugo summoned her to the throne room where she had to prove her identity to a mysterious little man overflowing with power beyond mortal comprehension, and the next there was a knock on her door she barely had a few seconds to even respond to before a bearded, older-looking Eliatrope came rushing in and started taking her measurements and talking about fabrics, and complementary colours and ball gown shapes and who knew what else.

Amalia was convinced not even her father had pricked her with a needle as many times as this man—the Royal tailor, apparently—had when he was sewing her up. And she was a doll Sadida made from scratch!

Now, despite her limited time on the World of Twelve, Amalia had to admit she had grown to be quite coquettish. It didn’t take long for her to develop a healthy kind of appreciation for quality clothing and looking one’s best. And when the tailor told her she had been summoned to Bonta alongside the Council of Six, she was more than willing to go along with it and look the part.

What she wasn’t so appreciative about, however, was spending countless hours still as a statue as she had her measurements taken and her skin pricked by needles. And finding out about said invitation through the tailor and his assistants when it should have been from Yugo was just the last nail on the coffin. Especially when, apparently, the Twelvians expected her to go as Yugo’s plus-one.

That little son of a weed was starting to really get on her nerves. In fact, Amalia remembered she couldn’t keep her temper from flaring at such revelation, to the point she ended up startling the poor tailor half to death when she stomped on the floor in frustration and her bed shot up to the ceiling in response, the action causing a small tremor to echo around the palace.

One thing was to avoid her—which was a very hurtful thing to do to a friend in the first place—, but to send literally anyone else to tell her important news, especially when they concerned the two of them? She was starting to get really sick and tired of whatever game Yugo was playing.

A scoff escaped her lips, which earned her the curious glances of the guards escorting her. But she paid them no mind. She was far too busy wallowing in her own bitterness. She was so angry she had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep herself from groaning in aggravation.

So he wanted to play, huh? Fine, she would play along. She would go to the banquet in Bonta as his partner, play the part, but she was done being the only one always making an effort to get close to each other. So his definition of friendship was to be distant and aloof? Fine. That was exactly how she was gonna be.

The Sadida Doll had just made up her mind when she was finally led to the palace entrance, where she’d meet up with Yugo and the rest of the attending members of the Council before they all left for Bonta. Despite the large gates leading outside being closed, the doll could still make out the excited chatter coming from the other side. The Royal tailor had been so kind as to inform her they would address their people first before parting for Bonta, hence the location where they would meet up at.

Fine by her. She had yet to truly meet any non-Primordial Eliatropes beyond the palace staff and the children.

As she waited for the Council to appear, Amalia took some time to admire her new clothes. In the end, she had to admit she liked her new dress a lot more than she had been expecting she would.

More importantly, she had been pleasantly surprised to find out she quite enjoyed the simple elegance it conveyed. She wore a modest cream silk dress that reached down to her feet and left her shoulders and arms exposed. Apparently, that colour had been chosen precisely so it would create a nice contrast with her dark skin. The tailor had described it as having a semi-sweetheart neckline and a mermaid skirt, although he insisted it would not impede her mobility and the skirt was specifically designed to flare with her movements. And Amalia had to admit she liked the way it fluttered around her as she walked.

While primarily white, the dress wasn’t without a touch of colour. A forest green sash was tied around her waist, with the ends hanging from the centre and going all the way down to just above her shins. A golden belt buckle showcasing the Eliatropes’ emblem helped fasten it. And draped around her shoulders was a large, sheer equally green shawl. The fabric was big enough to act almost like a cape. Much like the belt buckle, it was fastened around her neck with a matching golden brooch with their emblem engraved on it.

As for her hair, for once Amalia wore it almost entirely loose, allowing it to stretch down to its actual length—just below her upper back. A simple high bun held together by a modest headband completed the hairdo.

Despite how peeved she was feeling at the moment, Amalia had to admit both the Royal tailor and his assistants had done a splendid job. She would have to thank them later.

Her good mood instantly soured as soon as she registered the familiar flash of blue light from the corner of her eyes. The soft thud! coming from beside her as well as the fact that she could feel someone towering over her was all she needed to know Yugo and his siblings had arrived.

“Good afternoon, Amalia.”

Wait, that was it? That was all he had to say after so long without even speaking a word to each other? Just a simple greeting? No apology due to how he’d been acting? No further explanation as to what they’d be up against? Didn't he have anything to say about how she looked?!

The Divine Doll grit her teeth and clenched her fist so hard she almost drew blood, trying to restrain herself. She had already decided she wouldn’t let him affect her anymore. Forcing herself to take a calming breath through her nose, she turned to look back at Yugo…and was left frozen on the spot, although she could feel her cheeks grow hot at the sight.

Much like herself, Yugo had dressed himself up for the occasion. And much to her chagrin, her eyes immediately travelled up and down his body in admiration as her brain struggled to process what was going on.

While he still wore a blue hooded cloak, this one had more golden details than his usual one, with gold lining up the seams beyond just the hood. Even in her speechless state, a part of Amalia couldn’t help but find it odd that he insisted on covering his head despite going on official business with the other monarchs, although she was oddly relieved and endeared to see it wasn't enough to hide the fact that he’d braided the bangs framing his face. She hated how adorable it looked. Instead of his usual bodysuit, he wore white harem pants and sandals, and while his dark blue fingerless gloves remained, the same couldn’t be said about his sleeves, as he wore an equally blue, sleeveless, high neck top with more golden lining highlighting his pectorals and sides. A silk sash the same colour as his cloak tied to the side of his waist completed the ensemble, joining both halves of his outfit seamlessly.

However, what really caught her eye about the ensemble was how the lack of sleeves brought attention to the weird markings on his arms. They were like spirals going up and down his arms, snaking around his forearms and curling it on themselves on his shoulders and wrists. It was definitely strange, and yet, the weirdest thing of all had to be how those markings looked more like scars, for the skin they covered was of a darker tone as the rest of him.

She must have been staring a little too hard, for after letting out what sounded like an awkward cough, Yugo eventually explained. “These are ceremonial Wakfung tattoos.” He gestured at them. “It’s not customary for Eliatropes to get them—if you look closely, you’ll see none of my siblings have them—, but I find they help to better project and manipulate wakfu. Ad has them too, though only in his true dragon form.”

Blinking slowly in surprise—partly at the information and partly because that was the longest he’d spoken to her in a while—, Amalia finally turned her focus back at the remaining members of the Council of Six. Sure enough, not only did they not have the same markings as Yugo on their skin, but they also wore similar clothes to him, even if they shared the same colour palette as their regular outfits or had little details that helped them to stand out. For example, Nora wore a bandana around her neck, no doubt meant to act like her usual mask; and Chibi had pieces of gold scattered all over his clothes; Mina was the only one beside herself to wear a dress, and her hat was more elaborate than usual, with even more details embroidered onto it; and Qilby… Well, he looked marginally less haggard than normal.

Adamaï, Grougaloragran, and Phaeris, however, looked the same except for Grougal’s tunic looking a little more regal. Amalia supposed it made sense; as dragons they didn’t have much use for clothing in the first place.

She was so engrossed in her own thoughts, she couldn’t stifle the gasp that let her mouth when Yugo interlocked their arms, the crook of her arm coming to rest against his. She was so startled by the action she almost forgot to be angry at him. But she recovered just in time to discreetly puff out her cheeks in annoyance.

“Are you ready, Amalia?” He asked, and for a moment she hated how genuinely concerned he sounded. But she was not going to fall for his fake pleasantries again.

Her tone was flat when she answered, “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

Before Yugo had time to dwell on the apparent lack of her usual excitement, Chibi turned to address the guards standing by the door. “Open the gates.”

“Yes, sir!” With their customary greeting, they pulled the rope that served to open the large doors, giving way to the excited crowd outside as they cheered and celebrated their leaders.

“Long live the Council of Six! Long live King Yugo!”

“May the Great Goddess be with you!”

“All hail our leaders!”

After a few more minutes of cheering and applause, Yugo raised his hand as a silent request for his subjects to quiet down. Seeing the gesture, little by little, the noise around them died down, the Eliatropes present waiting for their king to speak.

Yugo allowed a reassuring smile to tug at the corner of his lips. “My beloved people, as you all know, we have been granted a once-in-a-lifetime chance to prove our intentions are pure to the natives of this world. It is our duty, as your leaders, not to let you down.”

“Today we will be travelling to Bonta,” Chibi continued, his tone measured and collected. Amalia was sure that had to be the most serious she ever heard him. “From what we’ve gathered, the city is one of the most prosperous and powerful nations in all of the World of Twelve. And such, it is imperative we leave a lasting impression on them, for this could be the first step into receiving their blessing to live alongside the Twelvians.”

“We promise to both gather information regarding our neighbours and to prove our own worth as a kingdom.” Qilby added, adjusting his glasses with one finger.

“Hopefully, by the time this is over, we will have earned their respect and will be one step closer to finally earning their trust.” Nora went on, her pink gaze betraying her hopes for what the night might entail.

As the members of the Council kept on talking and assuring their people they would do everything in their power to bridge the gap between Twelvians and Eliatropes—something Amalia still didn’t fully understand but no one bothered to tell her about—, the Divine Doll felt a hand tugging at the skirt of her dress. Blinking in surprise, she looked down and found herself face-to-face with a beaming little girl.

She remembered her from class, her name was Camilla and she was very shy but very sweet once you got to know her. Which was why it was such a shock that she seemed to have overcome her shyness to hand a flower to her, a small blush on her cheeks.

Oh. That explained the little prick of pain she felt earlier.

Allowing her first genuine smile of the day to grace her features, Amalia leaned down and gracefully took the flower from the girl’s hands and placed it at the base of her bun. And with that, little Camilla beamed up at the Sadida Doll once more before going back to her parents.

It was at that moment that Amalia realised things had got oddly quiet. Looking back at the crowd, she almost flinched upon realising they were all staring back at her. Her second mistake was subconsciously glancing at Yugo for answers, the sight causing her chest to constrict almost painfully.

The way the Eliatrope King was looking at her—his eyes glimmering with fondness and an unfairly adorable grin on his lips—was as soft as butter. Despite the way her heart skipped a beat, a part of Amalia wished he wouldn’t look at her like that, not when he had spent weeks avoiding her like the plague. It was simply unfair.

What he said next almost brought her to tears.

“I would like to thank Amalia especially for making all of this possible.” He said, and the doll couldn’t decide between swooning at his words or smack him on the back of his head with a vine. “Without her, who knows how long it would have taken the other nations to express an interest in getting to know us.”

“Long live Lady Amalia!” The Eliatropes gathered exclaimed almost in perfect unison.

In spite of her turbulent emotions, the green-haired beauty had to admit it felt rather nice to have your name chanted like that.

Just then, Qilby stepped forward, holding several glass bottles in his hands. He took one and raised it high above for all to see. “These potions were sent to us by the ambassador of Bonta himself. Apparently, they will transport us directly to the palace, where the banquet will take place.” After he said that, he distributed each and every one of them amongst his siblings and the doll.

As she took hers and stared back at it, Amalia thanked Sadida for their existence. She could not promise her new dress would arrive intact at Bonta had she had to travel through one of Yugo’s portals again.

Yugo himself spoke next, taking the cap off and raising his own potion up, an action they all soon mimicked. “For our future!” And he gulped down the magic beverage.

“For our future!” The Council repeated, following suit and drinking their own, with Amalia scrambling to do the same.

And in a literal flash, they were gone.

.................................................................................................................

When her eyes finally adjusted to the change in lighting filtering through her eyelids after drinking the potion, she finally opened her big brown eyes to take it all in. What she saw caused her to let out a gasp of surprise.

They had been transported into a moderately-sized hexagonal room with white marble walls, royal blue tapestries hanging from some of them while the others held portraits of what she could only assume were relevant figures in Bontarian history. She was inclined to believe they were previous rulers, as they all wore some sort of golden crown with wings. Beyond that, there were potted plants adorning the corners—they were healthy, she could tell, but they would definitely benefit from some actual soil and sunlight.

“Looks like they’re waiting for us.” Nora piped up, drawing Amalia’s attention with her.

Her eyes landing where the pink-eyed Eliatrope was staring at, the doll finally took notice of the large royal blue with golden hinged doors right in front of them, the cacophony of voices coming from behind. Amalia couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. It felt like all she did lately was wait in front of doors.

“So, how long do we have to wait for?” Chibi asked no one in particular. “Do we just go in or…?”

“Phaeris believes it is customary to wait until one is formally introduced by an announcer. Perhaps that is the case here as well.” The turquoise dragon pointed out.

“For once we agree, Phaeris.” Qilby murmured, rolling his eyes alongside his dragon sibling upon making eye-contact with each other. With a low scoff, he adjusted his glasses over his nose. “I suggest we wait until we are formally introduced.”

“And what if no one is supposed to introduce us?” Adamaï questioned, an eyebrow raised.

“Then we wait for Bonta's little errand boy to come find us.” The eldest Eliatrope said dismissively.

As the others were discussing how and when they should step through the doors to meet the other leaders waiting for them, Amalia was momentarily startled by Yugo placing his hand over the one resting on the crook of his forearm. Even though she knew it was meant to be a polite way to ask for her attention, given his recent behaviour towards her, to the doll it felt more like a loud demand.

“Amalia, remember how you introduced yourself to Master Joris?” He asked, momentarily taking her aback. Then again, what else was new with this man?

“You mean the first or the second time?” She shot back, trying to keep her voice cool and unaffected.

“Uh… The second one. When you transformed to prove your identity.”

“Oh. Yes, I remember.” She nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“Do you remember you told him you’re supposed to be my bride?”

Her eyes widened as realisation finally hit her. Oh. That. She had been so caught up trying to assure Master Joris she truly was a Divine Doll and talking about how her father had created her, she totally forgot about that little detail. More specifically, the fact that she had been told that wouldn’t be happening almost as soon as she stepped foot in Oma.

She averted her eyes as she shyly pushed her fringe away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry about that, Yugo. I really wasn’t thinking about that back then.”

“It’s okay, Amalia.” He told her reassuringly, and at that moment she wanted nothing more than for him to stop being so good to her if he was only going to go back to ignoring her once this was over. “Don’t worry, I’ll clear up the misunderstanding. But I need you to do something for me. Is that okay?”

“What is it?”

“My people, they… We need this. We need to leave a good impression on this world’s rulers, and you’re our key to achieving that.” He swallowed, as if to give himself some time to gather his thoughts and find the right words to say. His hold on her hand tightened a little. “My siblings and I believe the Twelvians will be more welcoming of our people if they see you’ve become one of us. So even if you’re not my bride, we… I need you to show them that your home is Oma Island, that your presence among us is indeed the gods giving us their blessing to live on their world. Do you think… Do you think you can do that?”

Even though he was in no position to ask any favours of her right now, not after the way he’d treated her lately, or the fact that the way he phrased it made it sound like he himself didn’t believe her being sent to them was meant as a sign of good will from the gods—from her father—, Amalia had to bite down the retort forming on the tip of her tongue. Despite everything, he was right. She still didn’t know what the situation was like between the Eliatropes and the Twelvians, but the more time passed, the more she felt it couldn’t be good.

Even if no one told her upfront, it was clear to see if you paid close attention. Like the way Yugo insisted she wouldn’t be able to leave the island even when she was allowed to explore with him by her side. Or the children’s wistful sighs and longing looks at the thought of playing outside of Oma’s confines. Or the way the entire Council and palace staff seemed on edge as soon as Master Joris arrived.

Whatever the reason, this was important to all of them. And she couldn’t risk jeopardising it just because she was mad at Yugo.

So with a sigh and a heavy heart, yet feeling determined by her choice, Amalia gently squeezed his hand back. “Rest assured, Yugo. You and your people have welcomed me to your kingdom, and now I shall honour our agreement. You can count on me.”

If the king noticed the way she was back to talking in an overly formal manner with him after so long, he didn’t show. Instead, he just smiled down at the doll. “Thank you, Amalia. Really, it means a lot.”

Not trusting her own voice, the Sadida Doll limited herself to nodding.

Finally, it looked as if Phaeris’ prediction had been right, because they were all brought back to the present by the sound of trumpets being played coming from the other side of the doors. Then, as they all took positions to present themselves as composed and regally as possible, a nasally voice announced, “Presenting King Yugo of the Eliatropes and Lady Amalia, accompanied by the distinguished members of the Council of Six Adamaï, Chibi, Grougaloragran, Mina, Phaeris, Nora, and Qilby.”

“Why do I gotta go last? I’m the eldest!” She heard Qilby grumble to himself, before he let out a little, outraged huff.

No sooner was the announcer done speaking, did the gates open up, bathing the waiting room in the bright lights coming from the incredibly vast ballroom, a cacophony of voices echoing around the walls as they all took their visitors in.

As they made their way inside, his hold on Amalia tight but not too much as to not risk hurting her, for he feared the Twelvians would try to separate her from him—from them!—, Yugo wasted no time scanning the room. Many of the people present he recognised from their botched attempt at introducing themselves, when they accidentally crashed a meeting between the world’s leaders, but many others he did not remember. While most of the guests appeared to be Bontarians, many others had more defined races, which suggested they belonged to their respective ruler’s entourage.

Or maybe Bonta was that much of a cosmopolitan and multiethnic area. That, he didn’t know.

For her part, Amalia was enraptured at the prospect of finally meeting the gods’ followers. As her eyes travelled around the space in search of her father’s people—in search of her people—, she could finally see for herself how, indeed, a god’s worshippers inherited some key aspects from their deity.

Eniripsa’s followers shared their patron goddess’ delicate features and fairy-like wings, all of them traits that underlaid their unparalleled skill at tending to the ill and wounded without even batting an eyelash. She had trouble understanding why Fecas had blue hair while their goddess was a dark brunette, but the golden, horned armour some of them wore was unmistakable. Cra had inherited their goddess’ golden hair, pointy ears, and poise, even if Amalia had to admit the older woman who seemed to act as their leader hadn’t exactly inherited the same astonishing beauty as her father’s dear friend.

While, oddly enough, female Sram were pretty much regular, masked women, it was plain to see their god’s skull-like features through his male followers. All Ecaflips present seemed to replicate their god’s feline grace, and the way she could spot several of them playing card games around the room made their connection to the feline deity of chance all the clearer.

As their group slowly made their way to the centre of the room, where a portly woman with golden skin, short platinum blond hair and covered by a blue mink cape stood alongside a much taller, dark-skinned woman with much narrower features—the familiar crowns on their heads hinting at their true position as Bonta’s rulers—, the sight of Master Joris by their side brought a relieved smile to Amalia’s features.

To be honest, she was glad to see a familiar face. Especially after catching sight of what she could only assume was the Osamodas royal family. Besides their blue skin and moorg-like ears and horns, the reason she could easily pinpoint their loyalty to the beast god was the fact that she got the exact same feeling she experienced when she had been first introduced to their patron god. And it wasn’t a pleasant one.

Although she had to admit her eyes lingered for a moment longer on what appeared to be the eldest daughter, as her clothing was closer to something she herself would wear—although a lot tackier—compared to the feathered robes the members of her family donned. But even that did nothing to soothe her nerves as her cold, calculating red eyes seemed to scrutinise her.

She sent a quick prayer to her father so they wouldn’t have to interact.

Almost as if Sadida himself had heard his youngest daughter’s plea and sought to offer some comfort, Amalia’s whole face lit up in excitement when she finally took notice of the small entourage standing close to the Bonta rulers. The strong sense of kinship that enveloped her let her know she’d just found exactly what she’d been looking for: the Sadida royal family.

It seemed to be composed of a father and son duo, the few remaining men by their side appeared to be on high alert, which implied they were actually some high ranking officials rather than royals. Through them, the Divine Doll could see some key aspects that immediately reminded her of her father. Beyond standing taller than most other races, their skin was also considerably darker—unless you counted Twelvians whose gods had blue skin, like Osamodas and Sram, of course—, not unlike tree bark. Their clothing, heavily inspired by the vegetation they surely surrounded themselves with, was also a clear indicator of where their faith laid. However, the biggest indicator was their head and hair. Even though they didn’t wear masks like Sadida, the men’s faces were entirely covered by their green manes, regardless of how they were styled, clearly acting as a nod to her father’s aversion to showing his true face.

As they finally arrived right in front of Bonta’s queen—or was it queens?—, Amalia couldn’t wipe the grin off her face at having finally found her people. After weeks of being the only non-Eliatrope or non-dragon on Oma, it was extremely pleasant to find more people like her.

Her gaze flickered back up to the women standing before them when one of them cleared her throat. It was the shortest one.

“Greetings, King Yugo of the Eliatropes and honourable members of the Council of Six. We are immensely honoured by your presence.” Amalia almost flinched when her golden eyes landed on her. “And especially you, Lady Amalia. Your arrival truly is a blessing.”

Not sure what else to do, Amalia simply offered a polite bow of her head. “It is I who is blessed to be here, um…” She trailed off, mortified to realise she had no idea whom she was even addressing.

Luckily for her, the woman simply let out a thunderous cackle. “Wherever are my manners? I have yet to introduce myself.” With a low chuckle, she stood a little bit taller, her head held up high as she spread her arms wide in a welcoming gesture. “I am Queen Astra of Bonta, and by my side is my wife, Queen Selene.” She gestured at the dark-skinned woman.

The woman, Selene, offered a small nod and a smile of her own, “Pleasure to meet you.”

This time, it was Yugo’s turn to speak, “I believe I speak on behalf of not only my siblings, but the entirety of our people when I say we are truly honoured to be welcomed into your land, Your Majesties.” He made a show of looking around. “And to be given the opportunity to officially meet the World of Twelve’s royal families, too.”

“Trust me, King Yugo. No Twelvian in their right mind would ever want to miss such a momentous occasion. As far as I’m concerned, the only ones who aren’t here are the Brakmarians.”

Even though her tone was meant to be affable and kind, there was something under the surface that caused the Eliatropes to tense up. They knew they wouldn’t suddenly be welcomed with open arms just because the other nations now knew about Amalia, so they knew better than to lower their guards in the face of a possible sneak attack. The fact that Brakmar chose not to attend the banquet was a bad sign. Maybe there were Twelvians foolish enough to disrespect one of Sadida’s dolls.

Sensing the rising tension, Queen Selene rushed out to clarify. “Please, don’t misunderstand. The only reason they’re not here is because of Bonta and Brakmar’s ongoing rivalry.” She let out an amused chuckle, though it was hard to tell how much of it was real and how much of it was rehearsed. “Truth be told, had the banquet taken place in Brakmar, Astra and I would have most likely sent Master Joris in our stead.”

Their eyebrows raising slightly at that revelation, both Yugo and Amalia flashed questioning glances Master Joris’ way, who limited himself to confirming his queen’s explanation with a silent nod.

Queen Astra’s imposing voice drew their attention back to her. “But enough of all this pointless chatter, there will be time for that throughout the night. Right now, I’d highly recommend you enjoy yourselves and mingle with the other guests as we wait for dinner to be served. After all, that’s what we’re all gathered here today for.”

“Everyone here is especially interested in hearing more from you, Lady Amalia.” Queen Selene added, a wry smile on her lips. She motioned for them to go. “Let’s not keep them waiting for much longer.”

Thanking and bowing to them one last time, the Eliatrope entourage turned around to make their way to a less crowded area where they could begin strategising on how to best benefit from the night. As they went, everyone gathered went back to their own conversations, almost as if they hadn’t been carefully studying their every move as soon as they stepped into the room.

Eventually, they stopped near a table overflowing with refreshments and appetisers that stood close to the windows leading to the balcony and a little ways off to the centre of the room, where distinguished gentlemen were beginning to take lovely ladies out for a dance after politely asking. As the music coming from the small orchestra began to play, filling the air with uplifting melodies, couples would move to the beat of the music, their coordinated steps creating a magical choreography that left Amalia breathless even as she remained rooted to the spot.

The scene brought forth a strong sense of nostalgia with it. Memories of her father and sisters dancing under the moonlight flooding her senses.

A small voice in the back of her head urged her to ask Yugo to take her dancing, but she quickly dismissed it as a lost cause. He hadn’t even complimented her on how she looked today, there was no way he would ever be willing to dance with her.

At least she could always watch and dream, she sighed wistfully.

Her focus was momentarily broken from the dancefloor by the sight of a wineglass appearing right in front of her. Her eyes followed the arm holding the glass until she was staring back at Yugo.

“It’s only fruit punch.” He assured her, twirling the contents of her glass experimentally. “I figured it’d be wiser since we do not know your alcohol tolerance and it wouldn’t be wise to find out at an event like this one.”

The doll had to suppress the urge to sulk and roll her eyes. Of course, he wasn’t looking out for her, but for his people. He couldn’t afford to have her embarrass him on such an important night. A nod was all the acknowledgement he got before she took the beverage from his hand and took a sip. Well, at least it was sweet enough to taste good.

Yugo couldn’t help the small pit of worry that formed in his stomach at her reaction. Amalia had been acting strange all day. He had honestly expected her to be ecstatic at the idea of leaving the island to attend a party so far away, and yet, her face remained the perfect image of stoicism and indifference throughout. She only allowed for a smile to grace her lips when that little girl handed her the daisy she still wore at the base of her bun.

Truth be told, such little detail went wonderfully with the rest of her outfit. The little flower combined with her traditional Eliatrope clothing made her stand out among him and his siblings—even if she always did just that on her own.

She was a beautiful flower amongst Eliatrope’s children.

But that still didn’t explain her behaviour. He was about to open up his mouth to ask her about it when—

“It is a great pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lady Amalia.” A refined yet smarmy-sounding voice came from in front of them. Yugo didn’t know why, but it made his insides churn. “I must say, you are vastly more beautiful than rumours had me believe.”

Finally, sidestepping other astonished guests who kept murmuring amongst themselves, the origin of the voice revealed itself, causing Yugo to narrow his eyes as he stood a little closer to an unsuspecting Amalia, who could only look on, taken aback. The person who spoke seemed to be a man, and while that would have been the logical conclusion judging solely from his voice, the presence of his broad shoulders and narrow waist confirmed the king’s suspicions.

The feeling of dread that overtook his whole being only intensified the longer he stared at the man. Truth was, whoever this person was, he was peculiar, to say the least. For starters, he was unnecessarily overdressed; with his cyan and light blue jumpsuit, white gloves, and brown snow boots. Draped over his shoulders was a white-furred cape that reached down to his lower back. Judging by his brooch and belt buckle and their obvious relation to time, he had to be a Xelor. And yet, none of that explained the fact that he was wearing winter clothing at a place as warm as Bonta during this time of year. And it certainly didn’t explain why his whole face was encased in ice, two bright, blue round eyes the only thing discernible behind it.

And the way he addressed Amalia… His hold on his own glass tightened. One thing was for certain: he did not like this man one bit.

But before the king could so much as send him packing, Amalia finally found her voice. “Oh, um, the pleasure is all mine, Mister…?”

The masked figure chuckled light-heartedly, bringing a hand to his chest. “Of course, how rude of me. Forgive me, my Lady. I am Count Harebourg, ruler of Frigost.”

Wait, count? Frigost? That didn’t sound like any of the territories where the World of Twelve’s leaders resided, let alone the Xelor royal family—whom, with a quick glance to the side, Yugo found standing all the other way from them and away from Harebourg. Then what was he doing here?

Thankfully, before his twin could do anything rash, it was Adamaï who spoke up. In all honesty, he had almost forgotten he was even there in the first place. “And what brings you all the way here, Your Grace?”

If the dragon’s question bothered him, it was impossible to tell with his mask. And yet, Yugo could hear the smirk in his voice as he answered clear as day, making his skin bristle. “Why, to meet the famed Eliatrope Council everyone has been talking so much about, of course.”

Finally, he leaned forward slightly in a bow, a hand to his chest. But for some reason, the action, polite as it might’ve been, did nothing to endear the guy to Yugo. Things only got worse when he turned his focus back on Amalia, a protective instinct taking over the king as he felt her flinch under the count’s scrutiny. He had to keep himself from scowling.

“Although I would be lying if I said your presence had no sway over my decision, my Lady. After all, it’s not everyday one gets to meet a Divine Doll such as yourself.” Just as Harebourg reached out his hand to grab Amalia’s, he was stopped in his tracks by the Eliatrope King’s voice, a warning laced with his tone.

“I believe we would all feel more at ease if you showed your face, Your Grace. I’m afraid your mask is frightening Amalia.”

“Yugo!” The doll hissed, flustered.

Harebourg himself only let out a low chuckle, his true feelings well-hidden behind his mask. And yet, Yugo could easily make out the tinge of irony in his words. “Says the king who refuses to take his hood off even inside someone else’s home.”

The only thing stopping the Eliatrope from walking right into the Xelor's personal space and pointing a wakfu sword right at his throat, a snarl on his lips, was Adamaï’s steady claw on his shoulders. That, and Amalia's frantic attempts at defusing the situation.

“You…You really don’t have to take off your mask, Count Harebourg. Yugo… um, he didn’t mean to… It’s just…erm…”

However, even as she sputtered on, she flashed the king a brief, warning glare that took him slightly aback and took his words away. She hadn’t looked at him like that since the portal fiasco where she ended up throwing up on a nearby bush. And now she was glaring at him over this guy? Really?

Just, what had got into her?

Unbeknownst to the two of them, the count’s skin prickled at the familiarity in the doll’s voice as she addressed the king. Luckily, he managed to mask his feelings well. Instead, he brought his hands behind his back and puffed his chest out.

“On the contrary, Lady Amalia.” He told her, making her look up at him in surprise. And for a moment, Yugo and Adamaï could only blink in surprise as well, until the Xelor’s next words soured the Eliatrope’s mood further. “While His Majesty could have indeed phrased it better, he is not wrong in pointing out my appearance might be displeasing for you. Please, allow me to rectify that.”

“You really don’t have to do that, Your—.” She trailed off, the words dying in her throat.

No sooner was Count Harebourg done talking than the ice encasing his head was melted by a series of copper valves all around his neck letting out steam. Under the block of ice, the count’s face was hidden by a metal mask with bright, blue glass eyes that, with a mechanical sound, opened up and stored itself away, revealing the count’s true face.

While Amalia’s face grew hot and Adamaï’s jaw dropped, Yugo’s blood ran cold. The feeling only got worse when he heard Nora, of all people, let out an appreciative whistle before saying, “Oh, my…”

“Indeed.” Mina concurred, her tone appreciative. All around them, people whispered, with the women’s input being very much positive.

Much to Yugo’s chagrin, even he had to understand the ladies’ reaction upon the count revealing his true face. The man before them was objectively handsome, with not even the fact that a rather nasty scar on his left eye covered only by a large blue lens taking away from his attractiveness. With his fair skin, squared jaw, icy blue eye and well-trimmed, snow-white hair, he looked every bit the aristocrat he was supposed to be.

The Eliatrope’s heart throbbed painfully at the awestruck look on Amalia’s face as she stared back at Count Harebourg. The cold dread in his veins was only melted off when Frigost’s ruler was faster than him and took the doll’s hand in his and brought it to his lips. Whatever cold he felt before was quickly being replaced by the burning anger encompassing his entire being at the action.

He hadn’t even noticed his clenched hands, tight to the point of turning his knuckles white, were crackling with wakfu until Adamaï made him look at him, his eyes shining with worry. Not finding the strength to answer the question in his brother’s gaze, Yugo simply shoved his claw off his shoulder and focused back on the exchange taking place right in front of him.

“I certainly do hope my true appearance isn’t quite as displeasing as my mask, my Lady.” The count chuckled, his tone light. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if it was.”

She didn’t know why, but she actually giggled at his joke, her nose wrinkling adorably as she did so. And it felt like a knife to Yugo’s heart. “Rest assured, Your Grace. I’d be lying if I didn’t say your face isn’t nice to look at.” Just as the words left her mouth, her eyes widened, a furious flush overtaking her features as she registered what she’d just said aloud.

Yugo couldn’t do much but flicker his eyes back and forth between the two of them, his mouth agape. Were they… were they actually flirting? And right in front of him?!

He started at that train of thought, all his other functions shutting down momentarily. What was it to him? Amalia was his friend and his guest and her presence was key in his people’s future, so it was only natural if he grew protective of her, but she was her own person. If she wanted to flirt with some mask-wearing, one-eyed, aristocratic weirdo, it was her choice! And he had to respect it.

That still didn’t mean he didn’t have a right to feel his skin bristle at the hungry look Harebourg was regarding her with. Okay, so it was still her choice, but she was also far too innocent and inexperienced to be truly left to her own devices. He’d better keep an eye out.

Which was another reason why he could hardly contain the smirk from tugging at his lips when Grougaloragran (finally!) intervened.

“One of the queen’s little attendants has just told Grougaloragran dinner will be served shortly and we should start heading to the banquet hall to be directed at our respective seats.” It was then that the black dragon realised he had actually walked in on something. Tilting his head to the side, he furrowed his brow in confusion. “Uh… Is Grougaloragran interrupting anything?”

Before Amalia got a chance to say anything, Yugo beat her to it, his tone far too chipper for it to be genuine. “Nope! In fact, I’d say you’re just in time, Grougal. I’m starving!” He made a show of rubbing his belly to emphasise his point. Not wasting any time, he interlocked arms with the Divine Doll once more and began to all but drag her away in the direction everybody else seemed to be heading towards.

He threw a dismissive wave over his shoulder and the count’s way. “Lovely talking to you, Count Harebourg. See you after dinner.”

That snapped Amalia, who until then had been staring at Yugo as if he’d sprouted a second head, out of her disbelief-induced stupor. She quickly turned to look at the Xelor over her shoulder and sent him her own wave. “It was great meeting you, Your Grace. Hopefully we’ll get to talk some more tonight.”

“I’ll be counting down the minutes, my Lady! Hopefully you’ll even save me a dance.” He called out to her, before disappearing amidst the throngs of guests making their way towards the banquet hall.

“Keep dreaming, loverboy.” The Eliatrope king couldn’t help but think spitefully to himself.

By his side, Amalia blinked in surprise at the count’s sudden departure, before her brow hardened into a scowl as she side-eyed her ‘friend’. Just, what was that about? First he told her about how important this night was to him and his people, only to then act like he was just itching to bite the count’s head off like some rabid Bow Wow?

And why? Just because Count Harebourg had been nothing but charming to her even if he was a little weird? Please, it wasn’t like he had any reason to get this mad just because some other guy was paying attention to—.

Her train of thought skidded to a halt, her eyes widening at the realisation. Eyes flickering back and forth between Yugo’s pouting face and the space Count Harebourg had been occupying before vanishing, she couldn’t prevent a little smirk from stretching over her lips.

Maybe it was time for a little payback.

........................................................................................................................

“Okay, what was that?” Chibi whispered to his siblings, voicing everyone’s thoughts.

They were walking a little behind Yugo and Amalia, with enough space between them to be able to talk freely about what they just bore witness to, as long as they weren’t too loud. And by Eliatrope, there were no words to describe what they bore witness to.

“Pretty sure it was our king about to go off on that count.” Qilby clicked his tongue and shook his head ruefully. He leaned closer to Nora. “I told you his vehement denial of his denial was a bad sign.”

The pink-eyed Eliatrope nodded.

“Hopefully Yugo will be too busy interacting with the Twelvian rulers to encounter Count Harebourg again.” Phaeris noted, his arms crossed over his chest even as he had to tuck his wings closer to his body just to make sure he didn’t hit anyone as he walked. “We really can’t afford to have them come to blows.”

“Oh, but perhaps that is precisely what we need.” Mina mused aloud, drawing everyone’s startled gazes to her.

“Are my ears playing tricks on me, or are you actually in favour of our brother nuking it out against the Xelor?” Nora asked, a teasing eyebrow quirked at her sister, who simply chuckled in response, remaining as poised as always.

“I never said anything about Yugo and the count fighting, now, did I?”

And with that, she walked ahead of them, her head held up high as she entered the banquet hall and was shown to her seat, leaving her flabbergasted siblings in her wake.

All of them, but Adamaï, who had a good idea about what his wisest sister might have been talking about instead. And, as he spotted Yugo and Amalia and the stiff atmosphere around them, he had to admit she was probably right once more.

He turned his head to look at Chibi when the latter clasped his hand on his shoulder and brought him closer. “Okay, Ad. Be real with me, because I feel like I’m missing something. Is it me, or is Yugo—?”

“He very much is, Chibi. Even if he doesn’t realise it himself.”

Chibi hummed in thought. “You know, it’s kinda funny. I’m used to seeing Yugo’s eyes glow blue whenever he taps into more wakfu than usual, but I never expected him to be visited by the green-eyed monster.”

Adamaï sighed. “I suppose that makes three of us, Chibi.”

...............................................................................................................

Dinner would have been a far more pleasant experience if it hadn’t been for Yugo’s noticeably darker mood. Not like he wasn’t good at hiding it. Whenever someone held a conversation with him, he was perfectly cordial and polite, to the point it would have been impossible to tell if something was wrong. But Amalia had been on the receiving end of his hollow kindness long enough to be able to see right through him. And a quick look around his siblings was enough to tell her they knew better too.

Luckily, Amalia didn’t have much time to dwell on it, as every time her mind would start to wander, someone would address her. A part of the doll was touched at the Twelvians’ devotion and admiration of their gods, seeing as most of the time she would be asked about that person’s specific patron deity and what they were like. Her answer would always be the same, though; she hadn’t really got to talk much with them, but they were all very kind to her.

Once again, she thanked her father for the fact that none of the Osamodas royals were anywhere near her. She really didn’t know how to say ‘He was polite but very unpleasant and I could tell not even his horns were genuine’ to their faces without sounding rude. At the same time, she also felt extremely awkward when she saw the Sadida Crown Prince was seated alongside the Osamodas princess she saw earlier, which meant the reason behind her Sadida-like dress was that they were at the very least betrothed.

Amalia hadn’t even stepped foot on the Sadida Kingdom and she already feared for her father’s people’s future if an Osamodas was to rule them.

Regardless of her personal feelings on the horned god and his followers, at the end of the feast Queen Astra had declared they were now free to spend the rest of the night however they pleased. And for a bunch of Eliatropes with a mission, that meant fostering closer relationships with the other royals.

More importantly, in spite of the rocky state her and Yugo’s relationship was in, he had gone out of his way to ask her for help, and Amalia was not petty enough to deny him and his people of an opportunity they had long been waiting for. Regardless of how tired she felt. She honestly didn't know how these people did it. It had only been a few hours of interacting with others and she was already exhausted.

As much as it saddened her to admit it, she was beginning to think she wouldn’t be able to dance after all out of sheer exhaustion.

She was about to follow after him and his siblings as the Eniripsa Queen asked for their presence when Master Joris appeared seemingly out of nowhere. His sudden appearance caused Yugo to halt and stare at him expectantly.

“If I may, Your Majesty,” he started, his little, black eyes set on the Eliatrope King. “I believe it would be better if Lady Amalia sat this one out.”

Yugo blinked, surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

The ambassador raised his hands up placatingly. “I mean no offence, King Yugo. It’s just that there was a time where I was new to this kind of gathering, too.” He looked back at the Sadida Doll, offering her the kindest smile she had ever seen on the little man’s face. “I do not know how you’ve been spending your time on Oma, Your Grace, but I know from experience spending all night talking to dignitaries when you’re not used to it can be quite taxing.”

It was as if Master Joris’ words had forced Amalia to acknowledge for the first time the true depth of her exhaustion. Her feet ached against the cold floor, her cheeks were sore from smiling so much, and even though she had been instilled courtesy from birth, she was beginning to feel like her head would explode if she had to address anybody else as ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Honour’, or by any other title one more time.

But she knew what her role was. Her presence was important to the Council, so she couldn’t just call it a night while they represented their people. She couldn’t do that to them.

Which was why she almost gasped in surprise when Yugo said, “If that is what Amalia needs, fine by me.”

“Are-are you sure, Yugo?” She asked, wrapping her arms around herself for comfort despite herself.

No. Yugo wasn’t really sure. On the one hand, because the plan was to keep Amalia close in order to showcase to the Twelvians their own gods approved of their presence on their world and, more importantly, to keep her safe in case this was just a trap to take her away. And on the other hand, because a small part of him spiked up with anxiety at the thought of leaving her alone and for Count Harebourg to find her. He hadn’t been able to move past their brief interaction all evening, the mere memory of it was enough for his expression to cloud over with emotions he himself had trouble deciphering.

But, as always, one look at Amalia was enough for his resolve to crumble like dust. She looked so tired, so vulnerable. She had been doing an astounding job all evening entertaining those who asked for a moment of her time and making sure to emphasise she had grown quite fond of Oma Island and its inhabitants. Moreover, unlike him and his siblings, who had been born to lead and navigate the world of politics and diplomacy, Amalia was a Divine Doll. Even if her true purpose remained undisclosed, Yugo highly doubted such a marvel of nature was meant to spend her time cooped up around a bunch of stubborn Dracoturkeys like monarchs were known for being.

Maybe that was why she’d been so weird all day, because she was so out of her element.

All the more reason to give her some time to relax. She’d more than earned it.

So he told her as such with a nod and a smile. “I’m positive. Go and take a break, Amalia. We’ll take it from here.” Then, he turned to Bonta’s ambassador. “Master Joris, do you think you could look after her?”

But he just shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid I must remain by your side, my King. You see, I’m actually on-duty tonight. But rest assured, I know just what to do.” He pointed at the far side of the room, where an older-looking white Ecaflip and another that was equally old but bald were lounging on a divan, playing cards. “Those are my sons, Kerubim and Atcham, my Lady. Go with them. They’ll make sure no harm comes to you.”

Amalia could only look on, flabbergasted, but ultimately chose not to say anything. She really couldn’t explain how someone like Master Joris, who seemed to be in his thirties or his forties at most and was of an indiscernible race could be the father of two old Ecaflips, but then again, she wasn’t one to talk. After all, her father was essentially a mask-wearing, humanoid tree, yet all his daughters were either dolls or utterly beautiful young women.

There was, of course, the fact that he had literally sewn them up himself to be that way, but who was she to judge in the first place?

So with a polite nod as thanks to Master Joris and a grateful smile at Yugo, she turned back to the direction the Bontarian had pointed at and began to make her way between all the guests. Just as she avoided crashing into a laughing Iop, she bumped into somebody else.

“Oh, my Gods, I’m so sorry.” She rushed out to apologise as she touched up her hair in case it got dishevelled due to the impact.

“On the contrary, my Lady. It is I who should be apologising.” Responded a cool and collected feminine voice.

Blinking rapidly to gather her thoughts, Amalia finally allowed herself to pay more attention to the person she collided against. She was a Cra in her twenties, with short platinum hair and vibrant emerald eyes. Just by looking at her the Divine Doll was immediately reminded of her father’s close friend—unlike her people’s matriarch, the woman before her had indeed inherited the Great Huntress’ beauty.

She might have been staring for a little too long, because the Cra politely clearing her throat snapped her out of her daze. “If you will permit me, Your Grace, I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere. So, if you don’t mind…”

“Oh! Right. Of course.” No sooner did the words leave Amalia’s mouth that the Cra left her side, disappearing amongst the throngs of people with a grace and ease that sent the Divine Doll reeling.

Blinking slowly at the woman’s retreating form just before she vanished, Amalia eventually shrugged at her hurried departure. She was probably there as part of her people’s entourage and had to return to her leader’s side. With wayward thoughts about hopefully catching sight of her later in the evening, Amalia focused back on the mission at hand—joining Master Joris’ Ecaflip sons.

The sound of boisterous laughter and muttered curses after a few more minutes of walking was all the indication she needed to know she had finally arrived.

“I don’t know why I even bother to play with you. You always cheat!” Accused the hairless Ecaflip, a slight lisp in his voice.

“Look who’s talking!” The white-haired Ecaflip shot back, offended. “Need I remind you you used to be a Brakmarian assassin? How’s that for playing dirty?”

“Would you just let it go?! That was like two lives ago!”

“It was our last life and you know it! I don’t know about you, but I’m not looking too forward to dying for real yet, so don’t go taking our nine lives away.”

“You are so dramatic.” He rolled his eyes.

“Says the one who flies off the handle whenever Ush visits…” The other scoffed.

“Don’t say that show-off’s name in my presence!” He hissed. Literally. His hackles rose and he bore his teeth at that.

“Um, excuse me?”

“What!?” Both of them snapped, flashing furious glares at whoever dared to interrupt their bickering. To say they felt like slapping themselves at the sight of the famous Divine Doll their father had been talking about standing right in front of them, flinching at their outburst, would be an understatement.

“I…Is it a bad time? Should I leave you two alone…?” Amalia trailed off, more than ready to get the Heck out of there when the Ecaflip brothers scrambled to stop her.

“No!” The white-haired one exclaimed, before forcing himself to calm down. He tried again, his tone far kinder, almost like a vendor’s. “No, no, no, my dear. It’s quite alright. You’re not interrupting anything.”

“Just some old brotherly bickering.” The hairless one waved the whole thing off, his large ears tucked to his head betraying his uneasiness. “I’m Atcham, and the lucky fleabag over there is my brother Kerubim. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Kerubim Crépin,” the aforementioned Ecaflip corrected. “But yes, it’s always a pleasure to meet a creature as lovely as you, my Lady.”

That made her giggle, the smile returning to her lips. It was nice to meet someone friendly for a change. “The pleasure is all mine, my name’s Amalia.”

“We know, little lady. Our father has been telling us all about you ever since he met you.” Atcham said, patting the space on the divan beside him and beckoning her closer. Amalia took the seat offered with a smile, careful with her dress.

“I see. It was him who told me to come with you. I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh, but of course! You have nothing to worry about!” Kerubim assured her, picking up the cards scattered over the table separating him and his brother; he began to shuffle them. “This actually reminds me of my adventuring days.”

“Wait, really? You’re an adventurer?” Amalia leaned forward in her seat, awestruck.

Before Kerubim could get a word in, Atcham corrected, “Was. The most adventurous thing he does now is doing his shop’s inventory and drinking his weight’s worth of bamboo milk.”

His hand coming to rest on top of his necklace—two dice hanging from a rope—, Kerubim grumbled, unamused at his brother’s antics. “Come on, cut me some slack. I’m not getting any younger, you know?”

“I’m only slightly younger than you and I still train every day.” Atcham retorted, not missing a beat.

At that, Kerubim harrumphed in offence, his arms folding over his chest as he stuck up his nose in distaste. “And yet, I could still beat you any day of the week.” He spat petulantly.

That got Atcham’s hackles to rise up again, his tail flicking furiously back and forth. Amalia actually had to duck to the side to avoid getting hit by it. “Only because of that ungodly luck of yours, you nepotism-enjoying fleabag!”

Sensing another argument coming, the Divine Doll chose best to intervene, and fast. But mediating between two arguing siblings was easier said and done. She needed to think of something to say that would distract them from each other. But what?

It was then that she caught sight of a waiter balancing a place with several red-tinted glasses. An idea materialising in her mind at the sight.

“I-I had no idea there were potions that could transport you from one place to another!” She sputtered out, causing both Ecaflips to turn back to her with raised eyebrows at the sudden change of topic. “I can’t even imagine the kind of thing we might have had to do to arrive here if it weren’t for your father sending them to us.”

Exchanging one look, both brothers simply shrugged, reclining back in their divans. The doll fought to urge to sigh in relief. “What can we say? That’s what they’re for.” Kerubim mused.

“Those potions certainly make travelling long distances easier.” Atcham agreed, before turning his focus back on Amalia. “But I’m sure you guys would have found a way to make it even without them. After all, you have your portals!”

Amalia chose not to comment on how she’d rather have her intestines pulled out rather than go through another Eliatrope portal. It was pretty much the same experience, after all.

Instead, she said, “I was wondering, how can you get more? You know, out of curiosity.”

But Kerubim and Atcham only shook their heads at her question, their expression regretful. It was Kerubim who spoke. “I’m afraid that isn’t so simple, my dear. Those things are hard to make and even harder to come by, meaning they can be very expensive. Of course, I always try to offer the best possible price to my customers in my shop, but even I can’t really afford to just hand them over either.”

“Which is a pity,” Atcham went on. “Since going anywhere without them can take anywhere from a few days to months, especially if you don’t have mounts like the Cra soldiers or Osamodas do.”

“I see…” That gave Amalia something to think about. So even after all this time the Twelvians hadn’t been able to figure out a better and more accessible way to travel long distances. She was shaken out of her thoughts by the side of a deck of cards being offered to her.

Looking up, she saw it was Kerubim who held it out for her, a smile on his lips. “Care to play with two old fleabags, my Lady? I must warn you, however; we won’t go easy on you just because you’re a Divine Doll.”

Amalia took the cards with a smile. “I’ve always been curious to find out if what they say about Ecaflips and their luck is true.”

“Oh, in that case you’d better throw in the towel now, my pretty. ‘Cause my brother over here is the luckiest cat on the planet, second only to our father.”

“Your father…?” She raised an eyebrow. Master Joris didn’t strike her as the kind to gamble.

“Ecaflip.” Both of them answered in unison, and if Amalia had been drinking anything, she would have done a spit take.

“Your father is Ecaflip?!” She screeched in disbelief. “But I thought it was Master Joris…”

“And he is,” Atcham nodded. “He’s our adoptive father and the one to raise us this current reincarnation.”

��But the Big Tease Himself sired us,” Kerubim finished for him. After a brief pause, he added, “And twenty more children.”

“But that means…” Amalia trailed off, trying to connect the dots even in her disbelieving state. “But that means you’re demigods like me!”

“Why did you think our dad sent you here with us?” Kerubim winked at her with a smirk on his lips.

Amalia opened her mouth to speak… and promptly closed it again. That actually made sense. However, she had no time to dwell on the implications behind that before a million questions pushed through in her mind.

“And what’s it like?” She blurted out. When her fellow demigods sent her matching questioning glances, she elaborated. “I mean, being an Ecaflip demigod. I… really haven’t met any before now.”

Their faces lighting up in understanding, the brothers exchanged another glance, this time to decide who should speak. With a gesture from Kerubim, it was Atcham who eventually explained:

“It’s not really that different from being a regular Ecaflip, really.” He shrugged before placing down one of his cards as the game went on. He jabbed a finger his hairy brother’s way, “As I said, this one was especially famous in his prime for being extremely lucky, being Ecaflip’s favourite and all… But other than that, we get a watered-down version of our father’s immortality in the form of nine lives or reincarnations, a place inside the Ecaflip dimension, and not much else, really.”

“Wait, your father plays favourites?” Amalia echoed, aghast. Out of everything the hairless cat had shared with her, her brain had locked in on that particular fact, the concept feeling foreign to her.

“You bet.” Atcham nodded, while Kerubim tried to be a bit more diplomatic.

“It’s a very common thing among parents, even if they don’t mean to. Although in my case I believe it has to do with the fact that he actually got to ‘raise’ me and grow attached to me, at least, that’s what dad said. It all happened in a past life, you see. And we don’t get to remember those.” He explained, placing his own card down, causing Atcham to click his tongue in distaste as he saw he had the upper hand. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ve experienced something similar with your father, my Lady.”

“What? No, never!” Amalia protested, visibly offended. The mere idea was preposterous. “Father has always been nothing but kind and loving towards every single one of us; he would never play favourites.”

As the Divine Doll focused back on her cards—namely to try not to get too demolished playing against two Ecaflip demigods—, the siblings shared knowing glances. They debated whether to tell her or not, but ultimately chose not to.

What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

..................................................................................................................

It had been less than an hour since Amalia went looking for Master Joris’ sons, and they had already established conversation with at least five different rulers. It was still too soon to determine if they were truly welcoming of their people now or not, but at least bridges were beginning to be built.

The Iops were a boisterous bunch, although Qilby didn’t appreciate how they seemed to have no interest in the overwhelming source of knowledge he provided, or how they insisted on focusing on the seemingly more physically imposing members of their group. Yugo and Adamaï actually had to stop Chibi and Grougal from entertaining their desire for a playful match, knowing their siblings would demolish them. Phaeris had been challenged to a fight too, but he had always been far wiser in choosing his battles.

All in all, they seemed like perfectly amicable people, and the least likely to be scheming anything behind their backs. If only because they lacked the capacity to come up with long-term plots…

If possible, the Pandawas were even more affable. The only thing bigger than their queen’s size was her generosity. Not even five minutes into the conversation and she had already offered to share her people’s bamboo milk with them. It took a lot of convincing and a very diplomatic approach on Yugo and Adamaï’s part to kindly reject her offer; they really couldn’t afford to be intoxicated while trying to foster positive relationships with the World of Twelve’s natives.

The Sufokians were… interesting, to say the least. While they remained unfailingly polite throughout the entire conversation, the empress and his son were particularly standoffish. Their every word seemed to convey a hidden meaning, and the Eliatropes couldn’t tell if they simply didn’t hold them in high regard or if, on the contrary, they didn’t value any other nation beyond their own. It was safe to say at first glance they were the least welcoming of them out of everyone they had talked to tonight.

After talking to the Sram and Enutrof royals—and swearing they weren’t after their kamas to the latter—, Joris redirected them back to Queens Astra and Selene; Bonta’s rulers were seemingly engrossed in their own conversation. When the members of the Council arrived to their side, it was Selene who picked up on their presence.

“Ah, I see you’re making good use of your time by acquainting yourselves with the other world leaders. I trust everything is going smoothly?”

“We could not have asked for more, Your Majesty. We are truly grateful for this opportunity.” Yugo spoke for all of them, the Eliatropes and their dragon siblings bowing politely in unison to show their sincerity.

“We only regret that the Brakmarians weren’t as willing to give us a chance.” Adamaï added, testing the waters. If he played his cards right, he could use both nations’ rivalry to get into Bonta’s good graces.

His plan seemed to work, for a smirk drew itself on Astra’s lips. “It can’t be helped, Brakmar has always done their own thing. Such a backwards nation…” She shook her head regretfully, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Your Majesty, what do you mean by that?” Nora asked, intrigued.

“Brakmar’s way of doing things clashes immensely with Bonta’s, and not just because both nations were founded by opposing forces.” Selene explained, although she didn’t elaborate on that last nugget of information. “For instance, Brakmar doesn’t allow women to even attend a gobbowl match, let alone play on their team!”

“It is simply barbaric.” Astra agreed with a scoff.

“Please, forgive my ignorance, my Queens, but what is gobbowl?” Yugo inquired, genuinely curious. Though he was mostly trying to distract the Bontarians from noticing Phaeris and Mina restraining a fuming Nora from going to Brakmar and giving their rulers a piece of her equal-opportunity-opinionated mind.

“Oh, that’s true. You haven’t been here long enough to learn about it.” Astra said.

The attending members of the Council of Six collectively chose not to point out that the Twelvians hadn't really allowed them to know more about their culture until less than a week ago. Instead, they focused their attention on Joris as he went on to explain.

“Gobbowl is the World of Twelve’s most popular sport, played all over the planet, regardless of the nation.” He explained with the same stoicism so characteristic of him. “However, out of all the nations, no one can match Bonta and Brakmar’s love for it.”

“Although, in Brakmar’s case, it’s more fanaticism than love.” Selene pointed out with a sneer. “They hold it in such high regard they even allow their team’s best player to make decisive calls during trials. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to believe their authority surpasses that of the Prince of Brakmar himself!”

“There’s a match tomorrow, if you’re interested, you can experience it for yourselves. I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourselves immensely.” Astra offered, and that was the most genuine she’d sounded all evening.

“Thank you kindly, Your Majesty. We’ll think about it.” Yugo replied. “But I believe we should focus first on our diplomatic mission.”

The queens nodded, with Astra motioning for them to follow her. “Of course. There’s actually someone I believe you should meet.” She told them right before leading them somewhere else in the ballroom.

Yugo immediately understood everything as soon as the monarch stopped, gesturing at the people staring back at them expectantly. “King Yugo, esteemed members of the Eliatrope Council, allow me to introduce you to the Sadida King and Crown Prince; King Oakheart and Prince Armand Sheran Sharm.”

Yugo’s first thought upon finally coming face to face with the representatives of the nature god responsible for the curious little doll living with them had to be that, if Amalia was indiscernible from a regular Sadida woman, then the men got the short end of the stick in the beauty department.

No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t like male Sadida were ugly per se, it was that it was impossible to tell what they were. Period. The way their hair completely covered their faces did not help matters. Even so, the fact that he couldn’t see their faces didn’t mean he couldn’t sense their aura.

Even without his wakfu vision, the Eliatrope could feel the sheer power and resilience radiating off their royal family. Just the sight of them was enough for him to fully believe their patron god had played a key role in creating the world they all now lived in.

Out of the father and son duo, Prince Armand was the most conventionally attractive, even if he wasn’t exempt from his dreadlocked bangs hiding his face from view. What little the Eliatrope King could see of his face, he seemed to possess a squared, chiselled jaw that went alongside his cultivated physique. The fact that he essentially paraded said physique for all to see also helped bring attention to his sculpted body.

Judging by the way all Sadida present dressed, that is to say, scarcely so, it was clear to see Amalia’s fondness for showing some skin—and going barefoot—was a cultural thing. It was even more shocking to realise Amalia’s fashion choices were actually quite modest in comparison. In fact, Yugo didn’t know what to do with himself at that revelation. His poor heart certainly wouldn’t be able to take it.

If Prince Armand was tall, around Yugo’s own height, that was nothing compared to his father. King Oakheart seemed to be even slightly taller than Adamaï, horns included. He wasn’t as conventionally attractive as his son, with his girth being considerably greater to go along with his height, and his (facial?) hair was far more dishevelled than his son’s well-trimmed do, but his eyes still radiated the kind of wisdom and strength only a true leader could possess.

Yugo was sure he’d been alive far longer than any other person in this ballroom, and he still could only hope to one day transmit the same energy as the Sadida King did with just his gaze.

However, regardless of the respect they were due because of their position, more importantly, they were Amalia’s people. If there was someone whose good graces they needed to be in, that was them.

Which was why Yugo actually went down on one knee as he greeted them, his siblings following suit shortly after. “It is an immense honour to make your acquaintance, oh, powerful Sadida.”

“It is good to finally meet under better circumstances.” Armand commented, and Yugo could feel a chill running down his spine at the tone he used. Surely he couldn’t be talking about…

“It’s all fallen leaves, now, Armand.” The king lightly chided his son, his eyes glinting in warning. His expression turned kinder as he settled his eyes back on the Eliatropes. “Please, forgive my son, King Yugo. As you know, a king can never be too cautious, although his distrusting nature can have its own undesirable consequences.”

Privately, Yugo couldn’t help but think Prince Armand and Efrim actually had a lot in common.

“There is nothing to forgive, for you speak the truth.” Yugo said as he rose from his bowed down position, choosing to remain cordial. “But I must agree with the prince, it is great to finally be able to interact under much better circumstances.”

King Oakheart tossed his head back and let out a thunderous laugh. “Indeed, indeed. And what better circumstances than getting to meet Sadida’s eleventh doll? Her birth alone is a momentous occasion for our people.”

“I can only imagine, my King.” Yugo nodded.

Armand made a show of looking around. “And where is this famed eleventh Divine Doll? I expected her to be a part of your entourage.”

“Armand…” His father warned him, far too familiar with his son’s abrasive and distrusting nature.

But Yugo just let it all wash over him, his smile unfaltering. “Seeing as she is not used to such gatherings, Amalia seemed exhausted. So, as per Master Joris’ suggestion, I told her to rest a little alongside his sons.”

When father and son looked down at the ambassador for confirmation, their worries were put to rest by the nod of his head.

“How gracious of you, King Yugo.” Armand said kindly, but it wasn’t enough to hide the slight sarcasm that dripped from his words. “It’s such a relief to see you take such good care of your bride.”

Just like it did every time any other leader mentioned the same thing, hearing the word ‘bride’ was enough for Yugo to flinch uncomfortably, an action he tried to cover up by clearing his throat. It also caused his siblings to discreetly roll their eyes at how obvious he was being. “While I thank you for your kind words, Prince Armand, it’s hardly anything to write home about. After all, being mindful of how someone’s feeling is just basic decency.”

“Indeed.” The Sadida prince concurred.

“However, there is a correction I wish to make.”

That got their attention. After exchanging a look with his son, King Oakheart urged him to continue. “Do tell.”

Much like he’d done every time this same conversation took place, Yugo took a deep breath through his nose and prayed his mother would have mercy on him. While admitting to this was meant precisely to avoid future conflicts with the Twelvians, admitting it at all could also lead to trouble. For now, they could only hope for the best.

“The thing is…” He started, hoping beyond hope the Sadidas wouldn’t take this as a declaration of war or something of the sort. “While Amalia was certainly sent to us for the purpose of becoming my bride, I must admit that is not the case. There is nothing between us beyond a close friendship.”

“Is that so?” The king raised an eyebrow, but because he could get another word in, the Eliatrope rushed in to clarify.

“Do not misunderstand, please. My people and I are extremely grateful to have been blessed with such an honour as it is to have been sent a Divine Doll, it is simply that I—our people aren’t in need of a queen, and I would hate for Amalia to feel trapped fulfilling a role that cannot guarantee her happiness.

“Rest assured, however, we are doing everything in our power to ensure she feels welcomed and at home at all times.” He did not need to turn around to sense his siblings sending Nora meaningful glances, their younger sister dutifully keeping her mouth shut for once. Mina in particular had a hand over her shoulder in warning.

The Sadida royals could only blink in surprise at that, not sure what else to say. Finally, after an awkward pause, the king cleared his throat as he straightened himself up, Prince Armand mimicking his actions.

“That is… quite alright, King Yugo.” Oakheart said, not sure where to even begin. “As my son will be able to tell you, we know how challenging it can be to make someone that’s not from the same culture as you feel welcome alongside your own.”

For once, Armand seemed to agree. “Indeed. My wife, Aurora, is an Osamodas princess. It certainly took a while for us to find more common ground once we got married. It certainly helped when she developed a fondness for our haute couture.” He revealed with unmistakable fondness in his voice.

Yugo almost shuddered upon realising the emotionless Osamodas woman with the bangs covering half her face was the prince’s consort. Was it too bad to hope she wasn’t around whenever he had to interact with her in-laws?

“Nevertheless,” King Oakheart’s hearty voice broke him out of his musings. “We certainly hope you eventually get to introduce Lady Amalia to us. Her existence truly is a blessing for our people.”

Sharing knowing looks with Adamaï, Yugo allowed a genuine smile to grace his features.

“Of course. I’m sure she’ll love that.”

....................................................................................................................

Amalia was having a blast with Kerubim and Atcham. Granted, she hadn't won a single game, but getting to witness the two siblings bickering over the pettiest things was unendingly entertaining. She might have lost every single round, but she’d been laughing heartily almost the entire time she spent with them.

“I’m telling you, she kissed me as thanks for helping her!” Kerubim insisted for the fortieth time since the conversation began.

Atcham simply rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”

The white-haired Ecaflip pouted. “Why don’t you ever believe me about this sort of thing?”

“Because there’s no reason why a young, beautiful lady like the one you’re describing would ever kiss an old fleabag like yourself, gratitude be darned!” He slammed his cards hard against the table, tired of always hearing the same old song and dance. “If you told me this all happened back when you were still young, maybe I would believe you, but at your age?” He let out a loud, sarcastic cackle before turning his focus back on his cards. “Keep dreaming.”

“It’s still more believable than you losing to Ush because he keeps attacking you whenever you’re distracted…” Kerubim grumbled to himself. When he realised what he’d just said, though, it was already too late.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to utter that black cat’s name in my presence?!” The hairless Ecaflip bellowed. Even from where Amalia was sitting, it looked as if the vein in his forehead was about to pop.

As Atcham threw himself at his brother and the two of them began to roughhouse, Amalia, who had long given up on playing against them, simply leaned back on the divan, an eyebrow raised. Already used to the old Ecaflips’ childish shenanigans, she remained unflappable as they fought. But she was curious as to what they even argued about.

“Who’s Ush?” She asked, causing the brothers to halt mid-fight.

Knowing better than to be rude to a lady, the two of them broke away from each other’s hold and dusted themselves off. With a clearing of his throat, it was Kerubim who explained. “Ush Galesh is another one of Ecaflip’s demigod sons, my dear.”

“Oh, so he’s your brother?”

Atcham scoffed at the mere thought. “In name only. Not only is he from another litter, but he’s got the emotional maturity of a teenager. And the arrogance to match.”

While the doll blinked, not sure what to make of it all, Kerubim elaborated on, “Remember what we told you about our father playing favourites, my dear?” Amalia nodded. “Well, Ush never really took not being his favourite well. Even if he claims to hate our father, it’s plain to see he’s just resentful and envious because he doesn’t hold that place in his heart.

“Now, if there’s one thing Atcham is right about is the fact that Ush never really matured. He takes his anger out on anyone who crosses him and, rather than rely on his natural luck and skill as an Ecaflip, he always makes sure to have the upper-hand whenever he faces an opponent.”

“The upper-hand…?” Amalia tilted her head in confusion.

“He cheats. At everything.” Atcham told her bluntly. Then, he sent his brother a pointed look, as if daring him to contradict him, “Including our fights.”

Kerubim chose to keep his mouth shut for once.

“I see...” Amalia eventually spoke up, rubbing her arm uneasily. “Then it’s no wonder you don’t like hearing about him.”

Kerubim just shrugged. “It is what it is, my dear. Not all siblings will get along just because they’re blood related. Sometimes families are torn apart by internal factors and everyone is much happier on their own.”

That gave Amalia pause, her expression dimming. Truth be told, she hadn’t quite got over what they said about parents playing favourites, or how that applied even to her father. Would that happen to her family? Was it possible that Sadida played favourites or treated some of his daughters better than the rest and that might cause them to drift apart?

She was his youngest daughter and his masterpiece, according to the Leafy God Himself. Did that make her one of his favourites or…?

Sensing they put the very Divine Doll they were supposed to be looking after on edge, Kerubim and Atcham exchanged panicked glances. What would people think if they found out they made a Sadida Doll cry? They would be branded as worse than some of the most despicable criminals to roam the face of the planet!

People would stop coming to the shop!

As they were running out of ideas on how to cheer Amalia up, Kerubim blurted out, “Would you like something to drink, my Lady?”

That seemed to do the trick, for Amalia’s head snapped up at them and she regarded them curiously. “What?”

“Would you like something to drink?” He repeated, making good use of his vendor’s voice. “It’s been a long night. I’m sure you could use something to quench your thirst.”

Now that he mentioned it, Amalia was feeling quite parched. Something to drink should do her some good. “I actually rather enjoyed some very nice fruit punch from the food table right before we were summoned to dinner. Do you think you could get me a glass of that?” She asked them politely with a smile.

“One glass of fruit punch coming right up!” Both siblings immediately sprang into action, giving her military salutes before turning around and heading over to the refreshments table.

As Amalia watched them go, amused, she almost jumped right out of her skin when a suave voice whispered in her ear, “I thought they’d never leave.”

Whirling around in surprise, her eyes widened in shock at the person standing before her.

“Count Harebourg.” She gasped.

“Lady Amalia.” He greeted back, a grin on his face. “I was wondering if you would be interested in granting me that dance?”

Amalia actually hesitated. While it was true she longed to go to the dancefloor and that she had been pleasantly surprised by how the count truly looked, she couldn’t quite get over the feeling she got around him. More specifically, the feeling that emanated from Yugo.

Even though she came to understand the king’s uncharacteristically hostile behaviour came from the fact that the Xelor was paying attention to her, she still didn’t understand what caused it exactly. After all, her main purpose for tonight was to have people paying attention to her, and he hadn’t been anywhere near as angry when others interacted with her throughout the evening. So why did he act like that around Count Harebourg?

There was also the fact that the count himself emanated a dangerous kind of energy. She didn’t know why, but despite Harebourg’s sweet words and kind compliments, the doll couldn’t bring herself to be truly comfortable around him.

She was about to turn him down when her eyes instinctively searched for Yugo, worried about his reaction. What she saw instead made her grit her teeth in distaste.

Standing all the way from over the other side of the room, yet drawing her eye like a beacon of light inside a dark space, was the Eliatrope King. And he wasn’t alone. Beside him was the Eniripsa Queen, quite the buxom beauty who kept inspecting the muscles and tattoos on his exposed arms with keen interest. And all Yugo could do in response was flush furiously and sheepishly while making no attempt at wriggling himself free from her grasp.

Amalia’s irritation flared at the scene. So there she was, worrying about his feelings over seeing her with the count while he let whoever roam their hands all over his body. But again, what else was new? Just like she’d been trying to reach out to him and grow closer, he had been doing everything in his power to avoid her. He only started treating him decently now because he needed her.

Fine, if that was how it was going to be, she would help him get in Frigost’s good graces.

Putting on her most charming smile, she took Count Harebourg’s offered hand. “It will be my pleasure to dance with you, Your Grace.”

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine.” The count smiled back, a predatory glint in his eye that went unnoticed by Amalia.

.....................................................................................................................

Adamaï could only blink on, unamused, as his brother let himself be inspected by the Eniripsa Queen, choosing that moment to excuse himself to get some drinks. He understood they were on a mission to foster better relationships between their people and the Twelvians, but surely, there had to be a line somewhere. Just with a quick glance at the fairy’s aura it was easy to tell she had no real interest in his brother beyond a medical one, but given how shy and easily-flustered around women Yugo could get, Adamaï was half-expecting him to self-combust anytime soon.

Having said that, this was nothing compared to the way their king’s brain would draw a blank whenever it came to the pretty flower they harboured.

That evening, the dragon had to resist the urge to roll his eyes to the back of his skull in exasperation when his twin caught sight of the Divine Doll looking all dolled-up—pun not-intended. He was starting to become intimately familiar with the way Yugo’s breath hitched at the sight of her, the small, almost imperceptible gasp that would leave his mouth each time Amalia donned a different outfit than the one they were used to seeing her with.

As expected, the moment Yugo went through his portal and landed by her side, he had the exact same reaction. His eyes widened as they travelled up and down every little detail of her body, from her shawl to her skirt, drinking her in. His fingers clearly twitched at the idea of reaching out with his hand and caressing her loose, forest-green hair. And his cheeks were dusted in pink the longer he stared at her.

How Amalia hadn’t noticed all that was beyond him.

He was so head over heels for his precious flower it was almost laughable. Except for two key factors: on the one hand, Yugo refused to admit, even to himself, that he felt anything for Amalia rather than a close friendship; and, on the other hand, in his denial and for reasons Adamaï himself didn’t fully understand for once, he insisted on keeping her as far away as possible.

And whether his twin realised it or not, that alone was pushing Amalia away.

If he didn’t put a stop to whatever hesitation he was feeling at the moment, and soon, he would lose her forever, regardless of what she could have done for their people.

Just as he returned, two glasses in hand, the Eniripsa Queen seemed to have grown bored with her inspection of the king’s physique and moved on to Nora. Given the queen’s analytical mind, it was plain to see she was far more interested in seeing the anatomical differences between male and female Eliatropes, but seeing as his younger sister was never one to turn down an offer to have a gorgeous woman near, Nora looked as pleased as punch.

The same could not be said for Yugo, who was hunched forward with his hands resting on his knees, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. Adamaï almost snorted at the sight. It didn’t matter if his twin was twenty or several hundred years old; he did not know how to deal with women.

Not for the first time, Adamaï thanked their mother Amalia seemed completely unaware of the power she held over him. Otherwise, they’d be doomed.

As he tried to regain his breath, having forgotten how to breathe when the Eniripsa Queen began to fondle his biceps, Yugo saw the glass offered to him from the corner of his eye. Looking up, he saw Adamaï looking down at him with an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Thirsty?” The dragon asked, shaking the glass in front of him to get his attention.

Rolling his eyes at the ill-concealed double entendre, Yugo took the drink and took a greedy gulp. “Thank you.”

Adamaï shrugged. “Don’t mention it.” He flashed his brother a crooked smile that sent a shiver down his spine. “It must be nice being so popular.”

Yugo pouted. “Shut up. You know it’s not like that.”

“Of course, I know. But just because I know it doesn’t mean others won’t take your insistence on Amalia not being your bride as an open invitation to send wedding proposals to you.”

Yugo almost choked on his drink. “What? No! Of course not!” He insisted, offended. “Can you imagine the uproar that would cause? I can already hear the gossip: ‘The Eliatrope King turns down a Sadida Doll to marry one of our royals instead. How scandalous!’,” he mocked in an overly nasally voice. Then, he scoffed. “Please, as if I would jeopardise our kingdom’s well-being by offending the Twelvians because I disrespected a Divine Doll sent specifically for me…”

Adamaï raised an eyebrow at that, knowing that wasn’t exactly the reason why he wouldn’t choose anyone over Amalia. But he chose not to comment on it. Yugo wasn’t willing to be honest with his feelings, not even to himself, and trying to force someone as stubborn as him to see reason was like pulling teeth.

A real pain.

“And what about fostering better relationships by letting Amalia marry somebody else?”

Again, Yugo almost did a spit take at his twin's words. Whirling himself to face the dragon so fast it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash, he asked, his voice strangled. “What?”

Shaking his head, Adamaï sighed. “Nothing, forget I said anything.”

Narrowing his eyes on his brother, suspicious, Yugo eventually chose to let it go… Only for him to start yet again when Adamaï said, “I’m just saying, if you insist on explaining to everyone that Amalia isn’t your bride, yet you stand around her like a guard dog whenever someone else seems taken by her, you might end up sending mixed messages.”

“‘Mixed messages’?” He repeated, incredulous. “What are you talking about, Ad?”

But Ad limited himself to sending him a pointed look. And yet, that was enough for Yugo to understand what he meant immediately.

Oh. That.

That didn’t mean he was willing to admit to anything. Sulking, he faced forwards, refusing to meet the dragon in the eye, and took another sip of his drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

If it weren’t so frustrating, Adamaï would have actually laughed. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? You’re going to pretend your powers weren’t about to go haywire at the sight of Count Harebourg flirting with Amalia?”

“Hate to break it to you, Big Brother,” Nora’s sarcastic voice said practically out of nowhere. Apparently, the Eniripsa Queen had got what she’d been looking for already, leaving her free. “But green looks much better on Amalia than on you.”

Yugo frowned, knowing he was going to regret even asking, “What does that even mean?”

“Jealousy.” Qilby oh-so-helpfully supplied, appearing out of nowhere alongside the rest of his siblings. “You were seething with jealousy because your precious flower was no longer paying attention solely to yourself.”

“It’s normal to feel threatened when you stop being the hottest guy in the room. I would know.” Chibi teased, bringing a hand to his chest in mock solidarity.

Their king actually flushed at that. “That has nothing to do with anything!”

“Then what is the problem?” Mina challenged, an eyebrow raised. The calm in her voice underlaid the fact that her question was merely a formality, for she already knew the answer. She’d known long before Yugo, who still refused to open his eyes to the obvious. “If you’re not bothered by Count Harebourg’s interest in Amalia, then why did you react so strongly to it?”

Pursing his lips in thought, Yugo stubbornly chose to avert his gaze, letting out a sigh through his nose as he took another sip of his drink. “It’s not what you think.”

Because it simply couldn’t be what they all thought. He wasn’t jealous of Count Harebourg! Jealousy implied he feared he would lose Amalia to that half-blind Xelor. But that was ridiculous! The only way he could ever fear losing Amalia to another would be if he had feelings for her, and that wasn’t it.

As fond as he was of Amalia, it was purely platonic. He was only protective of her because, despite her appearance, she was so young and naïve to the world around her. Her child-like wonder and innocence left her vulnerable to being manipulated for someone’s own selfish gain.

He could’ve laughed at the thought. In a way, their situations were the opposite of each other: whereas Amalia was built to be a woman yet retained a delightfully young personality, Yugo had spent decades trapped in a child’s body despite his adult mind. And yet, the two suffered the same predicament—regardless of what they did to prove themselves, nobody ever took them seriously.

As a result, Yugo would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a strong kinship with the Divine Doll. Their similar interests and circumstances—including but not limited to their origins, which were extraordinary even by divine standards—made it all incredibly easy to grow close to her. But there were lines he shouldn’t cross. For both their sakes.

Falling in love with her was one of such lines he would not dare cross.

He was rudely reminded of that fact that day on the beach, and he hadn’t allowed himself to forget about it ever since.

Explaining what love was to Amalia and remembering why she had been sent to him in the first place was a sobering reminder of why he couldn’t afford to let his guard down and fall for her. Doing so didn’t just mean potentially falling for whatever trap the gods had set for his people, but it also meant robbing Amalia of her chance to experience love for herself.

If she truly became his bride, then she would be chained to him for as long as he lived. And the fact that she had been made precisely for that meant she would never be able to aspire for more. Whatever love she believed she felt for him would be a lie, and she didn’t deserve to think whatever one-sided thing there would be between them was love.

She might be a Divine Doll, but she wasn’t an object.

Which, apparently, nobody else seemed to be aware of. Wherever he looked, he saw people determined to worm their way into her life and gain her trust so they could eventually use her to further their goals. Inside these walls, Amalia wasn’t her own person, she wasn’t even a Divine Doll worthy of respect and admiration; she was the perfect political tool.

And everyone was frothing at the mouth at the mere thought of getting their hands on her.

And Yugo just knew Count Harebourg was the worst out of them. His intentions towards Amalia were downright sinister, no charming façade or well-constructed mask would be able to hide that.

Unbeknownst to him, his hold on his glass became a little bit tighter.

Just as Yugo got lost in his own thoughts, his siblings shared worried glances. More importantly, they were frustrated. Not just because Yugo was making things unnecessarily difficult for himself—they’d known him long enough to know that was just a staple of him—, but because they couldn’t do much to help. As close as they all were, Yugo had always liked dealing with his issues alone, sometimes not even Adamaï had access to his innermost worries and desires. The most they could do was to try and talk to him and hope something they said stuck with him long enough for him to see the error of his ways.

It was clear his feelings for Amalia would be no different.

Waiting for their king to snap out of his trance on his own, Grougaloragran let his gaze sweep around the room, bored with the lack of action. For a moment, his eyes landed on the dancefloor and the couples moving to the beat of the music but, growing disinterested even as he saw Amalia in Count Harebourg’s arms, swaying to the music, he focused on somewhere else.

…until what he’d just borne witness to registered in his mind and he was forced to do a double take.

Oh, Yugo was not going to like this.

“Uh, Yugo?” He called out to his king over his shoulder. “Grougaloragran believes you should take a look at this.”

Letting out a sigh, Yugo began, “What is it, Grougal—?”

Only to be immediately cut off by what he saw.

As his eyes followed Amalia and Harebourg as they danced, his blood reached the boiling temperature. A loud crack! echoed throughout the room as whatever remained of his drink splashed against the floor, the shattered pieces of glass falling from his hand.

...................................................................................................................

“I must admit I didn’t expect you to be such a talented dancer, my Lady.” Count Harebourg mused aloud. “Have you ever danced before?”

“You seem to be forgetting my father is known precisely for dancing on the ridges once spring arrives, Your Grace. It is only natural that his own daughters would follow in his footsteps.” Amalia smirked.

The Xelor chuckled. “How shameful of me. I hope you can forgive me, Lady Amalia.” He told her jokingly.

Amalia pretended to think about it. “Well, I suppose I can be merciful just this once.” She giggled.

“You have my thanks.” Count Harebourg smirked back at her.

Amalia had to admit, this wasn’t so bad. Sure, a part of her would’ve still preferred to dance with Yugo, but the count acted like the perfect gentleman the whole time. She was finally having some fun of her own, and Count Harebourg always made sure to make her feel comfortable and beautiful, constantly showering her with compliments and words of praise. She didn’t understand how she’d come to doubt him before.

She wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the night with someone who actually seemed to care about her.

“Do you know that we actually have something in common, my Lady?”

Amalia hummed absentmindedly, asking him to elaborate on that.

“I’m actually a demigod myself.” The count explained, and Amalia almost had to do a double take at that.

Her brown eyes wide, she asked, “You are?”

It was the count’s turn to hum. “That’s right. Xelor is my father.” He chuckled, but it sounded hollow. “I suppose that much was to be expected, given my race.”

“Oh.” For a while that was all Amalia could say, her brain scrambling to catch up with the conversation. Finally, she weakly offered. “Um, I remember meeting him in Inglorium. Right before I was sent here…”

“Oh? And, do tell, what was he like?”

A strained smile stretched over the doll’s lips. What was she supposed to say?! She had barely talked to the guy for, what, five minutes? That was hardly enough time to form an educated opinion on someone’s true character. Especially when all you could focus on as you talked to them was the fact that their eyes and mouth were on their torso and how disturbing that whole imagery was.

“He has his mouth and eyes on his torso. That’s creepy.” Her eyes widened in alarm when she realised she actually said that aloud.

She felt a little bit better when she heard him laugh, loud and unrestrained. He had a nice laugh. The feeling didn’t last long, being replaced shortly after by anxiousness taking hold of her heart at what he said next.

“That’s actually the nicest thing that comes to mind whenever I think about him.” Count Harebourg admitted, taking his hand off her waist to wipe a tear off his eye.

“Really?” Amalia found herself asking. Her heartbeat skyrocketed when the white-haired man’s face morphed into a much more sombre expression.

He remained quiet for a second, pensive, and then, with the same tone of voice one would use to share a secret, he told her:

“Lady Amalia, the truth is I hate my father.”

.....................................................................................................................

To say Yugo was livid would be an understatement. His left eye hadn’t stopped twitching since he caught sight of Count Harebourg with his hands all over Amalia. He had half the mind not to open a portal right beside him and shoot a wakfu beam at the space between them as his first, and only, warning.

The half of his mind who held him back from inflicting bodily harm on that pompous, one-eyed Xelor was called Adamaï, and he was very busy trying to keep up with his Eliatrope twin while the latter was on the verge of suffering a conniption.

“Look at him, flirting so shamelessly with someone else's bride. Can you believe it!?” Yugo all but screeched, gesturing wildly at the two as they danced.

It took every ounce of the dragon’s strength not to roll his eyes in exasperation. “Um, didn't you just spend about half an hour going around and explaining that, while we're truly honoured to take Amalia in, she is not your bride?”

“Yes, but I didn't explain it to him!” Yugo shot back, irate.

“Of course you didn’t.” Adamaï couldn’t help but to think to himself. Aloud, he said, “If it bothers you so much, why don’t you just go talk to them?”

“I can’t just do that!”

“Right, because doing so would be essentially admitting that you’re jealous.”

“I’m not—!” Yugo began, raising his voice. At least, until he noticed the curious eyes staring back at him for his outburst, which caused him to force himself to lower his voice, almost to a whisper. “I’m not jealous.”

This time, Adamaï did roll his eyes in annoyance, but his twin ignored him.

Yugo was having a really hard time standing still. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to march over there, grab Count Harebourg by the shoulder, maybe punch him in the face for good measure, and bring Amalia back to them. But, on the other hand, doing so could result in a number of consequences he’d do best to avoid.

Firstly, much to his chagrin, Count Harebourg was an important figure in the World of Twelve, being the ruler of Frigost and all. Secondly, he really didn’t want to cultivate the image of a violent, ill-tempered king who went around punching people he didn’t like. There was no point in trying to be diplomatic this whole time if he then acted anything but. And finally, there was Amalia herself.

Even if every fibre of his being was telling him to go get her, he still had no right to interfere. Regardless of her nature, she was not an object and she wasn’t a child, she could make her own decisions. He couldn’t just intervene in her business, especially when they were nothing to each other, at least not romantically.

As he brought a hand to his chest in an attempt to alleviate the painful pang that resounded in his ribcage at that particular train of thought, he almost didn’t hear Adamaï when he said, “Seriously, if it bothers you so much, you could always talk things out with Count Harebourg. After all, technically speaking, you’re higher up in the pecking order.”

Under no circumstances, shape or form did the two of them let out high-pitched screams at the sudden sound of Master Joris’ voice coming from behind them.

“If I were you, I’d be careful around Count Harebourg, Your Majesty.” Master Joris’ warning rang ominously, his black eyes narrowed into slits. Once he’d recovered from the fright, his words registering in his mind, Yugo couldn't help but scoff.

“You can just call me Yugo, Master Joris. After all, you already trespassed our territory uninvited. What's the point in formality?”

Unbeknownst to him, Joris squinted his eyes at him, intrigued by the new edge in the king’s voice. One that, interestingly enough, hadn't been there when he indeed presented himself at his palace, uninvited. Though glancing back at the dancing couple, he had a pretty good guess as to why that was.

“Anyway, why do you say that? Do you know the count?”

Joris nodded. Honestly, he wished he didn't. “Count Harebourg is an old enemy of mine.”

Yugo and Adamaï’s eyes widened at such revelation, taken aback. “Aren't you an esteemed member of Bonta’s court?” Another nod. “Then why would the queen invite one of your enemies to a banquet you will be attending?”

“Because, regardless of his actions, Count Harebourg is still the ruler of Frigost.” His eyes flickered back to Yugo, the way his jaw clenched a clear indication of how serious he was. “The count’s greatest priority is his people, first and foremost. Anything else is superfluous.”

“Isn't that a quality a good leader should have?” Adamaï asked, not following.

“Indeed, all good leaders should worry about their subjects’ well-being.” Joris agreed, but it was short-lived. “However, never to the extent of being willing to sacrifice another nation for their sake. Trust me, Your Majesty, Master Adamaï, Count Harebourg is not above using others to achieve his goals. And I fear someone like Lady Amalia is ripe with opportunity.”

“You think he has ulterior motives for trying to get close to Amalia?”

“All I’m saying is it would be unwise to underestimate him.” Joris insisted, but his answer was already all Yugo needed to know where Harebourg stood.

For the first time since he first met the man a scarce few hours ago, Yugo felt something other than irritation—genuine fear for Amalia's sake. “Is he truly that dangerous?” He asked, his voice uncharacteristically small.

Joris’ expression turned grave. “Let's just say you aren't the only demigods attending, my King.”

The twins exchanged alarmed glances, knowing how dangerous a demigod Xelor could be. Adamaï in particular grew irritated.

“Didn’t you send Amalia to your sons precisely to keep her safe?” He demanded to know.

“And I will have a talk with them about it, Master Adamaï. However, that doesn’t change the fact that Count Harebourg had most likely been waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce.”

Yugo’s heartbeat resounded in his ears, panic taking hold of his heart and squeezing it tightly. He had to clench his fists until his knuckles turned white to keep himself grounded, to prevent himself from creating a string of portals that would lead him directly to Amalia and allow him to hold her close while he took care of that forsaken count.

He couldn’t act on his instincts, he had to be diplomatic about it. It’d be best if they waited until the music died down to go look for her. That was the right choice, the kind of choice a king should make. He was doing the right thing, for himself and his people.

Then why was it physically painful?

Mina’s voice by his side was both a balm to his fears and a fan to the flames. He must have been so out of it he didn’t even register when she slid up next to him.

“I know you’re trying to do the right thing, Yugo.” She told him, her voice kind. How was she so good at seeing right through him? “And the right thing is making sure Amalia is alright.”

He turned his head to look at her, his eyes unblinking. Mina limited herself to pointing at the dancefloor, where the doll and the count were standing in plain sight. “Whatever it is the count’s trying to do, it’s not a simple dance anymore.”

Terror taking over him at the implications behind her words, Yugo snapped his head back to the direction she was pointing at. A powerful thud! resounded in his ribcage at the image before him, his protective senses flaring alongside a sense of rightful fury. Even from where he stood, he could see Amalia, her eyes wide and frantic as a frightened expression clouded over her features. Holding her with a vice-tight grip was Count Harebourg, the look on his face was downright nightmarish. And yet, the most terrifying thing of all had to be the very real possibility that the Xelor might hurt her.

Under Adamaï’s worried eyes, the ears in his hood twitched; that was never a good sign. His fears were confirmed shortly after.

Before the dragon could so much as blink, Yugo had already jumped inside a portal, a bright blue trail following behind him as he moved from one portal to the next, headed straight towards the dancefloor.

Towards Amalia.

Their siblings, who had watched the whole exchange, all sent pointed glances at Nora. Except for Phaeris, who just raised an eyebrow at his sister’s methods. And people said he could be a tad extreme.

“Aren't you supposed to be the mediator? You know, the one who solves conflicts?” Chibi questioned her, incredulous.

But Mina didn’t even flinch at his outburst, her smile remained exactly where it was.

“Sometimes the best way to solve an argument is by causing it.” She shot back enigmatically, before turning around and moving deeper into the throngs of people.

Not for the first time that day, her siblings exchanged helpless glances, hoping beyond hope she didn’t make a mistake. Much like how they prayed to the Great Goddess that Yugo wouldn’t get in trouble for whatever he was about to do.

......................................................................................................................

The count’s words were so unexpected, Amalia couldn’t help but break their hold, taking one step back in shock. As she stared back at the Xelor, her eyes wide in disbelief, the only sound that left her throat was a quiet, “What?”

But the count just shrugged, as if he hadn’t just shaken her perception of reality. “Don’t act so surprised, my Lady. It’s hard to feel any affection for someone who not once has been there for you when you needed him.”

That… made sense, she supposed, just like she could understand Ush’s distaste for his own father if it was true Ecaflip favoured some of his children more than others. Still, there was something in the way the count uttered those words—so matter-of-factly, so casually, almost as if it was a simple, undeniable fact of life—that sent a shiver down her spine.

Her unease only grew with each other word that left her fellow demigod’s mouth.

“And that is another thing you and I have in common.” He let out a mirthless chuckle. “I’ve always heard misery loves company, but I never truly appreciated its meaning until now.”

When the doll found her voice, it was distinctly small and anxious, “I…I don’t think I understand.”

The count’s affable tone did nothing to keep his words from feeling like cold knives aiming at her heart. “But Lady Amalia, don’t you see? We’ve both been abandoned by our respective divine fathers.”

And just like that, the ice cold fear taking hold of her heart melted away, replaced by rightful fury at such blasphemy. How dare he insult her father like that? How dare he insult her like that? How dare he?

“My father has not abandoned me, Your Grace.” She told him firmly, her tone stern as she balled her hands into fists.

Her frown only hardened into a scowl when he had the audacity to laugh at that, to laugh at her.

“Lady Amalia, your faith in your father is wonderfully refreshing, but you must face the facts.” Just then, a shadow passed over his features, the smile disappearing completely from his face. “As soon as you were created, your father dumped you here to serve as somebody else’s bride, with no care for your feelings or input. Can you really tell me Sadida hasn’t forsaken you?”

For a moment, the doll hesitated, biting her lip. Still, her father loved her. She was his masterpiece, he said so himself! And he was extremely saddened to watch her go. Besides, she wasn’t sent to the World of Twelve on a whim of her father’s, she was there for a reason.

“I’m here because the Eliatropes need me—” Amalia began to defend herself, only to be cut off by the sound of the count’s loud, unnerving laughter.

When his cackles died down and he finally looked her in the eye, it made Amalia wish he’d kept his mask on. The look on his face was the stuff of nightmares.

“The Eliatropes, you say?” He asked, even though he didn’t wait for an answer to continue. “Lady Amalia, can’t you see how those low-lives don’t deserve you? They have no right coming to our world and demanding our approval and cooperation. And now they believe themselves worthy of being sent a Divine Doll? They believe themselves worthy of you?” He let out a low, sardonic laugh, his manic eye fixed on her form.

“Don’t make me laugh.”

Before she had time to react or even register the way the partygoers were all looking at them, Count Harebourg held the Sadida Doll by her arms tight enough for her to bruise where his fingertips made contact with her skin. As that ice-powered madman stared deep into her soul, all she could do in her frightened state was to let out a pained gasp.

“Amalia, come with me to Frigost. If there’s one nation in the World of Twelve that would benefit from you becoming its ruler, that’s my home! Together, we can make everyone pay for turning their backs on us, we can get revenge on the gods for siring us and forsaking us when we need them most! For treating us like we’re replaceable instead of their own flesh and blood!

“You and I are kindred spirits, Lady Amalia, and soulmates like us must stick together.” Count Harebourg’s lips curled into a smile that was meant to be encouraging but that, combined with the almost frenzied look in his eye, only made him look like a madman. “You already hold my heart, my Lady, all that’s left to do is for you to become my countess and to rule Frigost by my side.”

Much to her chagrin, Amalia was paralysed, her mind completely blank as she found herself genuinely fearing for her life. The sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears was so loud, and her eyes so fixated on the man in front of her, she remained completely unaware of the surprised gasps echoing all around her or the flashes of blue light coming from her periphery.

Even as the count’s expression darkened into a hate-filled scowl, she remained out of it until the Xelor was shoved back and away from her with incredible force while a pair of strong, warm, protective arms held her close to an equally warm and strong body. For the first time that night, Amalia allowed herself to just melt into that person’s embrace, feeling safe at last.

She could stay in that comforting embrace forever if given the chance.

Once she’d willed her breathing to go back to normal, the doll chanced to glance up at her mysterious saviour. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Yugo, his eyes shining a bright blue as his gaze bore down on the count menacingly, a hand outstretched and glowing ominously in case his opponent tried anything funny.

He held her even closer when Count Harebourg got back up to his feet, his own eye shining with fury at the interruption. “You!” He snarled, encasing his arms in ice sharp enough to cut through steel.

But before a fight could ensue, Queen Astra’s voice cut through the thick atmosphere like a knife. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Count Harebourg.” She warned, her guests parting to let her pass. At her feet, Master Joris brandished his log-backpack, his intentions clear.

One by one, the Bontarian guards stationed alongside the walls all came to point their weapons at the Xelor count, at the same time as the members of the Council of Six all came to their king’s aid, daring their opponent to make his move.

Looking around for a way out, Count Harebourg eventually surrendered, his shoulders slouching in defeat as he dispelled the ice on his arms. But not before flashing Yugo a hate-filled glare, a snarl curling at his lips. And with that, he let himself be enveloped by a cold breeze and disappeared.

As soon as the count vanished, the weight of everything that had just happened, as well as everything leading up to that moment, crashed over Amalia, overwhelming her senses to a point it was almost painful. Her mind a turbulent storm, she wriggled herself free from Yugo’s grasp and stormed off towards the balcony, desperate for some air.

After a quick glance his siblings’ way to ensure they’d be fine without him, a concerned Yugo was soon to follow.

................................................................................................................

The moment she made it past the threshold leading to the balcony, Amalia groaned, exasperated, “That was just infuriating!”

“Can’t really argue with you there. I’ve been getting a bad feeling from the count since we met him.” Yugo agreed, his eyes back to their usual dark brown.

He had to take a step back in surprise when Amalia whirled around to face him, a fire in her eyes, “I was talking about you!”

Yugo’s jaw dropped. “Me? But I just saved you from that freak!”

With a humph! Amalia turned back around, crossing her arms. “I didn’t need your help!” She insisted petulantly.

He couldn’t believe his ears. Mouth agape, he shot back, raising his arms in the air in exasperation. “Don't you see what that guy was trying to do from the very beginning?”

“At first he was just being nice to me!” She countered. Deep down, Amalia knew Yugo was right, but she wasn’t in the right headspace to concede anything. So she pressed on.

“Yeah, to get into your pants!” He shouted.

“I don't see how that's possible, since I’m not even wearing pants today!” She screeched right back.Then, she added, haughtily sticking her nose up in the air. “Besides, you heard Master Joris; no Twelvian in their right mind would dare lay a finger on me.”

Yugo could only blink at her, incredulous. She had to be kidding him. There was no way they were having this conversation. Not after what just happened.

“I’m sorry, but was he supposed to realise he wouldn't dare hurt you before or after he grabbed you by the arms tight enough to leave bruises on your skin?”

Amalia didn’t respond, she just stared stubbornly to the side. That lit a fire within Yugo, the outrage he felt growing by the second. So that was how it was gonna be, huh? He spent the entire night worrying for her safety, trying to look out for her, and even saving her from that lunatic, and this was how she repaid him?

He wouldn’t have been able to keep the bitterness out of his mouth even if he tried. “Maybe I should’ve let him take you to Frigost with him, seeing as you didn’t need my help.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re any better.” She shot back, turning her body completely so her back was to him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The Eliatrope asked, his voice low.

But she didn’t answer. She didn’t even look at him.

So, mustering every last bit of patience he had, he tried again. “Amalia, what’s that supposed to mean?”

She still refused to even acknowledge his presence.

“Amalia!”

Still, nothing. Growing exasperated, Yugo almost reached out to her to force her to look at him, but taking notice of how tender the skin Harebourg had grabbed her by looked, he ultimately decided against it. In the end, he opened a portal right in front of her, determined to get her to explain herself.

What he saw broke his heart in two.

Even as she still refused to meet his eyes, it was plain to see she was crying, the tears streaming down her cheeks regardless of how hard she tried to keep them at bay. And the way she was desperately hugging herself for comfort only made his heart throb painfully.

“Amalia…” His anger momentarily forgotten, he tried reaching out to her, only for her watery voice to stop him in his tracks.

“Deep down you’re just like the count, Yugo.” She said, her words like knives to his heart. “You don’t care about me as a person at all, you only care about what I can offer to you and your people.”

“Amalia, that’s not true at all!” He tried to defend himself, aghast by her accusation. “You’re my friend, of course I care about you!”

Much to his consternation, Amalia let out a loud, sardonic laugh, before her eyes turned into daggers as she finally stared back at him. “Oh, really? Is that why you’ve been ignoring me ever since we came back from the beach? Is that why you haven’t been training in front of my balcony anymore? Why, no matter how hard I try to get close to you, you do everything in your power to avoid me? Is that why you recoil from my touch as if my mere presence disgusted you?!”

As she spoke, each word filled with anger, confusion, and hurt, she took one step forward after another, forcing Yugo to go back little by little. She made sure to punctuate each question with a poke of her finger into his chest. The only reason it hurt had nothing to do with the force behind it, but because her words felt like a suckerpunch.

“What do you expect me to believe, Yugo?” She asked him rhetorically. “What do you expect me to think when the first time in weeks you spend with me has nothing to do with you wanting to be by my side, but because your people need me! Something you couldn’t even talk to me about in person. Oh, no! I had to find out through the Royal tailor!” The doll threw her arms to her sides, the tears falling freely down her cheeks.

“You’re surrounded by your family and people who love you, Yugo, but I only have you. But you…” She choked on her tears, her voice watery and broken from weeks of holding it all back. And yet, Amalia made sure to look him in the eye as she sobbed, “You want nothing to do with me…”

And finally, as her voice broke when she uttered those last few syllables, she brought her hands to her face and she sobbed. Her shoulders going up and down as she hiccuped, brokenhearted. And yet, Yugo felt like he was the one who had his heart ripped off his chest at the sight of her. At the sight of what he’d caused.

Swallowing hard, he was forced to face the truth. Amalia was right. She was right about everything. Since there was no guarantee they would ever fall in love, he had promised he’d be her friend, only to break that promise as soon as he got scared. The moment they came back from the beach he didn’t just keep her at arm’s length, he refused to even see her unless it was absolutely necessary.

And, more often than not, it was her who would be looking for him, not the other way around.

He always got defensive and protective of her whenever she wasn’t near, her happiness becoming a priority. But whenever the doll was within reach, his doubts weighed him down and prevented him from treating Amaia like she deserved.

With a heavy heart, he was forced to realise the only reason Count Harebourg got close to her in the first place had been because he allowed it.

“Amalia, I…” He started, swallowing hard. “I’m so sorry. I… I haven’t been fair to you. I-I got so caught up in other things, I didn’t even realise how that made you feel, and I… I’m so sorry.” Technically, that wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth either. Regardless, he went on. “You don’t deserve the way I’ve been treating you. You’re right, I haven’t been a good friend. But I really want to make it up to you. From now on, I promise to do better, okay?”

She let him place his hands over her shawl-covered shoulders. He supposed that was a start. Tentatively, carefully, he brought his arms around her body, holding her close in an attempt to offer some comfort. His breath almost hitched when she snaked her arms around his sides, just as cautiously. Even in her current state, scared, angry, and tear-stricken, she still allowed him, one of the people responsible for everything, to hug her.

He’d really screwed up, hadn’t he?

After a few more minutes where the only sound that could be heard in the balcony were her quiet sniffles, the Divine Doll broke their hold enough for her to look up at him from under her lashes. Even with her brown eyes red and puffy, Yugo couldn’t help but admire how beautiful she was, his eyes soft.

“You really mean that?” She asked in a small voice.

“Of course!” He assured her. “I promise, I’ll do anything in my power to make it up to you. Is there anything you want to do?”

She remained quiet for a few seconds, pensive, and then… “There’s a thing or two I’d like to do.”

“Tell me, I’m all ears. Whatever it is, we’ll do it.”

“I’d really like to dance with you.” She told him, a flush dusting her cheeks. “I’ve been meaning to ask you all evening, but I didn’t think you would accept.”

He smiled at her. Sometimes she was satisfied with the simplest things. “Of course, I’ll dance with you, Amalia.”

Steadily growing in confidence, she added. “And… and you haven’t said anything about my dress. I lost count of how many times I got pricked by a needle for this, you know?”

If anything, his grin only widened. “There’s no words to describe how you look, Amalia.” He told her honestly.

Her blush deepening, the doll had to cough slightly before she finally said, glancing shyly back at him. “You… you don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Why, thank you. Anything else?”

“Yes, I’d like to do something fun while we’re here in Bonta.”

“Actually, I might just have the perfect thing.” He smirked.

“Oh?”

“That’s right. Queen Astra suggested we stay to watch the gobbowl game taking place tomorrow. Apparently, it’s a huge deal around here.”

Amalia wasn’t quite sure what to expect. “If you say so…”

...................................................................................................................

As they watched the Eliatrope King and Sadida’s eleventh doll dancing, both of them sporting blinding smiles on their faces as they swayed to the music and King Yugo twirled Amalia around, her skirt and shawl fluttering behind her with every step, Prince Armand couldn’t help but raise a curious eyebrow at the display. He turned to his father.

“Do you really believe there’s nothing going on between them—?”

“Not even for a second, son.”

.............................................................................................................

“Oh, sweet Sadida!” Amalia exclaimed, completely awestruck. “And that last transfer?!”

“I know!” Yugo agreed, beside himself with excitement. “Man, that Kriss Krass fellow sure knows how to put on a show!”

Walking a few feet ahead of them, Adamaï couldn’t help but smile to himself as his brother and his precious flower bonded over gobbowl. Looking over his shoulder, he had to admit it was quite endearing to see how they discussed the match so animatedly, their hands clasped and their eyes glimmering as they recounted the moments that stood out the most to them.

Seeing them now after weeks of tense interactions, standing so close to each other and even hugging each other tightly whenever Kriss Krass’ team scored, was all he needed to feel reassured.

No matter what came next, they would be fine. It was only a matter of time before that thing going on between them blossomed into something more.

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