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Chapter Text

Having the door slammed in his face was not how Wyatt imagined spending the night before his wedding. Despite this, he was far from angry, and called out tauntingly through the heavy oak, “Oh come on, Dorothy, you don’t really want me to say good night to you through this door, do you?”

DG had allowed him to get just comfortable enough that he had changed into a pair of sleep pants, and suddenly, just as he was again claiming himself to be the luckiest man in the OZ, she’d thrown a t-shirt at him and shoved him out the door. Wyatt leaned against the door frame while he allowed his bare feet to shuffle on thick pile of the carpet outside the door, holding his breath while he waited for DG to answer. He could hear his soon-to-be wife stifling a laugh on the other side, and she called out in false exasperation, “Yes I do, Wyatt! It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding!”

He knew damn well that this superstition of hers was another hold out from her time spent on the Otherside, but it was fun to tease her, and an incredulous laugh escaped him as he replied in an overly loud, sardonic voice, “In what world, Princess? It’s not like we haven’t been sharin’ the same bed for the last five cycles.”

“Wyatt!” DG nearly screeched, letting the door crack open so she could see his face, and she rasped out in warning, “Don’t talk so loud.”

DG was flushed with embarrassment when she poked her head out to see the hall empty apart from him, and realizing that he had played her, she grumbled adorably, “You’re a bad man, Wyatt Cain.”

Wyatt’s eyes glittered down on DG when she appeared in the barely opened door, and DG, seeing that he had already won the high ground, opened the door the rest of the way with a heavy, put-upon sigh. As her small frame was revealed to him once more, Wyatt took the sight of DG in with a fond sigh. His eyes followed the line of her nightgown, admiring how the deep blue silk fell like a fluid curtain over her curves, which were slightly swollen as a result of the life growing within her. She glowed as well, looking every part the blushing bride and beautiful mother, she was soon to be.

Wyatt’s fingers drifted to the soft waves of her hair, which fell over her shoulder and rested over her bosom, leaning in closer to murmur softly, “I love you, Dorothy Gale, and after tomorrow, I’m going to enjoy sharing our bed every night for the rest of our lives.”

The edge of DG’s mouth turned up as she fought a smile, and she replied through a good-humored eye roll, “If you get any sappier, you’re going to get me sticky, Tin Man.”

Joking aside, DG’s eyes belied her true feelings, and Wyatt could tell by the way her body leaned into his that she approved of his sentimentality. Wyatt took the opportunity then to let his hand caress the side of her face, and he rumbled sweetly as he leaned down to meet her lips in a soft kiss, “You’re a terrible liar, Dorothy.”

DG grinned just before Wyatt’s lips met hers, and when they did, she was instantly swept up in a wave of bliss. Her arms automatically snaked around Wyatt’s neck, and she whimpered when he deepened their kiss, feeling as though she might melt when his arms curled around her possessively. When their lips parted, he beamed down on her before releasing her, only to kneel in front of her. A happy blush rose on her cheeks when he placed his hands on the small mound just beginning to form on her abdomen, and he kissed the space here gently while he spoke quietly.

“Good night, little Princess. Your daddy loves you,” DG heard him whisper to her belly just before he rose to face her again, and she could not help the smile that seemed an almost permanent fixture on her face at this point. When he had straightened once more, he added sweetly, “Good night, Mrs. Cain.”

He offered his princess one last kiss on the tip of her nose before parting, and DG finally replied in a soft sigh as he turned to go, “Good night, Wyatt.”

Wyatt knew that DG’s eyes were trained on him as he retreated down the hall to his office. That thought alone was retribution enough for being forced out of their bed for the night, and a wicked grin spread on his face as he sauntered away. For DG’s part, she leaned on the door jamb and watched her Tin Man walk away and sighed at herself – hating how hormones and nerves had suddenly turned her into a gun-shy girly girl. She’d never stood too much for tradition, but after the events of the past two annuals, she had become somewhat superstitious, and knowing that she had already been so close to losing everything a few times already in her twenty seven annuals, she wasn’t going to be taking any chances now.

DG watched silently as Wyatt’s form turned the corner, at which point she retreated into her quarters. Her eyes roamed over the sitting room, which had changed somewhat in the past few cycles. After their return from Kansas, Wyatt had all but moved into DG’s suite, and her sitting room now functioned for them both. A chess game was still in progress on the coffee table by the couch, and Wyatt’s fedora and trench coat were hanging over the chair closest to the fireplace. When she stepped further into the room, their cat, Tiger – who had been a welcome transplant from Kansas – trilled at her lazily while he stretched his long, orange limbs across his cushioned station in front of the fireplace. DG smiled at the sight, feeling a sense of belonging wash over her. These rooms had been so empty and impersonal before, only feeling marginally better when Wyatt had joined her for their ritual breakfasts long before any hint of romance had blossomed between them. Once they’d settled into some sense of domestic life with each other, brought on by their reunion in Kansas, the space seemed almost complete. Almost.

Really, they were both just biding their time until after the wedding, when they could finally settle in their own home. It had taken some convincing, and nearly three cycles haggling, but the Queen had finally consented to allowing the pair to live apart from court, under the condition that they be near enough to visit frequently and continue their duties as part of the royal family. At the time, the Queen hadn’t even known yet that DG was pregnant, and so when the terms were given, DG gladly accepted, adding her own condition – that her daughter would be allowed to be raised in whatever way she and Wyatt saw fit. The Queen and Consort had been beside themselves with joy for the news, having just gleaned similar news from Azkadellia and Ambrose, who were just days away from getting married at the time. With such an abundance of good news, the Queen could not contain her exuberance, and gladly accepted DG’s counter terms, finding it impossible to be dour when new life would soon be adding itself to their already overpouring fountain of blessings. This, of course, had produced a similar wellspring within DG, and she’d been bounding through the corridors of the Royal Palace since then. It hadn’t even occurred to her to ask Wyatt where he’d been plotting their escape to, and frankly, she’d didn’t really give two shakes about it – Wyatt knew what she liked after all, and his sense of aesthetics tended to mirror her own in most respects. As she settled down into their bed, still thinking about her Tin Man, she sighed contentedly, knowing that wherever he’d be taking their growing troupe next, she was certain to be happy.

In another section of the Royal Palace, the Tin Man was having similar thoughts, and they sent his mind buzzing at such a fast pace that he wondered whether he would ever manage to get to sleep. Wyatt stared up at the beige ceiling over his old bed, his mind still reeling with the concept of getting remarried and having a baby already on the way. Man, what a ride, he thought in amazed silence, only punctuating the air with a large exhalation when he recounted how much had happened since his release from the Iron Suit. When he’d been shoved behind that door, now over eleven annuals ago, he’d thought his life was over. Being released by a scrappy waif bearing a stick and a bewildered expression hadn’t been his idea of a rescue. Letting her traipse after him when he had intended on seeking revenge against Zero had been nothing short of an annoyance in the beginning of their, now epic, travels. Then finding out that his unlikely heroine was the lost princess had been a surprise. Falling in love with her and being given a another shot at life was just plain miraculous. Now, he was looking forward to what would be one of the highlights of his new life – making that scrappy woman his wife. He had been so elated by this thought that in the past week, that a boyish grin had taken the place of his usual stony expression as he’d gone about wrapping up chores before their wedding and cycle-long departure to Finaqua. After that, he’d take her to their new home – and he was so bursting with excitement to show her everything he’d arranged in their forest hideaway that he could barely contain the secret.

He’d almost given it away a few times, except DG had raised a hand to his lips and grumbled sweetly, “Cool your jets, Tin Man. I want to be surprised.”

With a challenge such as that, Wyatt was hard pressed to argue, and he’d managed thus far to stay quiet on the matter. Even his enlistees – Jeb, Azkadellia, Ambrose and Raw – had managed to stay mum, and DG hadn’t even been given a clue as to the location of their new home, let alone what it looked like. Wyatt grinned with this realization, and finally allowed himself a calming breath, reassuring himself once again that everything was in place, and no one was going to spoil his surprise for DG.

When Wyatt jumped out of bed on the morning of his wedding, he shook himself from his shoulders to his toes, trying to release the energy that seemed to seep through his skin. He looked around his modest bedroom. The small room –bedecked in warm, rich toned oak and fabrics the shade of pine needles– had very little ornamentation beyond a framed photo of DG on his bedside table. Although he’d liked these quarters, easily looking past the fact that they were within the more opulent confines of the Royal Palace, he felt no sadness in exchanging them for greener pastures permanently. Apart from the nine annuals spent in the Iron Suit, Wyatt had spent more of his life married than not and found a bachelor’s life to be less than ideal. While the Tin Man preferred a sense of order to his personal space, where every article had a home, and he could find things – primarily his sidearm – blindfolded, this left the space feeling cold and spartan. In truth, he’d spent more time in the past two annuals chasing after DG than cultivating a personal space, and so his quarters suffered somewhat in “personal flair,” as Ambrose had put it. He’d been pleasantly surprised to find DG of a similar mindset, but with none of his spartan tendencies. He’d always assumed that DG’s personal space would be a reflection of the whirlwind inside the her head – but he’d found out quickly in their relationship that the girl simply had more separate thoughts being tossed around inside her mind than a juggling act on steroids. She was just moving so fast that she appeared chaotic to most. Wyatt knew now that this couldn’t be further from the truth. DG was so analytical and precise inside her mind, and this translated to a space so carefully organized that she made Wyatt look ridiculous – to top it all off, she was much more adaptable than he was, and had cleared spaces for him that seemed ordained without so much as an annoyed grunt in a fraction of the time it would have taken him. The girl always seemed to look after him with such effortless grace, almost as if by rote, and managed to create an atmosphere of warmth and comfort in even the most unfriendly of locations. These facts alone had the Tin Man brimming with nervous anticipation, and he hoped she’d be pleased with what he’d put together without her.

As much as Wyatt would have liked to languish, thoughts of DG only spurred him into movement, and he shook his head of any remaining cobwebs that might further slow him down. His ears pricked up to the sound of low din outside, and he moved silently to the window across from his bed to peer out at the square below. Even at this early hour, where the sun was still creeping over the spires of the city, and birds were only beginning to herald the day, citizens were already buzzing about the square outside and lining up to get a view of the royal couple. This was a happy day for the OZ – the triumphant princess was marrying her knight, a hero of the people. Wyatt gazed on the faces in the growing crowd and shook his head in awe –even after having lived two annuals as a hero of the OZ, Wyatt still could not grasp that all of those people below were waiting to see him, and were eager to share in his joy. His eyes moved to the skies, and he beamed brightly; the skies were of a blue that were reminiscent of his own Princess’s, and not a cloud was to be seen. If these things were any sign of the day to come, then he couldn’t be happier, he decided with contented sigh.

Now satisfied with his survey of the scene below, Wyatt turned to getting dressed. He rubbed his cheek thoughtfully as he turned, deciding that he would first shave the stubble that had found its way to face during the night, and he divested himself of the t-shirt he had worn to bed while crossing simultaneously to the bathroom. Wyatt surveyed himself in the mirror, inspecting his appearance – the two annuals outside the suit had restored the tan to Wyatt’s pale countenance, and his trim physique was toned and defined. Although he looked the part of a thirty-thee annuals old man because of the enchantments of the suit, Wyatt felt every bit of his forty annuals. Apart from this, even though he had been married before, and past the jitters of a young man, the worry of failing again still made his stomach flutter nervously.

Wyatt sighed into the mirror and presented himself with a crooked grin. As nervous as he was, he also knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. “You’re one lucky bastard, Cain,” he breathed out at his image.

Wyatt was still excited though, so he ceased his reflections and went to the business of getting ready, eager to work some of the energy out of his limbs with physical activity. As he stood in front of the mirror, wiping his freshly shaven face with a towel, there was a knock at his door. It was still early, so he was certain that neither Jeb, Raw, nor Glitch would dare make an appearance. Now curious, he strode through to his outer room – which served more as his office than a sitting room, and was similarly adorned in rich, wooden tones which were only enhanced by the friendly fire crackling in the grate across from his bedroom door. Within a few wide steps into this space, the Tin Man stretched for the knob, pulling the door and open to reveal his unexpected visitor.

It was Ahamo, and he was smiling warmly at Wyatt from the other side of the threshold. “May I come it?” Ahamo asked politely, eyeing the Tin Man with an odd mixture of patience and nervous anticipation.

Wyatt was surprised to say the least. Although Ahamo, like the rest of DG’s family, had accepted him ages ago, Wyatt was still unaccustomed to being so eagerly received. The warm inclusivity of the Gales seemed at odds with their rank – as if they should be colder and more aloof rather than who they were naturally. The fact that they weren’t was both refreshing and disarming to the cynical lawman, and he still found himself checking himself before he shoved his foot in his mouth. As odd as it was to him, given how he’d first been introduced to the Consort, Wyatt found himself most at ease with him. He was a shrewd man, with a sharp eye and even sharper tongue, and Wyatt suspected that behind his eyes lay a thousand secrets that few could even begin to guess at. Wyatt often wondered if these traits had been what made him such a successful Seeker, or if it was due rather to his uncanny ability to blend in wherever he found himself.

Whatever had made Ahamo such a successful chameleon in the past, he seemed at least somewhat successful in morphing into the man that stood before Wyatt that morning. The man looked vastly different from the drifter that Wyatt first met in the Realm of the Unwanted. His unkempt long blonde hair was now trim, and his face was clean shaven. The only sign that anything was amiss at all lay in his eyes. Ahamo’s blue eyes, which reminded Wyatt of DG’s to an unsettling degree, normally glinted with mischievous humor. They were somewhat subdued today, as he was visibly nervous, and shifted his feet while he waited for Wyatt’s reply. Wyatt was a bit embarrassed for keeping the Consort standing before his threshold and stepped back to allow the Consort inside, shutting the door behind him while he scrubbed the back of his head.

“Sir,” Wyatt began, “what can I do for you?”

Ahamo walked to the center of the room and paused, running his hands through his short hair. He took a deep breath and allowed a giddy chuckle to escape his lips. As he did this, Wyatt had pulled a t-shirt back on, and threw the towel into his desk chair, after which he stood quietly, waiting for the Consort to speak.

“It’s a big day, son,” Ahamo stated, his eyebrows raised in amazement.

Wyatt smiled widely, “Yes sir, it certainly is.”

Ahamo seemed to dislike the use of formality, and waved Wyatt off, “I don’t expect you to call me Dad, Wyatt, but I’m going to have to insist that you stop calling me sir.”

“Would Ahamo be better?” Wyatt asked politely.

The Consort nodded approvingly, noting Wyatt’s visible nervousness, and as he stepped closer to his daughter’s fiancé, he placed a hand on his shoulder. While he smiled warmly at Wyatt and looked him directly in the eyes, he asked kindly, “You nervous?”

Wyatt relaxed a little and blew out the air he had been holding in his chest, “You’d think the second time around would be easier than the first, but then, I wasn’t marrying DG that time.” Wyatt’s eyes faltered somewhat, and he spoke more quietly, “I love Dorothy more than I ever thought it was possible. She gave me my heart back, and I can’t imagine not having her in my life. I just don’t want to mess this up.”

The Consort squeezed Wyatt’s shoulder and grinned as he let him go, “Good. I’d hate to have to take you out back.” Wyatt raised an eyebrow at the Consort, recognizing the humor that was so like DG’s. Wyatt scoffed politely in return and scrubbed his scalp with the fingers of his left hand. He looked up when the Consort said with more seriousness, “I’m a bit nervous myself, truth be told. I’m giving my baby girl away again, Wyatt. I’m just glad it’s you, and I’ll still get to see her when it’s all said and done.”

The Consort’s eyes were somewhat wistful, and there was no jest in his tone. He recognized that look, having had it numerous times himself, and always while thinking of Jeb. Although he understood, there was also a pang of sadness that touched him momentarily, as he had never known his own father, and wondered only briefly what he would have thought of him now. Before he could voice any of this though, the Consort pulled Wyatt into a gruff hug, which caught the Tin Man by surprise. Wyatt could only accept, and smiled as he returned the hug, thankful for the Consort’s affections. They were unexpected, but welcome, and did a lot to settle Wyatt’s own nerves and make him feel that he was truly a welcome addition to the Gale family. Wyatt’s chest almost burst with the thought that in two annuals he had gone from having lost everything, to being welcomed into such a warm, close knit family and being surrounded by so many close friends, and as they separated, he swallowed the knot in his throat that had formed from the waves of such a wide variety of emotions crashing over him.

This quiet moment was soon interrupted by another knock at the door, and Wyatt inhaled sharply, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. He was not accustomed to being the center of attention and didn’t know how to react – his natural inclination would have been to find a quiet corner, but his better sense told him that today was not the day for such reclusiveness – resulting in a seemingly frozen Tin Man standing in the center of his office, looking bewildered. The Consort was warmed by Wyatt’s flustered countenance and smiled kindly on him while he patted Wyatt’s shoulder, and moved to open the door for the dumbfounded man. Wyatt’s expression broke into a happy grin when the door was opened to reveal Jeb, followed closely by Ambrose and Raw. As they entered the room, Wyatt pulled his son into a tight embrace, while his other friends looked on with bright faces.

“You’re not getting hitched like that, are you?” Ambrose joked, indicating to Wyatt’s t-shirt and pajama pants.

Wyatt laughed and moved from his son to the former advisor, pulling him into a gruff hug as he replied, “I have to make you look good, don’t I Glitch? Can’t outdo your wedding, after all.”

Ambrose laughed back, and drew back, looking from Wyatt to the Consort, “Nonsense, Tin Man. After all, after today, we’ll be family. Where’s the fun in being brothers if we can’t have a friendly competition or two?” This caused another happy laugh to escape the now beaming groom, and Glitch continued with more seriousness, “Not to be a Debbie Downer or anything though, but besides wanting to see my best friend before his big day, I also had something I wanted to talk to you and Ahamo about before all the hub-bub starts.”

Wyatt’s eyebrow raised, and Ahamo responded with interest, “Oh, what’s that Ambrose?”

Ambrose’s eyes shifted and an odd chuckle escaped him as he replied, “Well, it’s a bit of business, I admit, but it seemed to be something that would interest the both of you, not to mention it might mean we might need the assistance of the Seeker,” he paused when the men exchanged glances and continued, “I received a report this morning that Vizor has popped up in the Realm again. Been digging around for suppliers of, um, unusual items.”

Vizor. Now that was a name that wiped the smile clean off Wyatt’s face, and as his expression hardened, a huff of air blew out from his nose. They’d been looking for the Sorceress’ lieutenants since the eclipse, and most had been rounded up, with the exception of the brilliant and dangerous mage that had been the hag’s closest advisor. Azkadellia had once told Wyatt that Vizor held most, if not all of the Sorceress’ secrets, and a fair few of his own – but the man was clever, and he’d somehow escaped the siege of the tower. Since then he’d been more like a ghost than a man, and any time his name had come up, it was followed closely by dark dealings and mysterious disappearances. No one had ever eluded the Tin Man so well, and despite his best efforts, Vizor had gone uncaptured for the past two annuals.

To make matters worse, the entire Royal Army as well as every other law enforcement branch in the land had been struggling to get a grip on a dangerous black-market trade that had only exploded after the Sorceress’ downfall. While in power, the Sorceress had stripped the House of Gale of its many magical artifacts, in hopes that she could bend their powers to her own uses. The items she deemed trivial or otherwise useless to her were discarded and forgotten and found their way to those that discovered other inventive uses for them. It had quickly become clear to the hidden Consort and the Resistance that they could use this to their mutual advantage, and so the Seeker’s task had actually been two-fold while he waited on DG to reappear: while preparing to assist DG in her quest for the Emerald was of paramount importance, of almost equal weight was his task in removing many of these “unusual items” from circulation. Unfortunately, many of the most dangerous items had been difficult to obtain, primarily due to their proximity to the Sorceress herself, and once she’d been defeated, many were still missing. When strife continued to be an issue in the darker corners of the OZ, they’d determined that the trade of artifacts was partially to blame, for many that claimed the powers of said artifacts also had a proclivity for criminal behavior.

The fact that Vizor was somehow linked to this dark trade did little to surprise Wyatt but it troubled him that he’d chosen to show his head at such a time. It couldn’t be a coincidence, he determined gravely, and his mind began to spin with scenarios as to what he could be planning. A voice growled in the back of his mind, telling him, best not move the Princess away from the palace now, not with Vizor lurking around. An equally irritating reality struck him in that moment, and he looked between Ambrose and the Consort when he asked carefully, “I’m going to take a guess that this particular task doesn’t really fall under the description of Consort-in-training, Ambrose, but you can’t expect Ahamo to take up the charge now. Not for something like this.” He glanced at the Consort and added, “No offense, Ahamo.”

Ahamo replied thoughtfully, “No offense taken, Wyatt.” He paused to sigh, continuing with a pensive swipe through his hair, “The truth is, Lavender and I were planning to start transitioning towards the Northern Island soon. Since you’re both family now, I don’t mind telling you. We’re both a bit tired of the whole game, and now that Azkadellia and Ambrose are settling in so well, Lav will be be thinking about stepping down soon, but that said, I’d still like that particular role to stay in the family, so to speak.” There was a heaviness in the air, suddenly, and the men exchanged furtive glances while they all thought the same thing. Finally, Ahamo broke the silence and asked tentatively, “Wyatt, I know this isn’t the best time, but what do you say? Want to take a swing at being Seeker?”

DG’s going to kill me, Wyatt thought with an audible groan, answering instead, “I, uh, I’d be glad to fill in, but let’s keep this under our hats until after the honeymoon, okay? I don’t think I want to start married life out in the doghouse.”

Wyatt could already feel the eventual heat of DG’s anger when he had to tell her that he was potentially taking off on another dangerous mission, without her no less. Even more pressing was the matter of telling her that she could not, in fact, escape palace life for the time being. She’d be beyond irate, but between Vizor’s appearance, and his need to get to the bottom of his involvement in the black-market trade, he couldn’t risk her safety, or that of their unborn daughter. His eyes scanned the faces of his cohorts, all of which read an understanding of the same, uncomfortable knowledge – DG was a lot of things, but docile wallflower she was not, and she’d come for all of their heads if they weren’t careful, or run after him to the Realm of the Unwanted without a second thought as to her safety.

Jeb and Raw had been conspicuously silent during this entire exchange, and Raw rumbled quietly when Wyatt’s eyes paused on him, “Tin Man’s secret safe. We want Princess safe too, Wyatt. Will help you. Keep DG peaceful while you’re gone.”

This eased Wyatt’s mind somewhat, and the agitation that had been simmering under the surface of his metered veneer cooled. Jeb stepped forward as Wyatt’s stance relaxed, and he added jokingly in an attempt to break the ice, “Yeah Dad, but if you don’t want to be in the doghouse, you’d better go get dressed. Can’t keep DG waiting much longer.”

Wyatt grabbed his son’s wrist to see the time and a look of surprise crossed his face, “Thanks son, you’re right! I’d better get a move on.”

The Consort stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder before he could leave, stating in farewell, “Well Wyatt, I’ll see you at the ceremony. I’m off to play doting dad now.”

Wyatt grinned at the Consort, imagining DG as she was now and eager himself to see her. He stretched his hand out to the man before him, feeling a wave of gratefulness and excitement rush over him as he replied, “Thanks for coming by to see me, Ahamo. I don’t think you know how much it means to me.”

A familial twinkle seemed to flash in the Consort’s eye and with a knowing smile, he refused Wyatt’s hand, pulling him into one last embrace. This one was shorter than the first, and he parted from the Tin Man with a firm pat on the shoulder and a grin before he turned to leave.

Raw approached next, and he hugged Wyatt warmly as he muttered, “I go to DG now. Princess nervous. Raw feel it. You not worry though, not about you.”

Wyatt pulled back from the viewer’s embrace and chuckled, “You don’t have to tell me Furball. Deeg hates the pomp, but I guess it’s the price we pay for being so popular, right?”

Raw nodded in agreement, his eyes glittering with amusement to match the mirth in the Tin Man’s. Having said their goodbyes, Raw and the Consort exited, leaving Wyatt alone with his best man and son. Ambrose had been staring off into space, a pleasant smile on his face, until the door shut, at which point he snapped back to attention, suddenly frowning at Wyatt.

“Cain,” the former advisor admonished Wyatt, “you want to get married in pajamas, or what?”

Jeb snorted in laughter, while Wyatt’s eyebrows raised appraisingly. Even with his brain restored, Ambrose still had odd, glitchy moments that were a strange mixture of the absurd and apropos. Given that he was supposed to be leaving for the cathedral in less than twenty minutes however, Ambrose’s appraisal seemed appropriate, and instead of offering any witty repartee, Wyatt turned on his heel and swept into the next room, feeling an ever sense of urgency rushing over him.

“We’ll just wait here!” Wyatt heard Glitch call after him teasingly as he shut himself in the bedroom.

When the Tin Man reappeared, only minutes later, his cohorts marveled at the change. In place of the flannel pants and old t-shirt was the formal uniform of Her Majesty’s Royal Army; deep, royal blue pants and coat, tailored to highlight the fit physique and make its wearer stand erect and strong. Wyatt’s coat, emblazoned with the medals of his rank, was high collared and its gleaming silver buttons encased him securely from his thighs all the way to his Adam’s apple. A ceremonial sword signifying his knighthood hung at his hip, and this and his dress shoes gleamed from the high shine buffed into them for the occasion. It was no wonder that most women, and some men, swooned over the broody Tin Man, for he was truly a prime specimen of masculine splendor.

Even his own son seemed awestruck, and as Jeb moved to his father and straightened his medals affectionately, he paused to place his hands on his father’s shoulders while he choked out, “Dad, I think mom would be really happy for you. I know I am. I love you.”

Wyatt’s face flushed happily, and he clapped his son on the shoulders, pulling him in for a hug as he rumbled gruffly in return, “I love you too kid.”

Ambrose was chuckling to himself, and smiled widely when the Cain men separated, explaining “I didn’t think you could ever improve your attitude, Cain, but I guess DG is pretty persuasive, huh?”

Wyatt presented Glitch with an appraising eyebrow, the glint in his otherwise serious looking expression telling him that Wyatt did not mind the jest. Wyatt clapped Glitch on the shoulder and jerked his head towards the hallway, “Let’s go Zipperhead, can’t keep the Princesses waiting, can we?” Glitch laughed with delight and walked out, side by side with the Tin Man; Jeb following silently in their wake.

Ahamo and Raw, meanwhile, had arrived at the threshold of DG’s quarters, and were readily invited in by a demure older sister. “Daddy,” Azkadellia greeted Ahamo warmly as she opened the door and pulled him inside quietly, moving aside to allow for Raw to join them within.

Ahamo paused to kiss his eldest tenderly on the forehead, murmuring to the young woman, “Hey there kiddo, you’re looking stunning today. Glowing I might even say.”

Azkadellia, was indeed a sight to behold, having transformed into a picturesque image of motherhood. While still just midway through her pregnancy, an attractive bump had formed where her daughter was growing, and the healthy flush of her cheeks was helped along by the rose-colored dress that sheathed her down to her calves. This was not her day though, and while she blushed in response to her father’s compliment, she quietly redirected him to his youngest child, who stood in the center of the room, being attended to by her mother and ladies maids.

While Ahamo watched in silent awe as Lavender adjusted DG’s veil, beaming down on her child with a loving, if not misty gaze, a swell of images rushed to his mind. He smiled with the memory of his youngest tramping around Finaqua, frequently ruining her court dresses and smudging her face with dirt and paint. Now, as she stood before him, she was very much the same, but also changed. DG’s dress was like the first snow of winter, and its delicate lace framed her bare shoulders attractively. On her head rested an emerald tiara that had become synonymous with her royal identity, and the emerald sparkled brightly from an unseen light source. Dorothy seemed to glow pleasantly from within –much like that jewel– and her cheeks were flushed pink with anticipation. When Ahamo finally managed the courage to step before her, DG’s gaze was down on her bouquet of poppies, and she played nervously with the arrangement, her breathing shallow from an overabundance of nerves. Ahamo, feeling overwrought with emotion and feeling a great sense of empathy for his daughter, took her free hand in his and squeezed it gently, hoping to infuse her with his own courage.

DG looked up at her father, smiling happily as she murmured with a slight waver, “Hi daddy.”

Ahamo sighed and replied, “Hey there Spitfire. You are breathtaking.”

“Aw shucks Dad, you’re just saying that.” DG grinned and replied in a soft rumble.

Ahamo chuckled, “You know, you and your Tin Man are really two peas on a pod.”

DG’s eyes became wide at mention of Wyatt, and she asked excitedly, “You saw Wyatt? How is he?”

Ahamo could almost see the nervous energy bubbling off his daughter in waves, and he laughed again as released her hand, “He’s fine DG. Jittery like you, but happy. I just left him with Jeb and Ambrose. They should be on their way to the Cathedral right about now.”

DG blushed and started playing with her flowers again. It seemed hard to believe that two annuals ago she was a waitress and part-time student with no idea of the adventures to follow. Now, she stood in a palace, getting ready to marry her very own Prince. The fact that he’d knocked her up before they’d said “I do” didn’t seem to trouble most on this side of the rainbow, which DG considered one of the most surreal aspects of the entire situation. It seemed that, in most respects, the marriage ceremony was just that in the OZ – a formal engagement designed primarily to announce to the rest of the world what the bride, groom, and their closest loved ones already knew. Being that she was a princess, it was also a fantastic excuse for celebration, which the Ozians showed no signs of being tired of.

Azkadellia joined her parents in standing before her sister, and in taking DG’s free hand, she whispered, “Are you ready little sister?”

In DG’s state of boundless happiness, her light made her appear as one might imagine an angel might, and the glow that appeared to surround her in a soft, warm light extended to Azkadellia as she touched her. DG’s gentle smile spread when Azkadellia asked her such a simple question – her answer was effortless, as if she was being asked what time of day it was, and the realization that there were truly no boundaries left between her and Wyatt filled her with a sense of happiness that she could barely contain it within her body. Words seemed to escape her in the moment, however, and her only answer was a simple nod. As she did so, she took a deep breath to help ease the nervousness she still felt. The nerves had very little to do with Wyatt himself, and DG now turned back to Raw, knowing instantly why he had chosen that moment to appear – when he would be presiding over their ceremony and would need to leave sooner than her even.

When her hand reached out for the viewer, it shook, and the kindhearted man wrapped it in both of his while he looked on her lovingly. “DG beautiful. Make Tin Man very happy. Baby happy.”

DG sniffled only slightly and fluttered her eyes before any leakage could cause any damage, and she smiled as she replied, “I know Raw. I just hate crowds. Do you think Wyatt will be okay with such a big ceremony? I mean, I wouldn’t care about this kind of thing except it seems like it could really be a big thing for everyone else – “

DG would have continued to babble nervously, but Raw patted her hand and replied gently, “Wyatt happy, DG. Knows how important this is to people. To you. Don’t think any more. Just feel.”

DG was on the edge of waterworks now, and Az rushed forward with a handkerchief, dabbing DG’s eyes furiously until DG signaled that she was better. When Azkadellia stepped back once more, DG offered Raw a watery smile, and embraced him tightly before his inevitable departure, whispering “I’m glad that you came. Thank you Raw.”

“Raw happy that DG and Tin Man happy. It’s a good day.” Raw smiled and stepped back to admire his young friend, knowing that the next time he would see her, he would be presiding over her wedding. With that, the viewer took leave of his friend and her family and made his way to the ceremony.

Once Raw had departed, DG was left once more with her family. The air seemed to change when the viewer had left, and the entire party seemed on edge, as if preparing to go on stage for an epic performance. For DG’s part, she’d taken what Raw said to heart – as much as she worried over how Wyatt might feel about such a large ceremony, or the toll that said event took on her own nerves, she could not focus on the thoughts that threw her into an endless loop of panic. Instead, she imagined the cool blue depths of Wyatt’s eyes, and the smile that would be there when they saw each other again, and she felt a sense of calm rush over her in a wave. This enabled DG’s natural courage to take over, and she straightened her shoulders before taking the lead in exiting the sitting room. For once, her passage forward was more like a gentle glide than a tomboyish march, and she held her head high, ready to meet her Tin Man again and take his hand as they took their next steps in life together.

As DG stepped onto the flagstones outside the palace, her lungs filled with cool, early spring air. The midmorning suns shined warmly on her, warming her face and shoulders. Outside the gates, throngs of well-wishers stood, waving excitedly to the Princess, and when they caught sight of the Princess, the murmur of voices became a roar. The people’s princess had appeared, and she was truly a vision out of a fairy story. DG fed off the excitement of her people, and beamed back at them, waving happily. DG walked as if floating, carried along a wave of excited energy all the way to her carriage.

The carriage ride to the Cathedral was like a blur to DG, and rather than absorbing the sights that passed as they moved down the avenue, DG’s mind only allowed her to see her Tin Man. Once inside the narthex of the Cathedral, DG’s stomach felt as though it would leap from her throat and her heart beat rapidly. The angelic voices of the royal choir could be heard on the air from here, and their soft lilting seemed to echo against the grand stones of the building that reached up to the heavens as if to touch the gods themselves. The stained glass that flanked the space sent a dazzling array of color within when the suns light flooded through, bathing those inside in shades of the rainbow so sparkling and brilliant that there was hardly any need for additional ornamentation to mark the special occasion. DG’s eyes were fixed on the doors separating her from the rest of the church. On the other side of those massive wooden doors was a giant space filled with thousands of eyes and one set in particular – those belonging to Wyatt Cain. She imagined him standing, waiting passively for her in his dress uniform, his clear blue eyes calm and warm. She began to breathe a little more steadily as she imagined the depths of his eyes meeting hers, until the buzzing of the people around her subsided and was more like a hum, allowing her a moment alone with her thoughts.

Wyatt was, indeed, standing on the other side of the doors, but he was far from calm. The congregation assembled before him consisted of more faces than he recognized, and primarily made up of dignitaries and people of importance. While he was friendly with a majority of the counsel in witness and smiled to those that waved to garner his brief attention, the people he most wanted to see were either standing with him already or waiting on the other side of the grand entrance. His eyes were focused like laser beams on those doors, and to any observer, he had the appearance of calm, but his heart thumped loudly in his ears, and he struggled to maintain a steady breath as he waited impatiently for them to open. When the music changed, signaling DG’s arrival, he almost stopped breathing. The doors parted silently, and the slowness of their swing intensified Wyatt’s impatience while one by one, the Queen with her consort and Azkadellia walked down the aisle to their appointed locations at the head of the altar, opposite Wyatt, Jeb, and Ambrose. Finally, the doors of the Narthex cleared, and DG appeared in the threshold. The breath that Wyatt had been holding was expelled in a labored, awestruck woosh at the sight of Dorothy. To be certain, there had been a number of times in their recent past that she had left him so speechless at the sight of her rare beauty that he’d struggled to maintain his composure. All those other memories, and the feelings she had stirred in him at the time, melted away with her entrance today. It was as if a soft light was focused on her as she moved, holding her apart from all others. It seemed as if time stood still for her while she glided silently towards him, and he might have thought himself frozen, were it not for the ecstatic butterflies doing odd things to his stomach. When her small hand landed in his, so cool and smooth against his larger one, a surge of emotion threatened to sweep him over, and his eyes teared while he beamed down on his bride.

When DG’s eyes met with Wyatt’s, it was as if the huge Cathedral and all its attendants disappeared, and all that was left was the Princess and her Tin Man. The nervousness that she had been struggling with the entire morning melted away, unable to maintain its hold under the steady gaze Wyatt held her with as she moved down the aisle. Wyatt was as handsome as always, but today, he was like a god in his dress uniform, and the dark blue of his garb contrasted so starkly with the brightness of his eyes that they seemed even more bright and crystalline than ever. DG got a certain thrill from the knowledge that he was one of the most desired men in all the OZ, and yet only had eyes for her, and this caused her to beam even more brightly as her hand was encased delicately in his. Standing so close to him, she could almost hear his heart thumping in excitement for her proximity, and her own heart seemed to burst when she spied a tear beginning to form in his eye. Her hand left his then and reached up to gently brush it away. Wyatt only smiled in return, and his hand ghosted her elbow as her hand moved.

As DG completed her loving caress of his cheek, Wyatt took her hand back and kissed her palm, feeling moved to demonstrate his affection for her, murmuring tenderly, “Hey there, Princess, you look breathtaking,” before releasing his hold on her so they could turn their attention to their officiant.

DG’s eyes fluttered up at Wyatt before they turned, and she replied softly, “So do you, Tin Man.”

With that, the pair grinned at each other and turned then to their furry friend, who smiled on them with a gentle expression. Raw’s precedence over the ceremony had a calming effect on all attendance; his usually soft tones were amplified by the building itself, allowing all to hear his insightful and loving words as he assisted in the joining of his dear friends. Although Wyatt and DG went about the motions of the ceremony, and responded as expected, neither would be able to remember a single detail later beyond the feel of the event, the sparkle in the other’s eyes, and the smiles on their faces. DG would later recall that she had never seen Wyatt smile as much as he did that day. Wyatt in turn would remark that DG seemed to glow from within, and he could not seem to take his eyes off her for even a moment.

Too soon, the ceremony was over, and Wyatt and DG were announced husband and wife. So consumed by their mutual adoration and excitement, the pair turned to the other with a happy laughter. Wyatt, for his part, felt he had waited long enough, and pulled DG into his arms possessively. Although his princess felt so small when wrapped in his arms, her energy made her seem too large to hold, and it felt important to hold her tightly against him, as if keeping her anchored might do the same for him. Looking down on her had his chest swelling in elation, and he beamed with overwhelming happiness on his new bride. Wyatt’s hand swept across the blush of DG’s cheek as his fingers rested at the nape of her neck, and as he pulled her to his lips, she sighed in contentment. Their kiss was full of sweet abandon, and they clutched at each other, oblivious to the happy cheers surrounding them. When they separated for air, DG laughed happily in his arms, ignoring the audience for once. They could not seem to satiate themselves, and kissed again, seemingly surrounded in a warm haze that captured the hearts of all.

Chapter Text

It was early, and the suns had not yet begun to rise over the waters of Finaqua. Only a handful of birds were twittering in the stillness of the morning, communicating in their own fashion their acknowledgment of the dawn’s approach. These calls were quiet enough not to trouble the occupants of the summer palace, and those that were already awake were even more silent than the feathered heralds, and moved almost as ghosts about the halls, careful not to disturb their newly wed charges that had barely left their chambers for the past few weeks that they’d been in residence. Apart from these reclusive royals and the skeleton staff, the summer palace was empty, and so the peace of the early spring was barely touched by their small footprint. It was just as the ex-tin man and his bride preferred it – quiet, without any of the usual spectacle that one might expect from residing in such a place – and they nestled comfortably in their bed, which looked out over the mirror-like lake, looking every bit as serene as one might expect of those having had the pleasure of enjoying the laid back atmosphere of their vacation home for as long as they had. A breeze that had wafted lazily into their room from the open doors of the balcony shifted the gauzy material of the open curtains, and their soft rustling brought Wyatt instantly into waking. His eyes drifted down to the woman pressed against his chest. The covers had shifted during the night and were now only draped haphazardly over their bare legs, and this gave Wyatt an excellent view of Dorothy’s pale body that was so warm against him.

His eyes gazed down on Dorothy as she slept against him, and he sighed in awe, “You’re beautiful Dorothy,” as he moved a stray lock of her hair out of her face, exposing her neck to him.

 A small smile played at the edge of his mouth as he admired her naked body in the weak light of the early morning. She was petite and pale against his tan solid muscle, and her rounded hips and breasts fit perfectly in his hands. Wyatt’s hands flexed over the body wrapped in his arms. DG’s soft body was spooned against his, and the round of her backside rubbed innocently against his quickly hardening erection as she groaned in her sleep. Cain’s nose rested against her pale neck, and he inhaled deeply, smelling lavender and rainwater, and relishing her warmth against his face. When he kissed her neck gently in the dark, DG moaned lightly, pushing against him again and causing a low rumble to spill from his lips in acknowledgement.

Her near silent approval had goaded him on, and Wyatt’s lips roamed further still, his tongue laving her skin hungrily. He drank her in like a parched man, unable to satiate his thirst for her. DG hummed in response, reaching her hand around to the back his head as he bent down to feed on her body, desperate to hold him to her skin. His hand that had rested on her hip began to move to her barely swollen abdomen. Her skin was soft, and the roughness of his fingers tickled her pleasantly. DG smiled in response, and her breathing became shallow as his fingers continued their exploration, moving past her mound to travel slowly to the soft folds between her thighs. As he rested his fingers here momentarily, he pressed gently and rubbed her in slow circles.

This was almost too much, and DG gasped as her legs spread wide and her foot moved to hook around Wyatt’s calf. Wyatt took this opportunity to reach further down, entering her with one and then two fingers. He dipped his fingers into her wetness, testing her inner muscles and causing DG to growl with her own need, and having found DG ready, Cain moved to turn her prone on the bed. DG groaned quietly when he removed his hand from her, and her body heaved impatiently under him as he positioned himself over her. Cain smiled with male pride at her. I really am a lucky son of a bitch, he wondered to himself as he admired the smooth curves of the woman begging underneath him.

He could not wait any longer, he had to give in to DG’s plea and the strain in his own extremities.  Placing his knees on either side her legs, he lifted DG by her hip bones, guiding her towards him. He entered her slowly, relishing her tight body and the warm, silken dampness that enveloped him; groaning as he sank into her, and laying over her carefully, letting her feel some of his weight, but not enough to startle her. DG gasped as he moved over her, slowly at first. His pace was maddeningly slow, and DG wriggled again against him, desperate to have him deep inside of her.

“Please Wyatt,” DG panted, “I won’t break.”

A low chuckle escaped Wyatt’s lips in response to DG’s request, and he reminded himself that although pregnant, DG was not made of glass, and his attempt to be gentle was probably enough to drive her insane. His slow movements were almost torturous to him as well, and as sweet as her body felt sheathing his, her plea was even more so, and the delicious sensations were even more pronounced when he began to strum within her. As his intensity grew, he grasped her hands in his, interlacing her fingers with his to create yet another connection with her and aid in force of his thrusts. He was now hitting his mark repeatedly, eliciting bright cries of approval from DG with each repeat. This was like a jolt of lightening to him, and Wyatt began to speed up, placing kisses on DG’s neck and backside while he brought her ever closer to her breaking point. When she began to whimper, and her body tightened around him, his hands left hers and he sat up to hold her body to his as he plunged deeper into her body repeatedly to bring them both the rest of the way. Each thrust was more urgent, and he grunted heavily while DG fisted the sheets and her body writhed. She was being wracked by waves of exquisite pleasure with every thrust of Wyatt’s pelvis against hers, and stars burst behind her eyelids, while climbing higher. As Wyatt thrust deeply into her again, she called out Wyatt’s name in one shout as her body finally let go.

As DG found her peak and came tumbling down, her muscles contracted around Wyatt, squeezing him pleasurably. This was all encouragement Wyatt needed, and he let out a strangled grunt as he emptied himself into her body. His muscles twitched from the exertion, and he was still gasping for breath when his face fell between her shoulder blades, where a gentle kiss was placed before he withdrew and fell back onto the bed at his wife’s side. He lay next to her, raggedly breathing, with a crooked smile on his face, and he watched idly as DG turned over to her side to face him, sighing contentedly as a satisfied smile settled in. Wyatt continued to study her as his breathing slowed and pulled her into his side. DG gratefully obliged, and draped her leg over his, her hand resting on his chest as she absently ran her fingers through the pale curly hairs there.

Wyatt ran his fingers along her backside and kissed the crown of her head, muttering deeply, “Good morning, Princess.”

DG hummed in response and nestled her face into his chest, faintly replying, “Hi Tin Man. That was some wake-up call.”

DG tilted her head up towards Cain, and he smiled fondly at the sight of her eyes fluttering sleepily and her cheeks still flushed from their love making. Wyatt instantly decided that she was even more beautiful now than she had been before, and his heart clenched at the sight of her. He drew a ragged breath as he leaned down, feeling swarmed by affection, to place a heated kiss on the swollen lips that smiled up lovingly up at him.

DG forgot herself in Cain’s kiss for a moment, but then suddenly broke the kiss and buried her face in his chest again, “I’ve got dragon breath, Cain!” Wyatt took her in both of his arms now, hugging her to him as he laughed at her embarrassment. DG looked back up at him, and she presented him with a frown in response to his bright laughter. In the face of Wyatt’s brilliant smile, she could not hold the frown, and a smirked in return.

“DG, there isn’t much you could do that would bother me. I love you,” Wyatt laughed, while his fingers glanced the side of her face tenderly.

DG batted her eyes and looked down at Wyatt’s chest, feeling a sudden flush that made her instantly bashful, and she murmured, “I love you too Wyatt.”

Wyatt placed his hand gently under DG’s chin and tilted her face upward so that she was forced to look into his eyes. He smiled warmly at his wife and placed a gentle kiss on her lower lip, his eyes glittering with a humor that disarmed her immediately. Her soft smile spread into a wide grin which infected Wyatt’s already blissful state, and as she settled back into the crook of his arm, they shared a laugh at DG’s expense. Wyatt’s chest rose and fell as he sighed contentedly at the woman in his arms, and DG in turn was soothed by the bellows of his chest, and soon nestled back into a comfortable doze brought on by the afterglow that seemed to envelope her and invade her mood. As contented as he too was, Wyatt was awake, and he gazed lazily out at the lake outside their window to enjoy the slow steady rise of the suns and the now deep breathing of the princess. His mind wandered over the events of the past cycle in random order, pausing over their wedding, and replaying the slow hours of their vacation, and finally pausing on the slow approach of their daughter who nestled tightly against her mother’s body and kicked at his hand forcefully. While the past few weeks had been blissfully quiet and had allowed Wyatt and DG the opportunity to capture some much-needed respite before the baby’s arrival, it had done little to change Wyatt’s habit of rising early. Wyatt had initially thought this would be a blessing, given what he had endured in the first cycles of Jeb’s life. Now, armed with the knowledge that his new role might take him away from both DG and their daughter, he wished only for the ability to remain blissfully ignorant for a while longer, and soak up whatever time he could with his rapidly growing family. Apart from this, he still hadn’t determined how to broach the topic with DG without destroying her hopes of retiring away from court-life, at least in the short term, and the thought of instigating an argument with her in her heightened emotional state made his stomach squirm uncomfortably.

DG could feel Wyatt’s agitation growing as he fidgeted with the blanket and huffed quietly at the ceiling. She smiled against his chest and suckled at his nipple for before releasing it with a kiss, and she asked as turned over, “If you’re getting up, could you bring me some coffee?”

Wyatt peered over at his wife, whose leisurely stretch left most of backside exposed, and the crooked smile returned, “Gods I really am one lucky bastard, aren’t I.” He muttered as he turned towards her.

His hand caressed her hip bone before he pulled her towards him, and he hummed at the feel of her skin, warm and soft under his fingertips. His unhurried exploration of her body made the space between DG’s legs throb excitedly and groaned in false annoyance in response to the effect he had on her. Wyatt’s smile turned wicked, and his hand moved from her hip and traveled up her waist with slowly, tickling DG as it glided up to her breast. When he grasped her softness in his hand, he leaned down to kiss her neck, starting from her exposed shoulder, and working slowly up to the place just behind her ear, delighting in the game they were playing. DG gasped and pushed against him, unable to maintain the rouse of being unaffected by his attentions and knowing she’d lost the match.

 “Oh Wyatt, don’t tease me,” DG whined out at Wyatt as he peppered her neck with kisses. Wyatt chuckled low into her neck and kissed her once more. The swell of DG’s posterior shoved against him as she continued, “Go you evil man, and don’t come back without coffee.”

Wyatt smiled and whispered against her ear, “I love you wife.”

DG sighed now and whispered back, “I love you husband.”

Wyatt gave her one final squeeze before his kissed her on the head and slid out of bed. As he pulled his sleep pants on, he watched DG as she slowly drifted back off to sleep; she was facing away from him, and her backside was exposed, the blanket only managing to cover her front and legs. Her long dark curls were splayed out behind her on Wyatt’s pillow, and her bare shoulder rose and fell gently as she breathed deeply in her sleep.  Wyatt sighed, already wanting to get back into bed with her, but the urge to follow his routines was hard to ignore. Not wanting to stray any longer, Wyatt strode to the door and crept out into their private sitting room, where the suns’ rays were starting to peak into the windows ahead of him. The cheerful light cast a dusty glow on their breakfast table, where a ghostly patron had recently deposited their breakfast accoutrements, as well as a copy of the Central City Post and a letter addressed to DG on a small platter.

Wyatt did not bother to sit as he poured himself a cup of coffee, content to stand as he sipped his coffee and scaned the headlines of the newspaper folded in his hand. Wyatt seemed to be satisfied that nothing significant had happened yet while he was away from the city, not eager to cut his time short. I’m going to be busy enough as it is, once I take on this Seeker job, not to mention the hell DG is going to give me once she finds out about it, Wyatt grimaced as he finished scanning the paper. His eyes rested on the byline at the top of the page. It read simply, “Royal announcement scheduled a week from today: Her Majesty, Queen Lavender of the House of Gale will address the citizenry of the Outer Zone on the second annual anniversary of the double eclipse from the seat of the royal family, and heart of the realms, the Central City Royal Palace.”

Wyatt sighed. Therein lay his other conundrum. Wyatt and DG both knew that in one week, Azkadellia would be officially named the heir apparent to the throne and would begin to shadow her mother in preparation for taking the throne, while Ambrose would be required to do something similar with the Prince Consort. It was already assumed that DG and Wyatt and would fulfill lesser tasks for the heir apparent and future Consort, but what was not readily known –by more than the select few who had been present in Wyatt’s office before their wedding– was that this included some rather shady business in the Realm of the Unwanted. DG would undoubtedly interrogate Wyatt as to why it would be necessary for Wyatt to take on such a task, when he was already so visible, and was about to become even more so. For Wyatt, the answer was simple – his father-in-law had asked him to do it.  Besides, no one else had amassed as many connections as both Wyatt and Ahamo had combined, and both were well versed in the ways of the underworld, so the choice of Wyatt as the next seeker was really only basic arithmetic. What wasn’t so simple was explaining this to DG, who had had high hopes for relocating to more modest accommodations since their return from the Otherside. So far, Wyatt had managed to avoid the topic altogether, but as their vacation came closer to its inevitable end, he knew he’d have to admit the truth soon.

The window of time for hunting down Vizor was closing though, and the trail would grow cold sooner rather than later, Wyatt knew. So, he would not be able to wait much longer to tell DG about his assignment. He only hoped that he could convince her that it would be a simple task - one that would not take him away for too long and be mundane enough not to spark her sense of adventure.

She’s not going to buy it, Tin Man, Wyatt grumbled internally, and shook his head.

He had stood around long enough, he reasoned, and poured himself and DG another cup of coffee. After adding copious amounts of cream and sugar to DG’s and putting the paper and letter under his arm, he walked slowly back to their bedroom, now firmly determined to put himself in the line of DG’s fire. Wyatt sighed as he reached the threshold of the room, and he moved silently on his bare feet across the thick rugs, closing the bedroom door most of the way with his foot as he moved towards DG’s side of the bed, coffee in hand. When he set the cup down on her bedside table, DG hummed in her half-slumber.

Wyatt watched with mild humor as DG sat up to take the cup. In a fit of modesty, she covered her bare chest, stuffing the blanket under her arms. She inhaled the rich aroma of the coffee under her nose like a child in a candy store. Sensing his eyes on her, she glanced up sheepishly from her beverage and took the envelope from his waiting hands.

"Thank you," she murmured, pink suffusing her cheeks in embarrassment.

While Wyatt found DG's continued moments of shyness endearing, they also served to remind him of their age difference and his heart constricted at the thought. He had been savoring every moment with her, drinking her in like she was the last water he would have before entering a vast wasteland. He felt guilty knowing that he was keeping the truth of his assignment from her, and he had an unpleasant voice in the back of his head telling him that it there was a real danger lurking behind the recent appearances of the Sorceress’ advisor. So, while he had already lived a lifetime, and did not fear for himself, he didn't want to face the possibility that he might leave DG alone before they had ever really begun their life together.

She could be a widow before our first anniversary and be left alone to raise our daughter all by herself. I’d be leaving behind another wife and child; his conscious needled him.

DG must have seen the guilt and worry in his eyes, because she stopped sipping her coffee and asked, "Wyatt, are you okay?"

Wyatt flashed her his brightest smile and lied. "I'm great Princess. Didn't you hear? I've got the most beautiful woman in the OZ so hot for me that she barely ever leaves my bed. Life is pretty wonderful right now." Wyatt leaned down and planted a soft kiss on DG's upturned lips. As he disengaged, he tried to ignore the skeptical side eye she gave him while he moved back to his side of the bed. DG watched him silently as he placed his cup and newspaper on his bedside table, and in one smooth motion, slid his pants off and turned to face her before getting back into bed. The pink in her face turned a darker shade a mauve at the heated stare he gave her as he stood exposed in front of her.

Touche Tin Man, you are pretty damn hot, DG thought involuntarily as she gazed at his muscular physique.

Wyatt smirked at her response, knowing he had won for the moment, and slid into bed next to her. Taking advantage of catching her off guard, he opened the paper and hid his eyes from hers, hoping to retain his upper ground until he could find the nerve to come clean.

DG chewed on her lower lip, pondering whether or not to corner Wyatt. She knew he was hiding something, but she wasn't sure that she was ready to push him. DG knew she was still learning the ropes of being married, and she second guessed her normally inquisitive nature in favor of a little patience. Besides, she reasoned, she'd always managed to break him down before. The first time being only a few minutes after meeting him. Certainly, she could do it now that they were married. DG decided instead to open her own form of news: letters from home.  DG knew without even opening the envelope that it was a letter from Az, as she had written DG weekly since her departure from Central City. Az hadn’t really bothered with the sorts of news found in Wyatt’s paper, and her information had been on a more personal level, about goings on within the palace. The first time Wyatt had tried to show interest in his sister-in-law’s correspondence, he had received a glowering stare followed by DG grumbling about “girl talk,” so he had given it up as a lost cause. At this juncture, he was more interested in deflecting DG, so he remained silent, pretending to read his paper. He was surprised then, when DG jumped up to straddle his legs and pulled the newspaper down, forcing him to look at her.

“Wyatt!” She exclaimed, thrusting the letter at him.

“DG,” he bellowed indignantly, scowling at her and attempting to fold the paper back into some semblance of how it had been.  When he was done, he laid it to the side and took the letter from her with an annoyed huff.

DG folded her arms in front of her chest, waiting impatiently as he scanned the page. Most of the letter was inconsequential, mostly to do with pleasantries and updates on Azkadellia’s pregnancy. Then, there was a passage that Wyatt was hard-pressed to not respond to.  His eyebrows shot up as he read:

Ambrose recently told me about the rumors floating around the Realm of the Unwanted about Vizor. I am fairly certain he only told me to make me feel better, but I am relieved to know that Wyatt will be on the case soon. Apparently, Daddy wants Wyatt to join in on the family business, and he will be taking over as the Seeker. I am glad that he did not ask Ambrose – I love my husband, but I am a little afraid that he might forget himself, and I know he already his hands full as it is. All the new responsibilities are stretching him so much that I have caught him glitching once or twice already, especially when he is tired. Please thank Wyatt for me and tell him that I have been sleeping much better since I heard the news.

Wyatt’s eyes slowly roamed up from the page and rested tentatively on DG’s.  DG plucked the page from his hands, frowning seriously at him.

“Deeg, I can explain,” Wyatt hesitated, and was interrupted by an exuberant hug from his wife.

“Wyatt, this is the best wedding present ever!” DG exclaimed as frown melted and she threw her arms around his neck, planting an enthusiastic kiss on his mouth.

Wyatt gave in to the kiss and allowed his hands to rest on her hips before traveling to her backside to pull her closer to him. Then the uncomfortable squirm in his gut came back. He couldn’t give her half-truths, he decided. Wyatt pulled back from the kiss and leaned his head back on the headboard, and stopped DG, “Deeg, I think we need to talk about this.”

DG shook her head, “Damn straight, Tin Man, when do we leave? You know I hate being kooked up in Central City, tell me we don’ have to go back there yet?”

Wyatt’s hands rubbed DG’s back lightly, and he replied hesitantly, “Dorothy, there’s not going to be any we on this mission.”

DG’s frown was real now, and she pulled back to look more directly in his eyes, and she grumbled, “Out with it Wyatt, and there better not be any ‘you’re pregnant’ excuses in there.”

Wyatt sighed heavily, “DG, it’s no excuse, and you know it. Besides, your father asked me to do this, and honestly, I can’t say no to him.”

DG huffed; damn I hate it when he’s right. A look in his eyes told her that he wasn’t done confessing though, as the worry lines at the edges of his eyes hadn’t relaxed, and he seemed to be holding his breath, like he was about to get shot, and she asked warily, “There’s more, isn’t there, Tin Man?”

Wyatt’s eyes flickered for only a moment, and his jaw went into a firm set as he admitted in a deep rumble, “We’re going to have to put off the move until I can nail down Vizor.” DG scoffed loudly, and she began to remove herself from his lap in an angry huff. She might have been successful, except the Tin Man’s arms quickly wrapped themselves around her waist, and they tightened when she attempted to move. Wyatt pulled her back to his chest and searched her eyes, speaking softly to get her attention, “Dorothy, please don’t ask me to put you in harm’s way again. I don’t think I could bear losing you. Please promise to stay with the family until we can get this straightened out. It will be safer for you and the baby.”

The frustration in DG’s eyes melted in the face of Wyatt’s searching eyes, and she relaxed against him, allowing him to pull her mouth down to his. If she was being completely honest, she might have admitted that pregnancy had left her feeling unusually vulnerable and questioning her continued role in important matters. Wyatt’s honest plea for her safety exposed his own vulnerability, and relaxed her to the point of compliance, with the realization that he was right in every way. Just as his emotional openness had relaxed her mind, so too did his soft kisses melt away the remaining vestiges of her physical defenses, and as his tongue begged entrance, DG’s mouth opened and welcomed him with a small whimper. DG broke their tongues’ urgent dance with a gasp as Wyatt’s hands roamed, and he tickled her sides with a gentle brush of his fingers. Wyatt moved to laving DG’s neck and then her collarbone, and the sensation brought on by his hands and tongue sent waves of arousal through DG’s center, and her pelvis rocked against him. She was even more encouraged by the hardening she felt there with every turn of her hips, and her lips curled seductively when Wyatt growled in response, getting more and more insistent for her body against his.

DG’s mind clicked at that moment, and she realized that Wyatt was trying to win one of their first disagreements as a married couple. Oh no, mister, there’s no way you’re winning this one, she thought as she pulled back and pushed him against the headboard. Wyatt was shocked, not expecting DG to break away. DG smirked at the momentary look of hurt in his eyes, and she leaned over him to kiss him slowly, breaking away to slide down his body at a maddeningly slow pace, leaving open mouthed kisses on his neck, his nipples, and his abdomen. As she traveled closer to his pelvis, simultaneously slithering down his legs, breasts brushing against him, he groaned.

“Promise me, Wyatt.” DG spoke quietly, but with force.

Wyatt’s voice waivered as he asked in a breathy whisper, “What?”

DG paused for effect, blowing gently on him before taking the tip of him in her mouth and rubbing her tongue generously around the opening. She stopped suddenly and looked back up at him. His eyes were flaring, and he was breathing raggedly. “Promise me that you won’t do anything stupid and dangerous,” DG responded.  Then she ducked back down, and took him into her mouth completely, sucking on him as her lips moved slowly down.  As she came back up, her tongue traveled up the base of him, and he gasped in reply. She kissed his tip, and continued, “Promise me that you’ll come home to me as soon as possible.” She repeated the trip once more, this time with even more relish, and she paused once more to add, “And promise me that we’ll go home when this is over.”

Wyatt was losing control, and he didn’t care anymore. She’d won. “Oh Gods, yes, I promise. Just don’t stop,” he panted, fisting the sheets on either side of DG’s head.

DG continued to take him, savoring his hardness and the control that she had over him while Wyatt’s hands moved from the bedsheets to DG’s shoulders as she continued her slow trip up and down his length. He rubbed and squeezed her shoulders as she moved, his breath becoming more and more shaky. He could feel the pressure building up to a point that he could barely contain himself and decided that he’d had enough. He wanted her, but he also wanted her to know that he had let her win the first round of their disagreement. She squeaked in surprise when his hands grabbed her under her arms and pulled her on top of him.  When she smiled a sly feminine smile at him, he growled hungrily at her, kissing her fiercely while rolling them so that he was over her.

Wyatt was completely undone now, having let his desire take control, and DG was the object of that need. As Wyatt fed hungrily at DG's neck, he growled into the gentle curve at the base of her collar, "Don't think I don't know what you're doing Princess."

DG whimpered as Wyatt's teeth grazed her skin. Trying miserably to sound innocent, DG breathed out, "I don't know what you mean, Seeker."

Wyatt scoffed in annoyance before dipping down to her breast, causing DG to moan as he suckled her hungrily.  DG’s back arched to push against him, and he moved to her other breast, intentionally prolonging her torture. DG was becoming almost as senseless, and Wyatt’s lips curled with satisfaction. Wyatt gazed down on DG for a moment, taken with her body writhing underneath him. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth open in a breathless pant, and before she could register that he had moved, he parted her legs. His hands, once resting on her knees, slid down the insides of her thighs, and he dragged his nails along her skin so softly that the sensation elicited whimpers of barely contained arousal from the princess. When he reached the juncture of her thighs, her eyes fluttered at him in curiosity, and when he tested her with his fingers, gliding them around her opening, she closed them once more and moaned.

As his fingers circled her soft opening, Wyatt spoke firmly, "You may have won the battle, but I’m going to win the war.” His index and middle fingers then plunged into her softness. She was wet and whimpered his name as he sawed slowly in and out of her, priming her body. When she started to push into his hand, he knew she was ready, and groaned to hold back his growing urge to take her.

DG seemed to sense his agitation, and a small smile formed on her visage. In response to Wyatt's challenge, and she shook her head, humming teasingly, "uh-uh."

Wyatt quipped an eyebrow, pulling out of her. "Is that how you want to play this, Mrs. Cain?" Wyatt's hands held DG's hips as he waited for a response. DG bit her bottom lip to try and stem the wicked smile threatening to break through. Her eyes sparkled with humor as she gazed up into Wyatt's and she nodded at him and hummed in affirmation. Wyatt smirked, his eyes dark with desire.

"Okay Dorothy," he growled, plunging roughly into her.

DG gasped with surprise. Although the action was almost violent in force, it was pleasurable, and DG grasped Wyatt’s shoulders, begging him to go again. Wyatt removed DG's hands from his shoulders and pulled them over her head, holding them there as he thrust into her with repeated ferocity. A satisfied smile graced his face as he looked down on her. She was arching underneath him, begging him.

"Please don't stop Wyatt," she muttered between quickening breaths.

Wyatt leaned down close to her ear and whispered, "Promise me that you'll stay with your family and out of the realm, Dorothy."

DG gasped, "oh yes, please Wyatt."

Wyatt continued to make love to her, whispering into her neck, "I need to know that you'll be waiting for me in our bed, Dorothy."

DG nodded, abandoning her control. Wyatt’s thrusts against DG increased in speed, and they moved against each other as if in a primal dance, with DG’s moans spurred him on, and Wyatt feasting on DG’s body as he made love to her. DG’s limbs climbed Wyatt’s thighs and shoulders as she reached closer to her climax.

“That’s it, Dorothy, come with me,” Wyatt murmured in DG’s ear.  Her walls were squeezing him, and Wyatt suddenly wanted her eyes on him. “Dorothy, look at me,” He commanded quietly.

DG’s eyes fluttered open as she continued to pant.

“Dorothy, I love you,” Wyatt spoke quietly as he continued to thrust urgently.

“Oh, oh Wyatt, I love you too,” DG whimpered.  At that moment, she squeezed him tightly and her eyes fell shut again, arching into him with a shaky gasp of pleasure.

It was only another moment before Wyatt felt his own sweet release. His body clenched as he released into Dorothy, thrusting one final time. Utterly spent, he collapsed next to her on the bed. Wyatt pulled DG close to him, issuing a promise to the crown of her head, "Dorothy, I promise you. I will come home as quick and as often as my shoes can carry me. I don't want to be away from you more than I have to. I love you."

DG mumbled against his chest, “Shoes need to move fast, Wyatt.  I want you in our bed every night.” 

DG kissed Wyatt ardently and ran her fingers through the faint curls on Wyatt’s chest before settling back down. She hummed pleasantly as she snuggled closer to him, drifting off quickly, and Wyatt sighed contentedly, enjoying the weight of DG against him. They began to breathe deeply together, now completely giving in to their need for rest. As they slept, the suns continued their march upward into the sky. Neither would rouse again until nearly midday, and only to satisfy their need of sustenance. They would only have another few days in Finaqua, and they relished any opportunity they could get to be wrapped up in each other, both knowing that soon, they would be separated by another twist in their shared journey down the old road.

Chapter Text

On the second annual anniversary of the Double Eclipse, the skies of the OZ were a cloudless azure, and the suns sparkled down on the glittering towers of Central City. Much had changed in the heart of the OZ in the two annuals since the Queen’s return, and Central City was much closer to the Shining City on the Hill of old than it had been in the fifteen annuals of the Sorceress’s rule. The streets were clear of debris, flowers overflowed in flower boxes and gardens that lined the streets, and the birds sung sweetly in celebration. Although it was early yet, the City was already buzzing with activity. The Queen was scheduled to give her address to the Realm soon, followed later in the morning by a parade of grand proportions. The square in front of the palace was already teaming with citizenry crowding around large view screens positioned there for all to view the Queen’s address, the royal family’s appearance at the grand balcony, and approach of the parade as it marched from the outskirts of the city to Central Square.

Inside a small shoe box of a shop near the Spiritual District of Central City, one would not have known any of this was happening. The windows of this shop were dingy, letting in just enough of the suns’ rays to highlight the dust floating around the window display of crude idols. The shop was cramped and stuffed from floor to ceiling with religious paraphernalia ranging from statuettes to amulets, and crystal balls to incense and candles. In the back of the shop, there was an arrow pointing down to a curtained doorway, over which a sign read “DeMilo the Divinatory – Fortunes Read and Pleas Made for a Reasonable Price.” Opposite this door was a counter where a cash register sat in the corner, and on the other end sat an intricate altar to Ozma. A lifelike statuette of the late Queen sat surrounded by a bed of poppies; her golden hair was frozen in a perpetual breeze, and her startling blue eyes seemed to pierce the veil of her frozen countenance. Incense burned before her bare feet, curling around the statue as if attracted to it, and perfuming the air heavily with lavender musk.

In between the divination room and the counter, a small hallway led to what one could only assume was a storeroom. From this hallway, Antoine DeMilo struggled forward, hauling a view screen while he grunted and huffed. DeMilo was a portly little man, with greasy black hair that tried in vain to cover the top of his head. What he lacked on top of his head he made up for with copious amounts of equally oiled facial hair, which he formed into a tightly curled mustache and goatee. Antoine DeMilo was a man obsessed with wealth, and adorned himself with gold in any way possible, from golden hoop earrings and gold chains dangling from his neck to the gold tooth sparkling from his puffing mouth. DeMilo’s opulence did not stop with the gold decorating his extremities – he was frequently to be seen in rich fabrics of red silk and velvet and kept an intricate turbine in his divination chamber when the need arose. DeMilo’s round belly heaved as he dragged the view screen out of the storeroom and deposited it heavily on the counter, gasping for breath when he’d relieved himself of the weight.

Behind Antoine DeMilo bustled his twin wives, Marla and Darla. The two women had identical long dark hair, large brown eyes, and button noses. If it weren’t for the heavy makeup and tight fitting, brightly colored corsets worn by both women, one might have thought they were only girls, as their features were delicate, and the look in their eyes almost innocent. Today though, they were in a frenzy, buzzing behind their husband, afraid that he would drop their only connection to life outside the crowded shop. When DeMilo set the screen down and leaned over to catch his breath, both women instantly settled down and sighed with relief. While Marla repositioned the screen so they could see it and the front door, Darla ran to get Antoine a cup of tea. Why the twin sisters had married the sleazy peddler was anyone’s guess –They were almost beautiful where he wasn’t– but whatever their reasons they both seemed to care for the man and worried over his wellbeing now that the view screen was situated.

“Meh,” DeMilo waved them off, “I’m just a little out of shape is all. You girls get your show on, I’ll worry about opening the shop.” Marla and Darla shrugged at each other, still not really speaking, while DeMilo ignored them. The man was accustomed to their quiet forms of communication, and in the beginning of their odd relationship, it had set him on edge. Now, it was almost a comfort, and he seldom found any reason to be troubled by it, he thought idly as he stood back up to deposit the tea on the counter before limping over to the front door. As he came closer to the door and looked out the window, he grimaced and grumbled, “not like being open will make any difference today.”

DeMilo turned the sign over to read “Open” to the street outside and flipped the lock. Just for effect, the little man opened and shut the door a few times so that the bell above the door would chime loudly. Gods willing, he thought, someone will hear the bell and decide to come in. DeMilo’s nervous fidgeting with the front door was interrupted by the sound of the view screen coming to life behind him. The static from the screen was deafening, and DeMilo covered his ears as he ran for the counter, moving his screeching wives out of his way.

“You have to turn the nob, Marla.” He admonished his wife, and waving Darla away from it, he continued, “this is very delicate, Darla!”

The girls simultaneously folded their arms at him in annoyance, but their countenances eased when the picture cleared, and the crest of the House of Gale appeared on the screen. As the image turned to one of the Queen seated in front of a warm fireplace, Marla and Darla rested their elbows of the counter to watch. DeMilo stepped back from the screen to allow his rapt wives to view the message and stood behind them to watch a look of mild disdain plastered on his face.

The Queen sat in quiet grace, with her hands resting in her lap. Her delicate face was thin, but there was light in her eyes where she had appeared weary an annual ago, and her silver curls were piled on her head without the accompaniment of crown or other jewels befitting her station.  Her dress too was modest, made of white lace, and covered her neck and arms. Today, she appeared as a lady of the Realms rather than the most noble being in the lands. Her overall appearance was soothing and familiar, as if she were a family friend, and when the Queen opened her mouth to speak, her voice was soft and lilting:

“Dear friends, it is my greatest pleasure to speak to you today. Today, as you know, marks the second annual anniversary of the double eclipse, and our country’s triumph over the dark. Though members of my own family have been given the honor of being called your heroes, we owe our gratitude to you, our people, for the triumphs that we celebrate today. These past annuals have been a non-ending season of renewal that we can all be proud of. Central City has returned to much of the splendor of its former days, and the Old Road has been repaved for many leagues in all directions, making our growing commerce all the more fruitful. Our lands have become fertile once more, and our children have returned to their classrooms to bring further light to the future of our lands. For my own family, this past annual has brought many blessings as well. My eldest was, as you know, freed from the clutches of the dark, and is healing more and more as the days pass, and this healing has only been helped along by the steady, loving hand of her husband, and the impending arrival of their child. We also recently celebrated the marriage of my youngest to her true love, bringing many more blessings on our family by the addition of my newest son-in-law and his brave son. I take great pride in the steps that my family has taken to heal, as I do with you, my people, and our great country. In the darkest days of my own imprisonment, I had faith that this great land would prevail over the dark. I speak to you now with a light heart, for that faith has turned to certainty. This certainty also gives me the ability to do what I so desperately need to do for myself and my family. In the next few annuals, my role as your monarch will diminish, as it should, and my heir apparent will take her rightful place as your leader. As bittersweet as giving you this news is, I am overjoyed that Azkadellia will be your next monarch. Her courage and steadfastness will serve you well, and her consort’s appreciation for innovation will surely help usher in a new golden age for our land. The state of our land is strong today, as I hope it will be for annuals to come. Let us all celebrate and give thanks for the accomplishments of you, my people. Long may the Outer Zone prevail.”

Midway through the Queen’s speech, the chime over the door rang, and DeMilo jerked his head in its direction, while his mouth watered at the thought of a customer. A slight man, whose skin was the color of molten chocolate, shuffled through the door quickly, checking behind his shoulder as he shut the door. His eyes were so dark, that they seemed to shut out the light, and they darted around him cautiously as he pressed the door closed with both hands. He seemed to hang in the shadows, seemingly afraid of being seen, and when he turned to survey the shop, his eyes bore through Demilo like hot pokers. The presence of this man at this particular moment, when the most ordinary people were celebrating in the square, coupled with his clandestine demeanor, instantly peaked DeMilo’s interest – and his ire. Ah come on, man. I’m trying to be a legitimate businessman here. How do they always find me? He thought and cringed slightly. This objection was only a side note however, as his desire for profit was greater than his need for honest business.

Opening his arms wide in greeting, he turned towards the man and stepped forward. “Welcome to DeMilo’s Spiritual Emporium, where talismans and guidance are available for a reasonable price!”

The man looked around nervously and nodded at DeMilo. He hissed a question in DeMilo’s direction, but Antoine did not hear him, so he spoke louder. When he spoke again, his deep voice had an oily quality to it, as if it was seeping into DeMilo’s very soul, and Antoine shuddered internally. “I was told you were a man who could get things.  Special things.”

Antoine shrugged with pride, “Meh, I get by.  Whatcha lookin’ for buddy?”

The man turned back to the door, engaging the lock. Marla and Darla looked up, somewhat alarmed, and DeMilo waved them off without breaking eye contact with the man.

The man slithered up to DeMilo and replied, “I’m looking for a bejeweled belt, very old.”

DeMilo scoffed, “Come on man, does this look like a clothier's shop? Maybe you should try the merchant’s district.  I hear they’ve got some nice stuff coming in from Ev.”

The man clenched his teeth and grabbed Demilo by the lapels of his coat, growling deeply, “This isn’t just any belt. It’s very unique.” The man released DeMilo and pulled a pouch out of his coat pocket, and Demilo watched with growing interest as he opened the pouch and pulled out a few rubies. Placing them in Demilo’s hands, he continued, “I’d be willing to pay a handsome price to anyone who would be willing to help me obtain it for my employer.”

DeMilo whistled and examined the gems in the light, then turning back to the man he replied, “Okay, man, look.  I don’t have anything like that here, but I can send you to the right place.”

The man stood ramrod straight and folded his arms, “I’m listening.”

DeMilo produced a card from his coat and handed it to the man, “Go to this person in the Realm of the Unwanted.  She specializes in these kinds of antiques. If she can’t get it, no one can.”

DeMilo moved to give the man his rubies back.  He was relieved when the man turned away and grumbled, “Keep it.  Call it a down payment in case there’s anything else I require from you.” The man stalked back to the door and unlocked it. Before leaving, he turned around and looked directly at Antoine and stated, “I don’t have to tell you that I wasn’t here, do I?”

DeMilo scoffed nervously, “Of course not, anything for one of my best clients.”

The man seemed satisfied by this response and disappeared through the door, barely even jostling the chimes as he shut the door once more. When he was gone, DeMilo darted to the door and stuck his head out into the morning light. No one could be seen in either direction outside. It was as if the man had melted away in the light, and this sent a shudder through the man, and he rubbed his sides furiously, trying desperately to get the chill out of his arms.

Marla and Darla exchanged nervous glances when the man left but turned back to the telecast of the celebrations. By the time DeMilo reentered the shop, they had shifted to the other side of the counter and were uttering whispered prayers to the effigy of Ozma the Great, and DeMilo could only look on and shake his head in disbelief. “How I managed to hook two of the most hoity toity religious freaks, I’ll never figure out,” DeMilo muttered, “but praise Ozma, I guess!” DeMilo lifted his eyes and hands to the ceiling, and then down to the outer butt cheek of each woman.

Marla exclaimed in annoyance, “Tony!” She swatted DeMilo’s hand away as she moved from the counter, going about her morning routine of arranging the inventory and wiping down the counter.

Darla had remained stationary, however, and seemed wholly unaffected by both Demilo’s crudeness and Marla’s vociferous objection. Neither seemed bothered by Darla’s lack of response and went about their chores, seemingly uncaring to her suddenly frozen countenance. Darla stood motionless in front of the altar, and her hands clutched at the feet of Ozma as if they were glued to the spot. Her eyes were shut tight, and her breathing became shallow. Behind her eyes, stars and fog seemed to swirl, and she was quickly becoming dizzy. Just when she felt the sensation of her stomach dropping from a sudden fall, her feet landed on solid ground. When she was deposited so firmly on the grass, Darla gasped for the shock to her senses, and she stared around in awe. She was on the high hills looking down on Central City. To her surprise, aside from the sudden change in her location, her appearance had also changed, and she was no longer was she in the costume of her daily life. Darla was in a gauzy sleeveless dress the color of sea mist that floated lazily in the breeze. Her hair was loose and flowing, and her feet were bare. She flexed her toes in the soft grass and smiled. When she looked back up to gaze at Central City, she almost jumped out of her skin at the realization that she was not alone.

The woman who stood in front of her was so beautiful that it knocked the air out of Darla’s lungs. Her brilliant crystal blue eyes shone like glittering diamonds in the suns, and her pale golden hair flowed about her as if it was caught in a perpetual breeze. Although her garb was of a similar fashion to Darla’s there was a regal quality to the woman, and a golden crown emblazoned with the initials of the realm circled her head to signify her rank. Then she spoke Darla’s name without moving her lips, and all doubt left Darla’s mind as to the identity of the ethereal woman.

Darla went down on her knees and exclaimed in a hushed tone, “Oh great Ozma, how may I serve you?”

Ozma smiled and replied, “Darla, you and your sister have already done much more than you know by helping those dearest to me once before. I need your assistance again.” Ozma lifted Darla back to her feet and continued, now looking earnestly into Darla’s brown eyes, “You must get a message to General Cain right away.  He has to know about your husband’s visitor today. Take word to the Tin Men, they will see your message home.”

Darla nodded, “Yes Ozma, I will see it done right away.”

Ozma’s voice continued urgently, “You must not hide your true identity from them, or they will not take you seriously. Go to the Tin Men as Priestess of the Temple of Ozma, and your message will be taken swiftly to the Tin Man in the tower.” Ozma held Darla’s arms firmly and looked down to her, a plea in her eyes now, “There is something even more personal that you must relay to Wyatt Ulysses Cain when you see him. You must tell him to give my music box to Princess Dorothy before he leaves.” Darla nodded again in affirmation, but almost had to cover her ears when Ozma’s voice boomed in her head, “Dorothy must have this box to receive my message to her, or the future of the House of Gale and all that is good in the Outer Zone will end with her. You must do this Priestess; do I have your word?”

Darla winced as tears formed in her eyes, but she looked up into the eyes of the goddess nonetheless and whimpered, “Yes Great Ozma, you have my word. I will implore Sir Cain to give the music box to Princess Dorothy right away.”

Ozma released her tight grip on Darla’s arms and rubbed her arms lightly before stepping back with a relieved sigh. “Good, now go Priestess. I will not see you again, but if all goes well, you may see me one day in the future.  Look for a brilliant blue herald on a morning with double rainbows, and you will know that I am here, and all is well. Farewell Priestess.”

Darla nodded her farewell as she shut her eyes. The sensation of falling came back to her once more as her head swirled and stopped suddenly when she touched back down in the shop. She opened her eyes to find that she hadn’t left the space she previously occupied, and she was back in her tight-fitting corset and matching chartreuse skirt. Her sister was now at the cash register counting money, and Antoine was standing in front of the view screen, shaking his head.

Darla glanced at the screen with mild interest to determine what DeMilo was shaking his head at. The image was of the royal family on the balcony overlooking the square. The Queen and her consort were flanked on either side by their daughters, and on either side of the young princesses was the Royal Advisor and - “Wyatt freakin’ Cain,” DeMilo chortled. “Comin’ up in the world, Tin Man. Just don’t forget your ole pal Antoine DeMilo,” he spoke to the screen, now zooming in on the Princess Dorothy and General Cain, “You still owe me a new wagon!” DeMilo scoffed in amusement at the screen and turned to go to the storeroom, “I’m going to go count inventory, I’ve had enough fluff for one day.”

Darla continued to gaze at the screen. There was something familiar about the general’s blue eyes, but she could not place it. She shrugged and turned to her sister. “I have been given an errand. I’m going out for a little while.”

Marla nodded knowingly and glanced at the statue. She had received her own message once before, having been told that she and her sister would marry a man that would one day provide great assistance to a Knight of the Realm and the Princess under his protection. Ozma had led Marla to Antoine DeMilo, and despite his outward sleaze, he had never disappointed with random acts of kindness to people down on their luck. Then, two annuals ago, Antoine had let Wyatt Cain take their wagon to escape Central City. Antoine had feigned injury, but in reality, he liked the Tin Man, and felt compelled to render aid. He had only disclosed this to Marla and Darla, begging them not to tell anyone out of fear of losing face to either the Tin Man or the rest of the underworld. Marla and Darla had quietly accepted all of this, having realized already who the young woman with the Tin Man was. Ozma’s foretelling had come to fruition.

Darla hurried to a small bedroom in the back of the shop and quickly changed out of her carnival-like costume and scrubbed the heavy makeup from her face. In the place of this, she donned a green dress similar to the one worn in her vision, and she combed her dark locks out until they fell in a curtain of silken night over her shoulders. She placed a simple ring of gold on her head that rested on her forehead and fastened a dark green cloak around her neck. Darla was a vision in green, appearing with almost childlike beauty were it not for the feminine curves of her adult frame. She then exited the bedroom and nodded to her sister one last time before she slipped a note into the pocket of her cloak. Watching her sister’s appearance change, Marla new that the vision that Darla had received must be important. Although the sisters had spent most of the Sorceress’ reign in hiding, never showing their true identities in public for fear of falling victim to her longcoats, they had never shied away from duty when called. Now Darla was being called, and Marla gladly covered for her when she disappeared through the back of the shop.

Darla darted through the back alleys of the city. Although the streets were still emptied and most citizens were either in the square or lining the parade route at this hour, she still felt some need to be cautious and moved quickly. She had no need of hiding herself to the Tin Men, but she did not want to lose the cover of being one of DeMilo’s girls just yet given the nature of their customer earlier in the day. Until she was closer to her destination, it was better to avoid notice as much as possible, and as she neared the Hall of Justice, Darla slowed to a stop to watch the front entrance.

The buildings in this section of the city were older, and most were made of a white stone, decked with intricate iron works along the doors and windows. The Hall of Justice was among the more impressive, as it stood in the center of this cluster of stone buildings and gleamed in the sunlight. Its edifice was wide and flanked with columns that ran the entire height of the tall structure. The building was crowned with molding from which the occasional star carved in stone appeared. To reach the entrance to the building, one would have to climb twenty wide stone steps that came out to meet the sidewalk in front of the building. That morning, there were not more than a few Tin Men milling in and out of the building in a small trickle, and the traffic on the sidewalk was non-existent. Darla took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back. You’re a priestess of the Temple of Ozma, not some backwater waif, Darla thought, steeling herself for the walk across the street and into the Hall of Justice. 

When Darla stepped onto the sidewalk and across the street, she glided confidently as one in her station should.  The Temple of Ozma was respected, having followed Ozma from the time of the Dorothy, when Ozma last ruled the OZ. When Ozma named Dorothy her heir apparent and slowly diminished, it had been whispered that she would return one day. It was believed that her return would herald a golden era in the OZ, and so the Temple of Ozma was born with a mission to prepare for her return. The Temple and the House of Gale had always been closely aligned, so many of the priestesses had gone into hiding with the rise of the Sorceress or been killed by the Sorceress herself in the early days of her reign of terror. Darla floated up the steps and silently entered the hall, her face screwed into a mask of fearless impassivity. The Tin Men that milled about the large atrium stopped talking immediately at the sight of Darla, and most even removed their hats and bowed slightly as she walked past to the reception counter. Darla kept her eyes forward, not acknowledging these signs of reverence, holding the guard at the desk in her sights as she glided forward. 

When she stepped before the guard station, he babbled quietly and then coughed, “How might we be of service to the Temple of Ozma, Your Grace?”

Darla’s chin rose slightly as she spoke quietly, but firmly in response, “I need a message delivered to General Cain immediately.” Darla handed the guard the envelope and spoke without releasing her grip on the envelope, “This must be read by no one other than General Wyatt Cain, and it must be delivered immediately. Do you understand?”

The guard cleared his throat nervously and nodded, “Yes, yes ma’am. General Wyatt Cain.”

Darla smiled warmly at the man and released her hold on the envelope. The man blushed and smiled back when Darla replied, “Thank you very much officer. May you have a pleasant Eclipse Day.”

With her message delivered, Darla turned on her heal and exited the building. She melted back into the alleyways of the city, silently heading back to DeMilo’s shop, having been successfully unseen by all except the Tin Men in the Hall of Justice.

Chapter Text

After spending the morning in what Wyatt had privately termed “royal hell,” where he had spent more time waving and smiling than he could handle, he was relieved to finally be released from his torture. The entire royal family had been standing on the grand balcony waving at a sea of exuberant faces for what seemed an eternity. Wyatt’s arm felt like it would fall off, and his face muscles screamed from the excessive smiling he had been doing. When they finally reentered the palace and the doors shut behind them, Wyatt and the Consort both groaned, collapsing into armchairs flanking the fireplace directly across from the threshold. DG and her mother smirked at each other as they walked towards their spouses, arm in arm, both amused and delighted at the bond that had formed between the men – Wyatt and his father-in-law had become like two peas in a pod, and frequently bonded over their shared distaste for the grandeur of royal life.

The Queen kissed her daughter’s crown and disengaged from her arm, gliding over to her husband’s side and asking suggestively as she drew near, “Darling, I’m going to take a few moments to myself before we meet the parade. Would you care to join me?”

The Consort grinned up at his wife and shrugged nonchalantly, “Of course my dear,” then turning to Wyatt, he sighed, “duty calls. See you boys later?”

Wyatt’s eyebrow raised slightly, and he cleared his throat before replying, “Yes sir, of course. This afternoon.”

The Consort nodded conspiratorially and then rose to take his wife’s hand. As they moved to exit, DG grinned and donned Wyatt’s blue dress hat before depositing herself in Wyatt’s lap. Wyatt grinned at her fondly, enjoying the way his hat sat over her pined curls and fell at a crooked angle. DG kicked her feet like a little girl, and she put her arms around his neck, placing a light kiss on his cheek before looking him in the eyes. 

“Wyatt,” She began with a lilt, “would you like to go play hooky with me for a little while?”

Wyatt sighed heavily and rubbed DG’s back, allowing a look of disappointment to appear around the corners of his mouth. “I can’t Deeg. I’ve got to pack up my old office before the new Major General arrives later today, and I’ve got an important meeting with your father and Ambrose to prepare for.”

DG pouted, whining, “Oh come on, just for a little while?”

Wyatt kissed her still pouting lips slowly, suckling her bottom lip until she relented. Her mouth opened to his, and she melted into him as he explored her. They were interrupted in short order by a cough behind them, and they separated to look at their company. Azkadellia and Ambrose had been conspiring in the corner before, but now Azkadellia was standing with her arms crossed. She had a wicked smirk on her face, and her eyebrow was raised at her brother and sister.

“Oh, hi Az, sorry.” DG smiled before standing up from Wyatt’s lap. She smoothed out the creases in her navy-blue dress that flared out at her knees in a loose mermaid shape, feeling a blush creep up on her cheeks, and she removed Wyatt’s hat from her head and tossed it back to him with a sheepish grin.

Azkadellia sighed and replied, “It’s okay little sister, but you might save the rest of that for later. Don’t want to give the staff a show.”

Wyatt cleared his throat and stood, and before DG could return Azkadellia’s teasing, Wyatt turned her around and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Princess,” Wyatt whispered, “I’ve got to meet with your sister and Glitch before I do anything else today. Can I take a raincheck for maybe tonight?”

DG huffed, “Why can’t I be here for this meeting?”

“Dorothy,” Wyatt pleaded, “the less you or anyone else knows, the safer you will be. Please. I will fill you in on everything I can later. I promise.”

DG folded her arms in front of her chest and huffed again, giving Wyatt a fuming glare. “Fine Tin Man, but this isn’t over yet. Don’t forget your promise.”

When she started to storm out past Wyatt, he grasped her upper arm gently and whispered in her ear, “Oh, I won’t forget my promise Mrs. Cain, and don’t you forget yours. I’ll see you in our bed tonight.”

DG blushed violently and looked up into her husband’s eyes, and the heat in his stare made her heart thump wildly and the breath catch in her throat. A seductive smile spread on his face automatically when he spied her pupils dilating in response to the stimulus he’d provided, and Wyatt leaned down and planted one final kiss on his wife’s lips, caressing her cheek with his free hand.

DG sighed quietly against him and muttered, “You win.” This caused Wyatt’s soft smile to widen, at which point he released her, after which DG waved at her sister and Glitch before glaring at Wyatt suggestively as she walked out of the door. 

“She won’t quit you know,” Azkadellia sighed. Wyatt whirled around slowly, blowing out a puff of air and scratching his head as he offered his sister a harried expression. Azkadellia was already settling herself onto the couch near the fire and leaning back on the cushions while she shrugged in response.  As she shut her eyes to rub the headache away from her temples, she smiled ruefully and huffed, “Us Gale women are a stubborn bunch.”

Ambrose sat down next to Azkadellia and chuckled as he glanced over at her, “You ain’t kidding Dee.”

Azkadellia opened her eyes to smirk at Glitch and as the blush crept up her face, she swatted his leg playfully. Wyatt watched this scene unfold with mild interest, and he leaned on the armchair watching them banter back and forth. He then cleared his throat and chuckled, “Should I leave you two alone? You keep that up and I might still go chase DG down.”

Wyatt didn’t linger to see their response, but grinned as he moved to the door, quietly beckoning Jeb inside and shutting the door carefully behind him. After he engaged the lock, he turned back to everyone assembled, and sat down in the armchair he had previously been leaning on. “Look, I asked you all to hang around for an important reason,” Wyatt began, and after taking a deep breath, he continued, “As you all know, there have been rumors about Vizor being seen in the Realm of the Unwanted, and I intend to find out if they’re true.”

Ambrose opened his mouth to speak excitedly, but was stopped by Wyatt, who held up his hand, “Wait Glitch.  I’ll let you talk my ear off in a second. First, I need you all to understand how important it is that everything said here stays in this room. Do not, under any circumstances, fill DG’s head up with a bunch of worry, understand?”

“Wyatt,” Azkadellia sighed, “no one knows better than we all do how dangerous DG’s adventures can get, and we all want to make sure that she doesn’t get some wild hair now that she is so vulnerable. You have our word.” She looked hard at Jeb and Glitch, and they all nodded silently. Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief and sat back, letting that relief and a good deal of gratitude for Azkadellia wash over him like a warm blanket.

Azkadellia, while comforting her sisterly attentions, had hit on one of Wyatt’s most closely guarded fears like the precision instrument she truly was. Vizor appearing when he did had been making him increasingly agitated over the past cycle, and he was reluctant to even voice his worry, afraid that his fears might come true. Azkadellia was, by far, the more vulnerable of the two sisters, having officially been named her mother’s heir apparent. Marriage and pregnancy did much to aide in cementing her position, but until her own progeny was born, she was still at risk from those who would want to dethrone her or any other member of the Gale family. The same was true of DG, being the Princess Royale in waiting. Unlike her sister, however, DG only increased her risk by refusing to stay put and having a vocal distain for royal life. Although Wyatt happened to share her dislike of the lifestyle, he was increasingly becoming more of an advocate for it, at least until both princesses were born, as the security within the confines of the palace was second to none. The pragmatic turn of his internal musings had done much to increase his anxiety, where it hadn’t before. Now, these people were his family, where they had only been charges before, and he found that he had difficulty maintaining objectivity. His anxiety had reached such a pitch in the last cycle that he and DG had barely left Finaqua. Fortunately, that hadn’t been much of an issue given the nature of their vacation, but now that they were back in the city, he’d been almost as cantankerous as he had been while chasing DG through the OZ to find the emerald. Most hardly noticed a change in the Tin Man’s demeanor, but to those that knew him, the shift in the cautious man’s mood, while subtle, was like a tidal wave in deep water. Although hardly breaking the surface of his usual façade, those close by could feel the change, and it was as a warning signal, and they all readied themselves for what might come next. None were more visibly concerned than those in that room, and Wyatt surrounding himself in their company was almost as much of a relief as Azkadellia’s reassurances, and he closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself before speaking again.

Jeb waited patiently while Wyatt seemed in deep thought, finally leaning over his father and gently prodding, “so are you going to tell us why we’re all here? I mean, Ambrose and I will be at the meeting later, right?”

Wyatt glanced up at his son, who was now moving to sit on the couch opposite Wyatt with Azkadellia and Glitch. His eyes shifted to Azkadellia and Ambrose, where he noted their equally expectant faces, and he leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees while he spoke darkly, “I’ve got a real bad feeling about this Vizor business. I feel like there’s something more going on, and I don’t like that I can’t see around the corner on it. I’m going to need help if I’m going to find him.” Wyatt rubbed his face in frustration. He hated asking for help or seeming the slightest bit vulnerable himself, but it couldn’t be avoided anymore. “The truth is that being the Seeker isn’t going to be easy, and it will be even more difficult given that I’m so visible already. I may need some kind of decoy from time to time so I can make an official appearance. Maybe keep our enemies off my back, and I wanted to use you guys as a sounding board before our meeting with Ahamo.”

Wyatt looked into Jeb’s eyes, and Jeb nodded silently. He understood now, and he accepted the answer without argument. Ambrose, meanwhile, cleared his throat and spoke pensively, “You know, I could always rig up a TDESPHTL for you. I could hide the little doohickey somewhere near DG and Azkadellia for formal appearances, and no one would ever know that you weren’t really here.”

“Unless someone walked in front of the image,” Azkadellia corrected Ambrose.

Ambrose snapped his mouth shut and nodded in agreement. Before he could speak again, Wyatt interjected, “That’s a good idea Glitch. How long would it take you to get it done?”

Ambrose shrugged casually and glanced up at the ceiling as he ran the calculations through his skull, “Oh, I don’t know. If I could get a few quick recordings of you, I could have it put together and ready for use in no time at all. I think I have a few spares lying around the workshop.”

“Good,” Wyatt responded shortly, and then continued, “Now that that’s settled, Jeb and I are going to need to know everything you can both tell us about Vizor. Who he is, all of his known associates, hideouts, and weapons he’ll employ against me or Jeb to escape.”

Ambrose scoffed, “so you don’t want much, do you?”

Azkadellia placed a hand over Ambrose’s to quiet him as she replied, “Who he was before the Sorceress dug him up was a disgraced mage. He had been imprisoned by the Tin Men for testing potions on people, and by the time the Sorceress found him, he was in the Realm of the Unwanted practicing again.” The Princess sighed and rose from her seat, striding over to the fireplace only to lean on the mantle as she gritted her teeth, “As far as associates, he was a loaner. He only seemed to take the time to become friendly with his superiors, so he has probably found someone new to latch on to if he has been seen.” Wyatt and Jeb frowned at each other. This was not good news, as it only confirmed Wyatt’s fear that something larger was lurking behind him. Azkadellia turned to face Wyatt and looked seriously into his eyes, “Wyatt, the Sorceress never knew where Vizor performed his experiments. Zero was the one who recruited him.”

Wyatt’s calm exterior melted away and his eyes flared, turning from crystal to cool steel. His teeth clenched and he shot up from his chair, and he paced behind it in an agitated manner; his hands balled into tight fists. Finally, Wyatt shook his shoulders out and took a deep breath. Without looking up to meet his family’s eyes, he growled, “I’m not going to deal with Zero if I don’t have to. Just tell me about his defenses.”

Ambrose smiled thoughtfully and replied, “Well, he’s a bit of a coward, so any defense he has will be sneaky.  You can expect traps and a whole lot of interesting drugs, especially when he’s in his own element.”

Azkadellia sat back down next to Glitch and huffed, “You’re going to have to draw him out Wyatt. Meeting him on his turf is going to be too dangerous, even for you. He might have been dangerous before becoming the witch’s chief advisor, but he certainly is now if he learned half as much as I did from that horrible creature.”

Wyatt nodded grimly, she’s right, he thought. He then glanced down at his watch. The parade was getting close to starting by now, and he still had some packing to do before he met with the Consort. So, while replacing his pocket watch back in his pocket, he grimaced at his companions in turn and spoke firmly, “Well, I guess that’s going to have to do for now. I’ve got to get a few things done before we all make our next appearance at the parade’s finish line. I’ll see you all later.”

They all nodded to Wyatt and muttered solemn goodbyes as he turned to leave the room. After a few turns and a trip down two sets of stairs, Wyatt entered what had been his office for the past two annuals. For what felt like the millionth time, he collapsed into the chair behind his desk and shut his eyes. Wyatt turned Azkadellia's comments over in his mind. He had already gleaned the type of man Vizor was, having met many of his type while still a Tin Man. He was a shifty, weak man on his own, and surrounded himself with more powerful people to strengthen his own position. He didn't have the capital to remain so well hidden for two annuals, even in the Realm of the Unwanted, so whoever was pulling the man’s strings was most likely wealthy and dangerous. This left Wyatt feeling exposed, as if someone was just watching him and Dorothy, and waiting.

Wyatt thought, Vizor’s been spotted several times over the last past cycle, and he’s starting to make mistakes.

"He's getting sloppy," Wyatt muttered thoughtfully as he stared up at the ceiling, "but why? Who's lighting a fire under him? What are they after?"

Wyatt growled in frustration. He was getting caught in a feedback loop, and he knew that sitting around brooding wasn't going to help. He needed to get out on the beat, he needed to be a cop again, and find the people who had the answers to his questions. Being hamstrung by his official position made doing these things generally impossible, and in his uneasiness, he couldn't seem to rest his nerves, so he rose from his desk and got back to clearing it with the box sitting on the floor at his feet. He had only just cleared off the desk when the only remaining article before him, the telephone, rang shrilly.

Wyatt wanted to ignore it, but the ring bored into his skull so he picked up the receiver and sighed, "Yes?"

A meek, feminine voice on the other end squeaked, "Your Highness, the Commissioner is on the line for you. Should I put him through?"

Wyatt grinned and leaned back before replying, "Yes, please!"

The voice on the other end became slightly less nervous, and the woman replied, "hold please sir, have a pleasant Eclipse Day!"

After a series of clicks, Wyatt could hear the annoyed grumbling of his old partner on the other end, "I hate these damn switchboards. Have to jump through so many hoops just to talk that old pain in the ass."

Wyatt silently chuckled, eavesdropping on his friend's complaints that seemed to be directed at his truly. Wyatt decided speak up finally and replied, "Well, it's better than the crap you used to put me through on all of those late night stakeouts."

"Wyatt, I mean Your Highness, I didn't know she had already put me through! How's it going man?" The Commissioner laughed.

Wyatt shrugged, "I probably shouldn't complain. It's good. Truly. How about you Manzetti, how's being the man in charge?"

Manzetti snorted and replied, "Same old shit, different pay grade.” Manzetti paused, and the sarcastic manner dropped away, “About that, we had an interesting visitor to the hall just a little while ago, seemed real keen on having us play messenger."

Wyatt sat up, interested. "Oh, who was it?"

Manzetti spoke in a more serious tone now, and stated quietly, "An Ozmanian Priestess."

Wyatt whistled, "I thought they'd all been wiped out. Who was the message for?"

Suddenly, there was a whooshing sound from the tube in the wall just behind Wyatt's head, and he swung around to open the neumotube and extract the recently arrived envelope. As he examined the flowing script on the outside, Manzetti replied in a matter- of- fact tone, "You actually. This seemed like a good time to try out the secure line between the palace and the hall. Seemed that she wanted this message to get to you quick."

Wyatt still hadn't opened the envelope, but rather tapped it on the edge of the desk as he spoke. "Did anyone get a look at her?"

Manzetti sighed, "Well, she was the real deal if that's what you're asking. Floated on air almost. Had just about everyone in a daze. No one seems to remember a whole lot a lot about her."

Wyatt huffed. This was par for the course, and he knew it, but he was curious. "What about the security footage?"

"Thought you'd never ask. I was startin’ to think you'd lost your touch," Manzetti spoke brightly, "Couldn't get a face, she kept her hood up, but her hair was dark, and she was small like a kid."

Wyatt grunted. Nothing Manzetti had told him was anything new. Many of the Temple clergy fit this description, with the exception of hair color. He sighed quietly, but Manzetti had heard him and continued apologetically, “Sorry buddy, I’ve told you everything I can.”

Wyatt tapped the envelope on his forehead and winced, “It’s okay Paul, tell your wife I said hi.”

“Will do Cain. See you around!”

“Be seeing you old friend,” Wyatt said goodbye to Manzetti and dropped the receiver unceremoniously back onto its cradle.

Wyatt examined the envelope again. The script on the front of the envelope was flowing as if made of water, and it was addressed simply to “Sir Wyatt Ulysses Cain.” Wyatt scowled at the use of his middle name. He had chosen to omit his middle name in most of his official addresses, and the only person who had ever used it with any frequency was his grandmother. Even she had only employed it as a manner of getting Wyatt’s attention when he was a young boy, and he wondered if the penman was making a similar gesture. Well, if she wanted my attention, she’s got it now, doesn’t she, he pondered internally. As he mused on this small item, he raised the envelope to his nose and took a deep breath. It smelled heavily of lavender and incense, and made Wyatt feel somewhat lightheaded. Wyatt frowned at the envelope, hoping that more clues would emerge, but none would without him opening the paper, and he removed the pocketknife from his pocket and flipped it open, sliding the blade through the paper swiftly. Inside the envelope was a simple slip of paper, on which a few hastily scratched notes appeared. It read simply:

The beginning of your journey would be best started at DeMilo’s Spiritual Emporium in the heart of the Spiritual District, at the juncture of Glinda and Lurline Avenue. Mr. DeMilo will point you in the direction of the answers you seek. You must hurry if you want to avoid attention of well-wishers on the streets of the spiritual district, however. 

Wyatt pulled out his watch to look at the time. The parade was in full swing now, and it wouldn’t even be an hour before it reached the square in front of the palace. He’d have to hurry if he wanted to sneak out and get back before the streets filled back up with citizenry. Wyatt rose quickly from his chair and moved to the bedroom to change his clothes. He still had a few shirts and a pair of khakis hiding in the wardrobe, he remembered, and he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself by strolling into DeMilo’s dressed like a stuffed shirt. Wyatt donned his favorite fedora and trench coat and then, while stuffing the note in his pocket, he slipped out of the room. Realizing that the square would still be teaming with people, Wyatt headed for the servants’ tunnels, which he knew he could access from the lower storerooms. As many of the staff were out with the revelers, Cain didn’t meet many people as he descended the wide stone steps, and those that he did meet readily accepted him as another common sight along their path. Many were accustomed to two annuals of Wyatt’s patrols through the less trafficked parts of the palace, so they disregarded his appearance and went about their own tasks, with not much more than a nod of acknowledgement to the General as they passed. As he continued down into the storerooms, the air became still and cool. He walked onward in the dim light, listening to his shoes echo on the stones, until finally, at the back of a room filled from floor to ceiling with shelves full of dry goods, he paused at an iron gate that hung open. Wyatt was not troubled by this, as this was not the end that needed to be guarded, and he stepped quietly through. Just beyond the gate lay a wide tunnel that led from the palace to buildings on the outskirts of the square. These buildings were home to many of the servants and guards, and provided them with a clear, secure path to the palace on a daily basis. On occasion, he’d caught DG trying to slither out of the palace through this passage, but she’d found him on the other end most times, and in short order, he’d placed guards on the barracks exit in the event that he was otherwise occupied for her next sojourn. Eventually, she’d given up trying to access the city by this route, and now, hardly ever bothered since she had been guaranteed an end in sight. Wyatt grimaced slightly with this thought, wondering if he might double the guard once more before handing command over to his replacement. While Wyatt considered this, he exited the tunnel and climbed the stairs, where he was greeted by two of his own men posted at the guard booth sitting opposite the door from the stairwell.

“General, Sir! We didn’t expect you today, sir!” One man exclaimed as he jumped up from his chair. His cohort had also jumped up at the sight of Cain and was saluting Wyatt stiffly.

Wyatt smirked. Greenhorns. “At ease gentlemen.” Wyatt returned calmly, “Just out for a walk. Be back in less than an hour.” 

His men relaxed and eased back into their chairs. “Yes sir,” the first replied, “Have a nice walk, sir.”

Wyatt shook his head as he walked past. They get younger all the time, he grumbled internally. Then, he shook his head for an entirely different reason – his observation had reminded him very suddenly of his age – the feeling of obsolescence overtook him, and he was all at once grateful to be stepping away from his role as the head of royal security. In just another few days, Wyatt would be presiding over the Change of Command Ceremony, where he would be handing the reigns over to the new Captain of the Guard. It was apparently a conflict for the Captain of the Royal Guard to be one of the royals in need of guarding, so it had been suggested to Wyatt that he relinquish his control so that he could move on to his new tasks. Wyatt sighed. It was the proper thing, but he still didn’t like it, even as his feelings of usefulness wavered in that brief moment. Wyatt ignored this, and continued to move through the layers of security he had put in place himself, feeling satisfied that even on a day like today; one would have to pass through three sets of guards before even leaving the building. Once outside the building, he waved to the gate detail as they let him through.

“I’ll be back in just a few Corporal,” Wyatt commanded as he stepped through the gate, returning the guards’ salute as he went.

The guards nodded silently, and shut the gate behind Wyatt, leaving him standing on the other side, surveying the street beyond with a wary eye. The street before him was wide and vacant of any pedestrians, and by all outward appearances, clean and unthreatening. The cobblestones of this older section of the city seemed to gleam in the morning light, and the deep hue of their mineral composition made them appear almost as if made of precious jade. Apart from this one relatively remarkable feature, the street was otherwise unadorned, and the buildings here were almost Spartan in appearance by design. Even outside the gates of the royal palace, the buildings closest by still operated as part of the wider governing body, and the occupants of said buildings spent more time within the palace than inside the dull stone edifices just outside. These were meant as a buffer to the royal palace and were uninspired so as to limit wider interest in such a sensitive region of the security network.  Even so, Wyatt could not help the foreboding that still loomed in the back of his mind. He might as well have been preparing to traverse a dangerous ravine replete with armed Longcoats, as opposed to the wide avenue before him, and he huffed at himself for his succinct, if not annoying, instincts.

Wyatt blinked at the suns slowly marching upward, internally gauging how much time he was allowed for this unusual errand. The suns were not directly overhead yet, meaning that Wyatt had at least two hours before lunch, and much less before the parade crossed the Royal Square to meet the Queen and her family. Wyatt grimaced when he thought of DG, knowing that she would be a force to be reckoned with if he wasn’t present to greet the parade with her, but it couldn’t be helped. Wyatt would just have to move fast and hope that he could get back in time. Wyatt could hear the drums booming in the distance, and its steady, percussive force was like a boon to the driven man and urged him forward with every strike. Wyatt turned to the right and began to walk in quick strides, mentally calculating all the while his path forward. The Spiritual District was not far, only a few blocks, and Wyatt hoped he could get there before the parade got much closer. Once it did, this space would be just a block from the frenzy, and it would not do for him to get caught in it.

Fortunately, Wyatt did not meet anyone on his speed walk through the streets, and he quickly found himself standing across Lurline Avenue from DeMilo’s Spiritual Emporium. Wyatt leaned on the side of the building, watching the doorway from the alley he was shadowed in. No one came in or out in the few moments he stood there, nor did anyone move about the streets. From here, the sound of the parade was further away, and he could barely hear it, except for the occasional trill of a whistle or the low boom of a drum.

Wyatt shook his head, Why is it always this guy? Every time I find myself at a roadblock, he seems to show up. “Like a bad penny,” Wyatt muttered out loud in a low growl.

Wyatt extricated himself from his perch and crossed the street quickly and entered the shop without any further delay. The smell of lavender incense filled Wyatt’s nostrils as he shut the door, reminiscent of the note he had received from the priestess, but here it was much stronger, and made Wyatt step back as he regained his balance. He was still struggling to regain his equilibrium when DeMilo burst out of the back of the shop with his arms raised in welcome, and he grimaced in overt irritation.

“Welcome, welcome to DeMilo’s Spiritual Emporium, where talismans and guidance are available for a reasonable price!” DeMilo called out, not yet realizing who had entered, as Wyatt’s back was still facing him. When Wyatt turned with a scowl, DeMilo dropped his arms and scoffed, “Wyatt freakin’ Cain, never thought you’d darken my door again. Whadaya want?”

“Gee DeMilo, is that any way to greet an old friend?” Wyatt asked, sarcasm dripping from his words.

DeMilo pointed a finger at Wyatt in accusation and replied, “You stole my wagon, Your Highness. Some friend.” DeMilo folded his arms and looked sideways at Wyatt, expecting an apology.

Wyatt sighed, squirming somewhat at DeMilo’s implication, and he met the man’s eyes momentarily before he answered regretfully, “You’re right, I’m sorry.” Wyatt looked around, tipping his hat up so he could appear impressed with the surroundings, “Movin’ up in the world, eh DeMilo? How’s business?”

DeMilo dropped his hands and grinned. With a shrug, he replied, “It’s good man, no more sleaze for me. I run a legit game now.”

Wyatt nodded to the sign over the doorway and smirked, “Is that so? Since when are you a mystic?”

DeMilo waved off the sign and offered a crooked smile, “Yeah well, you don’t have to be a mystic to read people, you know that. Mostly I just tell people stuff they already know. It’s harmless, a’ight?”

Wyatt nodded with an approving smile. In truth, he liked DeMilo, but he wouldn’t dare tell him that. Despite this, he couldn’t help noticing DeMilo’s hands snaking into his pockets, and his feet shifting nervously. He was certain the man was hiding something and judging by his wives watching intently from the counter, he knew that it was probably directly linked to the note he had received earlier in the day. The man had some pride though, and Wyatt had no doubt that DeMilo wasn’t going to say a whole lot with an audience, so with a roll of his eyes he asked suggestively, “So, do you want to read my fortune?”

DeMilo’s shifting stopped and he gave Wyatt an incredulous stare before replying, “You? Are ya serious?”

Wyatt nodded, and DeMilo shrugged. “A’ight man, it’s your money. Ain’t gonna to be cheap ya know.”

Wyatt shook the coins in his pocket and replied offhandedly, “I’m good for it DeMilo.”

DeMilo gave him an appraising look and then was back in character. Wyatt could almost glimpse the gears turning behind DeMilo’s eyes, but in all of his dealings with the man over the annuals, he hadn’t shown more than a proclivity for turning a profit – not malice. So, when DeMilo motioned dramatically, waving to the threshold of the divination chamber, Wyatt followed without argument.  

“Right this way, Your Highness,” Demilo invited Wyatt on, his voice thick with melodrama.

Wyatt grimaced, causing DeMilo to chuckle as Wyatt moved through the curtains, and as he closed the heavy curtains and sat down, a slick smirk was still planted on his face.

Wyatt chose a seat at the small round table in the center of the room, and he huffed in irritation in response to DeMilo’s chortling. “Cut the crap DeMilo,” Wyatt growled as he took his hat off and slapped it on the table.

DeMilo straightened his face as he sat opposite the ex-lawman and began to put on the intricate turban that rested in front of him. With a glance at Wyatt, who was giving him that look, he tossed it aside and sat back leisurely. “Well, you ain’t a Tin Man anymore, so what’s up?”

Wyatt leaned back as well and folded his arms. The longer Wyatt stared DeMilo down, the more unsettled the man appeared. Making him nervous was sufficient to make his point though, and Wyatt finally took pity on him, and while sitting back up, he replied, “I hear you’re the man with answers these days. What do you know, DeMilo?”

DeMilo sighed, and with a whine he pulled the rubies out of his pocket and deposited them on the table. “I don’t know how you know, Cain, but somehow, you always do.”

Wyatt picked one of the rubies up and studied it in the light, smiling a secretive smile in response to DeMilo’s observation. Setting his humor aside, he studied the gem closely, looking for any sign that it might be fake. He wasn’t an expert, but he’d seen plenty of gems while in residence at the Royal Palace for the past two annuals, and he was certain that these were the real deal. His expression remained impassive though, and he tossed the gem back to DeMilo, asking, “Those are impressive. Who gave them to you?”

DeMilo shoved the rubies back in his pocket and shrugged. “I don’t know man, he was real creepy. Never seen him before today. He came in lookin’ all shifty, like someone was watchin’ him. Asks me about an old belt with jewels, like I’m some kind of antique dealer.” Wyatt raised an eyebrow, and DeMilo took this as an invitation to continue, so he rushed on like he was in confession, “I couldn’t help the guy, so I sent him to my contact in the Realm. He gave these to me to shut me up, I guess.”

DeMilo let out a long breath in relief and sat back again. Wyatt wasn’t finished though, so he asked, “What did he look like?”

DeMilo thought about the man, trying to bring up an image in his head. After a brief moment, he replied thoughtfully, “The guy was dark, like a shadow, and he was real skinny. When he talked, he kinda reminded me of a snake, you know what I mean?”

Wyatt nodded. Yeah, I know what you mean. Vizor.

“Anyway, like I said, I couldn’t help him none, so I sent him here.” DeMilo handed Wyatt a card with a merchant’s name and Realm location on it, “Look, don’t tell the wives. They want me to be legit. No need to tell them that my ma’s still runnin’ her own game in the realm. I ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

Wyatt shook with laughter – the merchant in the realm was his mother. When Wyatt recovered, he replied kindly, “Your secret is safe with me, from one husband to another.”

DeMilo chuckled and rose with Wyatt. As Wyatt stood, he reached for DeMilo’s hand, depositing a few bills in it as he shook his hand firmly. DeMilo smiled warmly and looked down at his hand, “Thanks man, I really appreciate that.”

Wyatt nodded again and turned to leave. Before exiting, he stopped and turned back to DeMilo, “Be seeing you down the Old Road. Take care DeMilo.”

DeMilo reached out as if remembering something and he called Cain back, “Hey Cain, wait, there was something else.” When Wyatt turned back to him, DeMilo stepped forward and spoke more quietly, “This guy didn’t look like the type to be runnin’ around with no rubies, and he seemed real worried about getting’ this belt for his employer. Sounded shady, ya know?”

Wyatt sighed heavily and nodded, having already surmised as much. The confirmation was just enough to set his teeth on edge, and a cold chill ran down his spine. DeMilo looked at him thoughtfully, recognizing the steely expression in the man’s eyes, and spoke again, “You be careful man, sounds like your kind of trouble.”

Wyatt shoved the hat back on his head and tipped it to DeMilo with another sigh as he disappeared through the curtain. Back in the storefront, DeMilo’s wives still stood at the counter, but were now heavily engaged in watching the parade. Wyatt glanced at the screen. Shit, he thought, they’re only a few blocks from the palace. I’d better get a move on!

Wyatt did not delay any further and crossed quickly to the door and exited without looking back. He had only walked a few steps out onto the sidewalk, when a feminine voice called him, “Mister, hey mister, wait!”

Wyatt turned with a frown, halfway expecting some unknowing person to ask for an autograph or something equally obnoxious. Instead, he was surprised to see one of DeMilo’s wives darting out of the door, running towards him. Wyatt recognized the look of urgency on her face, and she had a similar expression of not wanting to be seen written in her eyes as they shifted around their surroundings. Wyatt took this as a cue and moved them both into the alley. Wyatt looked down on the woman for a moment while she caught her breath, noting her dark hair and small stature, and he then took the note out of his pocket and sniffed it again. Lavender, he thought.

“I’m going to take a wild guess that you’re the one who sent me this?” Wyatt asked quietly, holding the note out to Darla.

Darla nodded silently, meeting his eyes.

“What can I do for the temple?” Wyatt asked earnestly.

Darla shook her head and replied, “This was more of a personal request from Ozma, not from the temple.”

Wyatt tilted his head in confusion. “How is that exactly?”                                             

Darla held Wyatt’s gaze and spoke commandingly, “She wants you to give her music box to the Princess before you leave.”

Wyatt folded his arms, although he knew Darla was the genuine article, he could not help his natural instincts.  With a raised eyebrow he inquired, “Now, did she happen to say where I would be leaving to?”

Darla shook her head and replied, “No.  She didn’t seem to think it important to disclose that to me.  She only wanted to be sure that Princess Dorothy gets the music box. Please, promise me that you’ll do this. The future of the House of Gale may depend upon it!”

Wyatt dropped his arms and let out a huff, and while looking down at his feet, he nodded solemnly. When he looked back up again, Darla was nowhere to be seen. Wyatt rolled his eyes and muttered, “Just like the old days.” Wyatt looked up at the sky and suddenly remembered the time. Without any further delay, he rushed back to the barracks, just missing the oncoming surge of the parade by scant minutes.

Chapter Text

DG was bored. Bored and irritated, and with nowhere to go. Wyatt, having turned down what she had thought was an enticing offer, had left her with few choices in diversion until she would have to resume her duties for Eclipse Day, so instead of returning to their quarters, she ambled. Ambling was something that DG did poorly though, especially when she had plots developing in her mind, so what had started as a casual stroll through the grand halls of the palace slowly morphed into a determined march. Her guard, who was a giant shaped more like a building than man, followed her warily, being more than a little accustomed to the Princess’s ways. DG wasn’t entirely sure why Gates was so cautious around her, since she’d been nothing but compliant for almost an annual, with the one minor of exception of running off to Kansas the last time he’d taken over for Jeb. Alright, fine. I guess I’d be a little careful of me too, seeing that I could have cost him his job, DG thought to herself as she huffed loudly, and she stopped in her tracks suddenly, closing her eyes while she considered how to talk to her occasional guard.

“Gates,” DG began sweetly, turning on her heel to face the burly man slowly approaching behind her.

Gates raised an eyebrow skeptically and stopped, sighing before answering, “Yes, your Highness?”

DG stifled a smirk at the towering man, who seemed more than a little afraid of what DG might say next. Given that he was two times her size and had hands the size of her face, she was certain it wasn’t truly her he was afraid of. She was positive that the one man who might have fired him the last time he’d failed in his job – and instead chose to continually assign him to her detail instead – was who he was more troubled by at the moment. The fact that she was also troubled by that same man only increased her fondness for the gentle giant before her, and she relaxed her shoulders while she let out a long, labored sigh.

Her eyes drifted to the high ceiling above while she breathed, and she finally looked back at him when she replied apologetically, “I’m sorry Gates. I know I probably got you in trouble the last time, but I solemnly swear that I’m not up to anything this time. Honestly.” DG raised her right hand as she spoke, and she screwed her face into a serious expression, while behind her back, she crossed her fingers hopefully.

Gates didn’t seem to buy her promise, and as he crossed his arms in front of his chest he peered down on her and replied, “Now Princess, I really appreciate your apology, and I know you’re not pullin’ my leg there, but crossing your fingers means the same thing here that it probably does on the other side. What’er ya’ tryin’ to pull?”

DG’s eyes narrowed and she exhaled through her nose before she threw her hands up and grunted, “Ugh. Why doesn’t anyone trust me anymore?” Gates’ expression softened, and DG continued quietly, “I just want to know how long Wyatt and Jeb are going to be gone on this mission they’re planning. That’s all. I know Wyatt wouldn’t put you on my detail unless he and Jeb were both going, and I’m worried. Okay?”

DG stared at her slippers shuffling on the carpet for a moment and only looked up when Gates finally cleared his throat and answered kindly, “I’m sorry your Highness, but the General didn’t tell me anything beyond that I should stay close to you and keep you safe until he and Jeb get back.”

DG chewed on her lip thoughtfully with this information, and she asked hopefully, “Do you know anything about this meeting that he’s got this afternoon?”

Gates shook his bearded face and fixed her with a serious expression as he responded in a chastising tone, “There’s no way that you’re getting anythin’ else out of me, Highness. General Cain might be your husband, but he’s my boss, and I’m more afraid of what he’ll do if I tell you than what you’ll do if I don’t.” When DG’s face fell, he added compassionately, “besides, I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to anyway, seein’ as I don’t know anythin’. Higher ups only, I’m told.”

DG’s expression darkened, and she internally fumed. I can’t stand this paternalistic crap. How the hell did I end up married to a cop, anyway? This train of thoughts only served to increase DG’s already building irritation, and she swung around and resumed her march, grumbling, “That’s it, Tin Man. I’m so tired of being treated like I’m made of glass. You never did this before we got married. You and I need to talk right now.”

Gates followed along behind the suddenly driven princess while she stormed the corridors, his face looking somewhat alarmed by the change in her demeanor. DG, on the other hand, appeared as if ready to fight another witch. Her eyes were narrowed in anger, and her hands clenched at her sides while she piloted quickly to where she thought she might find Wyatt Cain hiding. When she finally reached his office on one of the lower levels of the palace, she gave a cursory knock before peaking inside. What she found only frustrated her more, and she pushed the door open and huffed in exasperation while she folded her arms and surveyed the room. Wyatt was not at his desk and appeared to have finished the majority of his packing. Boxes were stacked by the door, ready to be moved to their quarters, and the only article out of place was the uniform that Wyatt had been wearing that morning, which had been draped neatly over the back of one of the leather chairs near the cold fireplace, instead of being worn by its owner. Each article was laid out in the order he would eventually put it back on in, as if he intended to come back for it, and DG scowled, knowing that he had probably left the tower – on some secret errand that he probably wouldn’t want to tell her about.

DG huffed and swung around to leave. As she slammed the door to Wyatt’s office, her mind quickly turned to her usual support network, and she marched back the way she had come to find Azkadellia. Strength in numbers, she fumed silently, making quick time back to the royal family’s living quarters. When she finally reached her destination, the Princess rapped on the double doors more urgently than she truly intended, causing Glitch to answer the door with an alarmed expression plastered on his face, which melted into a pleasant grin when he saw DG on the other side of the door.

“Hey Dollface!” Ambrose greeted DG with a dimpled smile, causing the determined set in DG’s shoulders to collapse, and her angry expression to fall.

From the other side of the door came Azkadellia’s voice, and she asked her husband pleasantly, “who is it Ambrose?”

Glitch motioned to DG with his head, indicating that she should come in, and DG followed him inside, giving Gates an apologetic wave before she shut the door. As she closed it, she turned and muttered sheepishly, “Sorry, didn’t mean to beat your door down. I guess I’m still a little mad.”

Azkadellia was finishing her own look for the parade, pinning a neat straw hat to her head, and smoothing out the white lace sheath dress that fell to mid-calf. When she was done, she glanced away from the mirror to smirk at her sister, still primping her short hair while she correctly gaged what was troubling her. “Deeg, Wyatt isn’t trying to make you mad. He’s trying to protect you. Can he help it if he has to sometimes protect you from yourself?” Azkadellia gently asked her sister.

DG shrugged with a huff and replied, “I know. I know. But now he’s run off right before the parade, and he didn’t even tell me about it before he disappeared. This thing just isn’t going to work if he just doesn’t talk to me at all, and I refuse to be left behind to be some dopey trophy wife while he goes off and plays the hero all the time.”

Azkadellia eyed her sister with an appraising eye, and as she stepped before DG, she flicked her wrist and opened her hand, where an attractive, wide brimmed blue felt hat appeared. Azkadellia placed it gently on her sister’s head and pinned it carefully while a sympathetic smile spread on her face, and she nodded at DG kindly when she was done affixing the hat. “Deeg, I have no idea why you think you’re nothing but a trophy to Wyatt, but I seriously doubt that he’ll leave you in the dark for too long. Look, he may have been married before, but it’s been a while for him, and it’s all completely new for you. Give it some time. Talk to him.”

DG nodded in agreement and gave her sister a grateful smile. “Ok Az, I’ll try.”

DG and Azkadellia smiled warmly at each other, and Azkadellia pulled her into a tight hug. When they separated, Azkadellia rubbed her sister’s arms and smiled, suggesting kindly, “Come on little sister, let’s not let the parade pass us by. They always cheered you up when we were little.”

DG rolled her eyes and scoffed, replying sarcastically as they moved towards the doors, “I’ve heard of music soothing the soul, but I’m not really sure they meant for booming drums and shrieking horns to do the job.”

“I’ll have you know,” Ambrose retorted defensively as he followed behind the sisters, rambling on, “that horns are anything but shrieking. If you want a soul soothing horn solo, look no further than yours truly. As a matter of fact, this one time, at band camp – “

“Why does this not surprise me?” DG interrupted with a snort, which was followed with a bark of laughter, for which Ambrose and Azkadellia fixed her with a set of confused expressions. “Never mind,” DG grumbled, adding apologetically, “I’m sure you’re a great jazz musician, Glitch. I’m sorry. Maybe you could play for us sometime.”

“Oh sure, Dollface, you name the place, I’ll bring the horn!” Ambrose exclaimed enthusiastically, pausing momentarily in their stroll down the wide hall to gesture forward dramatically.

Azkadellia and DG paused to turn and face Ambrose, and both laughed lightly before continuing forward, allowing the man to step in between them, taking an arm from both in effort to act as their gallant escort. A warm smile spread on DG’s face as they walked, and under Glitch’s care, she momentarily forgot her previous ire. By the time they reached the Grand Staircase, she’d almost completely set aside her troubles, and followed along behind her family in silent complacency. Before the doors of the palace opened before them, the royal family rearranged themselves into their established processional order, with the Queen and her Consort in the lead, followed shortly behind by her heir apparent and former advisor, and DG bringing up the rear sans one Tin Man. Although she’d momentarily set aside her anger, a sense of disappointment and loneliness purveyed at the back of DG’s mind while she scanned the top of the stairs behind her, where she hoped Wyatt would appear before the doors opened, forcing her outside without him. Although she was certain he wouldn’t have left so abruptly unless it was important, DG could not help but feel so suddenly separate from the man, who until recently, had never kept her so wholly out of the loop. Certain that some of his abrupt secrecy was due in large part to her pregnancy, DG had difficulty maintaining her anger. Instead, the Princess looked down on her ever-growing abdomen and rubbed the space protectively, suddenly feeling a wave of panic overtake her for the unknown dangers he had to be trying to protect her from.

While these thoughts tumbled through DG’s mind, the massive double doors swung open, and the Queen led the group out into the suns. The blinding brightness of the twin suns caused DG to wince, and she struggled to scan the surrounding area in her growing uncertainty. The sound of the crowd could be heard before they were seen, and as DG’s eyes adjusted to the sunlight, she searched the crowd for the dangers she suddenly feared in Wyatt’s absence. The wave of panic subsided when all she witnessed was throngs of happy faces cheering with excitement, and she allowed herself a steadying breath as she followed her family to a raised platform at the head of the square. Here, the Royal Family would stand and greet the parade as it marched by, marking the end of the procession. DG stood with her family, feeling frozen and uncertain, and the roar of the crowd was like a massive white noise that inhibited her ability to concentrate on anything other than the sea of faces before her. She took solace in the happy faces beaming up to her and her family, realizing that they saw the Gales as theirs. DG felt a swell of emotion overtake her, and she felt instantly grateful for the special kinship she felt with her people on this day, the anniversary of her successful rescue of the OZ, and her smile broadened while she waved happily at a group of little girls near to the stand.

DG’s sudden unease had made her extraordinarily jumpy, and the approach of the parade, with the booming of the drums and screams of excited citizens, startled DG out of her process of greeting her people. Her head darted up to see the head of the parade appearing in the square. The impressive display of the guilds entering the square in full regalia eased DG’s nerves, and she grinned at the sight approaching. Next, the Royal Army Marching Band swept past, impressing all with their drill routines and final salute as they passed the stand. By the time a few more groups came past, DG’s nerves had settled, and she was grinning and laughing just as much as anyone else. The worries caused by Wyatt’s absence had all but faded to the background in her mind, so when she felt a warm hand slide around her waist, she jumped suddenly, and her heart fluttered excitedly.

“Hey there Princess,” Wyatt whispered in her ear, his breath tickling the back of her neck as he apologized quietly, “sorry I’m late.”

DG tried to feign annoyance, but when she looked back at his flushed face, she forgot. The Tin Man had clearly run to get to her and had somehow managed to get back into the uniform. His blue peaked cap shaded his eyes, but she could see a happy glint there, and he dazzled her with his smile. So with a kiss on his cheek, she whispered back, “Glad you were able to get back into that in time, I just love a guy in uniform.”

Wyatt raised an eyebrow suggestively and smirked, but a glint of worry in DG’s eyes melted it away quickly and he responded quietly, “I’m sorry that I took off on you, Princess. I should have told you I was leaving, but I had to make it quick. Can I tell you about it tonight?”

With those few words, Wyatt had managed to calm the majority of DG’s anger, and with a hint of a smile, DG managed a small nod before the din of the parade drew her attention away once more. The end of the parade was quickly approaching, and the boisterous music shifted into a subdued tone as a large contingent of viewers, led by Raw, approached the stands. As they drew near, the entire clan of viewers turned to the stand and bowed low, causing the royal family to bow in turn. The solemn turn of the event held the attendants enrapt, and the roar of the crowd softened to this sight, so full of mutual respect and reverence. Once Raw straightened from his bow and moved to join his friends in the stand, it was almost as if there was a collective sigh, and the crowd once again surged with excited energy as the rest of the viewers moved off to join the exiting procession. Now among his friends, Raw chuckled happily, and allowed DG to throw her arms around him exuberantly. Wyatt stood by and waited his turn to greet the man, beaming warmly as DG clung to him, and once DG finally released Raw, he took his turn embracing him tightly. Ambrose had been standing nearby, waiting impatiently as he bounced on the balls of his feet, so Wyatt reluctantly released Raw so he could greet Glitch, knowing that most of their reunion was best saved for indoors anyway. This reunion of the heroes of the eclipse had not gone unnoticed, and the crowd went wild with applause when DG and Wyatt had first embraced Raw. By the time Glitch and Raw had clasped hands in greeting, the city around them seemed to vibrate with happy energy, and the four heroes of the eclipse turned to the crowd, all beaming, and waved before departing the stands to return to the confines of the palace.

Once inside, Wyatt felt that he could properly greet his friend, and he laughed as he pulled the furry man into another hug, “It’s great to see you Furball!”

Raw laughed, returning the surprisingly warm embrace of the Tin Man, and when they parted, he stepped back to look at them both, nodding in approval. “Raw happy to see you both. At peace now.”

DG giggled happily and hugged Raw again, answering, “Yes Raw, we’re at peace now.”

When the Princess and Raw separated, the viewer’s gaze rested on the Tin Man for a moment, and the two shared a cryptic look. Raw had felt –upon touching the Tin Man – a surge of unsettled emotions. On top of the Tin Man’s overwhelming joy at being newlywed, the viewer could feel a growing sense of uneasiness and confusion. This was so much more than ordinary fear of failure or any trepidation over being a father once more. Something loomed over the man, casting a shadow over the light that had purveyed in his spirit since the last time they’d seen each other. Raw knew about Vizor, of course, but he doubted that the Sorceress’s former advisor was truly the cause of the Tin Man’s worry. There was something older and darker at work in the OZ, Raw had felt, and he suspected that Cain had sensed the same in his own unique way. Raw could also sense that the Tin Man wanted to speak with him about it – although he had no need of his special talents to know this – all he really needed was to look in the eye of the man before him. Wyatt Cain was an expressive man, despite having the reputation for being generally stoic, and Raw could see the questions without him ever uttering a word.

So, when Raw turned back to Wyatt, he preempted what he knew Wyatt was about to say, and murmured quietly to the man, “Tin Man will see Raw before he leaves. You go now. We talk later.”

Wyatt sighed with a grateful, knowing smile, and nodded to Raw. After shaking Raw’s hand, he turned to DG and tilted her chin up so that she was looking up at him, and he placed a chaste kiss on DG’s lips before whispering, “I’ll see you tonight, Dorothy.”

DG smiled warmly and replied with an equal amount of quiet affection, “Don’t you forget it Tin Man.”

The Princess reached up on her toes and offered the Tin Man a parting kiss. Their meeting was so slow and sweet, and conveyed such intimacy that their remaining company could only avert their eyes, out of respect for such a private moment between the two. When she separated from her husband, DG winked at him before turning to walk off to lunch, arm in arm with their viewer friend, leaving Wyatt to sigh as he watched her disappear from view, noting the lilt in her voice and the laugh that carried on the air as she turned the corner. He realized, with a smile, that DG still had him completely wrapped around her finger, and he couldn’t be happier, or more shaken.

Wyatt continued to stand at the base of the grand staircase mulling over this, when he was shaken from his daze by Jeb, who stood nearby waiting for him. “She’ll be okay dad, don’t worry,” Jeb tried to comfort his father, stepping up behind him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Wyatt took a deep breath and replied, “I hope so kid, I hope so.” He then turned to face his son and offered him a smirk, and with a jerk of his head, he motioned for Jeb to follow him. “Come on son; let’s get this thing over with.”

Jeb offered his father a tight nod and followed shortly behind his father as he bounded up the stairs, making a b-line for Wyatt’s vacant office on the second floor. When they entered Wyatt’s office, they were somewhat surprised to find the Consort, Ambrose, and an army general already seated in front of the fireplace, chatting like old friends over lunch. A plate of sandwiches sat on the table between them, and a pitcher of tea sat on the desk behind them, with spare cups and plates waiting for Jeb and Wyatt. Ahamo rose from his chair when Wyatt and Jeb entered in an apparent attempt to make introductions, but found they were not so needed, as the two generals met each other in a tight hug, laughing heartily as they clapped each other on the back. The Consort, Jeb, and Ambrose all stepped back to witness the apparent reunion of the old friends, who had momentarily forgotten all else besides the other. They looked on with amazement at the apparently well-established familiarity of the two larger-than-life men before them, and all waited patiently while the reunited with a long, warm hug.

As the two men finally pulled apart and straightened their faces, Cain’s face split into the second largest smile he had had that day, and he exclaimed, “Pete! I didn’t know you’d be joining us today. Good to see you, old buddy.”

Wyatt studied his friend with a wistful eye and a certain amount of gratitude for his friend’s unexpected appearance. General Peter Andrus, much like his counterpart, struck an imposing figure. He was in many ways Cain’s opposite, being heavily built, with thick curly black hair and beard. Annuals on the run were written on the permanent creases in his forehead, wrinkles around the edges of his glimmering green eyes and grey peppering his beard. This gave him the distinguished appearance of a man of fifty annuals, although he was only forty, and he spoke with a booming voice and had just as quick a laugh as he did a temper. Despite this, Andrus was generally considered to be a good man, and was respected by many of the good people of the OZ.

Before the reign of the Sorceress, Andrus excelled at his military career, being a Colonel in the 3^rd Royal Battalion, Woodsman Division, while his childhood friends had gone off to the Tin Man Academy. He had risen quickly in the ranks, and by the time the Witch had captured Queen Lavender and her advisors, Andrus had been promoted to Lieutenant General, and was put in charge of evacuating the Counsel to the Lands of Ev. When the acting 1^st General of the Royal Army in Exile had been captured and executed in a show of the Witch’s force, Andrus was quickly pushed into the top leadership role of the Resistance, and he had spent the last twelve annuals on the run between Ev and the various ends of the OZ, directing the resistance and keeping contact with certain persons of interest that were sympathetic to the House of Gale and its resistance force. Had Wyatt not been captured by the Witch’s Longcoats, he and Andrus would have worked together, but Wyatt’s capture had forced the man and the rest of the resistance in fact, deeper into hiding, leaving Wyatt to wait for his eventual release at the hands of the Princess instead of his childhood friend.

Andrus laughed, answering jokingly, “Glad to see that tin can didn’t rust shut!” Peter kept his hands on Cain’s shoulders and sighed as he said this, and his eyes, which smiled on their own when he was happy, were suddenly wistful. “Wyatt, it’s been too long. I almost didn’t think I’d see you along the Old Road again. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out of the suit myself.”

Cain eyes bored into the other man’s and he relaxed a little, answering sagely, “Well Pete, if you had gotten me out, who knows where we’d be. As it was, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for DG. I don’t know what I did to deserve her, but I’m a lucky bastard, that’s for sure.”

Andrus nodded – He’d known Wyatt Cain since they were boys, and he knew by Cain’s manner that there was more to that statement– but he wouldn’t broach the subject while they had company. He decided, instead, to turn on the subject of the suit that had held his friend captive. “Well, you’re right about that, brother. You don’t look a day older than the last time I saw you!’

There was no smile returned from Cain, and he winced slightly in response, “Side effect of wearing the suit so long I’d wager. I’m sure there were a fair few enchantments on it to make sure I’d be good and pliable just in case the Sorceress or her goons needed to interrogate me at any point.” 

Andrus nodded. He knew the stories, and what was more he knew that look that Cain had fixed him with. Back to business as usual, he thought, and with a sudden look of appraisal Andrus straightened his back and stated loudly, “Well, about that. The Consort thought you might want to hear a thing or two that I’ve learned about Vizor, which is why I put in an appearance today.”

With that, Ahamo cut in, answering while he refilled his own goblet with tea, “That would be true, Pete.” Then, with a beckoning wave to Wyatt and Jeb, he continued, “Come on guys, get some grub. This might be a long conversation.”

Wyatt obliged the Consort and swiped a sandwich before sitting down at his old desk, which was now vacant of any sign that it had once been his favorite spot. His pictures of Jeb and DG had all been moved to his and DG’s temporary living quarters, and his mother’s quilt now sat in sentry in the chair by their bed. He looked around almost forlorn but shook it off with the realization that his next task would have required him to vacate this position anyway and turned instead to the men sitting on the other side of the desk. Ahamo and Peter, meanwhile, turned their chairs around to face the rest of the room, and once they were all settled and tucking into lunch, Wyatt strode to the door and poked his head out before closing it again and locking it. When he turned back around to face the room, he looked directly to Peter and spoke with a nod, “Okay Pete, shoot.”

Peter took a swig of his drink and waited for Wyatt to settle back into his seat. Then, after taking a deep breath, he began, “Well, as you all may know, the Resistance kept a quiet presence in the Realm of the Unwanted during the time of the Sorceress. Partially to keep an ear to the ground and to keep tabs on the Seeker. Only a few of us ever knew that the Seeker and the Consort were one in the same. Myself and the Queen included.” Peter leaned forward and spoke in hushed tones as he continued, “Well, turns out that our Seeker here gained a reputation as being the man to find special things. Our spies that stayed around the Realm told us recently that Vizor has been poking around looking for the Seeker, says he wants his assistance with finding something.”

Ahamo cut in, a look of concern in his eyes, “Any idea what’s he’s after?”

Peter shook his head, equally concerned, but before anyone could say anything further, Wyatt spoke up. “I think I know what he’s after, but I don’t know what it means yet.” Peter and Ahamo’s eyes darted to Wyatt’s, quiet interest settling in. Wyatt pulled the note out of his pocket and handed it to Ahamo, who examined it and passed it to Peter. As they each in turn examined the envelope and note, Wyatt continued to speak, “I had a special delivery from the Hall of Justice today. That note came from an Ozmanian Priestess.” He paused briefly to determine if his cohorts understood the importance of where the message originated, and he felt he had gotten his intent across, as even the fire seemed to grow quiet in anticipation. At long last, Wyatt continued, “DeMilo had a visit from our friend this morning. Seems that he’s looking for an old belt encrusted with jewels for his employer. Tried to pay DeMilo off with some pretty impressive gems.”

Ahamo blew out a puff of air and asked after a moment, “Did DeMilo have what Vizor was looking for?”

Wyatt shook his head, his mouth drawn into a pensive frown. “No, but he sent Vizor back to the Realm to DeMilo’s contact,” Wyatt paused to wash his dry throat with tea and continued thoughtfully, “I don’t think this contact is going to have what Vizor wants either, but that doesn’t mean we can’t use it to our advantage.”

Jeb handed the note back to his father and asked what everyone was thinking, “What do you have in mind, dad?”

Wyatt stood and paced behind the desk, thinking hard before he spoke. Almost as if he were thinking out loud, he said, “Whatever this belt is, it’s pretty important to this boss of his. Probably not something we want either of them to get their hands on. Maybe if we could find out more about this thing-”

Ahamo cleared his throat, drawing Wyatt out of his thoughts, “I might know someone who can help with that.”

Wyatt turned to look over at Ahamo and sat back down quietly as Ahamo explained. “There’s a reason why I got the reputation I had. During the time of the Sorceress, I spent a lot of time hunting down various magical artifacts. Mostly to keep out of the Sorceress’ hands. Once or twice I sold off the more harmless items to certain individuals to keep up my cover. The more interesting or dangerous I passed off to the Curator for safe-keeping.”

Ambrose coughed in earnest, choking on a piece of sandwich at the mention of the Curator. When he recovered enough to speak, he rasped, “The Curator? I thought he was just a legend!”

Ahamo chuckled, “Ah no, but since he’s fairly reclusive and houses most of the history and relics of the Royal Family, he’s not easy to find for a reason.”

Wyatt cut in, feeling somewhat out of the loop. “Would you two mind sharing with the class? Who is this Curator, and how can he help?”

Ahamo stood this time and walked around to the back of his chair. As he leaned over the back of the chair, he spoke plainly, “His name is Artemis Saul, and he was one of my contacts in the Realm. I never saw him, but we exchanged messages at the tavern at the edge of the Realm. He knows everything there is to know about magical artifacts, and a great deal about the history behind them. If this belt is dangerous in any way, he’ll know about it.”

Jeb scratched his head and asked, “So let’s just assume that we’re able to meet this Curator, and he can tell us about the belt. Then what?” He turned to his father, “Dad?”

Wyatt tapped the envelope on the desk and stared out into space. As the chess pieces moved into place in his head, he spoke slowly, “This contact of DeMilo’s could be of use. Maybe we could use her as a decoy to draw Vizor and his employer out.”

Peter growled in annoyance, “I hate all of this cloak and dagger crap. What’s the problem with just staking out his contacts to see where he’s hiding?”

Wyatt’s eyes darted to Jeb, and before he could answer, Ambrose replied with a laugh, “Well I guess if you don’t mind being turned into a sea monkey, or forgetting who you are, you could always go give his front door a knock, but I could think of better ways to skin a cat personally.”

Jeb cut it in a slightly less condescending tone, “Plus, if we do need to find out where’s he’s been hiding, we might know of someone who can help with that.” Wyatt shot Jeb a look of warning, but Jeb continued, “Dad, I know you don’t want to deal with him, but we might have to if your idea doesn’t work.”

Wyatt grunted in response, “That lowlife will only use it as an opportunity. I don’t think we can trust anything he tells us.”

“Dad,” Jeb exclaimed, only to be cut off by Wyatt, who raised a hand in warning.

The tension was growing between the Cain men, and both Peter and Ahamo could tell that someone would need to break it before fists started to fly. “Wyatt,” Peter gently prodded at his old friend, “Jeb’s right. We need to put all of the options on the table, even the ill-advised ones.”

Wyatt nodded in defeat and replied, “Jeb is talking about Damon, Pete. According to Azkadellia, he was the one who recruited him. He was apparently one of the only longcoats who knew of Vizor’s lab. Son of bitch probably supplied him with plenty of test subjects over the annuals too.” Wyatt stopped to take a gulp of his drink, slamming the cup back on the desk as he spoke in a low growl while his friend visibly bristled at the mention of their former friend, “Let’s just hope we don’t have to play that card. This is already turning out to be a dangerous game as it is. I don’t want to risk myself, Jeb, or anyone else on that man’s word. Not ever again. Not after what he did to our family.” Wyatt gave Jeb a long, pained look before he turned back to Ahamo. “So, let’s talk about Artemis, because it seems like whatever else we do, we’re going to have to start with him.”

Ahamo nodded. From here the plans to find and draw out Vizor moved along with much more ease. Wyatt had been right about one major item – that before any other plans could be made, they would need to first find the Curator and determine just what kind of trouble this belt was. It was quickly decided that Ahamo, Wyatt, and Jeb would leave for the Realm before the end of the week, where they would try to get word to Artemis Saul. Without knowing how long it would take to bring Vizor out of hiding, it was also determined that although Jeb would not be needed as a decoy, Wyatt and Ahamo would need all the backup they could get. While Ambrose’s hologram would serve as a sufficient decoy in Central City, Jeb would at least be his father’s second set of eyes in case trouble reared its head. His own contacts within the Resistance would prove useful, and he could move about the Realm relatively unencumbered due to his less visible status. With these details settled, Peter filled them in on his former Resistance contacts that had led him to the intel on Vizor, all feeling that, with any luck, these contacts could shed more light on Vizor and any contacts he had made while stirring things up in the Realm.

When the men finally parted ways, Peter shook hands with the other men in turn and sighed heavily, “I wish I was going with you, Wyatt. Seems like an age ago that I was out there getting dirty like the rest of you. Now I’m just an old war hero stuck behind a desk collecting dust.”

Wyatt embraced Peter and chuckled, “You never know, if you collect enough dust, maybe the Curator will mistake you for an artifact and put you on a shelf somewhere.”

Peter laughed lightly in return, but when he pulled away to look Wyatt in the eyes, there was concern. In a low voice, he replied, “Wyatt, I don’t have to tell you what I’m worried about. There’s something coming, and I hope you’ll get it figured out before I have to come back you up.”

Wyatt sighed heavily and nodded. “Just keep a light on for us, Pete.”

Peter nodded back and turned to go, while Ahamo and Ambrose nodded to Wyatt and Jeb, exiting after the General so as to escort him out. Jeb had stood with Wyatt quietly until Ahamo and Peter were gone, and then turned to him with a smirk. “So, Your Highness, should I escort you to your chambers before I go back on duty?”

Wyatt smirked back at Jeb and clapped him on the shoulder, leading them both out of the door and into the hallway as he replied with a sigh, “Kid, I can still take you on, you know.”

Jeb laughed as they walked leisurely, “Naw, I can hear your bones creaking. You’re liable to break at any minute.”

Wyatt laughed, not taking Jeb’s bait. Instead, the two continued to banter as they walked upstairs to the royal living quarters, and once outside Wyatt’s doors, Wyatt took his son in a tight bear hug. “I love you son,” He whispered into Jeb’s shoulder.

“Love you too Dad,” Jeb muttered.

The men parted, and with a final clap on Jeb’s shoulder, Wyatt smiled at him before he closed himself in his and DG’s rooms. He looked around their temporary quarters, feeling suddenly tired and frustrated. While he tossed his cap on the sofa, he mulled over the day. While there had been a good deal of questions answered, the message from a dead queen had created so many more, and in Wyatt’s fatigue, he had difficulty sorting it all out. How is the business with Vizor linked to Ozma, he silently pondered while unbuttoning his coat.

“And why DG? Why not Az?” He thought out loud, having determined that DG was nowhere to be found.

Wyatt groaned in frustration when the answers continued to elude him, and he continued to undress almost as if on autopilot, peeling the close fitting uniform off while he considered. Now only in briefs and an undershirt, Wyatt crossed to the bedroom, intent on taking a long, soothing bath to help silence the questions churning in his mind. By the time the bathtub was filled, and the rest of his clothing removed, his thoughts were almost giving the Tin Man a headache, and as Wyatt eased himself into the tub, he inhaled sharply through his teeth in response to the heat of the water. Once submerged up to his mid-chest, his muscles relaxed, and he leaned back. A sigh escaped the man, and his eyes shut involuntarily as the steaming water forced him to finally relax. Unfortunately for him, his fatigue had gotten the better of him, and rather than sorting the thoughts in his mind, the jets of the tub lulled him further, and he drifted off to dreamless sleep.

While Wyatt and his cohorts had been conspiring to catch the rogue mage, the Gale women had been sitting down to what was supposed to be a quiet lunch. While it had indeed been quiet at the table where the three women sat, it had been more due to their own separate thoughts than a shared urge for peace. It seemed that they were all struggling with thoughts within their own minds, and their plates were barely touched. DG was so distracted that she could not eat for once and pushed her food around her plate so that it appeared eaten. Periodically, she would glance up at the clock on the wall, silently counting down the minutes until she could escape, while her mind drifted to the sparse and somewhat frustrating interactions she’d been having with Wyatt all day. She was eager to find relief the waning hours of the day when the demands on both of their schedules would cease, and she could finally have that talk with him that he had promised. Judging by Wyatt’s distance in the past few days, DG surmised that it would not be very long before he would leave to parts unknown, and between that and his sudden disappearance, she was having difficulty hiding her discomfiture. She was also troubled by the look in his eyes when he thought she wasn’t watching – she knew he was worried, and a worried Tin Man meant that there was trouble on the horizon. His spidey senses are tingling, DG thought nervously, so mine are too. DG’s distraction had reached such a pitch that she finally dropped her utensils on the plate, seemingly forgetting she had been holding them at all. The heavy metal clattered against the china, startling the Queen.

The Queen gasped in surprise, “DG!” The Queen’s eyes rested on her youngest daughter, and the look of stern disapproval quickly melted at the expression on her daughter’s face. 

DG was deeply embarrassed, and a flush rose on her cheeks as she stared down at her plate. With a voice almost as small as a whisper, DG replied, “I’m sorry mother, I didn’t mean to startle you, I just have a lot on my mind.”

The Queen set her own utensils down silently and reached out to grasp her daughter’s hand. With a sympathetic frown, she comforted her daughter, “Darling, don’t be sorry.  I was just surprised.” DG sighed and offered her mother a small smile. The Queen smiled too and released her daughter’s hand as she sat back, and while gazing at her own barely eaten meal, she scoffed, “Honestly, I’m somewhat distracted myself.”

DG laughed weakly and joked, waving her fork in a small circle, “birds of a feather flock together!”

The Queen smiled warmly at her daughters, and the tension in the room suddenly broke. With a small laugh, she placed her napkin next to her plate and replied, “This is getting a bit silly, isn’t it?” She paused to sigh and continued, “It’s been a long day for us all, and I’m certain you’re both just as tired as I am.”

Azkadellia sighed in apparent relief and dropped her napkin on the table, replying, “Well, I can barely hold my head up, let alone eat. Could we just call it a day, mother?”

The sisters eyed their mother hopefully, and after a pause, the monarch finally nodded her head and answered, “Yes my angels, I think we should.” When her daughters both began to rise, she added, “Please give your husbands my love.”

DG grinned and popped up from her chair, bounding over to her mother and kissing her on the cheek before doing the same to Azkadellia. Then, as she skipped towards the door, she called back cheerfully, “Good night you guys, I love you both!”

DG was so consumed with her thoughts that she did not stop to wait for a reply from either her mother or sister and dashed out with renewed energy. She did not even check to see if Gates was following behind her as she bounded towards her quarters, and she dived through the doors with full abandon, eager to reunite with Wyatt and resolve the burgeoning questions in her mind. When the doors shut behind her, and she stood at the head of their sitting room, she peered around, smiling when she found his uniform laid out on the couch – he was back, probably in the bathtub, she wagered silently, and she slid her slippers off, pushing them against the wall with her toes before she tip-toed towards their bedroom door. As she neared the threshold, she silently removed one article of clothing after the next; first her dress, which dropped to the floor and pooled around her feet, then while stepping forward, now only in her slip and underwear, she pried the bedroom door open. A quick scan revealed that he wasn’t here either, and she smiled again, satisfied with her initial guess. Next, she removed her slip, and shimmied out of her underwear, all while her smile was now becoming somewhat devilish, and she shut and locked their bedroom door behind her. After removing the pins from her hair and shaking her curls loose, she gave the room another scan; the room was somewhat dark, and the only light was that of the fading sunlight creeping through the windows off to her left. Ahead of her was their bed, and to the right, the bathroom door, which was cracked open, allowing a small sliver of light to escape onto the floor of the bedroom. DG though she heard the jets of the bathtub, now certain that Wyatt was indeed there. She’d discovered that this was his favorite place to unwind, and she had quickly taken to joining him once her initial amusement had worn off. 

DG smiled when she recalled discovering this fact about him. It had been after their ride to Finaqua, and they were both road weary and dusty. DG had looked everywhere for him, and when she finally discovered him, he was already stretched out in the tub, with his eyes shut in deep relaxation.

“What?” Wyatt asked as he opened his eyes, peering at the smirk on his wife’s face, “Can’t a guy enjoy a bath?”

DG raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “No, that’s not it, I just didn’t expect you to be the pampering type. I thought most guys were more into games, girls, guns and booze to relax.”

DG peeled her clothes off and tossed them to the side, smiling down at Wyatt, who was watching her with great enjoyment. When she was done undressing and stood in front of him completely bare and irresistible, Wyatt grinned and replied, “Oh, those things are fun too, but there’s nothing like a good bath.”

DG stepped in between his legs and sat down, laying the back of her head against his chest. Wyatt’s hands wrapped around her waist as she settled and he leaned his face close to her so he could growl in her ear as one hand roamed to her breast and the other between her legs, “Plus, I can still get the girl in the bath, you know.” As Wyatt’s fingers pressed against DG’s core, he began to rub her in slow, tight circles. His other hand, still grasping her breast, shifted, and his fingers made similar passes around her areola, until it puckered under his attention, causing DG’s breath to become shallow and shaky. His own breath was hot on her neck, and in between leaving openmouthed kisses on her skin, he whispered to her seductively, quietly commanding her to give in to him. “Come for me DG. Come now.”

As he muttered against her skin, DG’s breathing quickened, and she began to whimper from the pressure building up inside of her, until finally she whimpered. “Oh, Wyatt,” she panted, “Please fuck me now.”

Wyatt laughed quietly, and replied in a low purr, “No DG, not until you come.” DG whimpered again and writhed against his hands, which had been making increasingly faster movements across her clitoris. They suddenly sped up, and he pressed his fingers more firmly against her as he commanded, “Now DG.”

This seemed to unhinge DG, and she almost came out of the tub as she reached her climax. With a bright cry, she shuddered, and becoming limp against his chest, she panted heavily.

DG’s eyes shut involuntarily as the memory filled her mind.  She inhaled deeply as her arousal overtook her, making her feel giddy and excited. So, with a small push, she entered the bathroom, now intent on reenacting their first bath together. To her delight, she found Wyatt sitting stretched out in the bubbling water just ahead of her, in the massive bathtub that sat in the center of the marble clad room. DG had thought it superfluous before, but now that she was married, she swore by its charms, as it could always calm the Tin Man when she could not. Now, he was clearly relaxed, and his arms were splayed out across the rim of the tub, while his head leaned back; his eyes closed and a deep breath escaping his lips. DG watched intently to determine if he would acknowledge her arrival, and her smile split into a wide grin when he exhaled quietly as he slept. Now certain that he would not rouse too soon, DG crept forward a slowly tipped her foot into the water. She stifled a surprised gasp as she removed her toe from the cold water, and her mouth hung open in near horror.

Geesh Wyatt, how do you sleep in that, it’s ice cold!

Wyatt still hadn’t moved, so DG decided to test some magic she had been practicing in order to warm the water.  DG closed her eyes, focusing her energy to her hands as Tutor had been teaching her. The small fireball had been easy, and once she had mastered that ability and could safely control the ball in her hand, making the flame larger or smaller at will, he had taught her something much more difficult. Instead of pushing the energy outward, he had been training her to focus it inwards in her hands, which he’d explained she might not be able to do at all.

“DG, you have to focus, and be wary of your mood. In a state of calm, the warmth from your hands will be warm and pleasant. In a dark state, your energy can be dangerous and volatile.”

“How does it work? Do I have to touch something to warm it?” DG inquired, staring down at her hands.

Tutor shook his head and replied thoughtfully, “Not necessarily. Once you practice enough, tactile contact should not be necessary. You should be able to reach out with your light to affect whatever you choose.”

DG looked up at Tutor, worry bubbling up from her gut, “But Tutor, how do I make sure I don’t hurt anyone accidentally?”

Tutor placed a warm hand on her shoulder and smiled, “You won’t, but just to be safe, why don’t we focus on inanimate objects first.”

Tutor placed a glass of water on the table, and DG spent the rest of the afternoon heating the water to varying temperatures, never quite reaching a boiling point.

DG looked down at her hands and grinned happily – her hands were glowing from within, and Wyatt had still not awakened. Then DG stepped back into the water and kneeled down in front of Wyatt, resting her hands in the water. The temperature climbed to a comfortable level, and DG turned the warmth of her hands to the man in front of her. DG grasped a bar of soap in one hand and began to slowly lather Wyatt’s chest and arms, and soon Wyatt hummed in response and his eyes opened slightly. He smiled lazily at DG, wrapping his arms around her while his blue eyes widened to full alertness. DG dropped the soap and smiled back before floating into his lap.  Her arms and legs wrapped around him like a climbing vine, and she kissed him heatedly as her chest rubbed against his.

Wyatt broke the kiss to look up into DG’s darkened eyes, and with a lazy smile, he muttered, “Hey there Princess. Sorry, must have passed out. What time is it?”

DG smirked as she ran her fingers through his blonde hair, realizing that there was more hair now for her to play with, as Wyatt seemed to have let it grow out somewhat, and she answered, “Just got done with lunch, if that tells you anything. So how long have you been stewing in here?”

Wyatt raised his eyebrows in surprise, “Bout an hour I’d guess, but I don’t get it, the water is still warm.”

DG snickered and waved a still-warm hand at him. Wyatt looked somewhat perplexed and then shrugged, “I’m impressed. No singed eyebrows or being boiled to death.”

DG slapped him on the chest as she pushed herself back, and with an annoyed grimace, she retorted, “Hey, that’s not fair. It was one time, and it was ages ago anyway.”

Wyatt splashed himself with water to rinse the remaining soap off of his body and laughed, “Yeah well, forgive me if I’m still a little sore about having to regrow my right eyebrow.” Wyatt and DG exchanged a quiet laugh, their mock annoyance with each other melting away as they gazed at each other. Wyatt reached for DG, and pulled her back into his lap, and just before pulling her lips to his, he whispered, “I missed you today Dorothy.”

DG sighed and nodded, allowing herself to be kissed gently by her husband. After a moment, Wyatt broke away and gazed up it her eyes again. That troubled look was back, and DG frowned because this time, he wasn’t trying to hide it from her, and while DG placed her hands on his chest, she firmly asked, “Wyatt, what’s wrong? What was so important that you had to disappear without talking to me?”

Wyatt’s eyes sparkled first before the smile appeared.  It was comforting that after such a short amount of time together, DG seemed to be able to read him better than anyone else, but it also meant that he couldn’t hide from her, and while it was comforting most times, it also meant that he had to trust that she wouldn’t do anything impulsive with the information he gave her. To hell with it, I’m all in, Wyatt thought before answering, “I have something to give you.” Wyatt murmured against her lips, placing a small kiss on them before making them both stand.

Wyatt climbed out of the tub first and helped her out next, and he handed her a towel and watched her dry off while he did the same. 

“What is it?” DG asked with quiet excitement, barely managing to pat herself adequately dry and standing before him, completely uncaring as to her state of undress.

Wyatt smirked and turned her around, wiping away the rest of the water from her back before he smacked her butt cheek playfully. He stepped away from her before she could swat him in defense, and hung their towels up while he answered, “You’ll see, Your Impatience.”  He then kissed her on the cheek and pushed her out of the bathroom, finishing with, “Go on, get in bed. I’ll be right there. I just have to go get it.”

DG huffed, frowning at Wyatt, but she did as she was asked. As she slid into the bed, she watched intently as Wyatt walked around to their dressing room. After a moment, he emerged with a small object in his hand, and he smiled a sad sort of smile as he approached, still looking down on it. DG soon found that it was a small enameled box, and image on the front was of a beautiful woman with blonde hair. Her long locks waved around her, and her bright blue eyes seemed to gaze directly into whomever happened to be holding the box. DG watched Wyatt’s expression as he looked down at the box. It was a bittersweet sort of expression – the type that one might have when looking at an old photograph of a loved one. As Wyatt sat before her, he closed his eyes for a moment, seemingly lost in a memory, before he opened his eyes again, and deposited the small box in her hands carefully.   

“It’s beautiful, Wyatt,” DG spoke in a hushed tone, “Where did it come from?”

Wyatt watched quietly as DG traced the line of Ozma’s face with the tip of her finger, and he remembered admiring the small trinket often in a similar manner as a boy.

“Nana, is that a picture of you on that box?” Young Wyatt had asked his grandmother.

Wyatt was only four at the time and had looked up to Elizabeth Cain with deep love and admiration. This woman had all but raised him when his father had died, and he and his mother had come to live with her. Wyatt shared Elizabeth’s striking blue eyes and golden hair, and she was still beautiful at sixty annuals.

Elizabeth took the box down from the mantle and turned it in her hand, she smiled kindly at her grandson and handed the box to him, “No Darlin’, that is Ozma the Great. She was a great Queen who had many adventures with Dorothy Gale, and she even made her Queen of the OZ when she finally grew weak and tired.”

Wyatt’s fingers ran over the brightly colored enamel in awe, and he opened the box expecting light music to erupt from it, but it remained silent.

Elizabeth had sighed sadly when she saw his face and explained, “I don’t think that’s played in a very long time, but I’ll sing you the song if you’d like.”

Wyatt grinned happily up at his grandmother and opened his arms to her, and Elizabeth had gathered the boy up in her arms and sat down in the rocking chair, depositing him in her lap. After a moment of trying to recollect the words, she began to sing a wistful, lilting melody about a beautiful land beyond the rainbow, which sent Wyatt to sleep in her arms, feeling the warmth of her body and the hum of her chest as she sang quietly.

A smile crept up on Cain’s face with this recollection. He’d always thought his grandmother was the most beautiful woman in the world, until he met Dorothy, and after a brief moment of imagining himself as a boy, he finally spoke, “It was my grandmother’s once upon a time. I used to spend a lot of time looking at it when I was a boy. I rescued it from the house when I went back to sell it.”

DG studied the outside of the box, turning it over to see the winding mechanism underneath, and she turned the dial a few times before turning it back over, and opened the lid. When no music emanated from the moving parts moving inside the lid, DG and Wyatt both frowned in disappointment.

“Huh,” Wyatt muttered thoughtfully.

DG looked up, somewhat perplexed, “What is it?”

Wyatt took the box back from her for a moment and placed it to his ear before he gave it back to her, and he shook his head with disappointment before he answered, “I really thought something might happen when I gave it to you.” DG’s confused frown deepened, but she didn’t speak, so Wyatt continued his explanation. “I had always meant to give it to you, as some kind of peace offering, maybe see if you could fix it, but it kept slipping my mind.” Wyatt laid back on the bed and leaned on his side, and he rested his head in his hand while he continued to mull over his thoughts verbally, “Then today, I got a message from an Ozmanian priestess that I should give it to you, and I just assumed that –”

“Something earth-shattering would happen?” DG asked with an uncertain wince. Wyatt huffed through his nose and frowned in return while he handed the box back to her, seeming more puzzled than irritated.

DG leaned back on the headboard and turned the information over slowly, muttering, “I feel like I’m missing something important. What’s an Ozmanian Priestess, and what does she have to do with this?” DG waved the box in her hand.

Wyatt groaned as he gazed up at the ceiling. Sometimes he forgot that DG had spent most of her childhood on the Otherside. The details were important though, so he detoured briefly from his story, “The Ozmanians are from the Temple of Ozma, whose face, incidentally, is on the front of that box,“ he motioned to the music box with his index finger as he moved back to looked at her. “Their primary purpose has been to prepare for the rebirth of Ozma, who they believe will return to rule the OZ again.”

DG tapped her lip as she considered, and replied thoughtfully to herself, “Like the Dali Lama, I guess.”

Wyatt didn’t understand DG’s reference, so he continued, “They are good people, Deeg, but more importantly, they have been known to receive visions from Ozma. Visions that have come true.”

“Like what?” DG scoffed.

“Like the prophecy about you and Azkadellia, for one,” Wyatt responded pointedly. DG’s mouth snapped shut and she looked to him to continue, “Anyway, this priestess made a pretty big stink about being sure that you would receive that box before I leave for the Realm. Said that the future of the House of Gale depended on you getting that.” DG turned the box over again and frowned, when she looked back into his eyes, she saw a mirrored look of confusion in his and he sat back up with a sigh. “I guess I’m not meant to find out why it’s so important, but I wish I understood why you should get it and not your sister.”

DG watched as Wyatt stared down at his hands in frustration, and she quietly placed the box on her nightstand before crawling up behind him. She slid her legs on either side of Wyatt and began to rub his shoulders in slow, deep circles, and Wyatt groaned as she worked out the knots in his neck with her thumbs. “Wyatt,” DG gently prodded as she continued to rub him, “what’s really bothering you?”

Wyatt spoke through a grunt as DG hit a particularly tight muscle, “I just don’t like where this is heading. Vizor by himself is a walk in the park. Then you add the fact that he’s apparently got some shady boss who’s paying him with rubies and looking for magical artifacts, and now an Ozmanian Priestess sputtering warnings about the future of the Gales, and – ugh!” Wyatt interrupted himself with a frustrated grunt.

DG frowned to herself as she swallowed everything he said, in a small voice she asked, “And you’re worried that someone is gunning for me and my sister before the babies can be delivered, aren’t you?”

Wyatt stilled DG’s hands and turned around, kneeling in front of her on the floor, “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.” He grasped her hands in his, toying with her wedding band before he finally choked out, “I’m also afraid of leaving another wife and child behind. What if something should happen to me while I’m in the Realm? DG, I hate that we can’t have the life you wanted right now, and I know you hate not being able to do much, but I just don’t know what else to do here. I’m sorry.”

Wyatt looked up at DG, whose eyes were silently filling with tears. Her hands left his so that she could place them on either side of his face, and she softly answered, “Wyatt, I was so ready to be angry with you leaving me out of the loop, but I understand now. I promise you; I won’t take one step outside the palace while you’re gone.”

Wyatt sighed, and the trouble in his eyes eased somewhat. As he breathed out through his nose in relief, he took her hands back into his and kissed each palm. At this tender attention, DG slid down into Wyatt’s lap, and kissed him deeply. Wyatt, meanwhile, wrapped his arms around her so he could revel in the feel of her smooth skin against his, and his hands roamed her backside as they continued to plunder the other’s bodies. The relief that Wyatt felt when he touched her made his chest swell, and he hugged her close to him, inhaling deeply of her as his lips moved to press lightly against her collarbone. DG’s breasts pressed against his chest, and she exhaled deeply. Her head swam, and she had the dizzying sensation of floating, and her only anchor was Wyatt’s strong arms holding her to him. Wyatt growled into her as her essence wrapped itself around his senses, making him feel intoxicated by her, and he rose with her still anchored to him, and carried her back up the bed, depositing her in the center gently. His body laid over hers as his mouth continued its exploration of DG’s, soon breaking their feverish kiss to let his lips travel down her chest.

As Wyatt moved down the center of her body, leaving a trail of kisses, he grasped her waist to hold her in place.  He sat up on his knees for a moment, gazing heatedly down on her, smiling at the beautiful woman before him.  Her dark hair was splayed out on the bed, and her chest heaved in anticipation; her eyes were almost closed, and her lips were parted in a heavy pant. DG was getting impatient for him and grunted at him, poking his leg with her toe. This caused Wyatt to grin evilly, enjoying his exquisite torture of his wife. To draw it out further, he grasped her knees before slowing sliding his hands down the inside of her thighs, pushing her open as he slid further down. DG took a sharp breath and arched up as he nestled down between her legs, taking her into his mouth. His tongue danced a slow dance with her clitoris, making DG groan. Wyatt watched as DG’s eyes closed completely – she was helpless and writhing at his ministrations, but he stopped, and ran his tongue around the rim of her opening, drawing a ragged breath from her in response. He repeated this a few times before adding his fingers to the game, teasing her opening with them before sliding them inside. DG moaned, babbling incoherently, before her inner walls contracted around his fingers, and she shuddered with a low cry.

She was still recovering when Wyatt sat up, holding her hips steady so he could plunge into her. DG cried again, climbing quickly to another climax. Wyatt dove into her repeatedly, quickly losing control of his senses and grunting deeply with every thrust. She was deep and hot, and he relished the feeling of how tightly her muscles squeezed him as he moved leisurely. Then he leaned over her, kissing her still panting neck, and she moved his face to hers, kissing him ferociously, surprising Wyatt when she somehow managed to roll them both over while still kissing him hotly. Now over him, DG rode Wyatt, her hips gyrating frantically. Wyatt watched her, admiring her body as it moved over his. Her breasts glistened with perspiration and bounced as she rode him home. Wyatt’s heels dug into the bed, and he thrust up into her, feeling his body clench as he called her name. DG cried out as well when he thrust upward, surprised at the climax coming to her once again. When Wyatt’s own climax drew near, he rolled her back over, moving with a quickening pace as he released into her body.

DG’s body shuddered as she recovered from the rigors that she had put it through, and she panted heavily. Wyatt too was utterly spent and collapsed next to her, where they both nestled under the blanket, easing the shaking of their breathless bodies. Wyatt then turned towards DG and watched her quietly as she recovered her senses: He marveled at her, feeling that it would never cease to amaze him that this beautiful creature could actually want a rusted old soldier like him, and he was overwhelmed with the intense passion that she always managed to draw out of him when they made love. Wyatt smiled at the thought and traced the line of her breast down to her naval as she breathed deeply. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave Wyatt a sleepy smile.  He smiled back, leaning down to place an ardent kiss on her lips. DG hummed back as he kissed her, allowing her fingers to toy with his damp chest hairs.

Wyatt pulled back to whisper just inches from her lips, his eyes searching hers longingly “I love you more than anything Dorothy, and you have my heart and my soul.”

DG reached a small hand up to his face and kissed him lightly before answering, “I love you too Wyatt.”

Wyatt smiled warmly down on her before he laid back down, opening his arm so she could curl up next to him.  After a few steady deep breaths, they quickly fell into a deep sleep, having temporarily eased the trouble on their minds. 

Chapter Text

Two mornings later, Wyatt stood in his bathroom and eyed himself in the bathroom mirror with an air of critical consideration. His left hand brushed over the stubble quickly growing into a beard on his face, and he frowned as he resisted the urge to shave it away. The hair on his face was a darker gold than the hair on his head, and DG would have said it made him look rugged. This knowledge didn’t make Wyatt feel any better – since being rescued from the Iron Suit, he had taken great care to keep himself clean shaven, and he wasn’t particularly pleased that he would need to stop this routine. His clean and well put together appearance, in concert with his cool blue eyes and chiseled clean shaven face were too recognizable, he knew, and would hinder his task as the Seeker. Despite the necessity of having to look the part of the rag-tag drifter, it felt dishonest to the former lawman, and a deep-seated uneasiness settled in his stomach. Then Wyatt’s hand, which had been absently running over the stubble on his chin, stopped, and he looked down at the wedding band on his finger. His grimace deepened, and he slid the band off and turned it over in his hand – already the life he had planned with DG seemed to be slipping away, being quickly replaced by the same scenarios that had taken him away from Adora and Jeb all those annuals ago. Although DG had been amazingly understanding, he was certain that under the surface, she was just as disappointed as he was that they would not be retiring to their quiet retreat soon. Despite this, the uneasiness remained, particularly when worries of DG and the baby’s safety came to mind.

These thoughts served only to further rile the man, and with a low growl, Wyatt stepped away from the mirror, tightening the towel around his waist before he walked out into the bedroom. As he stepped into the room, he stopped by his bedside table and slid open the top drawer; looking down at his wedding band once last time, he placed it gingerly within the small wooden butler resting inside, while his jaw clenched in grim resignation. There was no doubt in his mind that his assistance was necessary for both capturing Vizor and determining the man’s involvement in whatever dark plots were forming against the royal family. He only wished that the cost did not involve postponing his new life with DG. Even worse, while parts of their life seemed on pause, their daughter continued to grow with every passing day, and the Tin Man struggled with the guilt of knowing that he might be absent when DG needed him the most. With a deep huff, Wyatt closed the drawer on his wedding band and these thoughts and decided in that moment that at the very least, he would do everything he could to be back before their daughter’s arrival. Just as soon as the Tin Man’s eyes had steeled over and his jaw hardened, they softened just as quickly when DG slid into the room, coffee in hand. Wyatt watched her as she crossed to the bed; a pair of his sleeping pants tied loosely around her small yet noticeably round abdomen and an oversized cardigan over a tank top that clung to her temptingly. Her countenance was almost always flushed now, and an almost shy smile played at the edge of her mouth as she watched him back, almost certainly catching his interested gaze as she neared. It was endearing to Wyatt that she should be so bashful as her body changed and caused a bloom of warmth to spread through his chest, melting away any of the hard edges in his thoughts that had been there just moments before. He gratefully accepted the mug of coffee that she held out to him, and let an easy smile spread on his face as he leaned down to place a soft kiss on the princess’s lips.

“Morning Mrs. Cain,” Wyatt smiled against her lips, his eyes sparkling into hers for a moment.

“Hey Tin Man,” DG purred, brushing the fingers of her free hand against his rough cheek before he straightened back up. When she spoke again, her voice had a sultry quality to it, and she asked suggestively, “Sure I can’t get you to stay a little longer? I think I might want to see what you look like with a beard.”

Wyatt huffed, raising an eyebrow at her. “I’m sorry Dorothy, you know I can’t.”

Wyatt paused long enough to see DG’s resigned nod, and she answered with a sigh as he crossed to the dressing room, “I had to try.”

When Wyatt emerged a few moments later, a smirk had settled on his face, and an eyebrow was still raised at the woman who sat on the other side of the bed. The towel was gone and had been replaced by a pair of closefitting tan riding breeches, which hung open, offering DG a final tempting view of her spouse. While Wyatt pulled a blue button-down shirt over his shoulders, he ignored DG’s playful smile, and turned instead to find his riding boots and vest, the latter of which he threw on the bed so he could get his duffle bag and holster. When he deposited the empty bag on the bed, DG put her mug down and climbed across the bed, and still on her knees, she sat up and placed her hands on his exposed chest, forcing him to stop and look down on her.

DG stretched up to meet him in a soft kiss, and she growled against his lips, “I’ll miss you, Wyatt. Don’t be gone long.”

The corner of Wyatt’s mouth curled upward, and his eyes darkened as he wrapped an arm around her small waist, his hand resting on the swell of her posterior. With unexpected force, he dragged her to him, causing DG to squeak in surprise, and with the other hand resting at the base of her skull; he pulled her mouth to his. DG’s surprise melted away as Wyatt’s lips crashed down onto hers, and she sighed while he urgently tasted her, both acting as if it was their last opportunity. DG’s fingers slid underneath his shirt and dug into his shoulders as she abandoned her control, and she let herself be awash in Wyatt’s imposing presence as long as she could. DG’s reactions to him acted as a powerful drug to Wyatt, and his pants began to feel as if they were constraining him, so he finally pulled away, growling in moderate frustration. DG sighed heavily as she slumped back onto the mattress, watching with disappointment as Wyatt buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his pants before closing them as well.

Wyatt huffed as he continued to dress in earnest now, and he finally replied as he donned a chocolate-colored vest, “I’ll miss you too, Dorothy. It’s not going to be easy being away from you. I’ll try to send word when I can though, and if you need to pass any messages on to me, you can always send them through the new head of security, the General will make sure they get to me.” DG considered Wyatt’s offer while she repositioned herself on the bed, bending and crossing her legs in front of her. Between DG’s childlike posture and the thoughtful frown on her face, Wyatt could not help the fond twinkle in his eye as he covertly watched her, and a smirk appeared on his face when he asked, “What’s got your goat, Princess?”

DG shrugged and replied while she watched him pull on a pair of riding boots, “I’ll try to keep my pestering you to a minimum. I don’t guess royal couriers running in and out of the realm will help you much more than me actually being on your heels.”

Wyatt stopped packing the duffle bag that he had deposited on the mattress and considered his wife with a sympathetic frown. DG’s blue eyes were clouded, and she was trying her best not to look directly at him, as if meeting his gaze might break her resolve. When Wyatt sat down before her and tilted his head to meet her line of sight, she finally stopped avoiding his gaze and met him with a set of water blue depths and a sad sigh.

Wyatt echoed her sigh with one of his own, and he pushed the bag out of the way so he could move closer to her, lacing his fingers with hers. “DG,” Wyatt replied softly, “I don’t want you to worry about that. General Jinjur is a pretty able soldier; she’ll make sure my cover isn’t blown. So, if you need to talk to me about anything, including even the smallest changes in your pregnancy or the latest glitchy thing Ambrose did, I want to know about it. Okay?”

When DG did not answer immediately, Wyatt gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. When a smile appeared around the corners of her mouth, Wyatt smiled back and kissed her on the forehead before rising once more and stating firmly, “Now that that’s settled, I’d better get a move on.” With a huff, he then strode back to the dressing room, coming back moments later with a stack of folded clothes and his duster, which Wyatt proceeded to stuff into his duffle, pausing only to frown thoughtfully at his old coat.

Maybe I should leave this thing behind, he pondered, it’s a bit too much of a signature. In moderate annoyance Wyatt dropped the duster back on the bed, still eyeing it while DG looked on silently. The Tin Man seemed distracted by the loss of his favorite duster, and the Princess took silent note of his hesitation. DG scoffed at him internally, finding humor in Wyatt’s attachment, and using his hesitation as an opportunity, she jumped off the bed and ran into the dressing room, suddenly giddy for her flash of brilliance. Wyatt’s eyes followed her through the door, and he stood listening with interest to the sounds of her rustling with hangers and grumbling. Just as he began to walk in after her, his curiosity getting the better of him, DG reappeared, looking triumphant as she marched forward, holding aloft an alternative coat and hat in her hands. The coat was a tan herringbone frock coat, and DG held it out for him to try on, causing Wyatt to smile down at the garment – DG had given it to him a few cycles ago, attempting to wrestle him out of his duster, which was starting to look weatherworn. The fabric was light enough that he could wear it in the summer, and warm enough to layer it with other articles of clothing during the colder cycles.  He was a little perplexed that he had forgotten about the coat, but thankful for DG’s attentions in his moment of frustration. Having settled it in his mind, Wyatt took only a moment to fasten his holster on his hip and slid his gun into place before taking the coat from DG with a smirk. As it slid down his arms, he tested the fit in the shoulders, satisfied that he would be comfortable on the long horseback ride to the realm with it on.

Next, DG presented Wyatt with the hat, which Wyatt huffed about in a fit of almost childish irritation. He was even more fond of his beloved fedora than he was the duster and knowing that he would have no choice but to leave it behind only added to his existing frustration over the rapid change of plans. Even without his displeasure over their circumstances clouding his mood, Wyatt had had to begrudgingly accept his celebrity, and that fact only served to irritate him today. Since the Eclipse, pictures of the heroes had papered the realms, depicting Wyatt and the others in all manner of ways. In most, Wyatt’s beloved hat played a prominent role of its own and was most often secured on top of his head in many depictions. For this reason alone, he was certain he would be recognized right away with it on his head in just about any place in the OZ.  Abandoning the headgear was a necessity, so he reached for the hat in DG’s hands with a grunt. As he pulled the brown Stetson down over his eyes, he smirked at DG and grumbled incoherently.

DG smirked at him, laughing, “Yup. It works. I’m glad I convinced you to bring it back with you from Kansas.”

Wyatt turned and eyed himself in the mirror briefly before turning back and shrugging, pushing the hat up his head leisurely as he replied defensively, “I’m picky about my hat, sorry.”

DG shrugged as well and clambered down from the bed to stand before him. As she reached up on her tip toes to place a kiss on Wyatt’s lips, his hands grasped her by the arms, and he rubbed them slowly as he moved to embrace her tightly. As their lips parted, Wyatt allowed his nose to be buried in her hair, and he inhaled deeply before murmuring to her crown, “I’ll be home as soon as I can. I promise.”

Even with all of Wyatt’s reassurances, a certain amount of concern still clouded DG’s mind. She would have liked to think that her husband’s repeated promises of being safe and returning soon were meant solely for her, given her heightened emotional state, but DG knew better. Behind his stony expression, Wyatt Cain was an intensely emotional man, and right now, he was worried. Some of this worry could easily be attributed to their shared discomfort of court life, and the very real possibility of having to continue such arrangements for an undetermined amount of time.  Given that Wyatt preferred his personal sphere free of drama and as simple as possible, DG was certain that this played a role in his current state of mind. Other worries were certainly tied to his mission, and although DG knew that many of his concerns were justified, she also knew that there was a good deal that he had not yet voiced, and wouldn’t until he had the information he needed to process his suppositions. On top of all of this, the unabashed family man had readily admitted his concern for her and their child, and whether or not he would be returning to them at all. DG watched him silently as he slung his bag over his shoulder, thinking on these things, and noting the stormy look in her husband’s eyes that only seemed to clear when he met hers. Voicing her own concerns would not aid Wyatt in any way, she determined as she let him take her hand in his, meaning to walk with her towards the outer doors of their chambers. In this moment, Wyatt needed her trust and support, and so DG provided it in the best way she knew how. A small smile crept up on her face as they ambled towards the door, while she pondered her own evolution over the past few annuals. At one time, she would have rolled her eyes at any other woman who might willingly zip it and play the role of the doting housewife. Now, she knew that this was an unfair characterization, as her complicit silence had nothing to do with becoming a mindless automaton. Even if she had recently worried that she might not be anything more than a trophy for Wyatt, this worry had been born out of frustration and hormones, and not due to anything Wyatt had done or said. To Wyatt, DG was his partner in all things, and he trusted more of his inner self with her than any other. DG knew this, of course, and so in that spirit of partnership, she was willing to forgo some of her usual boisterousness in favor of supporting him in his time of need.

Wyatt was no fool, and although he had noticed DG’s sudden turn in behavior, he said relatively little on the subject, other than to increase his reassurances to her. Knowing his wife to be naturally vociferous and incapable of sitting on her hands for any length of time, he hoped that his promises might do something at least to ease her mind. So, while the pair silently pondered their shared concern for the other, they walked slowly towards the outer doors, drawing out their goodbyes as long as they could, both hoping that their last few moments together might do something to bolster the other during their separation. It was still early, and the suns had just started to rise in the past hour, so between this and their blinding attention on each other, they were both surprised by the knock that sounded from their doors as they approached. Wyatt grasped the handle and opened it to peer outside. Gates stood outside, looking apologetic as a rather sheepish looking viewer peaked around his massive shoulder.

“General, Sir, Master Raw to see you,” Gates spoke quietly so as not to disturb the rest of the floor, in a voice so low that it seemed almost unreal to be coming from one so large.

Wyatt dropped his bag near the door and broke into a grin, pulling the door open, “Come in Raw, I hoped I might be seeing you before I left.”

Raw tip toed around Gates and stepped inside, nodding kindly to the giant man before Wyatt shut the door behind him. When Wyatt turned around to greet their friend, he smiled at the sight of DG’s arms already wrapping around Raw’s neck, her face glowing with fondness.

“Good morning Raw, it’s good to see you,” DG whispered to him.

Raw separated from DG with an equally warm smile and his eyes glistened somewhat as he looked down on DG.  DG’s head tilted with curiosity, and she started to ask him what had him so misty eyed, but she was interrupted by Wyatt, who greeted Raw warmly. Wyatt and Raw faced each other, and Wyatt embraced Raw with a small chuckle.

When he released the viewer a few short moments later, he peered into his eyes with an inquisitive look and asked, “So I take it that in usual fashion, you have something important that you want me to know just before I leave?”

Raw looked from his hands to Wyatt and back again before he nodded and met Wyatt’s eyes with quiet intensity. “There is something dark coming from the East. An old danger. I feel it.”  Raw stepped closer to Wyatt and looked intently into him, “Tin Man will always be able to find Raw when he needs help. All you have to do is ask.”

Wyatt frowned as he searched Raw’s eyes. The earnest nature of Raw’s statements troubled Wyatt deeply and cast a shadow over their parting. Raw was seldom so direct and saved his most direct communication for matters of grave importance. Although Wyatt wished to dig further into the Furball’s mind to ask him what he had seen that made him so concerned for Wyatt and emotional over DG, Raw seemed to have closed the subject, and grasped Wyatt’s hand in both of his and shook it gently.

Wyatt returned the man’s handshake with a resigned sigh, and he replied, “Alright Furball, thanks for the warning. I’ll keep it in mind.”

With that, Wyatt turned to pick his duffle bag back up, and slung it over his shoulder. While jerking his head in the direction of the door, he inquired sardonically, “So, you two going to walk me out, or what?”

Raw smiled and held the door open while DG and then Wyatt stepped out. A cryptic smile crept up his face as they passed him and his eyes followed them, watching the way they gazed at each other as they moved down the hall. Raw followed noiselessly after them, quickly catching up to capitalize on the short amount of time he had left with the Tin Man before he left for parts unknown. Although he knew that Wyatt had hoped for a longer conversation with him, Raw knew all too well the effects of disclosing too much information at one time to humans. Although he suspected that more than one ancient had come into the fray of their latest adventure, he feared that telling the lawman too much might sway him from his task, which he knew was of utmost importance. There was no reason to worry him needlessly, not while he and Glitch would be staying behind to watch the princess. For now, he thought, the Tin Man needed only the support of his closest friends, and as he followed beside Wyatt, he endeavored to do just that.

When they arrived at the top of the grand staircase, they were met with the sight of Ahamo and the Queen saying their own good-byes at the foot of the stairs. Much like Wyatt and DG, the royal couple seemed reluctant to separate, and maintained some semblance of physical contact while they spoke quietly to each other. Azkadellia and Ambrose hovered nearby, waiting patiently to give their own farewells. Azkadellia seemed nervous, and while relatively motionless, she worried with her hands, wringing them constantly as she watched her parents perform yet another difficult farewell. Ambrose stood at her elbow, rubbing Azkadellia’s shoulder in a show of support to the guilt-ridden woman who still blamed herself for the lingering darkness caused by the witch and her cohorts. When DG, Wyatt, and Raw appeared, Ambrose turned his attention to them, and stepped closer to the stairs, ready to grasp Wyatt’s hand when he reached the bottom.

“Wyatt,” Ambrose greeted the man with a firm handshake, “I guess you don’t really owe me one anymore, eh Tin Man?”

Wyatt scoffed in return, replying, “Well, let’s settle up after I get back, alright Zipperhead?”

Ambrose and Wyatt exchanged a chuckle, and Wyatt hugged his brother briefly before they parted. Jeb appeared a short time later and stood quietly by the door whilst the rest of the part said their goodbyes, waiting patiently for their eventual departure. The young man seemed uncertain of how to insert himself if what was clearly a family moment, DG observed, and she slid up to him, greeting him quietly.

“Morning Jeb,” DG greeted him, leaning her head affectionately on the young man’s shoulder in a show a familial solidarity.

Jeb emitted a sigh in response to DG’s display, finding himself oddly at ease with the princess’s easy affection. Although he and DG had formed a quick friendship over the past two annuals, with him serving as her most frequent guard detail when his father was unavailable, he had been initially uncertain how their relationship would change once she married his father. It had been a relief to find their rapport virtually unchanged, with the exception of the Princess being even more openly affectionate than before. Also of particular relief to the young man was the fact that DG had made no attempt to change the nature of their friendship and showed a good deal of respect for the continued importance of Adora Cain in the hearts of the Cain men. This had cemented DG’s place in Jeb’s heart, and although he would not say so for fear of embarrassing her, he found himself seeking her out in much the same way he would have his own mother, being of the firm opinion that Adora Cain would have approved greatly of DG’s introduction into their small family. This morning, he was also warmed by her careful attentions to his discomfort, finding it difficult to remain uncomfortable when DG drew near.

 “Morning DG,” Jeb returned quietly, tilting his head towards hers to return her small show of affection.

DG grinned, pleased with the outcome of her risk, and she stepped back to look up at Jeb, fixing him with a serious expression as she whispered, “Look after them Jeb.”

Jeb nodded, understanding her request. Both of their fathers had a penchant for taking risks, and he quietly bonded with her over their mutual concern. DG exhaled in relief in response to Jeb’s nod and gave him one final squeeze around his middle before withdrawing to say her goodbyes to her father. Ahamo was visibly anxious, and after saying goodbye to his other family members, had moved closer to the door, looking out to see if the jeep that would taking them to the stables had arrived. DG noted an expression similar to her own written in the lines at the corners of her father’s eyes. She’d inherited her doer attitude from him, after all, and even after spending two annuals in luxury, he still itched to be out in the world, doing something of value. DG smiled to herself with this thought and felt a surge of gratitude for the man. DG’s relationship with her father had improved vastly over the past two annuals, partially because of their shared knowledge of the Otherside, but also because DG’s memories were quickly coming back. Even with these flashes of insight and shared knowledge, DG still struggled periodically, feeling as if he still saw her as a little girl. It felt important, however, for her to reach out to her father in this moment and show him the trust that he desired so much from her, especially now, as he set out on a potentially dangerous mission.

As she drew near, DG laid a tentative hand on her father’s arm, and croaked out, “Hey Dad.”

Ahamo turned to his youngest daughter with a smile and wrapped her in his arms, “Hey Spitfire. Keep my seat warm for me, will you?”

DG looked up at her father and smiled weakly, “If you’ll keep Wyatt and Jeb out of trouble, sure.”

Ahamo laughed, admiring the defiant look in his daughter’s eyes. He smiled, finding himself overwhelmed with the woman standing in front of him. Time, it seemed, had gotten away from him, and where his tomboy rabble rouser had once been, there now stood a strong, beautiful woman. He beamed on her with pride and a little apprehension, fearing that she would find him somehow unworthy to the task of protecting her husband and stepson. He still carried a fair amount of remorse over not having stayed with her on the Otherside when she was still so young and vulnerable, but his duty to ensure her safe return to the OZ took precedence, so he had begrudgingly left her all of those annuals ago. A small part him would not have blamed DG had she not wanted to trust him with the wellbeing of her own family after her own apparent abandonment, and this small glint of fear showed momentarily in his eyes, causing DG’s defiant spark to soften with compassion.

“I love you, Dad. Stay safe.” DG muttered into his chest as she snuggled back into his arms.

Ahamo gladly hugged her tighter, thankful for the rare opportunity with her. It didn’t last, however, as the sound of the Jeep’s brakes squealing as it stopped just outside roused them from their goodbyes. Ahamo released DG to give his wife a final embrace, and he and the Queen disappeared outside, Jeb following closely behind.  Azkadellia, Ambrose, and Raw, meanwhile said their final goodbyes to Wyatt before they slipped away, wanting to give Wyatt and DG some final moments of privacy.

Wyatt strayed behind everyone else, waiting expectantly for DG, and as all the others filtered out in separate directions, his eyes resting on the form of his wife, standing near the outer doors. As the others departed, DG’s eyes stubbornly refused to meet his, and while she gazed out the window, she visibly struggled to maintain her composure. The sounds of their family faded away, and the hall became silent once more, and a sense uncertainty hung in the air like a physical thing between them. DG finally turned to face her husband, and her stomach clenched unhappily when she met his eyes. Wyatt, meanwhile, dropped his bag unceremoniously at his feet as he stepped swiftly forward to reach DG, and she jumped into his arms with a sharp intake of air. Wyatt clutched DG in his arms, breathing her in deeply, his own breath shallow and sharp, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. DG shuddered against him, the dam having finally broken, and her tears began to wet his vest as they poured out unencumbered. Wyatt tilted her head upwards, with gentle tender attention, placing a soft kiss on her lips. The tenderness with which he kissed her seemed to unglue them both though, and was soon replaced with urgency, and they both clutched at each other as if holding tight against an oncoming storm. All of the feelings they had been bottling up over the past days in an effort to bolster the other washed over them in a wave, causing them to become enwrapped in each other, their limbs tangling while their kiss became feverish and hurried. When they finally parted, their faces were both flushed, and both seemed breathless, and leaned against the other as they regained their senses.  

While Wyatt still held DG close, his lips resting softly on her forehead, DG nestled her nose into the opening of his shirt, breathing him in one last time. When she’d finally caught her breath, she murmured huskily, “This is ridiculous, Wyatt. It’s not like we haven’t been through worse before. So why am I so afraid now?”

Wyatt’s eyes, closed while he breathed her in, opened as she uttered this self-admonishment, and he looked outward while he considered his answer. Finally, he came to a conclusion, and clutched her more tightly as he softly replied, “Because now we know what we could lose, and it’s not just you now. It’s us, and we have someone else to think about now, too.” DG huffed sadly in response, and Wyatt now gently grasped her shoulders, causing her to step back so he could meet her eyes. His own were wet and his voice waivered when he spoke, “Dorothy, I’m scared too, but I promise you, I’m coming back.”

DG sniffled, and a smirk appeared when she replied defensively, “You’d better, Tin Man, or I’ll have to come after you. Put my own Cain bloodhound skills to good use.”

DG had finally managed to crack Wyatt’s veneer, and a brilliant smile flashed across his face, and he chuckled as he pulled her close once more, “I believe that one, Princess. You fit right in with the rest of us bullheaded Cains.” His voice softened now, and his kissed her forehead before finishing, “I’m going to miss you, Dorothy Cain. Keep yourself and our girl safe, okay?”

DG hummed in response, and reached up to offer him one final, soft kiss before answering, “I will Wyatt. I promise, and I’ll send word to you as soon as I figure out the music box mystery, okay?”

Wyatt’s eyes seemed to smile with this promise, and Wyatt felt awash in gratitude for DG’s thoughtfulness. So, with a small nod, he released her and picked up his bag, replying as he slipped his finger under her chin to tilt her head up to his, “I’ll hold you to that, Mrs. Cain.” Wyatt paused to place a kiss on her upturned lips, and added, “I love you, Dorothy.”

“And I love you, Wyatt.” DG replied, stepping back to add with a sigh, “Now you’d better go before I decide to go with you.”

Wyatt smiled in response and pulled the hat down slightly before tightening his grip on the bag now slung over his shoulder. No further words were spoken, other than a sigh from the Tin Man, and after tipping his hat to his wife, he turned to exit the hall. DG stood motionless, watching with bated breath as he walked to the door, offering him only one weak smile when he turned back minutely to gain once last glance of her before closing the door. When the door shut behind him, DG remained motionless, starring absently at the space he’d vacated only moments ago, as if time had stopped when he left. The sound of the jeep roaring to life outside finally shook DG from her thoughts, and she swiped furiously at her face as she spied it moving down the drive, deciding then to make a hasty exit before her mother could see her distress.

As upset as DG was, she knew that what generally helped to improve her mindset involved some form of physical labor. Since hopping a twister back to Kansas was well outside the limits of her promise to Wyatt, she’d quickly decided on finding other tasks to occupy her mind since their return from Finaqua. Wyatt had been so consumed with how she might react to the change in their moving plans, but what he had never considered was DG’s similar concern for him. Where DG was generally adaptable, the Tin Man was not, and she’d quickly decided that she would have to do something to remedy what would quickly become an untenable situation for her husband. Even once they managed to move residences, she reasoned that they’d still require quarters in the palace for special events, and they’d both still need somewhere to work when the need arose. With this in mind, DG had quickly and covertly requisitioned new quarters for them and had been secretly arranging them for the past week. Knowing that Wyatt would be giving up his beloved office to the new general gave her an excellent excuse to move his office furniture without him knowing it. What was more, once DG learned that the new Major General was a woman, and the youngest general in the Royal Army to boot, DG felt it even more important that she was properly welcomed to her new home. So, DG had quickly assigned herself two tasks: decorating and making their own quarters ready for Wyatt’s return and giving the new Major General her own space that she might appreciate.

This reminder had given DG some renewed energy, and she bounded down the hall, skittering to a halt in her slippers when she reached the threshold of the Major General’s office. The doors were thrown wide open, and morning light poured in from the windows opposite the door. Wyatt had often kept the curtains pulled closed in this room, preferring the warm glow of lamps and the fireplace, so the bright sunlight both surprised and warmed DG, and she grinned as she stepped into the room.

DG had the walls repainted a cool sage green, and where Wyatt’s heavy oak office desk once stood, was a smaller wooden desk, painted white. Matching credenzas flanked the windows behind the desk, and the dark curtains had been replaced with raw silk the color of cotton. DG’s inspection turned to the fireplace, where two plush emerald green armchairs sat in the place of Wyatt’s leather wingbacks. DG smiled when she noticed that a pale lavender rope rug had been added to this arrangement, as well as a matching throw blanket, draped haphazardly over the edge of one of the chairs. Although they had not been of her choosing, the new occupant had apparently shared her aesthetic. Just as DG was finishing her visual inspection of the room, the door from the bedroom opened, and the Major General stepped out, carrying a large canvas in both of her hands. She did not initially see DG, as she was inspecting the subject of the canvas as she crossed the room to the fireplace.

Major General Jennifer Jinjur was a small woman of about twenty-eight annuals, and she walked as if she always had a purpose. The woman had long fiery hair which she kept pulled back in a complicated braid, and although petite, she was fit and healthy. Jinjur had spent a great deal of time proving herself as a capable soldier, and then officer, so she was seen as no-nonsense, and was frequently found in uniform. Today was no exception, and she was neatly dressed in military slacks and a well-tailored pale blue button down, even though her station had no such requirement. As competent as Jennifer had to be, being that Wyatt himself had hand-picked her for the position, her oversight of DG’s appearance in the doorway did not go unnoticed by the spry Princess, and as Jinjur stood in front of the mantle adjusting the painting in her hands, DG crept forward and leaned her hip on the chair closest to her, a satisfied smirk planted on her face.

DG gazed at the painting and admired the handiwork. The image, DG recognized, was of Ozma, and the beautiful woman was surrounded in a swirl of lavender and sage green. DG cleared her throat lightly and spoke up, “That’s a lovely piece. Did you paint it?”

Jennifer swung around, her pale face red around the cheeks and across the bridge of her nose and green eyes flaring in surprise. When she realized that it was DG who had taken her by surprise, she gasped slightly, taking a step backwards as she grasped her chest. “Oh, Your Highness, I had no idea you were here!” Jennifer Jinjur exclaimed with surprise, “Yes, I did actually.”

DG’s smirk widened into a grin, satisfied that she had managed to get one over on the General so soon. DG straightened her face quickly, not yet ready to show her hand to the woman who Wyatt had left in charge of her safety. “It’s okay, I’ve been known to sneak up on people from time to time,” DG waved off the apology, “consider yourself initiated then.” DG spied Jennifer’s eyes narrowing suspiciously, so she changed the subject, looking around the room, “So, how do you like your new digs?”

Jennifer exhaled in reply, taking in her surroundings with a satisfied smile. “Well, someone was definitely thinking of me when they decorated this room. I couldn’t have done better myself.” Jennifer turned to sit in the chair opposite DG, motioning for DG to join her.

DG gladly obliged and deposited herself heavily in the chair. DG dropped her slippers on the floor in front of her and, while folding her legs underneath her body, asked, “What do you mean?”

Jennifer shrugged and replied in a thoughtful manner, “Well, army barracks and resistance camps aren’t exactly known for their feminine appeal. Besides, when you’re a woman commanding a bunch of rowdy guys, you don’t really get a lot of opportunity for the nicer things.”  Jennifer frowned as she said this, and finding a sympathetic smile on DG’s face, she relaxed with her own small smile.

DG chuckled, “Well, I’m glad I got it right then.”

Jennifer’s eyes widened, and she asked in shock, “You mean, you did all of this?”

DG nodded knowingly, mock look of seriousness on her face. With a heavy exhalation, she rose from her seat, Jennifer following suit. “Well,” DG sighed with a tired smile, “I just wanted to check in on you and make sure you were settling in ok. Now that I’m satisfied that I haven’t messed up in my décor choices, I think I can rest a little easier.”

Jennifer nodded and replied, “Yes of course, Your Highness, thank you again.”

DG stopped in her tracks and turned back to Jennifer, replying earnestly, “Jennifer, I hope you’ll stick around. That said, if you’re going to be here for some time, you might as well call me DG.” Jennifer began to protest, but DG raised a hand and continued, “If I manage annoy you half as much as I do my husband, I’ll take you a little more seriously if you’re bawling me out with my first name rather than some stuffy title.”

Jennifer stifled a laugh and replied almost as if she were thinking out loud, “General Cain warned me that you’d be a handful. It seems he wasn’t kidding.”

DG giggled in response, and Jennifer attempted again to thank her, “Thank you DG.”

DG shrugged, and spoke before she walked out, “See you around, General.”

DG did not stay to see the look of relaxation overtake the normally stern look of seriousness on Jennifer Jinjur’s face. The woman had been so accustomed to putting on an act for all of her military cohorts that she had almost forgotten how refreshing it could be to just be herself from time to time. DG’s personal touches to Jennifer’s office had put her oddly at ease, and once she finally had a chance to meet the Princess, she found herself feeling more at home than she had in annuals. DG had been content to see even a fraction of this response, and Jennifer, relieved to have been given the opportunity to be flummoxed in private, and so both went about the rest of their day in relative contentment as a result.

While General Jinjur returned to the task of putting her quarters in order, DG shuffled down the hall and up to her other project, which was in a state of disarray from the drastic changes she had been making. Gates walked quietly behind, chuckling to himself, which caused DG to turn on him as they approached the doors to her apartments, and she put her hands on her hips in mild irritation. “What?” she asked in exasperation, “Can’t a princess make a few friends?”

Gates shrugged as he reached past her for the doorknob, “Not at all DG, I just didn’t expect that you’d be such fast friends with the General. She’s not exactly warm and fuzzy.”

As Gates opened the door for DG, and as DG stepped through, she replied with a fair amount of sarcasm, “Have you met my husband?” Gates declined to comment, but his eyes said enough, making DG chuckle as she continued, “It amazes me that even here, women aren’t really given a fair shake. I like Jennifer. Give her a chance, will you?”

Gates shrugged in reply, and removed his jacket, ready to be given chores by the spritely woman in front of him.  After over an annual, Gates had grown accustomed to DG’s proclivity for taking on large tasks by herself, and this particular project had been her labor of love. She had done a fair amount of work by herself but hadn’t been above enlisting anyone who would offer a hand. Gates had been her most frequent victim, being that he was her bodyguard, so he didn’t expect anything less than to be given something to do the moment they stepped through the doors of her apartments.

Gates stood by quietly as DG surveyed the room. The large sitting area in front of them was fairly barren, with the majority of the furniture sitting in storage while DG completed the monumental task of repainting the walls, which had been a somber shade of grey. DG knew that Wyatt would be horribly shaken by the original colors of the room, so she had first set about removing the carpet, leaving warm, hard wood in its place. Repainting the room was of utmost importance, and she had lined the floors with tarps to protect the surfaces underneath. The opposite wall from the entrance was of curved glass with double doors in the center leading out to a balcony, and faced north so as to let in a pleasant amount of light throughout the day without blinding anyone who happened to be sitting at the round breakfast table positioned near the doors. DG had decided to keep these windows unadorned, to give the room as much natural light as possible. At either end of the breakfast area were a set of twin double doors, where, on one side, one would enter Wyatt and DG’s bedroom, and on the other, one would enter what DG had privately termed “the man cave,” as she had meant for it to be Wyatt’s private space.

Originally, the space had been designed so that a royal couple could live separately if needed, with both side rooms operating as fully functioning bedrooms with their own dressing areas and bathrooms. Neither Wyatt nor DG was truly cut out to be royal to this degree, however, so they had both had a rather unpleasant reaction to the concept. Knowing that Wyatt shared her disdain for traditions in this department, she had been pleased to turn his bedroom into a private office, and deposited most of his original heavy oak furniture into it, adding a few pieces of comfort that he would appreciate.

Apart from these rooms, which did not require any significant changes, DG had been ecstatic to find a third, smaller room adjoining the common area. This one was smaller than the others, and already seemed perfectly arranged to serve as a nursery. So apart from the rather dour décor choices in the sitting room, the apartment seemed as if it had been meant for their small family, and although she would have preferred their cozy getaway, she was certain that she could transform this space into a close enough facsimile. Given that the other rooms were already suitable, DG had spent most of her time in the main room, and after painting away the grey that had adorned all of the walls in the space, DG had decided to bring the forests of the Wyatt’s childhood to the wall opposite the fire place. Trees that were impressively lifelike lined the wall, and when the morning light spread across it, it made one feel as if they were sitting among them. DG was still finishing this mural and handed Gates a roller with which he could continue to paint the opposite wall a hazy blue, before removing her sweater and donning a paint besmeared smock. With a firmly set expression, DG climbed a ladder and got right to work, focusing heavily on the strokes of the last few trees that she had left to finish. Gates sighed and got down to work as well, knowing that with the Princess so determined, he would have no other choice that to be so engaged as well.

By the late afternoon, the walls of the sitting room were complete, and DG stepped off her ladder to survey her work, a manic smile splitting her face like the grin of Jack O’Lantern.  

“This is really somethin’, Princess, the General will be beside himself.” Gates sighed, surveying their work with a keen eye as he stretched his stiff limbs.

DG’s face reddened at the compliment, and she turned away from her work to remove her smock, “I guess it will do,” she answered nonchalantly while stooping to collect her sweater from the floor, “since he can’t bring me to the forest, I’ll have to bring the forest to him.”

Gates scoffed absentmindedly, and blustered in surprise once the realization dawned on him, “Wait, how did you know?”

DG smirked, shrugging as she pulled the sweater on, “He might be the Tin Man in the family, but I’ve been told that I make pretty good sleuth myself. I have my sources.”

While Gates looked on the Princess in mild awe, DG stooped once more to pick up her tools. As she straightened, her face fell suddenly. The room seemed to spin, and her vision blurred around the edges. DG began to sway as she placed a hand to her forehead, feeling as if she was standing on the deck of a rocking ocean liner. Gates had not initially noticed DG’s change in demeanor, but once she stumbled, groaning as she fought to stay upright, he rushed to her side and helped to steady her as she recovered.

“DG, are you alright?” Gates asked in a hushed tone, looking down on her with concern as she clutched his arm.

DG frowned as she considered his question. Well this is new, she thought, I don’t know if I am alright. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before. “I’m fine,” DG lied, and then continued her act in an effort to ease her own concern, “I just haven’t had anything to eat today, and I think my little parasite is trying to eat a hole in me in revenge. Maybe I ought to have someone bring me something instead of trying to have dinner with Mother.”

Gates replied in agreement with her, “I think that would be a good idea, Deeg.  I’ll have a message sent to your mother letting her know.” Gates started leading her to the door as he continued to plot on her behalf, “Let’s just get you to your room so you can lie down while you wait.”

DG was in no shape to argue, and silently allowed Gates to lead her by the arm down the hall to her room, grateful at least for his attentiveness in Wyatt’s absence. Gates, for his part, had no experience with pregnant women, and although he harbored some concern, he remained silent on the matter. Instead, after helping DG to her bed and removing her slippers for her, Gates pulled Wyatt’s quilt over her, hoping at least that the Princess might feel somewhat better after resting, and resolved that he would keep a close watch on her despite her assurances. DG was too exhausted to notice Gates’ concern and nestled into the quilt as if wrapped in Wyatt himself, quickly falling into a deep slumber. Gates glanced at the Princess once last time before closing her bedroom door quietly, all while saying a silent prayer to Ozma for her wellbeing. DG did not hear Gates leave, nor did she hear his utterances, and she tumbled deeper and deeper into dreamless sleep.                                 

Chapter Text

When DG’s eyes fluttered open again, the quality of the sunlight streaming from her windows had changed from the warm amber of sunset to the cheerful, pale brightness of morning. A bluebird perched just outside her balcony doors twittered happily at her through the open threshold as if waiting for her, and a breeze wafted through the opening, carrying the sweet tune and a refreshingly cool air to DG’s bed.

Not being particularly inclined towards early rising and waking without Wyatt left DG feeling somewhat less than cheerful, and despite the irony of being awoken like a cartoon Otherside princess, DG could not seem to manage more than a smirk at what she would otherwise find extremely funny. Instead, DG squinted at the bird, murmuring at it before it fluttered away, “I’m up, I promise. Now go wake someone else up, okay?”

The bird’s twittering came to an abrupt end, and almost as if it understood her, the azure animal spread its wings and glided away, whistling as it departed. With the bird’s departure, DG finally sat up and rubbed her eyes before surveying her room with a determined huff. Her appraisal of the room reminded her that it was moving day, and after expelling another puff of air, she bounded out of bed like a charged spring, aiming herself at the bathroom with the intention of bathing and changing quickly so as to jumpstart her busy day. Once clean and changed into a pair of slacks and blouse reminiscent of her earlier days in the OZ, DG slipped on a pair of comfortable silver slippers and began to empty the dressing room of Wyatt’s clothes.

DG stared at the mountain of clothes that she had created on the bed, and she huffed loudly. “How does one man have so many clothes?” She grumbled in exasperation under her breath, now realizing that she would not be able to get everything to the new apartments without extra hands.

As if ordained, there was a light knock at her door as DG sighed, and she rushed excitedly to the door to open it, knowing at once that it would be Ana. Ana Davis, DG’s most trusted ladies’ maid, had been with her since shortly after the siege of the tower. When DG had been exhausted and out of sorts shortly following Az’s rescue, it was Ana who had seen to her, when all others had been otherwise occupied.  Much to DG’s relief, Ana had quickly found work for her instead of treating her as the lost princess and regarded her more as a comrade than royalty as they worked alongside the other in the resistance meditent, caring for the numerous wounded resistance fighters and prisoners of the Sorceress. DG had come to find out quickly that although Ana had served as a medic for the past few annuals, she had actually trained as a maid. The annuals of struggle in the OZ had given her little opportunity in that line of work though, so her call to service had been put to use elsewhere, and she quickly found herself changing beds and bandages, and offering her compassion to those who resisted the Sorceress. With the fall of the tower, Ana found herself re-employed once more, but now as DG’s maid. DG had seen to it as quickly as she could, knowing that at least with Ana as her maid, most of her cultural faux paus would fail to become the subject of court gossip. That had indeed been the case, and short of Wyatt and the rest of their family, DG could think of no other person she trusted more than the young maid.

When DG pulled the door open, finding Ana on the other side, she grinned wide at the woman. DG noted that although the small young woman was a few annuals younger than her, the way her hay-colored hair was tied in a bun at the back of her head made her seem almost five annuals older. Her eyes were sharp and quick to react to everything though, and there was a spirited glint in them that was reminiscent of the troublesome royal herself. When she smiled, that sparkle seemed to flare up like a flame, spreading warmth to all within sight of it. DG had found this spirit of Ana’s infectious, and in the early days of her reintroduction to the OZ, when DG most doubted herself, she had often sought the young woman’s counsel. Today though, DG sought her trusted maid’s assistance, and chuckled as she swung the door wide for Ana to enter through, silently amazed at the woman’s usually succinct timing.

As Ana stepped inside, she exclaimed breathlessly while a laugh escaped her, “Milady, you’re up early.”

DG rolled her eyes in reply and scoffed, “Geesh, I’ve got a bad reputation, don’t I?”

“No Milady. You are much beloved. Everyone is just accustomed to your being a bit of a late riser, is all,” Ana replied kindly.

DG smirked as a blush formed on her cheeks, and she sighed as she moved towards the bedroom, waving Ana onward, “Well, I’m on a mission, what can I say.”

Ana stepped into the bedroom, exhaling heavily as her eyes rested on the mess that DG had created on the bed, exclaiming with amusement, “Oh my. I suppose you’ll be needing my help moving the dressing rooms today, Milady?”

DG winced and clasped her hands in front of her body in a silent plea. When Ana smiled and nodded at her, DG’s pained plea melted into a large grin, and she bounced to the foot of the bed, “Oh thank you Ana! You’re the best!”

Ana laughed and replied, “Well, it is my job, Milady.”

DG shrugged as she placed Wyatt’s fedora on her head, stating, “Well, that may be so, but I’m doing Wyatt’s dressing room, okay?”

Ana chuckled again, amused at DG’s insistence, quietly replying as she helped DG gather Wyatt’s clothes, “Of course Milady, I’ll just help you get these to his office then.”

DG nodded with a mock serious expression and proceeded to fill her arms, spurring Ana to follow suit. As she marched out of the room, Ana followed behind silently, amused expression barely hidden by a mask of focused seriousness. While the pair moved silently down the hall, full of quiet intent and focused on not dropping the articles in their heavily laden arms, DG silently prayed that Az, Ambrose, and Raw were just as equal to Ana in the timeliness of their appearance. Although she had happily taken on the chore of nesting in Wyatt’s absence, wrangling Wyatt’s clothes while managing her growing belly was a stark reminder of the day previous. Despite maintaining her usual level of activity, reminiscent of a perpetually spinning top, DG could feel that her energy levels would take another hit without some help, and she was beginning to wonder how much she could truly still do on her own without having another dizzy spell. DG silently wondered at this particular development in her pregnancy, uncertain if it was a normal turn of events, or if it indicated anything greater that she should be concerned about. DG pondered whether she might ask her mother, or Azkadellia about her symptoms, but quickly shoved her worry aside when the princess growing within her seemed to intuit DG’s train of thoughts and shifted as if in response.

The flutter in DG’s stomach gave her momentary pause, and DG murmured quietly, “Give mom a break today, okay kid?”

After another flutter, the small girl seemed to settle, allowing DG to take a deep, steadying breath while she paused to reposition her load for the remainder of the trip. Her unborn child’s shifting had had the positive effect rearranging DG’s thoughts away from her needless worrying, and after that, the walk was relatively short. After turning a corner, DG’s eyes were met with the sight of three angels of mercy, and she grinned happily at her friends as she approached. Az and company were, indeed waiting and turned to DG with expectant smiles as she and Ana came into view.

 “I’m impressed,” Az spoke as she rose from her chair next to the door, smirking at DG.

“Nice hat, looks like Cain’s,” Glitch pointed at DG’s head as she drew near.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” DG muttered as she stopped before the doors, “well, come on men, open the door for a girl, will you?” DG commanded in a husky voice, shifting the weight in her arms while she waited.

Raw opened the doors wide to allow DG and Ana through, and they entered first, followed closely by the enlisted help. DG marched through like a general leading her soldiers, and her face was screwed into a determined frown while she struggled to keep the clothes overflowing from her arms from falling as she walked across the sitting room to Wyatt’s office door at the other end of the long room. The French doors to Wyatt’s office were thrown wide, and DG turned to her left as she entered, crossing directly to a large brown leather sofa that sat against the wall between the dressing room and the bathroom. DG deposited the stack of clothes on the sofa unceremoniously and turned to survey the room with a smile.

Wyatt will be so thrilled, DG thought happily as her eyes scanned the room. The palace workers had placed Wyatt’s desk on the wall opposite the doors, so that Wyatt would have a direct line of sight when someone entered the room. DG smirked at this small detail; she had been adamant on the placement of the desk, knowing that Wyatt would want to see the approach of anyone entering his office. Leisure could not change the cautious nature of the man, and even after having been subjected to the luxury of royal life, Wyatt still managed to maintain his hawk-like tendencies with almost ardent fervor. He’d be pleased by this observation at the very least, and DG took some pleasure in her own ability to read the silent man. DG turned her attention to the other additions to the room, judging their placement before any personal touches could be added by her friends. On either side of Wyatt’s desk stood his matching bookcases, which were massive and made from a wood similar to what DG thought might be oak. On the opposite wall sat a small credenza that DG had decided would serve well as a wet bar. The doors to Wyatt’s private balcony were directly ahead of DG, and the curtains, a deep blue that would block out light if Wyatt wanted to take a nap, were pulled closed. DG smiled warmly when, without having to be asked, Ana turned directly to them and pulled them open to let in the morning suns. DG blinked furiously as her eyes adjusted to the increase of light, and she continued to passively gaze around her until this quiet survey of the room was interrupted by exclamations from the next room. Az and company had been distracted in their task when they entered the room, and they stood in the center of the empty room, transfixed by DG’s mural.

“Woah, Deeg, this is beautiful!” Azkadellia murmured, gazing at the wall.

“Very lifelike,” Raw nodded in agreement, and he reached forward, almost touching the wall in awe.

DG stepped through the doors and loitered, chewing her lip nervously, “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“Dollface, he’d have to be really dense if he didn’t love it,” Glitch laughed, crossing to DG and taking her hand in his, “You’ve done a fantastic job.”

“Aw, thanks Glitch,” She blushed, taking the man into a half hug as they continued to admire her work.

Behind DG was a small cough, and DG turned to see Ana standing in the door of the room, expectant smile on her face, “Since the sitting room is complete for the most part, would you like me to ask the workers to begin bringing the furniture in, Milady?”

DG gasped with overflowing excitement and replied, “Oh, yes, please Ana,” as Ana moved past her and headed for the hallway, DG reached forward, remembering something else, “Oh, and Ana. After you and I finish the dressing rooms, let’s do the bathrooms next. I want to sleep here after today if I can.” Ana grinned and nodded, before she turned quickly to sweep out of the room. Once Ana was gone, the determined look on DG’s face returned, and she clapped her hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Okay soldiers,” she proclaimed, “Let’s get a move on fixing the General’s office, shall we?”

DG turned on her heels, leading her sister and friends through the door. One by one as they entered the room, DG handed out boxes and orders, setting Az and Glitch to unpacking Wyatt’s books and arranging them on his bookcases. To Raw, DG assigned the wet bar, handing him a box of crystal ware that they had received as a wedding gift, as well as Wyatt’s accoutrements from his office. DG, meanwhile, went directly to arranging the clothes in Wyatt’s dressing room, feeling that such a personal task could only be done by herself rather than any other. She swept in and out of the dressing room, Wyatt’s fedora still perched on her head, whistling as she worked. The minutes passed by quietly until a chuckle from Ambrose punctuated the otherwise peaceful quiet, causing all else to turn and spy the man. Ambrose, who had paused from his own efforts at the bookcase on the other side of Wyatt’s desk, was studying the books that he was supposed to be putting away in usual headcase fashion.

“Huh, who’ve thought that the Tin Man liked cooking,” Glitch muttered. He then realized he had an audience, and chuckled, going further, “I mean, law books are no real surprise,” he jested, waving a heavy volume of Central City ordinance laws in the air, “but I thought his only hobbies were glowering and brooding. Not woodworking and cooking.”

DG smiled to herself, enjoying the little details of Wyatt that she had gleaned over the past two annuals. She too had been surprised by the Tin Man’s love of cooking and had been thoroughly impressed when he had presented her with breakfast on their first morning together in Kansas. It seemed that the rough and tough law man had a soft side, and she felt fortunate to be one of the lucky few to be able to see it. DG smiled a secret smile, allowing the warmth of her feelings to wash over her, if only for a moment. Although not generally given to bouts of sentimentality, finding the feelings distracting and bringing her alarmingly close to a depressive state, DG’s mood had been unusually dour since Wyatt’s departure, and these small interludes seem to oddly brighten her spirit for once. As they all returned to furnishing Wyatt’s office, DG took off Wyatt’s fedora and admired it. While DG ran her fingers along the brim of the brown felt lovingly, she felt a tug at her heart as she recalled the eyes that normally appeared below that brim. DG crossed to the door of the room while she gazed down at it, where Wyatt’s coat rack stood, and hung the hat up over Wyatt’s duster. She huffed as she gazed at the fedora, irritated by the niggling worry in the back of her mind. It was not in the Princess’ nature to sit on the sidelines, and although she would give anything to follow after Wyatt, he had been right to ask her to stay behind. Even so, fighting her natural inclination was difficult, and she felt as if she might leap from her skin at any moment. Although happy in her self-assigned chore, settling their living quarters seemed like a menial task by comparison to what Wyatt might be doing right now, and DG found it difficult to maintain the guise of acceptance. Her thoughts seemed to constantly drift on her absent husband, and she itched to learn something of his progress almost as much as she wished she could forgo palace life.

As if some force in the universe had been reading DG’s thoughts, Gates suddenly appeared in the open door, his face unreadable as he held forth two envelopes for the princesses. “Highnesses,” he announced himself with a small bow of his head, “these just arrived for you.”

DG reached forward to take the letters, eyes wide and hopeful as she asked, “Who are they from Gates? Wyatt?”

Gates shook his head and replied quietly, “No ma’am, I wish they were, but they do seem to be from friends of your’n and your sister at least. Passed muster fine, so they’re safe, ma’am.”

DG nodded her understanding while she swallowed down her disappointment. Gates, meanwhile, exited quietly, looking sheepish for having disappointed the princess. DG was oblivious to this, and looked down at the envelopes, curiosity beginning to bubble over as she turned to face her sister. The envelopes were simply addressed: one for “Azkadellia Amanda Sewel-Gale, Princess Royale,” and the other for “Dorothy Glenda Gale-Cain, Princess,” with nothing extraordinary about either the handwriting or the envelopes to clue DG in on the mystery. When she looked up to hand Az’s correspondence to her, her eyes met her sister’s to find Azkadellia similarly puzzled.

“I haven’t gotten letters from friends once since the tower,” Azkadellia scoffed as she took the envelope from DG and examined the outside while continuing to muse, “besides, all of my friends are here, Deeg. This doesn’t make any sense.”

DG chewed on her lip while she continued to stare at the envelope, backing up to the couch to deposit herself heavily while she began to open the contents. She’d only just begun to unseal the envelope when she glanced up at Raw, who had been worrying with his hands since Gates’ arrival and was avoiding looking at the contents in DG and Az’s hands. “Raw,” DG spoke darkly, “What is it?”

Azkadellia and Ambrose now paused and turned towards the viewer, whose agitation had grown exponentially with DG’s acknowledgement, and was now whimpering quietly as he paced. When DG began to call out to him once more, the man shook his head as if unwilling to speak but padded over to Azkadellia all the same and placed his furry hand over hers, which still held the envelope unopened. His eyes shut in concentration and finally, after a moment, he dropped Azkadellia’s hands and spoke in a low, calming voice, “Author someone you know, Princess. Gates wrong though, not friend. Letter not dangerous, you can read.” He then moved to DG and crouched before her, and after repeating his motions once more, his warm eyes met hers and he spoke, “Also not friend, but DG can read letter. Be careful, DG, author try to make trouble. Want to worry Princess.”

DG held Raw’s gaze for a few moments longer, puzzled still and worry already pervading where the viewer hoped that it would not. Anger seemed to boil over in a flash; someone had to have known that Wyatt had left the palace and had intentionally waited until then to send their troubling correspondence. Someone was watching them, she reasoned, and was using Wyatt’s absence to toy with them. Despite Raw’s warning, the track of DG’s thoughts only led her directly to worry, and that worry spurred her into action quicker than any twister on a hot Kansas night. Her fingers seemed on automatic pilot now, and they finished ripping through the paper in her hand, tearing the letter from its casing. DG scanned the paper hurriedly, while she fought a growing sense of panic. The letter itself would have passed any screener; its contents mundane and seemingly cordial, but it chilled DG to the bone:

Dearest Princess,

I want to congratulate you for all of the blessings that seem to be raining down on you and your family. How thrilling it must be to be reunited with your parents and sister and find love and family of your own in only two short annuals. It is as if Ozma herself is smiling down on you and the rest of the Gale family. Oh, how I wish that light would shine down on me as well!

I was concerned, however, to hear of your bouts of vertigo recently – and with your valiant husband absent, no less! I pray that you and your growing progeny are well, and that Sir Cain will return soon. I am certain you will rest easier with him home again, and all will be well. With hope, we will see each other soon. I’d like very much to see if you are as much like your namesake as I’ve imagined, and I am curious to know what Sir Cain looks like with a beard!

I will wait patiently until then.

Sincerely,

Ruggedo R. Boulderstone

The color left DG’s cheeks as she read, and all of her nerves seemed to collect in the pit of her stomach as she neared the end of the note, where the author mentioned Wyatt’s changed appearance. Very few people had seen Wyatt in the days following Eclipse Day, and those that had were either with him on his journey or in the room now with DG. Worse yet, she’d told no one about her dizzy spells, save Gates. DG sprung from her seat with this thought and darted for the doors, suddenly oblivious to all as she called out, her voice high and wavering, “Gates, can you come into the office, please?”

DG rounded back to the room while she waited on Gates to appear, pacing like a caged animal with her eyes to the ground while she chewed on her lip. When Gates appeared moments later, he shut the door noiselessly behind him at the sight of his mistress’ distress, and in doing so, turned back to DG to ask in concern, “Yes highness?”

DG held out the paper with a shaky hand and replied in a deathly quiet voice, “Please read this, Gates.”

Gates was visibly confused, but in meeting the Princess’s eyes, his confusion morphed into concern, and he took the letter from the Princess. When he’d scanned the paper and looked up again, the confusion was back and DG spoke again, her voice now rumbling with barely contained fury, “No one knew about my dizzy spells, Gates, except you.”

Gates swallowed hard and nodded, adding quietly, “and only a handful of the staff saw the General before he left, ma’am, and we’re all under strict orders to keep everything with respects to him under wraps. No one’s said a word, ma’am, least of all me. I thought about talkin’ to your sister or the Queen about your spells if I thought you needed me to, but I swear –“

DG put up a hand to stop the man, whose own agitation seemed to mirror her own, and she took a deep breath before assuring him, “It’s okay, Gates. I don’t think you’re a spy, but if you don’t mind, I’d like Raw to check you. Make sure no one’s using you, is that okay?”

Gates nodded his agreement, at which point DG turned to Raw, her eyes sharp as daggers as she asked for his consent wordlessly. The viewer nodded gravely in return and moved towards the towering man, placing a hand on his chest as he rumbled, “Raw know if you speak lies. Can’t hide.”

Gates nodded his understanding and took a sharp breath as the viewer touched him, sending a sharp, burning sensation through his chest where Raw’s fingers made contact with him. It took only a moment, but when the viewer stepped away, Raw seeming less concerned, causing Gates and DG both to exhale in relief, and DG collapsed onto the couch as she pondered aloud, “Okay, so if you didn’t tell anyone, Gates, how does this Ruddego know so much about me and Wyatt?”

“Don’t rightly know ma’am, but I intend to find out. With your permission, I’d like to take your letter to General Jinjur. She needs to know about the breach.” Gates answered gravely, punctuating his comment by waving DG’s letter in the air.

Azkadellia scoffed in response and stepped forward, handing Gates her letter as she spoke, “Well, you might as well give her this one too.” DG looked up at her sister; her eyes clouded in silent question, to which Az responded, “that letter had to be written by Vizor. I’d recognize his writing style anywhere.”

“Let me guess, he knew things about your pregnancy that you haven’t told anyone, except maybe Ambrose?” DG asked, her words dripping with sardonic fury.

Azkadellia’s jaw hardened, and she nodded curtly. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but when tears began to choke her, she waivered, and Ambrose placed an arm around her waist to steady her, answering quietly in her stead, “The medicoats don’t believe your sister should have any more children after this, Deeg. They’re already afraid that her heart might stop with this one as she progresses further. We just found out. We hadn’t even told your parents yet.”

The words, as they spilled from Ambrose, seemed to break the dam in Azkadellia, and she burst into a fit of unhappy tears. Her body seemed to shrink, as her shoulders dropped, and she struggled to remain upright. Ambrose, still supporting her, tightened his grip on her waist as he led her to the couch, gently helping her down to sit next to her sister. As her sister slumped onto the couch, DG placed an arm around her and cooed softly, “Oh Az, I’m so sorry.”

DG’s other hand caressed her sister’s face as Az buried herself in her sister’s embrace. A soft light seemed to engulf the women, and both women seemed to visibly calm while the contact remained intact. Ambrose and Raw, meanwhile, crouched before the princesses, offering their support in silence while Gates stood nearby, becoming visibly more and more incensed on behalf of the royals before him. When Az’s tears finally subsided, she sat up and sniffled while looking up at Gates with watery eyes, calmly asking, “Gates, my letter was signed only ‘a friend.’ I need to know, did these letters come together?”

Gates straightened with Azkadellia’s question, and the man answered firmly, “I believe they did, Your Highness.”

Azkadellia held her chin with a certain regal air, nodding her understanding, and DG spoke firmly, “Well that’s settled then, Gates. Please take both letters to General Jinjur, and could you get a message to Wyatt about it as well?”

Gates seemed to deflate with the question and answered sadly, “No ma’am, not ‘til the General checks in. We won’t rightly know where to send a message ‘til then.” When DG’s face fell, he added hopefully, “I’m sure the General will want a warnin’ sent when he does though.”

DG nodded her understanding and replied quietly, “Thank you, Gates. You can go.”

Gates bowed lightly to the women and offered kindly before he left, “I’ll take my leave Highnesses and I don’t you worry none. Between me, Lord Ambrose, and Master Raw, we’ll make sure nothin’ will happen to you nor those precious babes. There’s extra guards already posted outside these rooms, and General Cain made sure to assign extra guard detail while he’s away. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen.”

DG and Azkadellia offered the kind man a set of graceful smiles in response, which they maintained until the gentle giant departed, closing the office doors gently behind him. After a pause, DG finally let out a sigh as she slumped into the couch cushions, grumbling, “Yeah, nothing will happen here, but what about Wyatt? Whoever this Ruggedo is, he knows that Wyatt isn’t here, he knows that he changed his appearance, and I’m going to take a wild guess that he and Vizor are buddy-buddy given the timing of both of our little love letters.” DG paused her rant to throw her hands over her face and she groaned loudly. Azkadellia, meanwhile, rose from her seat and paced the floor, leaving Ambrose and Raw to stand aside and watch in bewildered silence as the sisters pondered their conundrum. DG threw her hands down and huffed in a petulant voice, “I hate this! Isn’t there any way we can get a message to him? Bloodhound? Smoke signals? Bat light?”

Ambrose seemed to consider DG’s question seriously but seemed to come up empty and shook his head sadly. This seemed to incense DG further, and she growled, “Ugh, I just can’t take this! He’s probably walking into a trap, and I have no way to tell him!”

Azkadellia stopped and replied, hands resting on her hips as she chided her sister gently, “Well, unless you’ve found a way to enchant your slippers to transport you to him, I don’t see how worrying about it is going to help the situation.”

DG sat up from her seat and asked in sudden curiosity, “Can we do that, you think?”  She gazed down at her slippers thoughtfully, wondering how that might work.

Azkadellia shook her head furiously and cried warningly, “oh no, little sister. I know that look. No more adventures!” DG sensed a familiar lecture, which only indicated that she was on to something with her line of questioning, and she sat forward on the edge of the couch, eyes suddenly eager. Az fiddled with a curl and finally added hesitantly, “but, um, sorry. No.”

DG was visibly crestfallen and sighed.  Rather unexpectedly however, her curiosity was stoked again by the interruption of the absentminded advisor, “Correction, you could, but you probably shouldn’t.”

“Ambrose!” Azkadellia hissed, turning to glare at him, to which he shrugged in surprise. When Azkadellia mouthed the words, “Someone could be listening,” his eyes widened, and his hand clapped over his mouth in silent shock.

DG seemed oblivious to Azkadellia’s silent warning and interrupted, eager to hear more, “Why not?”

Azkadellia was getting impatient with DG and Ambrose and dived headlong into a soliloquy on the subject with a loud, annoyed sigh, “DG, it can be dangerous if enchanted items get into the wrong hands. Ozma the Great banned the practice ages ago, as well as most magical use without first becoming licensed by the crown or the Temple of Ozma. When the practice was outlawed, most of the known magical relics were rounded up and housed for safe keeping ensuring that they didn’t get into the wrong hands again.” Azkadellia sat on the edge of the desk and continued thoughtfully, “Besides, even if you could, Ozma was really the last known mage to really be able to do any significant enchantments, and she didn’t exactly pass her knowledge on to anyone for a reason.”

DG leaned back on the cushions and chewed on her lip thoughtfully, “So I could then, if I knew how, right?”

Az shrugged and replied, “Sure, I guess, but you’d have to figure it out on your own. That by itself could be dangerous too, you know.”

DG sighed again, feeling defeated. She knew Azkadellia was right and had enough sense at this point in her life to listen to the wisdom of her elder sister, but there still remained important questions. “Okay, so I can’t enchant my slippers to take me to Wyatt, and I can’t send a travel storm or anything else to warn him or bring him back since we don’t know where he is, but how do we know that Vizor and his pal don’t? They seemed to know a lot already without too much help. What are we supposed to do, sit on our hands and wait for the bottom to fall out?”

Ambrose let out a bright chuckle and his eyes roved the ceiling as he replied, “Oh I don’t know. Trouble finds Wyatt one way or the other, and he always manages to get by. Besides, he’s not alone, and between them and Cain’s bad attitude, I bet he’ll manage just fine. I bet he’d even scare off a hungry papay just by looking at it sideways.”

DG smiled kindly as she stood and patted the man on the shoulder in solidarity. “Thanks Glitch,” she spoke softly in reply.

Ambrose offered DG a dimpled smile, pulling her into a warm hug at the sight of DG’s barely maintained calm, cracking under the weight of her unshed tears. DG shuddered in Ambrose’s arms, feeling at once how safe she was among her friends and behind the palace walls, and exposed all the while for the private parts of her life being told back to her by a stranger, as if said person was relaying the weather. While DG allowed herself a moment of comfort with her brother, she swallowed down the fact that Azkadellia was right. Worry would not help Wyatt, and any action taken on her part would be fruitless while his whereabouts were unknown. For now, she knew she would have to trust in Wyatt’s ability to care for himself, as Ambrose had said, and hope that he would smell a trap before he found the net falling down around him.

With that settled in her mind, DG was left with only one solution: work. DG finally pulled herself away from Ambrose’s embrace, and while swiping a tear away, she laughed, “God I’m a hormonal mess. Thanks Glitch, I needed that.” She offered Ambrose and the others a watery smile before continuing, “Well, what are we standing around for? We’ve got an office to put together before Wyatt gets back!”

DG went back to work with renewed fervor, determined now to finish her task without distraction while she considered her conundrum. The work went quickly, and as the morning became lunchtime, DG and her cohorts stood at the threshold of the room, admiring their work. Wyatt’s office seemed to have been transported, with a few extra touches from the Princess. DG smiled fondly at the painting of Finaqua that she had done cycles before, now framed and hanging over the couch. Wyatt’s own handiwork, a large wooden five-point star, made of different kinds of wood, hung over his desk, and pictures of Adora, Jeb, and DG sat on the credenza next to the crystal bar set. Wyatt’s table lamp, which DG could swear was borrowed from Tiffany, had been turned on, and cast a warm glow around the room.

“Looks great doll, but I’m starved. How about we break for lunch?” Glitch exclaimed, rubbing his stomach to silence it.

Azkadellia nodded in agreement and proclaimed, “He’ll love it sis, you’ve done great.” Then, as she reached forward to embrace her sister in parting, she continued, “We’ll see you later, okay?” DG nodded in agreement while allowing Azkadellia to wrap her in her arms, where Az added in a whisper, “Just be careful, little sister, don’t forget that we’re being watched.” DG hummed in affirmation as they separated, and she gave her sister a knowing look before following them to the threshold of the room.

The door shut noiselessly behind Azkadelia and Ambrose, and when DG turned to look on the room before her, a small glimmer of satisfaction made its way past the dark cloud hanging over her head. The breakfast area and sitting room had gone through a fair number of changes in the past few hours, as the workers had brought in Wyatt’s round breakfast table and chairs whilst the other had been working in Wyatt’s office, and they sat in front of the balcony doors at the end of the room, bathed in light from the unadorned glass. The sitting room now had more closely resembled its namesake, and furniture consisting of a long blue art deco styled couch and two matching armchairs flanked the large hearth.  A coffee table sat on the rug between these pieces of furniture, making it a tempting spot to retire to, were it not for the boxes that littered the floor.  Although DG allowed a miniscule smile to peak through, beginning to feel as if she had her own space, Wyatt’s absence felt even more acute for the foreboding that weighed on her spirit.

Raw, of course, need not have asked the princess what weighed on her spirits, and silently came forward, his face sympathetic and warm. Without a word, Raw ushered DG onward to another set of tasks, like a shepherd leading his flock. DG was grateful, and silently eased into arranging her bedroom, with her compassionate friend at her side. DG and Wyatt’s bedroom was a mirror of Wyatt’s office, with tan walls and deep blue curtains to block out the light from the double doors of the private balcony. In the place of Wyatt’s couch though, was a king-sized sleigh bed, with a cushioned bench at the end and two matching side tables with lamps for low evening light. In the corner closest to the door of the room, two comfortable electric blue armchairs sat, flanking a small game table where one might play a game of chess or cards. A vanity sat centered on the far wall, mere steps from the door to DG’s dressing room, where DG’s clothes had been masterfully arranged by Ana already.

In DG’s rapidly deteriorating state of mind, finding most of the work already done in the space worked as a pressure relief valve, and the speed with which she moved about this space slowed while DG arranged the smaller items – DG’s easel and supplies soon appeared opposite the sitting area, and a framed sketch of Wyatt, which DG had done during her sojourn to Kansas, was propped on the small cabinet where her supplies were stored.

Wyatt’s quilt lay draped over the back of one of the chairs in the sitting area, as well as a painting of DG, which Wyatt had pestered DG to create after she had created almost a book of sketches with him as her subject.

“It’s only fair that I get one of you, since you have so many of me,” he had complained to her one morning as they sat eating breakfast weeks before their wedding.

DG had begrudgingly agreed to the painting, and had decided to make it a wedding present, reasoning that if she did a good enough job on the one, he wouldn’t ask her for another. Even now as she studied the painting in Raw’s hands, she couldn’t fathom why anyone would find the subject any good, while Raw smiled shyly at the painting, finding the study of DG revealing of her true beauty. DG’s face and torso were in the foreground of the painting, and her bare arm crossed over her chest, clutching her shoulder as she gazed downward at something out of sight of the viewer. Her expression was serene, and a mysterious smile peaked at the edges of her mouth. Her long curls floated about her shoulders, and the background was a hazy blue reminiscent of her own eyes.

After assisting DG with the arrangement of these small details for some time, Raw hugged the Princess and said goodbye for the day, seeming reluctant to leave her, but cognizant of her now-visible fatigue. Her face seemed shadowed, and apart from the growing mound of her belly, the rest of her body had become almost emaciated. It was as if DG’s very essence was being drained, and despite her wish to continue, DG could not argue with the viewer’s concern, promising at their parting that she would rest instead. Raw accepted DG’s promise hesitantly, eying her with almost matronly concern when he rumbled, “DG must eat. Rest. Tin Man be mad at Raw if he doesn’t take care of Princess.”

“Raw,” DG sighed, “I promise you, no more work today.” Her arm snaked through the Viewer’s and she began to walk him towards the sitting room, continuing with a wave of her hand in the direction of the breakfast table, “Look, Ana’s even left me a tray of sandwiches and fruit, and I bet that pitcher’s got some sort of lemonade in it. I’ll eat some dinner, and then I’ll go to bed.” She stopped them before the outer doors and placed a hand on either of his shoulders, repeating once more for good measure, “I promise.”

Raw’s warm, feline-like eyes locked with DG’s, and he eyed her cautiously before he finally huffed through his nose and nodded, adding, “Ok DG. Raw go now. Goodnight.”

Whilst the viewer slipped out the doors, DG replied quietly before shutting them, “Goodnight, Raw. See you tomorrow.”

DG had just turned back to the breakfast table and was just about to inspect her choice of sandwiches when there was a light rap at her door. DG thought it might be Ana with more boxes, or Raw deciding that he didn’t buy her assurances, and she was wholly unprepared for her true visitor. When she swung the door open, a squeak of surprise escaped her, and she sucked in a large amount of air to find her mother standing on the other side, clutching a stack of what she recognized as records in her arms, her face uncertain and worried. Behind her, one sheepish looking guard struggled with a gramophone machine, whose audio horn was crafted of gleaming brass with detailed scroll work etched into the metal of the horn.

“May I come in?” Her mother inquired, her tone sounding polite and cordial, but her eyes belying her uncertainty.

DG was tired, but suddenly found energy again, excited to reveal her apartment to her mother, and she took an overlarge step back to allow her mother through, her smile suddenly bright and genuine. The guard wrestling the gramophone came in only long enough to deposit the machine on a table sitting off to the side of the fireplace, and after positioning the gramophone on the center of the tabletop, he exhaled in less-than professional relief before he bowed and departed, closing the doors silently behind him.

Now alone, the Queen’s face broke into a delighted grin, and she held the records out to DG for her to take. DG was dumbfounded, and took the records, examining each folder in turn in a slow procession as her mother spoke. “Your father and I wanted you to have these as; oh, what did he call it? A house heating gift.” The Queen explained.

DG laughed and replied, “Housewarming.” DG gasped as she realized that her mother had handed her a vintage album of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors. DG turned the folder over to examine the songs on the LP, growing steadily excited.

Lavender gently pried the LP out of her daughter’s hands and sighed, “Oh, this one is my favorite. Your father gave me my own annuals ago. I told him that I thought you would like it as well. You used to dance around my dressing room to this one.”

The Queen turned around and placed the LP on the record stand and turned it on. She obviously knew how to use the machine and expertly turned the dial on the top of the base to adjust the volume so that they could listen while they talked. DG sighed happily, having missed this music in the past annual. She hugged the remaining LPs in her arms and plopped down on the couch to examine the rest.

Her mother sat down with her, and they examined her other gifts, allowing small gasps of excitement to escape them as they bonded over the musical anthology. There was a collection of Neil Young, and another of Ella Fitzgerald, and as DG moved to the last two albums, and recognizing the artists, she looked on her mother with some confusion.

“Mother, when did Dad get these?” DG asked as she held out LPs of the Black Keys and Florence and the Machine.

Lavender looked somewhat guilty, and fidgeted with her hands before she answered, “While you were away in Finaqua, Darling. Your father went over to get them. He seemed to feel it important that you have them, to make you feel more at home. They’re not bad, are they?”

Lavender expected some outrage from DG, given that DG had been prone to emotional outbursts in the past few days. Instead of outrage, Lavender was met with an overjoyed, bubbly daughter. “No! They’re great!” DG exclaimed as she hugged the albums to her chest protectively. DG wiped her eyes and laughed, “You know, I think the mood swings are worse that the morning sickness. Who knew records could make me cry!”

The women both laughed, only stopping to breathe and listen to the music now floating on the air around them. When DG’s stomach rumbled angrily, DG’s eyes widened, and she stifled a giggle for the volume of her apparent hunger.

Lavender also noted the noise emanating from her daughter, and she patted DG’s knee knowingly as she stood and walked over to the table behind them. The gentle woman smiled to herself as she moved away from DG, coming back shortly with the tray of food in hand, which she placed on the coffee table in front of them. In another trip, she came back with two glasses of lemonade and a placemat under her arm. After laying the placemat out, she set the glasses down and handed a plate to DG. With a sweet smile, she presented the tray to DG, who silently took a sandwich and handful of strawberries, popping one into her mouth with a delighted groan.

Lavender chose her own sandwich and dug in with abandon. DG watched her mother for a moment before she began to eat, noting the similarity to herself that she so rarely saw when they were at a meal with others present. DG understood then, this was her mother in her most natural state. Glitch had been right after all; Lavender Gale was indeed like DG. Rather, DG was like her mother, although her mother seemed to have found a way to tame her rough edges over the annuals. DG wondered to herself if it was possible that she might actually grow into the graceful, stately woman that sat before her. Watching her mother devour her sandwich, ignoring the mustard that the morsel had left behind at the corner of her mouth, she found some solace that it might be possible. Lavender seemed unusually quiet, DG noted, for being the one to initiate their visit, and DG grew steadily uncomfortable at this intentional quietude, until she finally sighed heavily and met her mother’s gaze.

“Okay, I give. You heard about the letters; I take it.” DG grumbled, sounding almost petulant.

Lavender took her time answering and dabbed the edge of her mouth before taking an overlarge sip of the lemonade in her hands. She finally nodded and answered carefully, “Yes, DG of course I did, and I’m just as troubled as you are. That said, I trust in our husbands’ rather unusual proclivity for both finding and keeping themselves out of trouble. I also have a good deal of faith in our new General. You and I can do nothing more on that front for now, my love.” The Queen placed a finger to her lips as she said this, quietly indicating to her daughter her knowledge of the full subtext of the letters, and her intent to remain tight lipped on some matters.

DG frowned, nodding with reluctant understanding for the hopelessness of her situation. Her eyes remained on the Queen meanwhile, and while Lavender maintained eye contact, DG pondered the elusiveness of a straight answer from the woman. Obviously, there was something on Lavender’s mind that she wished to discuss with DG, but she seemed unwilling to put it into words, almost inviting DG to confess to some secret that she perceived her daughter to be hiding. DG frowned again, recalling similar interactions with her mother long before DG’s unfortunate encounter with Malfalba in the ancient cave all those annuals ago. Her mother was an expert interrogator of princesses, DG thought to herself, and she hadn’t even uttered a syllable.

“Mother,” DG huffed, “you’re going to have to let me in on your secret before this baby comes. I’d like to be able to twist the truth out of her the way to do to me.”

Lavender smirked, replying with a humored laugh, “Oh, Darling, it will come naturally. Especially if she’s as much like the two of us as I hope she’ll be.”

DG grinned with childlike appreciation for her mother’s appraisal. Such reminders were welcome, especially in her soured mood, and DG forgot her worries for a moment. With such warmth passing between them now, DG felt it only fair to finally admit the truth and offered, “So you know about my dizzy spells, then, if you’ve read the letters, don’t you?” Lavender nodded silently, compelling DG to add quietly, “should I be worried?”

Lavender reached forward and grasped DG’s hand in hers, squeezing it before answering softly, “I don’t think so, my darling, some fatigue is normal. Even more so when you’re carrying a magical being within you.” Lavender paused as if to consider something, and she added, “I was fairly ill with you, but perhaps not as much as you have been. Best go easy my love, and if it gets worse, please tell me. Alright?”

DG smiled weakly and nodded, causing the Queen to pat her hand reassuringly in response. Again, DG noted a certain glint of concern in her mother’s eye, and although she considered asking her about it, her mother’s prior silent warning came to mind. There was definitely something unusual about DG’s pregnancy, which Lavender seemed more than a little reluctant to discuss. At the very least, DG reasoned internally, if matters were truly dire, they would not just be having a casual fireside chat. Her mother squeezed her hand again, her eyes warm and understanding, almost as if she could hear DG’s worries. She would say no more on the subject however, and she finally rose, hugging her daughter before taking her leave for the evening.

“Please try not to do any magic, my darling, and get plenty of rest,” the Queen whispered in DG’s ear before separating from her.

DG only nodded, and walked silently, arm in arm with her mother to the threshold of the room, only replying when the door was open, “I love you, mother. Good night.”

Lavender smiled on her daughter before she placed a soft kiss on DG’s forehead. Her lips were soft on her daughter’s brow, and the gentleness of her touch lulled DG, causing her eyes to close for a moment while the contact lasted. When her eyes opened once more, her mother had disappeared, leaving DG standing idly in the open door. Gates stood nearby, and he smiled covertly at the princess once the fog in her countenance cleared. DG could not help a bashful blush, and smiled before saying in parting, “Nite, Gates. See you in the morning. I promise, I won’t go anywhere tonight, I’m too tired.”

DG shut the door before Gates could reply, having only waited long enough to witness the man’s nod of confirmation before turning to groggily shuffle to her room. DG was now wholly exhausted, and barely managed to make it to her bed, let alone change, before she fell into another deep well of slumber.

Chapter Text

Somewhere south of Central City, three men on horseback rode hard in the waning light of the day. The men had been riding for two days, only having stopped once on the eve of the first night to give their animals a rest.  Although the terrain had been fairly steady for most of the ride, it had become more uneven since leaving the Brick Route and became downright squirrely once they neared the Crack in the Oz, and their animals were beginning to tire more quickly as the second day wore on. The men pushed on, however, knowing that they would not be able to make camp until they crossed. The land beyond the gorge was rough, and the people that crossed the expanse were either royalty headed for Finaqua or miners from the black hills, neither of which the men had any want of contact with. From time to time, the bridge guards had had run ins with the folk of the Realm of the Unwanted, but generally waved them through under orders from the Monarch, who had been making efforts to fold these individuals back into the accepted society of the OZ. Although the men on horseback did not seem to fit any of these categories, the guards seemed to quickly recognize them, and turned away as they approached, as if they wanted to deny knowledge of their passing if asked later.

The men were thankful for this quiet acceptance and crossed quickly, being careful to leave the road quickly when they reached the other side, in the case that their crossing might have been witnessed by unfriendly eyes. The light of the suns was failing as they completed their traverse of the crack, and the men had chosen a path away from the worn road that would take them closer to Finaqua, stopping their horses some distance away in a thick copse of trees where they would not be seen or heard by passersby. In short time, the exhausted horses were tied up and given feed bags, and a fire had been started nearby. The men settled around the fire, eager to get some rest themselves, and all three soon had rations and flasks at their fingertips as they gazed at the flames licking the growing dark above them. As night settled in around the men, the unsteady silence between them melted away, and a comfortable but quiet banter soon ensued.

“Well, we’ll be at the Realm by midmorning tomorrow, if we decide to stay the night” the oldest groaned as he stretched out on his mat, removing his boots. Although Ahamo had been accustomed to this sort of rough travel and had been doing it for over fifteen annuals, the past two annuals in comfort had reminded him of his age, and the arthritis in his knees screamed at him as he stretched.

Wyatt removed his hat and scrubbed his hair before he did the same to the beard that was steadily becoming thicker on his face. He took a swig from his flask and winced as the bitter fluid burned his throat, and he passed the flask to Ahamo, who seemed to need it more than himself. As the consort quietly nodded his thanks, Wyatt retorted, “Well we need to let the horses rest up for a few hours, but I’d like to keep the cover of night for as long as we can if it’s all the same. When we get do there, how are we going to get word to Artie?”

Ahamo smirked, and he leaned forward so that his voice was low, barely above a whisper in case there were unseen eyes in the woods, “The Gales have always had a way of contacting the Curator, Wyatt. That’s how I was always able to get a hold of him before. There’s a device in my hut which will allow us to alert Artie, and he’ll know to keep an eye on the tavern in the Realm.”

Wyatt took the flask back from Ahamo and he corrected him, “When you say device, you mean artifact, right?”

Ahamo nodded silently while chewing on his food. During this exchange, Jeb had been listening intently, but finally chose to speak up, a skeptical air about him, “So Artie will know then, who we are, or at least where we come from, but how do we know we can trust him?”

Ahamo sat up, suddenly looking somewhat uncomfortable, “Well, that’s a great question. I guess we really don’t, except he remained completely hidden during the Sorceress’ reign, and the only artifacts that ever left that archives during that time and since were those that related directly to the Emerald and finding it, and the piece that I use to contact Artie. If he wanted to hurt us, he could have already.”

Wyatt cut in, glancing from Ahamo to Jeb, “Son, the Curator comes from a long line of caretakers that were hand-picked by Ozma herself in the beginning. I don’t think we have to worry too much about being in his crosshairs, unless we plan on cutting off our noses to spite our face.”

Jeb nodded, and spoke through the food he was struggling to chew, “Alright then,” Jeb swallowed hard, “so we signal Artie, and hightail it to the tavern, then what?”

Wyatt too was thinking about this, and both Cain men turned to Ahamo, eager to hear his thoughts. Ahamo sat quietly for a moment, considering his knowledge of the Curator. Finally, he answered, his eyes not leaving their study of the fire as he thought out loud, “Well, I’ve never actually seen Artie. We’ve only ever passed messages back and forth. I think we may want to split up. I don’t want to spook him, just in case he’s staking us out.”

Wyatt spoke as he removed his jacket, eying Jeb paternally, “Jeb, you know the Realm contacts that Pete mentioned, and how to reach them, right?” Jeb nodded silently, and Wyatt continued as he stuffed his jacket under his head while he stretched out on his own mat. “Well, I’d like to get as much intel as we can before we make any solid moves against Vizor. I don’t know what he’s up to, or who is financing him, but I don’t want to take any chances.” Wyatt paused to shift his shoulders against his jacket, then continuing on, he added, “Ahamo and I will go get a message to Artie, and you go talk to those contacts. When you’re done, meet back with us at the hut, okay?”

This idea seemed reasonable to Ahamo and Jeb both, and they both gave their quiet approval. Jeb was the last man still sitting up at this point, and he drained his cup before he rose to stuff it back in his saddle bag, replying with a sigh, “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beat.  I guess someone ought to take watch while the rest get some shut eye. The horses can’t be the only ones to get a break.”

Wyatt had already propped his Stetson over his face, and he growled low in reply, “Age before beauty kiddo.”

Jeb knew his father was grinning under the hat, and he kicked his father’s foot in jest. Wyatt and Ahamo both chuckled at Jeb, who groaned in reply. “Alright dad, when do you want to get moving?”

Wyatt pushed the hat up enough so he could peer out at his son’s face, and he replied in complete seriousness, turning slightly in Ahamo’s direction, “How long you think it will take us to reach the hut from here?”

Ahamo yawned and reasoned, “Probably in about three and a half hours.”

Wyatt turned back to his son, “Well, that gives us at least six to get some rest. Wake me in three unless there’s trouble.”

Jeb nodded and grinned at his father as he replied with a false air of chivalry, “Well then, sleeping beauty, get thee thy rest. I shall not wake thee lest I dare feel thy wrath.”

Jeb bowed low at his father, and laughed heartily as he dodged a pinecone, which Wyatt tossed with pinpoint accuracy at his head, their laughter dying down quickly so they could all get to their much-needed rest. As silence came over camp, Wyatt closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift in and out of consciousness. The past two days had not given him much opportunity to think of his wife, and now that he was stretched out on the cold forest floor, he ached as he imagined DG curled up in their bed, probably clutching his pillow where he should be instead. As his mind drifted, he imagined her standing in the open doors of their bedroom, looking out on the moonlight, a translucent silken nightgown floating gently in the spring breeze. She seemed to radiate in the moon’s light, and her loose curls fell in a soft curtain across her backside that contrasted sharply with the milky shade of her bare arms. DG rubbed her rounded abdomen as she looked out on the sleepy landscape below, and a contented smile was on her face as she sang quietly to her ever-growing mound:

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high,

there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby.

Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue

and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.

Someday I’ll wish upon star and wake up where the clouds are far behind me.

Where troubles melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops

that’s where you’ll find me.

Somewhere over the rainbow, blue birds fly.

Birds fly over the rainbow, why and oh why can’t I?

If happy little blue birds fly beyond the rainbow,

why oh why can’t I?”

Elsewhere, this same melody was also making its way into DG’s subconscious, and she hummed it blissfully in her sleep. When the song ended, DG began to wake, certain that she was still hearing the haunting music. DG sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, looking around the still unfamiliar room. Recognition dawned on her slowly, and she realized that she was in her new bedroom, and the moonlight was peaking in through the curtains that she had failed to close before dropping down onto the pillow just mere hours before. The music was still filling her ears, and it was a soft, lilting tune that drew her out of her bed. DG tip toed out into the sitting room, still only in her nightgown, thinking that perhaps she had left the gramophone playing, but upon reaching it, however, she found it turned off and motionless. The music was still playing though, louder to DG’s ears, and she turned to face the room, uncertain of its location. With no other possibility becoming clear in her mind, DG turned towards the boxes sitting next to the sofa and pulled one up close to her head. The music seemed to be coming from inside, and DG frowned at it in confusion, wondering what sort of new devilry she might have stumbled on.

Curiosity burned in the troublesome princess, however, and DG finally gave in to the urge to discover the mystery of the musical box. Almost as if she were handling a ticking bomb, DG gingerly placed the box on the couch and lifted the lid, peering inside cautiously. Inside were various trinkets from their prior residence, many of which DG had decided she would arrange the next day, and none of which appeared any less mundane than they had the day she packed them. The sound was louder now that the box was open however, so DG began to sift through the contents with less trepidation, now intent on finding the source despite the initial warning in her mind. Finally, DG reached the bottom, and she drew out the music box that Wyatt had given her before leaving, her brow now furrowed, and her lip sucked inward while she considered the object.

DG turned the enameled box over, examining it closely, her confused countenance becoming more pronounced. Finally, she decided to take a chance, and lifted the lid. DG was almost thrown back by the rush of air that resulted in opening the lid, and she stepped back, feeling somewhat lightheaded.  A cold gust of wind blew across her, and she looked around to determine the cause of the draft while she rubbed her arms furiously.  When her eyes left the box to look around, she was aghast. Her apartment had dissolved away, and in its place, DG found herself standing among tall oaks reminiscent of the forest that she had painted on the walls of her sitting room. The forest floor was a mixture of hard wood and moss, almost as if it could not determine what it was, and then when DG gazed upward, she found she could not see the sky through the branches of the trees. Rather, the moon seemed to peer into the forest from her side, almost as if it were casting its rays through a large pane of unseen glass. Apart from the occasional biting breeze, the forest was silent, with no birds or twittering insects, but DG could feel a tingle of magical energy charging the air, and DG had the distinct impression that she had been brought here for some purpose which made her suspicious and fearful. She shivered, uncertain of who or what was behind her unexpected travel, and she hugged herself as her mind raced.

“You’re perfectly safe, Dorothy,” a gentle feminine voice spoke out, just feet away from DG.

DG spun around to the origin of the voice and was met by a very real ethereal being. DG gasped in awe at the woman before her, instantly recognizing her as the woman in both General Jinjur’s painting and on the music box that was still in her hands, and she placed a hand to her mouth in shock. Ozma seemed made of light herself and shone so brightly that DG squinted until her eyes adjusted to her luminescence. Her long, golden hair was equally bright, and waved in its own soft breeze, and Ozma stood in silent serenity, patiently waiting for DG to gather herself. She smiled warmly at DG, as if she was looking on an old friend that she hadn’t seen in some time, and she seemed to revel in the sight of DG as she was. DG recovered herself quickly and looked around at their surroundings again, eyes wide in amazement.

“Wow, this is amazing,” She murmured to herself.

Ozma looked around as well and replied thoughtfully, “Yes, it is. I’ve always wished that I could be as skilled artist as you are, but it seems that my true gift lies in enchantments such as this.” As Ozma spoke, she gently removed the music box from DG’s grasp.

DG studied the music box in Ozma’s hands and eyes narrowed suspiciously, “Why are you here now, instead of before, when I first opened the box?”

Ozma seemed discomfited by DG’s interrogation and tapped the box, chewing on her lower lip in apparent nervousness, answering finally in an almost meek voice, “I wasn’t ready before.”

DG still seemed somewhat skeptical, and while she accepted Ozma’s answer, she still didn’t understand. “I thought you banned enchanted objects. I was told that you had them all put away somewhere. Why this, why now?”

Ozma looked up at DG, her cool blue eyes were piercing, and her eyebrow raised in oddly familiar annoyance.  “DG,” Ozma spoke with firm clarity, “we don’t have much time. Please.”

DG sighed heavily and shrugged. Ozma accepted this as confirmation that she could continue, so she spoke, now calmer than before. “I did put this away for safekeeping. With a very trusted guard, whose granddaughter I had a very special fondness for. She was the caretaker of this box until she passed it to her grandson. He passed it on to you.”

DG’s eyes widened in recognition, and she gasped quietly as Ozma continued on, “DG, I had to get a message to you, but I couldn’t trust it to just anyone, given what it is and who might be listening.”

Ozma pressed on the eyes of her image, and then the mouth. This released a catch on the backside of the box, and a small compartment opened. Inside was a small slip of paper, which Ozma held out for DG. DG took it, and read the small script quietly as Ozma explained, “You’re going to need that, so you’ll know how to enchant your slippers.”

DG looked up at Ozma and exchanged a wide grin. Ozma seemed to share DG’s mischievous side, and she allowed herself a small chuckle before she regained her composure again and the smile melted away. Ozma stepped closer to DG and grasped both of her hands in Ozma’s own delicate ones.

“Dorothy, I wouldn’t be telling you how to do this if it wasn’t important. Beware the old foe who lurks in the shadows. He’s watching you, Dorothy, and I fear that Wyatt may be in danger as well. You must get a warning to Wyatt before he can see you.” DG’s breath caught in her throat, and Ozma grasped her shoulders to keep DG focused on her, “This enemy of ours is trying to tempt you into leaving the security of the palace, so you’re going to need your slippers to find Wyatt. It’s the quickest and safest way.”

DG nodded, now just as serious in her focus on the woman in front of her. “Okay,” DG whispered, her voice wavering with fear and uncertainty, “but can you tell me who this enemy is?”

Ozma shook her head and replied, “He goes by many names, DG, so me telling you isn’t truly important. I’ve told you what you need to know.” Ozma took a deep breath, adding, “But there is one more thing. Be careful of enchantments that you are unfamiliar with. Many have a singular purpose, and they’re not always benign. This foe of ours enjoys using them to toy with his enemies as well as to increase his own power. Do not trust all that you see.”

DG was visibly worried, and she began to shiver uncontrollably while the cold in the air seemed to cut straight to her bones. DG could feel her strength wavering suddenly, and she murmured in uncertainty to herself, and her head swam, “but I’m not using any magic. Please kiddo, not now.”

Ozma’s expression became sympathetic, and she wrapped DG in her arms, causing a soft light to envelope the pair as they shared their magical essence. DG’s breathing slowly steadied, and she shut her eyes, listening to the fluttering heartbeat of the woman holding her. When they separated, DG felt instantly better, and she furrowed her brow at the woman in confusion, uncertain of how she could have possibly shared energy with the woman, when she had only ever shared such a bond with Az.

Ozma’s eyes flickered with uneasiness for only a fraction of a moment before they became cool and impassive once more, and she stepped forward once more, placing a slender hand on DG’s shoulder. “Good luck DG,” Ozma whispered, “I pray that we’ll meet each other again soon. Don’t forget, your enemies could be listening at any time, so guard your speech lest you want to be heard.”

DG nodded, and almost replied, but Ozma stepped back from DG and smiled at her once again before the forest around them became blurry, and she faded from DG’s vision. DG looked around at her surroundings, amazed to find herself back in the sitting room of her apartment.  In her hand the box still rested where it had before, and in the other, a small slip of paper rested between her thumb and forefinger. DG closed the hidden compartment and tested it to see if she could release the catch herself, and in finding that she could, so she placed the slip of paper back in its hidden home in an effort to keep its information away from unwelcome eyes. DG then opened the box once more, curious if she might find herself back in her forest. When the lid opened, the only result was the sound of music floating gently out of its compartment, leaving DG relieved and she sighed as she collapsed on the couch.

“Woah,” She muttered as she stared at the box in front of her.

As the music played down, DG realized that she recognized it, and she began to sing softly with the music. Her mother, she remembered, had sung this song to her as a girl, and DG suddenly remembered many evenings being rocked by her mother to this song, and she was thankful for the return of the lost recollection. DG’s eyes began to drift closed once more, so she shook herself just long enough to stumble back to her bed, music box still in hand. Once back in her bed, DG wound the box again. The soft melody began to drift out delicately and DG’s eyes drooped heavily. She began to lose hold of her conscious thought and as her dreams took her, and she imagined the OZ lit by the suns shining through the beams of a brilliant rainbow. 

Chapter Text

By the time the suns had just begun to rise over the Southern OZ, Ahamo, Wyatt, and Jeb had closed in on their approach to the Realm of the Unwanted. Since the fall of the Sorceress, some things had changed in these parts, and a small settlement had popped up not far from the Realm. To Ahamo, the place resembled something out of a Wild West movie, replete with livery stables at the edge of the main street, a general store further in that doubled as a post office, and a pleasant little Inn beckoning to the weary travelers. As welcoming as these features were, the few locals that milled about in the early hours were a rugged sort, and observed the newcomers with veiled, if not somewhat suspicious interest. Having mostly avoided the eyes of the Sorceress for annuals by living simply off the land, which in these parts was rough and mountainous, these were not the type of people to openly welcome strangers and watched quietly for any sign of trouble from the men on horseback.  This was an understandable factor to the men, and so their approach into town was more like a respectful amble, so as to give the locals plenty of time to size them up. While Wyatt and Jeb negotiated boarding their horses at the livery stables, Ahamo strolled over to the General Store to stock up on supplies, intent more on discovering the nature of the townsfolk than on refilling his supplies. Once their business was completed, the men met at the outskirts of the settlement, and made their way by foot to the Seeker’s hut, which was a short distance away by the edge of Lake Lurline. Their survey of the small town had been successful, and as the men trudged through the rough back county, they recounted everything they had learned while in the small settlement.

Ahamo shifted the pack on his back, which was now heavier for the supplies he had picked up in town, and Wyatt, noticing his father-in-law struggling, stopped to switch packs with him silently, smiling slightly at the older man. “Thanks,” Ahamo grunted as he took up Wyatt’s pack, relieved for the lighter burden.

Wyatt grinned and replied, “I don’t think my wife would take kindly to me ignoring the plight of her old man, you know.”

Jeb snickered and Ahamo scoffed at them both, “Old? Who you calling old?” He punched Wyatt on the arm, causing Wyatt to wince, and he rubbed his injury as a chuckle escaped his lips.

The men laughed for a moment as they continued to walk until it was quiet again. The three were silent until Ahamo noted thoughfully, “The man in the general store was a nice sort. Pioneer type, rough but seems trustworthy.”

Wyatt glanced at Ahamo as he continued to pick his way through the rocky path, “Yeah, the stableman wasn’t much different. Said that settlement popped up not long after the Queen came back to Central.”

Ahamo stopped for a moment to drink from his canteen. Wyatt and Jeb stopped as well, turning towards Ahamo to watch him quietly as they waited. Ahamo paused in his drink to comment, “Those people back there are good folk, Wyatt, and they didn’t seem to know anything about Vizor. I doubt he would come this way given how suspicious they were of us even.”

“What’s on your mind?” Wyatt asked suspiciously.

Ahamo glanced up at the sky pondering his answer, a hint of hope edging in as he finally answered, “Well, I think we could risk sending word from there if we needed to, is all.”

Wyatt kicked a small rock near his boot, considering Ahamo’s suggestion. When he looked back up at the man, he nodded and replied regretfully, “Sure, but let’s hold off for now. I think we might want to keep a lid on things until we have a better handle on everything.”

Ahamo repositioned his canteen, having finished his break, and with a heavy sigh, he waved Wyatt and Jeb to follow him. The men walked silently from here; all were road weary, and as early as it was, they were eager to reach the cover of the hut so they could rest up before taking on the Realm. The closer they drew to the hut, the surer Ahamo’s steps became, and his footfalls soon increased, stopping only when they reached the shoreline of the mountain lake. Wyatt and Jeb brought up the rear, panting lightly in the thinner air and looking somewhat sheepish for having been outpaced by the older man. Once they finally caught up to the Consort, Ahamo turned and began striding down the shoreline, seeming to ignore them while he recalled the remaining paces to their destination.  After about ten minutes had passed in relative silence, Ahamo seemed to spy their destination and pointed them to a haphazard pile of wood on a rocky outcropping near the shoreline. Some steps away, close to the tree line, stood a small logger’s hut. The hut seemed on the verge of falling over, and its roof leaned dangerously. On its rickety porch, rocking in an ancient rocking chair, a severe looking man glowered out at the water, and a scruffy dog stretched out on ground by his feet.  Jeb and Wyatt were clearly apprehensive, and flashed Ahamo a look of uncertainty, but Ahamo ignored them and continued forward. The Cain men followed carefully, but when they came closer to the hut, the man’s vision turned to them as they’d feared, and he stood and reached for his rifle, eyeing them suspiciously all the while. Wyatt began to finger the gun in his holster, but Ahamo stopped him with a hand on his upper arm, chuckling quietly before he waved at the man, who seemed to suddenly recognize Ahamo. Almost as if someone had flicked a switch in the man’s brain, the severe man’s face became unreadable while he returned his rifle to its home and sat down again, and he soon resumed his blank stare off into the distance as if Ahamo and his cohorts did not exist at all. Ahamo, meanwhile, started to climb up the stack of wood, which Wyatt realized, was more of a set of steps that led up to a hole in the middle. Ahamo dropped his pack down the hole before signaling to Wyatt and Jeb, who were still standing at the bottom and eying the man at the hut curiously.

“Come on you two, suns are getting higher, and I could use something to eat before we get to work,” Ahamo called. When neither moved, Ahamo rolled his eyes, seeing that he would have to set them at ease before they would move further, and swiped a loose rock from the ground before tossing it at the man and the hut. As the rock approached the hut, the entire scene – hut, dog, man, and all – flickered momentarily before coming back into focus. Wyatt’s eyes narrowed momentarily at the scene before an impressed expression crossed his face. Ahamo cleared his throat and called down to them with an edge of impatience, “Can we go now?”

Wyatt and Jeb wasted no time now that they knew that the man was no danger to them, and they clambered up the wood, following after Ahamo, who had already disappeared down a hidden ladder. Once inside, Wyatt and Jeb looked around, impressed by their surroundings. They were standing in the center of a small round room made up of roughhewn stone, and the stack of wood that they had climbed up to enter made up the rounded roof. The only apparent source of light was the opening in center of this roof, and they were relieved when Ahamo appeared in one of the doorways on the outer edge of the circle, lamp in hand. In short order, Ahamo handed kindling to Jeb and motioned to the fireplace on the other side of the room.  Without any need to assign pecking order, Jeb got straight to work on the fire, leaving Wyatt to deposit his duffle bag and hat in a nearby alcove in the wall while he continued to marvel at the construction of the hidden hut.

“Well, it’s no palace, but it will do,” Ahamo smiled as he shifted some odd brickabrack on the shelf next to the fireplace so he could find a home for the lamp in his hand, and as he set the lamp down, he continued, “If you want to use the facilities, they’re down that way, and there’s a storeroom for food down the other hall.” Ahamo then pointed at the doorway on the opposite end of the circle from the other two doors and spoke again, “There’s a bunkroom that way, but it’s really only big enough for one.”

Wyatt was already arranging his bed roll in the alcove between these sets of doorways, and he turned around momentarily to reply, “Jeb and I will take the main room, you can take the bunkroom. I’d like to be close to the ladder anyway.”

Ahamo seemed to be relieved with Wyatt’s suggestion but didn’t get the opportunity to reply before Jeb managed to bring a small fire to life in the grate. This was like a signal to the fatigued men, and the three men soon settled around the stone edge of the room, staring absently at the fire as they rested their feet. After a few moments, Wyatt decided to break the silence, finding himself impatient and ready to move again. “So, where’s this artifact, Ahamo?”

A smile crept up on Ahamo’s face and he nodded in the direction the lamp, which he had lit shortly after arriving in the hut. Ahamo stretched out his legs and answered, “With that lit, we have a few hours to leave a message for Artie at the Tavern before he’ll come looking for it. We’ll need to get a move on after we eat if we want to get there on time.”

Jeb eyed the lamp curiously and inquired as he chewed on a piece of jerky, “How does he know that we lit the lamp?”

Ahamo pulled out his own piece of jerky that had been in his vest pocket and chewed at it thoughtfully before he answered, “That lamp, my boy, is one of two lamps once thought to belong to Dorothy Gale and her Aunt Emily. It was said that Dorothy would light her lamp to let Emily know she was coming for a visit to the Otherside. When her Aunt Emily died, Dorothy brought her aunt’s lamp here from the Otherside and never lit either again. They both stayed in the Royal Archives until Lav banished me. I took one with me at Lav’s request, and the companion piece stayed in the archives with Artie. That’s been our signal for annuals that one or the other would be leaving a message at the tavern. The plan has always been that once it’s lit, the other holder waits for four hours before attempting to hunt down the message. We’ll go back later to see if he left a reply.”

“Well,” Wyatt sighed before pulling a ration pack out of his bag, “let’s eat while we can then.”

The men ate silently and after all was consumed and cleaned up, they turned out the lamp and threw sand over the fire. All were eager to get going and moved with quiet purpose to get themselves straight and up the ladder. After a short walk back north towards the settlement, they turned west into a large field. The high grass waved idly in the breeze and seemed to go on for miles. Wyatt smirked, remembering DG’s skeptical sideways glance at him when they entered this pasture the last time. With no obvious indication that an entrance was anywhere near, DG had looked at Wyatt like he had lost his mind. Unfortunately, Wyatt found himself uncertain of where the trapdoor was once again, but Ahamo seemed to have muscle memory for it, and walked directly to the door in the ground, hidden by high grass. Wyatt and Jeb followed the surefooted consort, once again hiding their astonishment at the abilities of the royal while they climbed down the long metal ladder one by one. At the bottom of the ladder, Ahamo and Wyatt turned to Jeb, silently nodding in parting before Jeb turned and disappeared into the crowd, blending in seamlessly with the inhabitants of the Realm that meandered down the subterranean avenue.

Once Jeb was out of sight, Ahamo gestured for Wyatt to follow him, and they went in the opposite direction, picking their way through the crowd slowly. During their slow stroll down the street, Wyatt fingered his pistol in its holster. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he eyed the passersby with moderate suspicion, but passively so that he would not attract attention. Ahamo seemed unaffected by the locals and led Wyatt in a relatively straight line towards the other end of the Realm where, after a turn down a narrow alleyway, they stood in front of a small tavern. Wyatt’s mouth went into a straight line as he looked at the entrance to the place, remembering the last time he had had the bad fortune to enter it. Airofday had double crossed both Wyatt and the Seeker the last time, almost getting Wyatt killed and DG kidnapped, and he wondered if he might encounter some kind of repeat in the seedy joint if he dared enter again. With reluctance, he shot Ahamo a warning glance, his eyebrow raised skeptically as he eyes shifted from Ahamo to the tavern. Ahamo only patted his arm reassuringly before he jerked his head in the direction of their destination, smirking while he silently goaded the Tin Man forward as if they were going for a casual drink. Wyatt sighed before he followed Ahamo, feeling his apprehension grow with every step, and his eyes continued to scan the surrounding area as they drew near.   

When they entered the dingy bar, Ahamo waved at the barkeep while they strolled leisurely over to a booth in a dark corner at the end. The barkeep seemed to recognize Ahamo and came over to the table a few minutes later with two pints of dark ale in his hands. He slapped the mugs on the table and grasped Ahamo’s hand with a wide grin.“Seeker!” the man exclaimed, “It’s been too long! Where have you been hiding all this time?”

Ahamo chuckled and replied as he grasped the mug in both hands, “Ah well, had to get the lay of the land now that there’s a new sheriff in town, so to speak.”

The barkeep chuckled, and then leaned over, knuckles resting on the table as he spoke low, “Yeah, about that. Sorry about that bit with Airofday. Nasty business. Had no idea she’d try to put one over on ya.”

Ahamo waved off the man’s apology and shrugged, “Forgiven Joe. Everything’s different now, right?”

Joe nodded, a tinge of worry fading from his face with Ahamo’s reply. Wyatt watched the men quietly, noting how the barkeep seemed intensely concerned with Ahamo’s feelings towards him with interest, and deciding to let it go for the time being, he pretended to sip his beer.

The barkeep seemed awfully chatty, and turned to look at Wyatt, “So who’s this, Seeker?”

Ahamo cleared his throat slightly to get Wyatt’s attention and answered with a wide grin breaking across his face, “This is my son, Joe.”

The barkeep broke into a bright smile, his portly cheeks red with glee, “Oh, I didn’t know you had family! Bringin’em into the business, are ya?”

The man took Wyatt’s hand in a body shattering handshake, while Wyatt smiled uncomfortably. Ahamo, meanwhile, was chuckling mercilessly, enjoying Wyatt’s discomfort and he answered cheerfully, “Yup, now that the Sorceress is gone, I’m about ready to retire. Time for junior here to make his own way without me,” Ahamo replied with a glance at Wyatt, who was glowering at Ahamo in irritation.

Wyatt took another swig of his ale and tilted his hat at the barkeep, who took this as an indication to leave, and he laughed nervously, seeming to feel that Wyatt might be a chip off the old block as it were, “Ah well, can’t run forever they say. I’ll leave you two to it then.”

The barkeep shook Ahamo’s hand once last time before he skittered back to his bar, continuing his prior task of cleaning glasses. Ahamo waited for the man to leave, and then, with a final glance to be sure they weren’t being watched, he began scribbling a note on a slip of paper. The note read:

Vizor in Realm, looking for jeweled belt for unknown employer. Request advisement immediately.

Wyatt watched Ahamo as he wrote the note and spoke with an air of uncertainty, “Junior, huh?”

Ahamo shrugged nonchalantly as he placed the paper in an envelope and stuck it under the cushion of his seat. “True enough, anyway. You’re the closest thing I’ll ever have to a son of my own, you know.” Ahamo paused for a moment, and then spoke quietly into his mug, “Pretty lucky, I think. Couldn’t have asked for a better son.”

Wyatt was glad for the beard that he had grown, because he felt his cheeks grow warm at Ahamo’s honest compliment, and he drew a shaky breath. Deciding that he might as well say what he was thinking in an effort to ease his father’s nerves, he answered quietly, “Well, I don’t really remember my own father. He died when I was just a baby, but I think I’m pretty fortunate myself. Not many fathers in your position would be so sympathetic to a rusted old soldier like me marrying his daughter.”

Ahamo laughed heartily and drained his mug in one long swig. When he slapped it down on the table, he replied, “Oh, if only you had been there when Lav presented me to her folks. You think you’re rough. Imagine your daughter pulling a scrappy street urchin into your dining room for a formal dinner. They were ‘bout ready to have me hanged, but Lav is a bit of a firecracker and wouldn’t have it. Probably saved my neck a few times before we finally walked down the aisle.”

Wyatt’s eyes widened. He had known that the Consort was a slipper, and an unknown quantity when he became the future Queen’s consort. He hadn’t known the rest, however, and he was surprised to say the least. It also made him smile to hear him describe the Queen in such a way. It reminded him of his own firebrand, and he smiled to think that the Consort and he had more in common than he had originally believed. Wyatt drained his mug quickly and placed his hat back on his head.

“What’s next, Dad?” Wyatt inquired with a warm smirk.

Ahamo raised in a humored eyebrow at Wyatt and slid out of the booth, and Wyatt did the same, following Ahamo out of the bar quietly, but not before waving to Joe in parting. Outside, Wyatt followed Ahamo as he strolled down the dark avenue. Once they had left the shadows of their alleyway, Ahamo turned to Wyatt and finally gave him a straight answer as to their next steps. “Artie will be here any time, but I don’t want to spook him, so I think we ought to be scarce for an hour or two.”

Wyatt blew a low breath out through his mouth and thought for a moment. If they were topside, he would have looked up at the suns to gage the time, but down here in the Realm, there was no real indication, and people seemed to mill about no matter the time, giving him no idea how much time they’d be wasting by going back to the hut. They finally decided on hunting down Ma DeMilo’s stall and at least scoping her out for a spell before heading back to the tavern, surmising that since the stall wasn’t likely to be far, and would give them opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. When the finally hunted down the woman’s storefront, they stood in the shadows across the street for over an hour, watching the wrinkled old woman haggle and harass her periodic customers, looking like a thinner and meaner version of the portly man she’d left in Central City. No one of any real interest appeared in the time that they watched over the woman, so they headed back to the tavern, almost eager for another wet beverage after their tedious last few hours.

This time, Wyatt sidled up to the bar, keeping the chatty man occupied while Ahamo searched the booth.  After a few moments, Ahamo came back to Wyatt, sliding the note over to him while he sat down at the bar with a practiced sigh. Wyatt glanced at it as he drank his ale with gusto, only picking it up only after draining his mug. Under Ahamo’s original note, there appeared hurriedly scratched sentence. The scant note read:

Stay right there. I’ll be back.

Wyatt and Ahamo turned around and leaned against the bar, surveying the room. There weren’t many patrons in the bar at this time in the afternoon, and their booth was conspicuously empty. Wyatt and Ahamo exchanged a tenuous glance before they eased off of their stools and ambled over to the booth, sliding into their original seats and trying in vain to make small talk while they waited with anticipation. The minutes ticked by, and Joe came by to exchange their pints with fresh brew. The men were actually thankful for the distraction and had gotten about halfway through their second drinks when a gruff voice growled at them.

“Mind if I sit down with you?” the small round man grumbled and labored to scoot into the booth next to Ahamo without really being given permission.

Wyatt and Ahamo exchanged surprised glances and turned to examine their new arrival. Artemis Saul was small in stature, but his dark bushy eyebrows and glowering stare made him seem a good deal larger. He carried a large carpet bag with him, which he grasped at possessively as he squeezed into the booth. Once seated, he peered over his wire spectacles at Wyatt and Ahamo, seemingly taking them in as well. Satisfied that they weren’t an immediate threat, Saul waved Joe over, who deposited a mug of ale in front of him before shuffling away to patrons who had just arrived at the other end of the bar.

Ahamo spoke quietly as if to the air, “This is a bit out of the ordinary.”

Saul stroked his goatee thoughtfully and replied, “You don’t say? Because this,” he waved his finger between Ahamo and Wyatt as he spoke pointedly, “is a little unusual too.”

Ahamo cleared his throat as he pulled a small box out of his pocket and placed it quietly on the table in front of Saul, “Well this ought to prove our intentions. If it doesn’t, we’ll leave.”

Saul peeked into the box and looking to Ahamo with a pinpoint glare, he hissed, “The Emerald!” As Saul placed the box carefully in his bag, he stopped and growled, “But where’s the rest? Where’s the compass?”

Ahamo sighed heavily and admitted sadly, “I don’t know. When the Sorceress ambushed us in front of the mausoleum, she shrunk me. I couldn’t really ask the hag to be careful with something I didn’t want her to have in the first place, now could I?”

Saul took a deep breath and pushed back against the table, surveying the men at the booth again before he slapped his hands down and spoke with definitive urgency, “Right, well. We can continue this conversation elsewhere. Now that I know I can reasonably trust you, follow me.”

Wyatt and Ahamo slid out of the booth after Saul and moved quietly after the man. Their movements went unnoticed by Joe, as he was busy arguing with an inebriated patron who was refusing to leave the bar, and all eyes in the bar seemed to be on this exchange. No one seemed to notice the three men walking past, nor did anyone call after them as they snuck into the storeroom at the back of the establishment.

Once inside the cramped storeroom, Saul shut the door, locking it behind him. “Whatever you do, don’t touch anything,” Saul barked, causing Wyatt and Ahamo to look around in bafflement.

Saul ignored their astonishment and rifled through the bag in his hand. After a moment, he pulled out a large brass doorknob. He chuckled to himself as he grasped it, referring to it directly as he muttered, “Thought you could get away, huh?”

Ahamo and Wyatt peered at each other from either side of the small man, somewhat confused, but they remained silent. Saul, meanwhile, pushed Wyatt to the side so he could get to the wall behind him, and with another quiet chuckle, he attached the doorknob to the wall. In another moment, a simple wooden door appeared where only a wall had once been, and Saul stepped forward to pull the door open. Saul held the door open and beckoned to the men to follow. “Entre Vou,” he proclaimed with a flourish of his hand.

Wyatt did not understand him, and his eyes narrowed. Ahamo, on the other hand, smiled and stepped through the door, shaking his head in disbelief, “Who’ve thought,” Ahamo muttered quietly, “an Othersider?”

Wyatt stepped through the door during this exchange and turned to see Saul remove the doorknob before closing the door behind them. The door disappeared, and in its place, a stone wall reappeared. Saul chuckled knowingly in response to Ahamo and replied, “Who said I was an Othersider? I may have just spent some time there, is all.”

“Fair point,” Ahamo replied as he looked around.

Wyatt and Ahamo’s eyes roamed the large room they were now standing in. The walls were of smooth granite, and there was row after row of long shelves lined with all sorts of objects. The ceiling was immeasurably high, and long windows that lined the wall closest to them let in the bright afternoon light of the suns. They were very clearly no longer in the Realm of the Unwanted, but where, they could not determine.

Saul was still sharing a laugh with Ahamo, and Wyatt cleared his throat, getting impatient with their sidetracking, “Pardon me, gentlemen, but do you think we could get a move on?” Wyatt growled, jamming his thumbs in his belt loops in irritation.

Saul glanced in Wyatt’s direction and seemed to recall the purpose for bringing them there in the first place. “Oh,” he exclaimed, “Yes. Well first of all, I think some actual introductions are in order. I work better when I know who I’m talking to.”

Saul placed his bag on the shelf behind him and continued, placing a hand on his chest, “I am Artemis Saul, Curator of the House of Gale, but you may call me Artie, and you,” He pointed to Ahamo as he spoke, “must be Prince Consort Ahamo, or as I’ve known you for so many annuals, the Seeker.” Saul laughed, amused with himself as he turned to Wyatt and deduced, “That must make you Sir Wyatt Ulysses Cain, husband to Princess Dorothy, retired Major General of Her Majesty’s Royal Army and former Tin Man?” Wyatt chewed on the inside of his cheek as he stood surveying the seemingly arrogant man in front of him, uncertain if he liked the man or if he wanted to deck him. Artie eyed Wyatt with equal thoughtfulness, and he pointed a finger at him and muttered, “Ulysses isn’t a bad name, you know. A strong man from his majesty’s world had it first. It wouldn’t go over well to get into fisticuffs with me anyway, not when I’m trying to help you, don’t you think?”

Wyatt smirked at Artie in quiet reply, deciding that he liked him after all, causing Artie to scoff lightly as he turned to his bag, rubbing his hands together as he spoke, “You mentioned a jeweled belt. I have to know more. Tell me.”

Artie listened intently as Wyatt recounted what he had learned from DeMilo and Darla, following Artie as he scurried down the aisle. Artie placed the Emerald on a shelf next to a charred broomstick and a picnic basket and made a notation on a clipboard hanging on a hook nearby.

“Wait,” Artie stopped Wyatt, “go back to the description of the belt one more time.”

Wyatt pinched the bridge of his nose and repeated himself, “Vizor said he was looking for an antique leather belt. He said it was bejeweled, and he insisted that it was very unique.”

Artie tapped his finger on the rim of his glasses as he thought, and pointed in the air when he added, “and he paid off the merchant in rubies, right?”

Wyatt shrugged. “Yeah, unusual I’ll admit, but how does it connect to the belt?”

Artie let out a low, ominous laugh and swept down the aisle, leaving Wyatt and Ahamo sprinting after him. As Artie ran, he pointed at shelves muttering, “Ephalba, Mombi, no not her. Pastor? Naw.” Finally, he skittered to a halt and exclaimed excitedly, “A-ha! May I present, the Belt of Roquat the Red!”

Artie swept his hand over the shelf on his right, where a belt gleamed. The belt was, indeed, very old, and the brown leather, which at one point, had been supple and warm, was now dry and cracked in places. The jewels that lined its center were of rubies and emeralds, and one solitary diamond in the center. When Wyatt reached for it, Artie swatted his hand away and clucked like an old woman, “Don’t. Touch. Anything!”

Wyatt withdrew his hand and raised it up like he was being held at gunpoint, “Sorry,” he grumbled.

Artie took a deep breath and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, “Look. Every object in these archives carries certain inherent dangers.” Artie gestured emphatically with his hands as he spoke, continuing as he labored to slow his excited breathing, “this, for instance, will take you anywhere in the magical realms you want to go. It also said to have given the Gnome King many other unknown powers, but I really believe he just had a knack for enchanted items in general. Probably had more than a few.” Artie was rambling now, excited about having people to speak to. On such a subject as Roquat, he had many things to say, as he had developed many theories over the annuals, but time was short, and he could see his visitors becoming agitated. Artie waved frantically at himself and rambled, “No matter, the point is, whoever is behind Vizor must at least know about the belt’s ability to transport a person, and they also have a similar affinity for precious gems. But that’s no matter either, because the belt is here.” Artie gestured towards the belt, still excited and buzzing frenetically.

“Well that’s good at least, but what are the chances that Vizor will come looking for it here?” Ahamo cut in, looking worried.

Artie scoffed in reply and waved at a nearby window, “Look outside, Consort. There’s almost no chance that Vizor would even dream of where we are. The biggest risk I face is when I come to visit you.” He pointed at the Consort both with his finger and the intense glare of his eyes.

Ahamo glanced out the window. They appeared to be high in the mountains, but which mountains, Ahamo could not tell. He turned back when Wyatt spoke, still feeling nervous and uncertain, “Alright, then. So they probably don’t stand too much of a chance of getting the belt while it’s here, but let’s just say we want to draw them out. Is there any way that we might be able to copy the belt, maybe use it as bait somehow?”

Artie glanced down at the belt, considering Wyatt’s suggestion with a bushy eyebrow raised thoughtfully. He tapped his glasses again and answered slowly as the thoughts formed, “Maybe, but let me think about it some. Maybe I can come up with something for you.” Artie pulled the doorknob out of his pocket and handed it to Ahamo. When he spoke again, he stared intensely into Ahamo’s eyes and commanded, “I need you to imagine a safe place where I can come and go to meet with you while we figure this thing out.  Picture it. Picture every detail. Once you’ve got it, walk over to the wall, and push the knob into it firmly.”

Ahamo looked down at the knob in his hand. His eyes showed apprehension, like he expected the knob to burst into flames, but he did as he was asked, and shut his eyes tightly as he pictured the hut. After a slow, steady deep breath, he strode over to the door and jammed the knob into the wall where again, a simple wooden door appeared. Ahamo grasped the knob again and pulled the door open. On the other side was the hut, which was unoccupied and lit dimly by light from the hole in the ceiling.

Artie stepped through the door first, taking a silent visual inventory of the space. When they were all through the door, Artie clapped his hands together and exclaimed, “Now I know where we can meet at any time, and we can avoid that seedy little tavern. Stay close. I’ll be back in a day or less. Let me see what I can do.”

Ahamo and Wyatt nodded heavily, feeling fatigue settle in at the suggestion of waiting. Artie nodded as well and saluted them both before he stepped back through the door and removed the knob. The door shut behind him, and slowly disappeared from view, leaving only the rough stone that was there before. There was nothing left for the men to do but wait, and they busied themselves with the mundane; a fire needed to be rebuilt and dinner made, so they got to work, attempting to ignore the passage of time until both Jeb and Artie reappeared.

Chapter Text

The breakfast table was nearly silent, almost like a graveyard at dusk. Apart from the occasional tinkle of flatware on china, or the rustle of fabric, it was disturbingly quiet, and one would think that the three Gale women were angry with each other for how little they spoke. In many households, staff coming upon this sort of scene amongst family members would be correct in their beliefs, but here, the staff made no assumptions and bustled in and out of the room a silently as if they had been in fear of interrupting an important conversation. The women were actually speaking, but from outward appearances, this conversation took on only the physical manifestation of minute gestures and facials expressions. A set of blue eyes would flash on a pair of green orbs across the table – one woman would shrug, and the other huff quietly through her nose – only to be silenced by a graceful glance from a pair of lavender eyes, barely looking up from her hard-boiled egg before she graced both girls with a miniscule smile and returned to her breakfast.

“Girls, you’re meant to be practicing,” Lavender reminded her daughters wordlessly, “given that you are both in rather precarious states, it might be best if you save your sibling rivalries for the spoken word. Although this form of communication requires less use of your light than other more overt forms of magic, it can still drain you.”

“I’m sorry mother,” Azkadellia replied internally, feigning a frown as she averted her eyes from her irritated little sister.

DG, feeling petulant in usual fashion, rolled her eyes, retorting, “It’s not a rivalry mother. Az just takes twisted joy in torturing me. First you want to stuff me into a bunch of frilly dresses, and now you’re threatening my spawn? Come on, Az, I can only handle so much pink and lace. At least wait until she’s born, okay?”

Azkadellia’s eyes met DG’s, and a spark of mirth flowed between them until they both burst into a fit of giggles, causing the staff to turn and spy them, averting their own grins caused by the infectious laughs of the princesses. Lavender stopped eating immediately, and placed her hands gracefully in her lace covered lap, audibly clearing her throat before speaking wordlessly, her voice sounding metered and patient inside the minds of her daughters, “Girls, let’s continue our discussion, shall we?”

DG snorted ungracefully, and Az cleared her throat before both answered, “Yes mother.”

Lavender’s eyes moved from Azkadellia to DG once more before she resumed her breakfast, and she resumed silently, “DG, I’d like you to tell me what you’re thinking. You mentioned repeating history, what did you mean, my Angel?”

DG smiled knowingly, and her eyes flickered on Azkadellia for a moment before she replied with a certain amount of pride, “Well, it was really your idea in the first place, mother, but I think to keep Az safe, we should let her die.”

“What?!?” Lavender roared, jumping from her seat as her eyes flamed on her youngest, her hands balling into tight fists.

Azkadellia reached out to grasp her mother’s hand, and as she squeezed the gentle woman’s hand, she spoke aloud quietly, “Mother, please hear DG out, I think she’s on to something.”

Lavender’s face relaxed, and as her breathing calmed, she glanced at her eldest, flashing her a weak smile before she resumed her seat. Now calm, the Queen nodded silently, allowing DG to resume, explaining wordlessly, “You made the witch think I was dead, so why can’t we do that with Az? It can’t be that difficult to place her under a sleeping spell, can it?”

Lavender inhaled sharply and she looked down into her lap for a moment while she considered, answering thoughtfully, “No, ordinarily it’s not, but my Darling, what about you? Not only are you easily winded as of late, but this will put you in a good amount of danger, yourself. Have you considered this or spoken to Wyatt at all?”

DG’s back straightened while her mother spoke, discomfort rapidly washing over her. Her mother was right of course; Wyatt wouldn’t like this plan one bit, and he probably wouldn’t even consider it an option unless he was present to guard her. She would have to find him soon, she realized, not only to warn him, but to get him home. DG’s need compelled her to a certain amount of bluntness, and she answered truthfully, “Yes, I have considered the danger, but honestly. I don’t think it changes my risk. That letter seemed more like a promise than a threat, mother. That Boulderstone guy, if that really even is his name, has it out for Dorothy Gale, and I seem to be a reasonable substitute. I don’t think it will matter to him if Az is alive or dead. He’s coming for me. As for Wyatt, I haven’t talked to him yet, but I’m working on a way to get a message to him. I promise you; I won’t do anything until he and I talk.”

Lavender swallowed DG’s statements like a bitter pill, and nodded heavily in understanding before turning to Azkadellia and asking carefully, “And you, Azkadellia, what do you have to say about this plan?”

Azkadellia sighed, and as she did, her eyes seemed glued to the ceiling while she considered her answer. Finally, she met DG’s eyes before turning to her mother, answering resolutely, “I trust DG, mother, and I think she’s right. Whatever this Boulderstone has in store for DG, his overall plan seems to be to wipe out our family, and he’s using Vizor to do it. Vizor loved the witch, and I’m sure he’d like for nothing else than to take revenge on me, since I killed her. I’d like to think that Wyatt and Daddy will find Vizor before he can make good on the promise he made me in his letter, but we have to be ready just in case.”

Lavender held her daughter’s eyes for a long period before she finally uttered a loud, defeated sigh, conceding aloud, “Alright, my loves, I will trust you. I could never keep either of you from anything when you had your mind set, and it seems that this instance is no exception.” She reached out to both women now, grasping their hands before continuing silently, “Just be careful, and do not do this alone. You will need your spouses now, more than ever. I just hope that this will be the worst crucible either of you shall ever have to face in your marriages. Neither of them will like this, my dears. It goes against a man’s nature to put his wife in danger.” She then added verbally, “I love you both.”

DG squeezed her mother’s hand back, replying audibly, “We love you too, mother, and I promise, no unnecessary adventures. I’ll stick to the library and my apartment until Wyatt gets home.”

Azkadellia scoffed, adding, “And I’ll make sure she gets plenty of homework done. You always were a terrible study, Deeg, but I suppose I can make good use of your promise. I’ll supply you will all the books you’ve been avoiding the past two annuals.”

DG smiled covertly before replying in a practiced, sardonic tone, “Great. Put me to sleep, why don’t you?”

The girls laughed giddily, only to be interrupted by the swift entrance of Ambrose, who plopped down beside Azkadellia and gasped for breath as he reached for the pitcher of water in the center of the table.

“Ambrose,” Azkadellia exclaimed, “Are you alright? What happened in the meeting?”

DG eyed her friend worriedly as she grasped the pitcher first and began to pour a glass, knowing both the cause for his absence at breakfast, and the possible cause for his winded countenance now. It had almost been a week since Wyatt had left, and DG was running out of excuses for his absence. The entire Royal household was running out of excuses, to be precise, and Ambrose had been dispatched by the Counsel of Advisors to address the issue, after a whisper from one dignitary turned into a chorus of questions from several different camps, leaving the Advisors at a loss as to how they might respond. They had all turned to Ambrose for suggestions, not knowing that the Tin Man was absent, and afraid to broach it with him on their own for fear of his famously glowering stare.

Ambrose nodded with a choked gasp, gratefully accepting the glass of water DG slid in his direction. Ambrose flashed a small smile in DG’s direction as he muttered, “Thanks Doll.” After taking a healthy gulp, Ambrose broke into an explanation for his rushed entrance. “I’m sorry, but I just left a meeting with the Counsel, and I bring with me their concerns about DG and Wyatt’s visibility. The nation has responded well to their marriage, and they feel that it might increase the Princess’ trustworthiness further if the nation could see her and Sir Wyatt working on behalf of the people more often. They feel that this will do much to assert the validity of the royal family and further cement Az in her role as the future Queen.”

DG scoffed quietly, feeling betrayed by what Ambrose had said as she threw her napkin down on the table, grumbling, “What? Isn’t restoring the OZ enough?”

“DG,” The Queen spoke gently, “Please Darling, try to understand.”

DG took a deep breath and nodded, understanding the suggestion, but still feeling personally affronted as she grumbled “I do understand, I just haven’t formed a stiff upper lip yet.” She then glanced up at Ambrose as she continued sarcastically, “So what do they want me to do? It’s not like I can call Wyatt home for a photo op!”

Ambrose grinned wide in response to DG’s question, feeling proud of himself for even thinking of such a thing and being able to present his ideas at just the right moment. “Well, I’ve already thought of that, actually, and he’s already here and ready to go.”

As Ambrose spoke, he produced a small chuck of metal, placing it gently on the table as if it were a precious gem. The oblong chunk of metal was small enough to fit in Ambrose’s hand, and was fitted with a lens on one end, and a large button on top, which Ambrose compressed after positioning and shifting it carefully on the tablecloth. In an instant, light issued from the machine, and Wyatt appeared, looking as if he was seated with them. He smiled warmly at Ambrose, who was seated directly opposite, and was dressed as he had been on the day of the parade in his dress uniform. DG was transfixed by the image, and reached out tentatively to touch Wyatt, knowing that he was not there, but aching from missing him all the same.

“What have you got in mind Glitch?” DG asked, still watching the Wyatt decoy, “it’s not like he’s interactive.”

“Well, it’s not like they want you two crazy kids to give interviews,” Ambrose laughed, “They just want visibility. I thought we might record you and Wyatt here meeting with General Andrus and General Jinjur or something and say that you’re discussing security in the Zone or something and feed it to the news service. They’ll eat it up.” As Ambrose finished explaining his plan, he depressed the button again and replaced the device in his pocket. With a smile at the women, he spoke again, “The time loop is about twenty minutes, so we’ll have no trouble getting some footage.”

Az snorted suddenly, “How did you manage to get Wyatt to smile that long?”

Ambrose shrugged and replied with a wink at his wife, “I have a winning personality, what can I say. To be honest, Wyatt wanted a decoy, so he was more than willing to suffer a little.”

DG smirked at Ambrose and exchanged a glance at her mother as she inquired, “Okay, so when is this meeting supposed to happen?”

“The sooner the better, Dollface.” Ambrose answered while he rose, offering DG his hand. As he pulled DG up, he addressed the others, “Ladies, I’m sorry to run away like this, but I’d like to steal DG for an hour or so. The Generals have cleared their schedules, and they would like to give Wyatt a reprieve sooner rather than later.  Word from the Crack is that a group of men on horseback crossed almost a week ago or so, and General Andrus and General Jinjur want to be sure that Wyatt keeps his cover intact now that he’s probably in the Realm.” He then reached down to plant a sweet kiss on Azkadellia’s lips, and he murmured, “I’ll see you soon, love.”

“You’d better, Ambrose,” Azkadellia smiled back, batting her eye lashes at him as he rose to address her mother.

The Queen sucked in air and steadied her shoulders before replying, “Men on horseback? Is there any other news?” When Ambrose shook his head sadly, the Queen shrunk slightly and sighed, “Very well Ambrose, I leave DG to your capable hands.”

The Queen rose from her seat and kissed DG and Azkadellia on the forehead before striding gracefully past them and out of the dining room, trying desperately to hide the disappointment on her face. With a rueful smile, she departed, remembering her prior discussion with DG about the trials of marriage. After fifteen annuals apart, the Queen had grown accustomed to solitude, but it brought her no pleasure, and she had longed for some small note from Ahamo assuring her of his wellbeing. As she glided down the hall, she steeled herself for the rest of the morning, reminding herself that she had to put her personal feelings aside and don the façade of the Monarch. DG was similarly disappointed by the lack of news, but the scant mention of Wyatt in the Realm had provided her with a goal, and she followed after Ambrose quickly, wanting to set the plan in motion right away.

Wyatt’s visibility was also a subject of concern for Ahamo, and as he, Wyatt and Jeb sat down to breakfast in the central room of the hut, he broached the topic thoughtfully, “Wyatt,” Ahamo began as he looked at him over his mug, “I think you and I ought to split up from here on out. Now that I’ve introduced you to Joe and given you a foothold in the tavern, you don’t really need me muddying the waters.”

Wyatt chuckled lightly before he replied, “Yeah, I was actually just thinking the same thing. Thought I’d pay Ma DeMilo a visit today. I guess you want me to put in an appearance at the tavern as well, right?”

Ahamo nodded as he replied, “The tavern was my base of operations, as it were. That’s generally where I made all of my contacts. If Vizor is looking for you, he’ll go there. Might be worth slipping Joe a bill or two to get him to spread word about your business relationship with Ma DeMilo.”

“That’s a good idea,” Wyatt muttered, staring off into space.

Jeb rose from his seated position next to the fire and stretched, “Well,” he spoke through his yawn, “while you’re doing that, I’m going to join the team scouting for Vizor. They’ve been trying to determine where his hideout is, and they could use another set of eyes.”

Wyatt nodded in agreement and stood as well, taking the young man into a hug, “Sounds like a good plan son, see you tonight?”

“Yeah,” Jeb muttered against his father’s shoulder.

When Jeb disappeared through the hole in the roof, Ahamo cleared his throat and spoke as he also stood to stretch his legs, “As for me, I’m going to stay close and wait on Artie. Someone ought to stick around until he shows up.” He stepped closer to Wyatt and clapped him on the shoulder, “Be careful Wyatt. Not all of my contacts were the friendly sort, nor were some of them above pulling a weapon.”

Wyatt breathed through his nose and nodded curtly, “You have my word. I’ll be back by nightfall.”

Ahamo offered Wyatt a half smile and called up to him as he climbed the ladder, “See that you are.”

Outside, Wyatt gazed up at the suns’ positions, silently gaging the time. Judging by their position, Wyatt calculated that he’d have at least a good six hours before he needed to be heading back in this direction. With a glance at his pocket watch, he began to move down the stack of wood and up the shoreline towards the Realm.  Once he slid into the hatch in the pasture, Wyatt dropped down onto the street and repositioned his hat before melding into the crowd moving around below. Finding Ma DeMilo wasn’t an issue but being sure that she didn’t have company was another issue altogether, so Wyatt moved slowly, as if strolling. The pace was maddening for Wyatt, who usually moved with quick purpose to his intended destinations, and as Wyatt felt his blood pressure rising, he reminded himself that he was also, besides trying not to draw attention to himself, playing the part of the Seeker. He remembered that the Seeker had moved like dark water into the tavern on the night DG had been separated from him over two annuals ago, and so Wyatt slowed his steps and began to move with the flow of traffic around him, trying his best to mimic the behavior of his father-in-law.  He hit his stride after a few paces, until his role as the Seeker seemed to fit him like a favorite cloak, just in time to arrive at DeMilo’s stall, where he saddled up to the counter, seeing that the woman was free of visitors. Ma DeMilo was a severe, thin looking woman of sixty annuals. She looked as if she had soaked her hair on a nightly basis in cheap hair dye, as her hair was an unnatural shade of red, devoid of any highlight or sign of age near the temples, and her mouth was pulled into a perpetually sour expression.

When Wyatt approached the stall, she glowered at him, arms crossed in annoyance, and she wagged a crooked finger at him before he could speak, eyes narrowed suspiciously as she spoke, “I know you, you’re the fella that took my boy’s wagon a few annuals back. Had that girl with ya if I recall right. Waddaya want?”

Wyatt cleared his throat suggestively as he leaned on the counter and pushed a few bills across, speaking in a low voice, “Now, we don’t have to bring that up do we? After all, I was just talking to Tony and the girls just the other day. What do you want me to tell your daughters in law the next time I see them, when you’ve been so unfriendly? Surely, they know that it’s you Tony sent me to in the Realm, right?”

Ma DeMilo quickly pocketed the bills and inquired in an uncertain voice, “Tony sent you?”

Wyatt nodded as he shifted his feet and replied in a low purr, “Antoine said that you were the person to get things in the Realm, and that if you couldn’t, then no one could. Is that right, Ma’am?”

Ma DeMilo’s eyes shut involuntarily at the low growl in Wyatt’s voice, and Wyatt smiled wickedly, seeing that he had found an angle on the woman. Ma DeMilo recovered quickly though and shrugged as she answered, “I might be the person. Who wants to know?”

Wyatt flashed the woman a grin, to which she smirked lightly, fighting a blush on her cheeks. Wyatt turned on the charm now and began to speak as he tipped his hat up. Before he could get more than a word out, a man stumbled up to the counter, shoving Wyatt out of the way in the process.

“Hey lady,” the man barked in a loud slur as he waved a small purple vial in Ma DeMilo’s face, “this stuff don’t work none! I want my money back.”

The man was in tatters, and he looked like he slept on the streets. He stank of urine and his face was pockmarked from want of a bath. When he spoke, one could see that his teeth were rotting, and his breath had an unfortunate odor as a result. Ordinarily, Wyatt would have attempted to help such a man. The annuals under the Sorceress had produced many such unfortunate souls who had turned to vapors and alcohol to drown their sorrows, but today he was impatient. Worse, to Wyatt’s alarm, he spied something glinting from the man’s other hand, so he was forced to move quickly.

Before the man could make another move, Wyatt stepped back and tapped him on the shoulder, intending to distract him briefly. “Hey buddy,” He growled. The action had the intended consequence, and the man swung around, brandishing his blade. Wyatt quickly grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it sideways as he swung the man into a bar hold. In a one fluid step, Wyatt stepped behind the man and leaned into the back of his knee, toppling the whimpering man to the ground. Now face down in the dirt and lose from whatever drug he had imbibed on; Wyatt had no trouble twisting the knife out of the man’s hand and slapping it on the counter with a loud thud. By the time the man had turned to sit on his knees, Wyatt had already drawn his gun and was aiming it point blank at the man’s chest as he cradled his injured arm. “Now,” Wyatt sighed with irritation, “What’s your beef with my client?” Wyatt spied the man’s bottle in question on the ground near his feet and stooped to pick it up. As he shook the bottle in front of the man, he chided him a friendly manner, “Is this what you’re mad about? This empty bottle?” The man started to let out a whine in return and Wyatt’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, “Come on, buddy, be real. Look, I tell you what,” Wyatt pulled out a few small bills and handed it out to the man, “Why don’t you go get a drink, on me.” The man slowly rose to his feet and reached for the bills. When he got close, Wyatt grabbed his collar and growled, “but if you or any of your buddies threaten Ma again, I’ll come find you. Get me?”

Wyatt now patiently handed the man the bills as he released him, and the man stuttered, “Yes, sir. I get ya. Sorry Mrs. DeMilo, it won’t happen again.”

“Good!” the woman barked, and swiped the blade off of the counter, tossing it into a bin behind her.

The man scurried away out of sight while Wyatt turned back to Ma DeMilo. She was howling with laughter when he turned and wiping a tear from her eye. “Mister,” she sighed, “that was the best bit of entertainment I’ve had since I got here. If you don’t want me to call you anything else, what’s it gonna be, and how can I help ya?”

“They call me the Seeker nowadays,” Wyatt replied with some fatigue, continuing, “I was hoping that if anyone comes around asking for me, or a bejeweled belt, you’ll think of me.”

Wyatt flashed her another bright smile, allowing his eyes to twinkle with good humor at her. Ma DeMilo smiled at him and swatted his arm as she laughed, “Aw, you’re just a flirt. But sure, for a fee.”

She whispered in Wyatt’s ear, sending him howling in laughter. When he leaned back, he had to catch his breath before he answered, “It’s a deal. I bet she’d think it was really funny anyway.”

“You’re sure you can get her to give me an autograph?” Ma DeMilo spoke in an excited hush.

“Yeah,” Wyatt nodded with a genuine smile, “I think she’d be glad to.”

“Well Seeker,” Ma replied as she stuck out her hand, “It’s a deal.”

Wyatt shook her hand firmly in return, and then turned to leave, checking his pocket watch once more as he picked his way through the crowd to the tavern.  A little early for a drink, Wyatt grimaced, but gave in despite the time, with a heave of his shoulders and a heavy exhale, not wanting to leave the Realm and having no other real destination in mind. Maybe Joe serves lunch, Wyatt reasoned as he turned the corner to the seedy little joint. Wyatt was relieved to find the tavern relatively empty when he slid inside, and Joe was standing sentry at the bar, wiping down glasses while he watched the news on the viewscreen behind the bar. Since his back was turned to Wyatt when he entered, he did not notice him as he seated himself at the bar, and just about jumped out of his skin when Wyatt coughed to get his attention.

“Hey Joe,” Wyatt grumbled, “I don’t guess you serve food here, do you?”

Joe finished wiping down the glass in his hand and put it away before he answered with a smile, “I might. I think the missus leaves a few sandwiches in the ice box just in case. Want one?”

Wyatt nodded as he repositioned himself in the stool and gratefully accepted the plate when Joe quickly produced it from under the counter. Wyatt felt unusually stiff, and stretched somewhat as he asked, “What do I owe you for it?”

Joe waved him off and replied, “Meh, buy a drink and we’ll call it square. You’re doing me a favor honestly. Wife will be pleased that someone ate her food.”

Wyatt smirked, thinking of his own wife, miles away in Central City. “Glad to oblige then. How ‘bout a stout then?”

Joe nodded approvingly and began pouring the ale out from the tap, “Comin’ right up.”

Now settled with a sandwich and pint of brew, Wyatt and Joe’s conversation petered out in favor of Wyatt’s quiet chewing. Joe moved back to his work and gazed absently at the viewscreen when an interesting story came up. Wyatt, not wanting to appear too interested in the news of Central City, only listened while he whittled away at his sandwich. He was hungry though, and the simple meal was quickly gone, so he leaned into the counter to sip on the ale, now glancing up at the viewscreen with veiled interest.

“Joe,” Wyatt spoke in a low gravely tone, “Anyone interesting come in lately lookin’ for the Seeker?”

Joe’s face screwed into a thoughtful frown, and he took a moment before answering, “No, but you want me to guide anyone if they do?”

Wyatt nodded slowly and replied, “Doing business with Ma DeMilo. Anyone looking for me specifically can go visit her. She’s selling a lot of my merchandise these days.”

Joe smiled and nodded, “I get ya. Doing things your own way now that the old man is retiring, huh?”

Wyatt chuckled knowingly, “Something like that. What do I owe you for the brew and the help?”

Joe waved him off again, “Keep it, Seeker. I feel mighty bad about that whole Airofday business. As long as you keep bringing me customers, I’m glad to share with ya some.”

Wyatt silently raised his glass to the man and continued to watch the viewscreen a while longer. As the lunch hour began to wind down and the morning turned to afternoon, patrons began to shuffle in a few at a time. Most were harmless and seemed more concerned with their drinks than in the other people at the bar. Wyatt maintained his discrete vigil at his stool, watching a recap of the previous week’s events in Central City while he passively listened to the chatter around him. After almost an hour of wincing at his own image on the screen, Wyatt was joined at the bar by another man.

Wyatt’s new companion was a gruff type that appeared to spend a good deal of time in the wilderness, judging by his heavily caked boots and layered clothing. Apart from his apparel, the man next to Wyatt had a few days of growth on his face, and dirt under the fingernails that he wrapped lightly on the bar while he waited for Joe to come back. Wyatt was getting quietly annoyed by the man’s impatience but held his ire by sipping on his drink and watching the viewscreen more intently. The man next to him, however, seemed interested in Wyatt more than the screen, and seemed to study him against the viewscreen while he waited.

Wyatt was becoming visibly uncomfortable by the time Joe appeared, grateful for Joe’s distraction as he asked the man politely, “Can I help you Mister?”

The man shook himself out of his comparisons between the man next to him and the Tin Man on the screen and turned to Joe in a gruff voice, “Yeah, I’m lookin’ for the Seeker. Ya seen ‘em?”

Wyatt turned to face the man with a grimace as Joe responded, gesturing to Wyatt with his towel, “There’s your Seeker, so do ya’ want a drink or not?”

The man seemed to ignore Joe’s question and shook his head in disbelief, “Naw, you’re that cop that married the Princess, ain’t ya?”

Wyatt began to shake his head but felt a familiar unease on the back of his neck as the man stood from his seat. As if by muscle memory alone, Wyatt jumped up from his seat, gun drawn at the man. “I ain’t no Prince.” Wyatt growled, eyes blazing.

“Hold on just a sec!” Joe bellowed raising his hands up in fear. He almost hollered at Wyatt but stopped short when the other man carefully placed his own firearm on the counter.

At that very moment, a new story blared across the viewscreen, drawing their attention away from each other:

Princess Dorothy and Sir Wyatt Cain have been steadily increasing their duties to the Realm in the past week, following the Queen’s announcement on Eclipse Day that the eldest Princess had been named the Heir Apparent.  This morning, the two met with the Counsel of Advisors and members of the Royal Army to discuss security concerns in the OZ. In attendance, seen here, were Princess Dorothy, Sir Cain, First General Peter Andrus, and Major General Jennifer Jinjur. It’s important to note that Sir Cain, himself, is a retired General of the Royal Army, as well as a member of the Tin Men, so he will have a lot to say on this topic.

Wyatt hid a smile at the image on the screen. You’re my hero, Glitch, Wyatt thought as he surveyed his own image on the screen. His decoy sat in a chair next to DG, opposite Peter and Jennifer, and was smiling at something being said by Peter.

At that moment, the news story changed, and the image of his staged meeting with the generals faded from view.  Simultaneously, Joe coughed and exclaimed defensively, “See, look. My friend here isn’t Sir Cain, and he certainly isn’t a cop. Now sit down and order something or get out!”

The man raised his hands in apology and sat down as he replied sheepishly, “Sorry Mister, you just have real unique eyes is all. Let me buy you a drink, okay?”

Wyatt replaced his gun in the holster and growled as he sat down. As he signaled to Joe, he asked the man, “Well, you’re not the first person to compare me to that stuffed shirt. So, what can the Seeker do for you?”

The man didn’t waste any time, and pulled his rucksack up from the floor, depositing it on the counter so he could rifle through it. “Well,” He replied thoughtfully, “I hear that you buy and sell unique items. I happened upon this on one of my trips south near the black hills.”

The man finally found what he was looking for and placed it gingerly on the counter between him and Wyatt. Wyatt had never seen the odd contraption before, but it looked distinctly “DG,” fitting in the palm of his hand, with a large needle on the top like a weathervane. It was somewhat reminiscent of a compass, but when Wyatt picked it up and turned in his seat, the needle remained motionless.

“Huh,” Wyatt spoke thoughtfully, as if to himself, “found yourself one of Antoine DeMilo’s wish finders, right?”

The man groaned and replied in slight exasperation, “Aw, not that old carpetbagger. Are you kidding me?”

Wyatt chuckled and handed it back to the man with a shrug, “Sorry pal, I’m afraid so. Tell you what though; I could use the parts if you’re willing to part with it.”

The man deposited the compass on the counter in disgust and sighed, “Yeah, I want that hunk out of my sack. What’ll you give me for it?”

Wyatt peered into his wallet, pulled out a few bills, and thrust them nonchalantly at the man, “Will this work for you?”

The man counted the bills quickly and nodded approvingly before shoving them in his shirt pocket, “Thank ya kindly, Seeker. I’m a bit embarrassed to tell you the truth. I normally have a pretty good eye, but I’ve been tricked by DeMilo’s junk before, that rascal.”

Wyatt laughed in reply and nodded, “Yeah, he’s like a bad penny. Good for a laugh though.”

The other man nodded with a smirk and guzzled his beer while Wyatt rose from his seat. With a tip of his hat to Joe, who was now on the other end of the bar, he looked down on his compatriot and sighed in false fatigue, “Well, I’ll be seeing you –“

“Name’s Silas Halsted, Seeker. Good to meet ‘cha. Sorry about the misunderstanding.” The man interrupted as he took Wyatt’s hand in a firm shake.

Wyatt returned the handshake, silently noting the man for future reference. “Well Silas, see you along the Old Road.”

Wyatt pocketed the compass and tipped his hat to Silas before turning to walk away. With two close calls in one day, Wyatt moved with more purpose now, ready to slip out of the Realm and under cover for the rest of the day. “No sense tempting fate,” Wyatt muttered darkly as he climbed the ladder and exited the trap door.

Chapter Text

Almost two days had passed before Artie reappeared in the Seeker’s hut. During that time, the three men had established other important details, and recounted them as they sat around the fireplace in growing evening on the second day.

“Dad,” Jeb spoke through the food he was working to swallow, “my contacts have been tailing Vizor this whole time. They always seem to lose him in the same place. It’s almost as if there’s a secret door hidden somewhere. They’ve searched everywhere in the area. There’s nothing.”

Wyatt gazed into the fire absently, his mind wandering over all of the information randomly, letting the puzzle pieces fall where they would. “We probably don’t want to take this fight to them anyhow. Too many unknowns,” he thought out loud.

Ahamo shifted his position on the ledge next to the fire and turned to prod at a log. As the log sparked in response to his poker, and the air hit the hot embers, the fire came back to life and lit the mens’ faces momentarily, making their eyes gleam mysteriously in the growing dark. Ahamo looked at Wyatt and Jeb thoughtfully as he puffed at his pipe and noted thoughtfully, “Wyatt, I think you had it right the first time. We’re going to have to draw them out. What did you find out from Ma DeMilo?”

Wyatt shook himself out of his thoughts and his eyes moved to Ahamo, and he huffed through his nose before replying huskily, “Vizor made contact just after we showed up. Predictably, she got him on the hook, fed him a line that it would take her some time to get what he was looking for. He’s supposed to be back to collect at the end of the week.”

“So, we’re just going to let him have the belt?” Jeb asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“No, we’re not,” A voice grumbled authoritatively behind them. The men swung around in surprise but eased at the sight of Artie stepping through the magic door and shutting it carefully behind him. As he sat down among them, the door behind him disappeared again, and he stowed the doorknob away in his pocket. As he settled into a comfortable position, Wyatt reached out to offer Artie a mug, which Artie gladly accepted, muttering a quiet “thanks” as his fingers wrapped around the warm vessel. Wyatt’s mouth twitched to hide an appraising smile as he watched the look of relaxation come over the round man while he sipped on his muglug, satisfied that he had done a decent enough job making stew with the scant ingredients available in the storeroom. Artie peered over the top of his mug and exclaimed approvingly, “Mr. Cain, you may have missed your calling, this is just as good as my mother’s!”

Wyatt nodded in appreciation and replied, “So what did you come up with Artie?”

Artie grunted through the stew in his mouth and hurriedly set down the mug, waving his finger as if to make them wait while he dug through the interior of his large bag. After a moment he produced two almost identical jeweled belts and handed them to the Consort first before taking his mug up again. Ahamo examined both belts and passed them on to Wyatt who compared the two, turning them into the firelight to examine the quality of the stones. The likeness of the reproduction was impeccable, and Wyatt was impressed.

“Looks pretty good, Artie, how did you manage it in such short time?” Wyatt asked as he handed the belts back to Artie.

Artie laughed knowingly, wagging a finger at Wyatt, “Never mind that, let’s just call it a perk of being caretaker to so many interesting items.” Artie admired his own work and then frowned somewhat as he verbalized the thought in his mind, “but if whoever is looking for this belt uses gemstones for payment, they probably won’t buy this copy. The jewels are little more than costume jewelry.”

Wyatt frowned. This friend of Vizor’s was an unknown quantity and Wyatt didn’t want to risk his getting a hold of such a powerful artifact, but the reproduction might scare them off before Wyatt and his associates could close in. “What we need is an honest thief,” Wyatt muttered thoughtfully, then meeting the expectant gaze of Artie, he continued more loudly, “We’re going to need to do a switch to pull this off. I bet I could get Ma DeMilo to help, but we’re still going to need the actual belt.”

Artie sighed and nodded with an almost expectant expression on his face, knowing that Wyatt was right. They’d have to let the target see the actual belt, and keep them at DeMilo’s stall long enough so they could close in. It was a risky idea, but there weren’t too many options in the short amount of time they had.

Having convinced Artie, Wyatt turned to Jeb, “Do you think you could make contact with the Royal Army? We’re going to need fast transport back to Central once we nab Vizor and his buddy.”

Jeb nodded. “I can probably get a transport lined up before the end of the week.”

Ahamo chimed in, pointing his pipe in Jeb’s direction, “Just tell them to keep a low profile. We don’t want to scare them off. I’ll make a visit to the livery stables tomorrow morning and see if I can arrange a quiet corner for a truck to hide in.”

“Well, I’ll go with you. Once we get that settled, I’ll send word,” Jeb uttered between sips of coffee.

Artie rose from his seat and stretched, “With that Gentlemen, I’m out for the time being. I’ll be back tomorrow so we can finish cementing our plans. Until then, the belt stays with me, if it’s all the same to you.”

Wyatt nodded as he stood and took Artie’s hand in a firm handshake. As he shook his hand, Wyatt suddenly remembered the item he had acquired in the tavern and stopped Artie mid-handshake. “Before you leave, I may have something you were looking for,” Wyatt spoke cryptically, and he released Artie’s hand to turn towards his duffle.

In a moment, Wyatt produced the compass, and placed it in Artie’s hands with a satisfied smirk. The look of mild curiosity plastered on Artie’s face melted away the instant the compass was laid in his palm, and Artie blustered giddily before he replied, “Chip off the old block after all, eh Seeker?” Ahamo and Wyatt exchanged a chuckle at this while Artie smiled. “Glad I can put this back where it belongs,” he continued while placing the compass in his bag.

With a final, amused shake of his head, Artie now silently swung around to the wall and disappeared through the door that had appeared in the wall behind him. Wyatt looked on as the door faded once again before turning around to meet the tired expressions of his son and father-in-law, suddenly feeling heavy with fatigue. The other men were visibly weary as well and sat listlessly around the fire. Sleeping on the ground had lost its nostalgic appeal already, and their mission had been taxing, and they all surveyed their surroundings with an air of silent defeat. All the same, they were all eager to stretch out the best they could and get whatever rest they could and moved from defeat to acceptance in quick succession.

Ahamo was the first to stand and strode past Wyatt as a yawn overtook him, and he struggled to speak through the yawn as he waved good night to Wyatt and Jeb, “Well guys, I’m spent. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Nite Sir,” Jeb waved sleepily.

“Good night,” Wyatt yawned almost as heavily.

Once Ahamo was gone, Jeb got up with a long stretch. Wyatt watched in mild curiosity as Jeb rolled up his sack and turned to his father with a tired smile. His hand paused on the ladder before he started to climb up, and he explained, “I’m going to sleep under the stars tonight if you don’t mind. I’m sure you could use a little time to yourself anyway.”

Wyatt sighed minutely while he scratched his now thick beard and nodded in silent agreement before finally waving to Jeb as he ascended the ladder. Now alone, Wyatt striped himself of his clothes, slowly, so as to stretch his sore muscles as he pulled his limbs through the arms of his shirt, then the legs of his overworn pants. A low, guttural groan barely escaped him while he pulled on a pair of sleep pants, and he sighed as he settled down on top of his bed roll. While one hand rested under his head, the other continued to scrub his whiskers thoughtfully, and he gazed up at the thatched stick roof while his thoughts meandered lazily. Since arriving at the Seeker’s hut, Wyatt had seldom had any time to himself, and even less time to passively take in his surroundings, but now that Wyatt allowed himself to stare at the thatched roof overhead, all he could think of was DG. As he studied how the light of the fire cast odd shapes on the walls and ceiling, he scoffed, imagining how the sights around him would have, no doubt, offered his spritely wife plenty of inspiration.

DG would find about a million things to paint based on this ceiling alone, he thought absently as the shapes waivered, and the crackling fire lulled him into a doze.

The thought of DG had tugged at him though, and Wyatt yearned for the comfort of her near him. He groaned and covered his eyes with the arm that had been behind his head, trying to black out the thoughts of DG that begun to haunt him in the late hours. After spending so much time locked up in that Iron suit, Wyatt had found that it was almost unbearable now to be devoid of human contact, and after the eclipse, he’d soon accepted the fact that it was DG’s contact that had the most effect on him. There was nothing Wyatt could do about it now but rest though, so he worked to clear his mind, breathing slowly in and out as he cleared his thoughts one by one. Although Wyatt’s nerves were slowly calming as he breathed deeply, his head did not clear. If anything, the images of DG came more readily now, and were so vivid that he felt as if he could reach out and grasp her rounded hips to pull her close to him. These kinds of thoughts continued to plague him, and Wyatt struggled with sleep, passing in and out of consciousness as the night wore on.

Elsewhere, DG was struggling to decipher the cryptic notes scrawled out on the scrap of paper in her hands. The princess chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully as she winced at the letters scrawled on the page held between her fingers, and she muttered the words over and over again like a mantra, desperate to memorize the contents and make some headway with its instructions. Finally, DG shoved the note back into the music box at her side and growled at the slippers, quietly muttering to them as her magic poured over them like water. Her eyes were shut tight while she concentrated her magic, until finally, as if sensing something, DG’s eyes popped open, and she eyed the shoes expectantly. When nothing happened, she groaned loudly and threw up her hands.

“Ugh,” DG grunted, falling back on the floor of her bedroom in frustration, “I don’t know if I can do this!”

DG was beyond tired, and her eyes burned. She had been sitting on the floor of her bedroom for hours, staring at her cursed slippers, having no idea how to make them do what she wanted. As the hours counted down and the moon’s rays began to bathe her in its light, she sighed at the bed across the floor from her position. She missed Wyatt desperately, and wanted sleep almost as much, but she felt compelled to succeed.

Ozma said that he could be in danger too. I have to get these things to work, DG pushed herself.

DG closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, determined to accomplish something now despite her fatigue.  She stretched her legs out in front of her as she steadied her breathing, simultaneously smoothing out the gauzy white gown that fell around her.

“You can do this DG, just clear your head,” DG muttered soothingly.

She was jittery though, and her magic buzzed around her weary limbs, making her feel somewhat intoxicated. This buzzing made it difficult for DG to settle her nerves, and she absently began tapping her shoes together, while she breathed; the soft tapping of the sides of her feet coming together taking on an almost meditative quality, like a metronome ticking away the beats of an unknown song. DG’s head was already swimming from the combination of fatigue and magical exhaustion, and the sound of her clicking feet seemed to drag her into a kind of trance that she struggled to maintain control of. Her body felt suddenly surrounded in crystal blue water, and the coolness of it gliding around her was so soothing and familiar that she grinned wide.

With her head suddenly clear, DG’s eyes snapped open, and she exclaimed brightly “Wyatt,” while simultaneously giving her shoes three firm clicks. In that instant, the room seemed pull as if in response, and wind howled around DG’s ears, making her temporarily lose her bearings. Were it not for her sitting on the floor, DG would have fallen, and it took her a moment to regain her balance when the spinning finally subsided.

The successful enchantment had sent DG into a twister-like spin and had had the unfortunate effect of stealing the air from DG’s body. Although motionless once more, DG’s heart was still pounding in her ears, and she struggled to find her balance. Her hands, once clasped to her ears to muffle the shriek of the wind, flew to her sides while she opened her eyes wide in astonishment. The room she now found herself in was dark, and in the inky darkness, she struggled to determine her location. Her hands felt fine dirt under them, and DG could only assume that she’d somehow left the palace, but without any real light, apart from a pile of coals burning low in a grate off to her left, she was at a loss.

“What kind of fresh hell have I gotten myself into this time?” DG admonished herself in a quiet whisper as she scrambled to her feet, hoping that a change in elevation might help her assess her predicament. As if in response, a coal in the grate now just before her popped loudly, causing the Princess to jump in fright and a surprised gasp to escape her lips. DG stopped herself and took a steadying breath before rolling her eyes in annoyance.

DG’s relief was only momentary, and a soft shifting behind her signaled a warning in her mind. A familiar click for what she could only assume was a firearm being readied and pointed in her direction caused her breath to leave her just as quickly as it had when the room had been spinning, and her eyes closed in defeat while she raised her hands in response to the noise.

“I was just wondering the same thing, Princess,” a gruff voice rumbled huskily behind DG, its familiar velvety timbre suggesting that the perceived danger was not as it seemed.

“Jesus Wyatt, give a girl a coronary, will you?” DG sighed in relief while she turned to face him, her face wearing a mask of both exhilaration and humor.

Wyatt’s outline was barely distinguishable from the rest of the darkness that seemed to swallow the room but judging from the exasperated sigh that emitted from him as he tossed the weapon on his bedroll and moved past her to the grate, she surmised that he was less than pleased with her sudden arrival. This realization was like being dunked headfirst into icy water, and DG’s mouth snapped shut as she waited for what would certainly be Wyatt’s ire. Wyatt seemed to relish making DG wait and took his time to rifle around near the grate until he finally found what he was looking for, and he grumbled incoherently as he threw a chunk of wood on the fire, making DG jump at the clattering his careless throw had caused. The wood was undoubtedly bone dry, and flames instantly erupted in the grate as a result, causing the warm glow to flare, throwing light on the barely dressed princess and the scowling lawman swinging around to face her.

Wyatt’s eyes were like hot coals all by themselves, and he seethed dangerously as he crept close to her, “Look who’s talking, DG, what the hell are you playin’ at?”

DG’s own temper flashed, and she began to argue, “Wyatt, I’m not playing at anything, I –“

“Damnit Dorothy, I could have shot you just now!” Wyatt erupted, his expression suddenly scared and hurt all at once.

In that moment, DG’s defensive stance melted, and her face fell as a she replied softly, “Oh, Wyatt, I’m sorry.” A fat tear welled up in her eye, and DG paused to swipe it away, sniffling as she continued, “but I had to find you.”

Wyatt’s jaw was set into a hard line, like he was fighting an internal battle to remain angry, but when DG crept closer to him, laying her hand on his bare chest, he sighed raggedly, and his body visibly unclenched. His arms encircled the princess standing before him, and he muttered roughly as he pulled her ever closer to him, “Oh Dorothy, I’m glad you’re here, you just scared me.” He paused in comforting DG, and he pushed her gently backwards to eye her night gown questioningly while he asked carefully, “now explain how you got here dressed like that.”

Any other time, DG would be happy to be so close to Wyatt, but now was not that time. Wyatt was clearly in “cop mode,” and eyed her expectantly, almost daring her to skirt the truth so he could squeeze it out of her somehow. Ordinarily, she found this trait of his almost endearing, and useful besides, but having it trained on her now presented a conundrum. How do tell him what’s going on without our enemies hearing us? Ozma said we were being watched, DG pondered quietly, chewing on her lip while she concentrated on her problem. It was only when Wyatt cleared his throat that DG’s concentrated frown turned on him, to see him folding his arms in growing impatience, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“DG,” Wyatt rumbled, “I’m waiting.”

DG huffed in annoyance, turning from Wyatt’s skeptical glare to pace while she thought out how to talk to her husband without giving away the farm. Wyatt looked on silently while his spritely wife worked out whatever was on her mind. He’d seen this reaction from her before, when they’d been searching for the emerald, and quickly accepted that while DG was probably not trying to be evasive, she seemed to struggle with how to talk to him. There was only one thing for it, he determined silently, quickly deciding to employ a tactic that he’d only discovered after beginning to court the slipper princess. His hands dropped at his sides as Wyatt huffed in amusement, and he stepped in DG’s path, earning an exasperated huff from the now irritated woman. Before she could balk at his intrusion though, his hands were on her shoulders, pulling her flush with him. Swiftly, his arms moved to encircle her, both to keep her from getting away, and to keep her physically pressed against him as he leaned down to press his lips against hers.

DG’s mind had been a confused jumble when Wyatt entered her space, and as much as she would have liked to chastise him for breaking her concentration, her brain seemed to turn into a puddle of goo when he reintroduced himself to her. While his lips demanded her attention, soft and supple against her own, the whiskers of his now-full beard tickled her pleasantly. Her curiosity grew exponentially at this, and her hands reached up to touch his face while their tongues still danced heatedly, finding the hair soft to her touch. Wyatt growled hungrily in response to DG’s touch, and although his arms tightened, his face moved away from hers, a sigh of defeat escaping him as his chin rested on her forehead.

While DG allowed her face to rest in the pale hairs of his chest, catching her breath from the long reintroduction, Wyatt whispered in a humored voice to her crown, “Better now, Princess?” DG waved a finger behind Wyatt’s back, and she smiled mischievously while she hummed in affirmation.  Wyatt’s distracted state slowly melted away then, with the realization that the crackling fire sounded suddenly muffled, and his own breathing amplified. The lawman smiled now, and moved his head only so he could tilt his wife’s upward with a flick of his index finger, and he held her chin lovingly as he pecked her lips, finishing with a murmur, “Is there a reason why you’ve put us in a bubble, Dorothy?”

“We’re being watched, Wyatt. I couldn’t tell you before.” DG explained, and she took a deep breath before she continued, the speed of her explanation increasing as her anxiety grew, “Az and I got these letters from Vizor and some other guy named Boulderstone, and they both knew things they shouldn’t, but you’d already gone and we couldn’t get word to you, and Ozma said that you could be in danger, so she taught me to enchant my slippers to get to you, and here I am.”

Wyatt’s hand, once on her chin, moved to DG’s head, and he stroked her hair soothingly while he tried to calm her gently, “Woah there, Darlin’ slow down.” He paused when DG trembled and his own anxiety grew when she burrowed into him for warmth in the already warm hut, and he held her closely as he worked out his growing concern. “Let’s deal with you tremblin’ first, Darlin’, I can’t have you shakin’ apart while we’re talkin’.”

DG nodded against Wyatt’s chest, and silently allowed him to lead her to his bunk, where he sat her down and wrapped a blanket around her. Only then did he climb into the alcove behind her, silently beckoning her to lay down with him. DG complied easily, finding the warmth of both the blanket and her husband both comforting and alluring, and while she nestled against him, she opened the blanket to let him in, humming contentedly at the feel his skin against her own shivering body. It took a few minutes for the shaking sensations to lessen, and DG’s rapidly fluttering heart to slow, but when it finally did, Wyatt resumed his gentle interrogation, prompting DG to continue almost as if he was asking her to tell him a story.

“Alright, Dorothy, why don’t you tell me all about it, starting with the letters you and Az got, and ending with how you ended up here in your nightgown, and don’t leave anything out.” Wyatt purred against DG’s hair, kissing her softly on her head and lulling her into the security of his presence.

While Wyatt’s calloused hand traveled up and down DG’s bare arm, infusing DG with both Wyatt’s warmth and a sense of reassurance, DG sighed the rest of her tension away. With a final sigh, DG nodded and began to relay the events of the past few weeks. Although DG’s nerves seemed to settle the more she described the events that her Tin Man had missed, Wyatt grew steadily more and more troubled. Not that anyone would have noticed, however, since his outward façade changed very little beyond his usual stoic expression that was now aimed at the roof of their small alcove. Besides a sharp intake of air at the mention of Boulderstone and Vizor’s barely veiled threats, and the events surrounding the music box, Wyatt’s demeanor changed very little. His eyes never left their vigil of the roof above them, in fact, until DG sat up and looked down on him, her expression anxious and urgent.

“Wyatt, you have to stop this mission. I mean, it’s obviously a trap. Promise me.” DG demanded forcefully, causing Wyatt to meet her eyes with his own deadly serious gaze as he sat up to look at her on equal ground.

“DG,” Wyatt replied, deliberately pushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear to give the appearance of intimacy, “I agree that we’re probably walking into a trap, but if I stop this now, you and Az will be in no less risk. If anything, probably more, because right now, their focus is on me. Not you.” DG’s mouth screwed into a skeptical frown, and she huffed through her nose before Wyatt continued. Wyatt was still trying to give unseen eyes the impression that they were having a very different conversation all together, and his hand, still on the shell of her ear, moved fluidly down DG’s neck as he shifted closer to her. When his lips were only inches from hers, he muttered quietly, “I need you to calm down now, Dorothy, you’re just about glowin’ with anger right now. Don’t want to give the wrong impression, do we?”

DG blinked in sudden understanding before meeting him the rest of the way, surprising him with her enthusiasm, which forced him back into a supine position, with his suddenly eager wife still peppering him with kisses. Wyatt couldn’t help but chuckle between DG’s kisses but knowing how quickly the situation could get out hand, his hands gently pushed against her shoulders, effectively signaling a cease-fire. “Slow down there, Darlin’,” Wyatt laughed, eliciting a wicked grin from his wife before she gladly complied, and laid back down on his chest.

“Alright, I get it Tin Man,” DG grumbled sardonically against his chest, before asking in a more serious voice, “but if you’re not quitting, what do you have in mind?”

Wyatt’s free hand went behind his head, and he sighed loudly at the ceiling while he weeded through his thoughts. This is all moving so fast, his mind warned him, and he had to remind himself that if he moved equally as fast, mistakes were bound to happen. Whoever Vizor’s new friend was, his name was certainly not Boulderstone. The way the letter had been worded, in concert with Ozma’s warning, led Wyatt to the firm conclusion that Boulderstone was an alias for a much older and much more dangerous foe than even the Sorceress, and the hairs on Wyatt’s neck stood on end at the possibilities. He seemed to know DG’s namesake personally, and he didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the fact that DG was only distantly related. Ozma’s concern was equally puzzling, leading Wyatt to the quick conclusion that the two were somehow linked.

“Well, I hate to admit it, but I think you’ve got a good plan, Princess.” Wyatt admitted, continuing, “chiefly, Vizor and his buddy don’t know anything about it. I think we keep movin’ along with things as we’ve already both decided and play along until we get Vizor to the palace, but that’s where it gets tricky.” Wyatt stopped to work out the next phase of his developing plan, which seemed suddenly stubborn in its consent to form, and he added in a forceful whisper, “I just need you and Az to be ready by the time I get there, and don’t let those slippers out of your sight for nothing, do you understand me?”

DG nodded, adding quietly, “We’ve got a few details to wrap up, since I keep getting worn out, but I’m positive we’ll be ready.”

With that settled, Wyatt continued to work out the puzzle of how Ozma, Boulderstone, and DG’s unusual pregnancy were linked. It couldn’t be a coincidence, he thought, which troubled him deeply and made him all the more protective of the small woman in his arms. Then DG began to tremble again, drawing Wyatt quickly out of his thoughts. His arms wrapped around her, and he pulled the blanket to cover her completely, asking worriedly, “DG, you’re shaking again. What’s going on? You could stay outside for hours in the snow in nothing but your pajamas and a little breeze has you shaking apart? What’s going on?”

DG burrowed her face in his chest, and her teeth clattered when she answered in a muffled voice, “It’s the baby, Wyatt, she’s draining me. I’m not sure how, and mother is obnoxiously tight-lipped about it. All she’s said is that I should try to do as little magic as possible until after she’s born.”

Wyatt’s face morphed from mild concern to near frantic horror, and he struggle to maintain his composure when he asked in a strained whisper, “and you thought using magic to get here would be okay? DG, what were you thinking?”

DG craned her neck so she could see him, and she answered reassuringly, “That’s why Ozma showed me how to enchant the slippers. I only used magic to enchant them. I’m only chattering because of the bubble I put up.”

“Well, since we’ve covered everything, I think you can take it down now, don’t you?” Wyatt chided her, the voice sounding somewhat sarcastic, if not for the edge of worry in it.

DG’s only reply was a flick of her finger, causing the air to change, like coming out of an Otherside airplane, and the crackling of the fire suddenly resumed; the sound of crickets outside became apparent, and wind whistling through the hole in the roof sighed its hello. “There,” DG stated through a yawn, “better?”

Wyatt softly kissed the crown of Dorothy’s head, and he replied in a murmur, “Not quite. Not until you get a little shut-eye.” DG looked up and scoffed quietly, causing Wyatt to continue more forcefully, “You’re not going anywhere just yet Princess. Not until I know you’re okay. Consider it a request from your worried husband, okay?” With that he reached up and planted a soft kiss on DG’s pouted lips, causing her to instantly relax, mewling against his mouth as he repositioned her with her back on the bed.

Although Wyatt’s only intent had been to get DG to lay down, his hands seemed to have a mind of their own and responded automatically to the Princess’s leg as it climbed the outside of his thigh. His hand traveled up the smooth skin of her calf, pushing the gauzy fabric of her gown ever-upward as it traversed the landscape of her leg, until rested on the soft mound of her backside. His fingers flexed and squeezed the softness of her skin, causing DG to moan into his mouth. Their kiss became exponentially more feverish as Wyatt’s exploration continued, and by the time his hand stopped on her posterior, DG had forgotten her fatigue almost completely. Wyatt too, seemed to forget, but only for a moment. When he did remember, it was with a groan into the hollow of his wife’s neck, where he placed another soft kiss before rolling over and pulling her on top of him.

“Let’s not start somethin’ we can’t finish, Darlin,’” Wyatt murmured against DG’s hair, to which DG answered with a sigh and a reluctant nod.

“Yeah,” DG answered finally through a yawn, “can’t have the old man catching us making out in his living room. Such as it is.”

DG yawned again, and Wyatt smiled, finding the notion of getting caught by her father both absurd and troubling all at the same time. The fact that he was a grown man, but yet still so concerned with what her father might do if he caught them together, made the man laugh at himself. The moment of levity was enough at least to calm the Tin Man, and he sighed again before closing his eyes, and pulling his beloved wife into the circle of his arms.

Chapter Text

Wyatt woke with a start in the early hours just as the suns were peaking over the horizon. The fire in the grate had long since burned down to faintly crackling coals, and the warmth of its burning had cooled with the damp morning air. The room was shrouded in almost complete darkness, apart from a faint light creeping minutely upwards in intensity from the hole in the roof. In the faint light, Wyatt could just make out DG’s form nestled against him, and seeing her eyes still closed in slumber, he decided to remain silent, wanting to keep her close for a bit longer. Wyatt remained still for a moment more, listening for the telltale sounds of morning, but all was still, apart from the occasional sleepy twitter of a bird and the gentle breathing of his wife. DG’s small body was so warm against his, her soft skin like smooth porcelain under his rough hand as it moved in slow strokes on her upper arm and back. All he wanted in that moment, was to soak up as much time with Dorothy as possible, and forget their individual tasks, so dangerous and filled with uncertainty. The cold air filling the room was like a harbinger though, stifling the warmth of the dying fire with its dewy chill, and if something was not done soon, the remaining embers in the grate would be completely stifled. It wasn’t unlike what he and DG had spoken of the night before – and although capturing Vizor was still paramount, he only figured minutely in the much larger picture, which was just now coming into focus. Wyatt had always assumed that behind Vizor lay a larger foe, but he’d never considered anything beyond this until last night. The introduction of a very real and very concerned Ozmanian goddess into their personal affairs could only mean one thing: all parties, both menacing and otherwise, seemed to be under the impression that at least one of the princesses was due to become the mother of a very special child, one that was prophesized to bring about a new golden age in the OZ. DG’s unusual pregnancy complications seemed to indicate that their daughter stood the greatest potential. Not that any of this mattered to Wyatt. To him, his child would be special regardless of who she grew to be, but the suggestion that she could be some sort of savior only increased his overall discomfort. What he thought didn’t amount to much now; there were others who were intent on harming her and her mother at the mere suggestion that she might be some reincarnated Queen, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

Wyatt’s quiet pondering wouldn’t have so much as disturbed a mouse, but it was not so noiseless to a certain Princess. DG could never accurately describe it to Wyatt when he’d asked (in mild irritation), but she had always known when he wasn’t asleep. Even when they’d been nothing more than mere acquaintances, trudging through OZ on a quest for the Emerald, she could simply hear him. At the time, now over two annuals past, it had been a somewhat disquieting notion that she might be somehow inexplicably linked to him. She barely knew him, after all, and what she did know was that he was a widower, and more than a little annoyed with her chipper attitude about the whole affair. All the same, the air was different when Wyatt slept. There was a certain calm that purveyed, almost like being wrapped in a warm blanket. When he was awake, however – when all else was still, and the suns were slow in their arrival – she could swear that she could almost hear the discomfit in the tempo of his breathing, and certain noises he made only came with being awake when he shouldn’t be. A strained throat clearing, followed by a low, guttural growl would come moments after the changed tempo of his breathing. DG waited, with her eyes still shut – he hadn’t cleared his throat yet, but the intentional stillness of his body meant it was bound to happen at any moment.

I’ll just stay right here. He’s probably chewing on some problem he doesn’t want to talk about yet anyway, DG thought absentmindedly. She nestled more snuggly into the crook of Wyatt’s arm, letting the hairs of his chest tickle her nose as she breathed in his essence. Come on, Tin Man, I know growly Wyatt is coming any moment, DG thought, getting more and more impatient with the growing minutes. When he remained silent, and stubbornly still besides the occasional caress, DG knew he was really troubled, and sat up, looking down on him blearily.

“Okay Wyatt,” DG grumbled huskily, swiping her wild curls out of her face as she spoke, “What gives? Spit it out now.”

That seemed to break the tension in Wyatt’s body, and even in the faint light, she could see a slow smile spread on his face. “How long were you awake?” He scoffed good-naturedly.

DG shrugged noncommittally, smirking while she answered, “Does it matter? I knew you were awake, but I didn’t count on you brooding all morning.”

Wyatt chuckled at this, and in reaching for his wife to drag her back down, he turned them so he could lean over her. A slow, soft kiss was DG’s reward for her sage knowledge of his inner workings, and they both laughed quietly in parting, only to be quieted by Wyatt’s soft voice, so close to DG while he gently placed his hand on her modestly round belly, “I was thinking of my girls, not gonna apologize for that.”

A flush rose on DG’s cheeks, and she raised her hand to Wyatt’s bearded face and stroked it lovingly, answering as her eyes fluttered and focused on his, “We’re both fine Wyatt, I promise, and neither you nor me will let anything happen. You know that, right?”

Wyatt laid back down, letting out a puff of defeated air as he went. That’s the trouble, he thought, I don’t.

It was DG’s turn to lean over him now, and she stroked his beard soothingly, her eyes worried and pained as she spoke, “Hey Tin Man, if we can defeat a scary witch and save the OZ, this’ll be a cakewalk.”

Wyatt’s clouded countenance cleared somewhat, and his lip twitched when he responded in a near whisper, “I know what you’re doin’ Dorothy, and I can’t really argue with you. Seein’ that it worked the first time.” His smile widened, and he opened his arm for her, and with a jerk of his head he added, “Come’er Princess. Lay down with me a little while longer. That’ll do a lot more than any pep talk.”

DG compiled willingly and nestled back into the crook of Wyatt’s arm with a contented sigh. “I wish we could just stay like this,” She grumbled sweetly, her fingers playing with the curls of his chest hair. When her hand moved, turning its attention on his beard, where she scratched at him like he was some kind of overgrown housecat, Wyatt’s chin tilted upward almost involuntarily, and his eyes closed while he relished her attentions. DG grinned, and chuckled impishly in response to Wyatt’s reaction, only to laugh even harder when he groaned in response to her unexpected cessation.

“You’re too easy, Tin Man. Who knew that behind that grouchy frown was a cuddly teddy bear? No wonder Raw kept smirking behind your back after I gave you that first hug all those years ago. Made you all gooey inside, didn’t it?” DG teased him mercilessly.

“I don’t know what you mean, Princess,” Wyatt rumbled, chuckling while he turned his wife back over.

His eyes sparkled down on his wife, and he tenderly brushed the hair out of her face as he smiled on her. When he was done smoothing her hair, he let his hand rest on her belly, and his leaned down to brush his lips against hers, only stopping to do the same to his unborn daughter. DG looked on with misty eyes, her chest feeling as if it would burst from the sweetness of that moment, and the aching bitterness of knowing it had to end soon. Wyatt felt this too, but for all his knowledge, he seemed relatively oblivious. In truth, he was intent on showering his wife and child with as much attention as he could, knowing that the coming day would prove dangerous. Even if he was now relatively certain that he was needed by their enemies as a kind of handler, and would be more useful alive than not, it meant bringing the danger home with him, and that only made the pit in his stomach grow all the more faster.

When Wyatt returned from his attentions on DG’s belly, he looked down into DG’s eyes, and caressed her face as he asked in a quiet, wavering voice, “Are you ready to go back?”

DG bit her lip and nodded, the smile quickly fading from her face to be replaced by a look of earnestness, “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Wyatt sat up entirely now, and he clambered out of the bunk so he could help DG, and in reaching out to her, he pulled her to her feet with gentle firmness. DG quickly wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck, wanting to embrace him one last time before she allowed the room to spin and change once more. “I love you Wyatt. Come home soon, okay?” She muttered against his body, which squeezed her with equal affection.

“I will, Princess, just be ready for the fireworks, okay?” Wyatt replied with a final squeeze before he stepped back, eyeing her with a raised eyebrow in silent confirmation of their secret plans.

DG nodded and gave him one last, sweet peck on the lips before she stepped back herself and offered him a jaunty salute and waiting until he smirked back at her before shutting her eyes. It was difficult to get the image of Wyatt out of her mind, but imagining their quarters brought her a sense of belonging that she had been previously anxious for Wyatt to see. It made it easier to complete her task at least, and she let her mind fill with images of the lovingly painted sitting room, with a warm fire crackling in the fireplace and a cup of coffee steaming on the coffee table, just waiting for her. With these images planted firmly in her mind, DG smiled as she stated “home,” and clicked her heels resolutely.

Wyatt watched with anticipation as DG commanded her shoes, and his eyes widened as she swung away, peeping out of existence while her body spun in a tight circle, her pale nightgown sweeping around her like a magical mist, until she was gone. Wyatt rubbed his forehead, feeling a bit dazed by what he’d just seen, and oddly at peace given the unexpected nature of DG’s visit and what she had relayed to him. A smile crept over his face as he thought of DG and how she had looked in the low firelight, and how she had felt to him when they awoke in the morning. The thoughts that had awoken him were sobering enough, however, and he quickly shook himself free of the fog in his head. With a determined huff, the ruffled man moved to rebuild the fire, feeling all at once that as welcome as the evening and morning had been, there was much to do before he could see his princess again. The other men would be waking soon, and they would need an earlier start than him. So, Wyatt assigned himself to KP duty, setting a kettle and making breakfast over the fire; hearing the sounds of rustling growing around him as the others began to stir and come nearer to joining him in the common room.

Never enamored with idle pondering, Wyatt moved as if in a trance, absently resetting the fire and preparing breakfast as he considered the chess game coming into focus before his mind’s eye. Despite DG’s warning that he was being played as a pawn, Wyatt felt less than certain that he knew what the true endgame was after all. Wyatt had initially considered Vizor’s appearance in Central City a ploy, meant to draw Wyatt out. Then, playing on DG’s well-known inability to stay out of danger, one would only assume that their enemies’ letters to the Princesses were meant to bring DG into their grasp.

“Can’t be right,” Wyatt grumbled quietly to the fire, poking it with a piece of iron, thoughtful frown carved into his face, and he continued internally, If it was, this whole thing would be over by now. DG would have been grabbed the second she hit this hut, and I’d probably be dead.

The more Wyatt thought about it, the more Wyatt decided that the Princesses were only part of the overall scheme, but what the rest of it entailed, Wyatt could not yet determine. With a low growl in the back of his throat, Wyatt silently determined that the Princesses were definitely still in peril, judging by the introduction of Ozma onto the gameboard. It didn’t seem relevant whether or not DG and Azkadellia’s deaths were the primary goals of Boulderstone and Vizor, but Wyatt could see no other way forward than what he and DG had decided the night before. Until he knew better, he only had one move to play, and it was that of the pawn. Meanwhile DG would be that of the Queen, sweeping in with almost divine right in her judgement of the pieces that fell around her. He only hoped that their individual moves would not leave DG exposed and the game mated to a fatal end.

Wyatt pushed his uneasiness aside mentally, while loudly popping the tension out of his neck and shoulders with a swift jerk, ending in a growly rumble that would intimidate even the hungriest of papay. Having accomplished this, Wyatt made one final decision before the others arrived; it would do no good to tell any of his accomplices about DG’s visit, nor would it change anything if he warned them about their potential spies. Better to keep to their established plan, he finally decided, keeping any changes to the itinerary so minute or so covert that one listening in would be none the wiser. Wyatt grimaced at this thought and poked so hard at the fire that he sent of spray of glowing ash upwards, and he leaned back away from the spray in irritation with himself.

“Gesh Dad, bad night?” Jeb announced himself, his otherwise sarcastic tone tinged with a hint of worry.

Wyatt glanced sideways at the form of his son coming off the ladder and risked a look in his son’s eyes. The look in the young man’s eyes was one he’d probably given others in his own command many times before. The kid could read the room, which probably made him one hell of a commander in the resistance, Wyatt thought absently, causing his serious façade to finally crack.

A faint smile formed on Wyatt’s face, and he answered as he poured Jeb a cup of coffee, “Do I look that bad?”

Jeb shrugged as he sat down on the ledge with his mug, sipping it before he finally replied, “Naw, knowing you, instead of bolting, you’ll probably lead the charge.” A lighthearted scoff escaped Wyatt, and he smiled paternally to himself before Jeb’s next observation wiped it clean away, “Just thought I saw a skeleton peak out of your closet, that’s all.”

Wyatt took a long swig of his coffee, relishing the hot liquid in almost masochistic pleasure before admitting with a bitter grimace, “You’re probably right, Jeb. I’m just worried about DG. I don’t like the feeling of her being put in danger. All feels little too close to repeating history, is all.”

Thankfully for Wyatt, whatever reply Jeb might have offered was abruptly cut off by Ahamo’s entrance, loud as it was since he was mid-yawn as he entered the room. The volume of Ahamo’s yawn seemed to increase as he reached for the ceiling, and he dropped his arms unceremoniously the moment he approached the outer reaches of his abilities. A lopsided smile spread as he approached the fire, and he nodded in quiet thanks to Wyatt when the man handed him a steaming mug. It wasn’t until he’d taken a few sips of coffee that he finally spoke, and when he did, his voice sounded oddly cheerful given the nature of their tasks in the coming days.

“I don’t know about you boys, but I slept so well, I feel like I could take on the entire Eastern Guild. That bunk is almost as good as being back home with my own wife.” Ahamo joked to Wyatt and Jeb, winking covertly to Wyatt over the top of his mug.

Wyatt had not missed the Consort’s suggestive expression, but he only stared blankly at him over his own mug, answering seriously after he downed the rest of his beverage, “I don’t know about taking on munchkins, but I’ll settle for getting this done.” Wyatt passed out breakfast rations and continued with a commanding question, “You both ready?”

Jeb nodded through a chew, and Ahamo continued to grin while he shrugged, sounding defeated by Wyatt’s refusal to answer as he’d wished, “We have our marching orders, General.” His voice became more serious, and a paternal tone purveyed when he added with his own question, “You alright, son?”

Wyatt could not pretend to be anything less anxious than he was, especially with these men, who were just as invested in achieving their goal as he was. Family was the order of the day, and although unspoken, all had accepted the fact that their families were now one, and both bound to the same outcome, for better or worse. So, although uncomfortable with such outright displays of emotion, Wyatt answered with a resigned sigh, “I’m just ready to get back to DG. Can’t shake the feeling that I’m a damned chess piece, and I don’t like being away from her.”

Jeb and Ahamo did not need to be told, feeling similarly manipulated by the entire situation, and both nodded, barely even uttering a word before they finished their meager breakfasts and climbed out of the hut. Wyatt observed that they all seemed to be feeling time creeping up, and the serious nods in farewell exchanged among them before Jeb and Ahamo climbed the ladder were all the confirmation he needed. Alone once more, Wyatt resumed his pondering, and he was so consumed with this train of thought, that he barely registered cleaning up from breakfast and dousing the fire. He did not shake himself lose until climbing the ladder himself, now set on going to the Realm of the Unwanted on his own and securing his honest thief. The thought of chess moves made Wyatt pause on the ladder however, and he made the sudden decision that even if he had accepted being Boulderstone’s potential pawn in transporting Vizor within Azkadelia’s reach, there was no reason to hand the Belt of Roquat over to him at the same time. Wyatt stepped down swiftly now, and swiped a sheet of paper and pen from the mantle before scribbling a quick note:

Artie, need additional decoy. Bring with you tonight. I’ll return them all to you after operation complete. Beware Benedict Arnold. - WC

Wyatt prayed that his short stint on the Otherside had helped his use of code, and that Artie would understand Wyatt’s request for discretion without any further explanation beyond his vague reference to the revolutionary spy of American history. As Wyatt folded the page and propped it in front of the lamp for Artie to find, his mind raced, and his heart thudded with a sudden cautiously hopeful thought. Alright Artie, he thought with a grim, prayer-like expression on his face, don’t fail me now.

Wyatt shut his eyes momentarily now and let out a metered breath as he turned on the lamp to signal the curator. Then, with a fluid twist, he turned back to the ladder and climbed up and away without waiting for the man to appear, being reminded by his own warnings to Artie that every move he made now stood the potential of being cataloged by their opponents. It was unlikely that they’d be watching Artie, however, so it would be best if they were not seen together when Artie discovered Wyatt’s note.

Now above ground, Wyatt strode through the rocky terrain towards his destination, finally finding some opportunity to enjoy the quiet progression of the natural world around him as he moved. His quiet stroll through the trees gave him the chance to reflect further, and he found his thoughts steadily coming back to the warning growing in his mind after DG’s appearance. As important as this mission was in securing the future of the Gale line, Wyatt’s urgency was driven by something much more personal. The events of prior evening had reminded the Tin Man of his greater purpose; the only one that had ever mattered to him; DG. The movements of Vizor on their own were barely more than an annoyance, but the reason for his search for the Belt of Roquat was far from benign, and he could feel growing danger lurking in the shadows not unlike the menace presented by the Sorceress. The move on the princesses is only beginning, he reasserted with a grim sigh. His thoughts were interrupted by the ground leveling out, and Wyatt soon found himself entering a pasture, causing him to put aside his pensive posture. Wyatt cleared his mind and screwed his face back into a grim line as he trod into the high grass, now aiming straight for the trap door in the center of the field. As he reached for the trap door, his thoughts landed firmly on DG for a moment, and he wondered whether she’d successfully reappeared in Central City after leaving him. He raised his eyes to the quickly brightening sky for a fraction of a second, praying one last time for her safety and remembering the color of her sky-blue eyes before submerging himself underground.

DG had indeed reached their quarters unharmed, and without ever being missed, to her extreme delight. The Princess had a habit for sleeping in, after all, so being that the suns had barely begun their rise, none would dare to trouble her yet. DG glided over to the open balcony windows the moment she spun into existence, peeping outside to take stock of the world around her. The cloudless sky was a sort of misty lavender blue, with a hint of burnt orange where the suns were beginning their rise. An errant bird flitted about the tower a few levels below her window, heralding the morning to the occupants below with his cheerful tune, making even DG smile despite the serious turn of her mind since waking. DG had been pegged by essentially her entire family, now inclusive of the grumpy Tin Man and the absent-minded advisor, as being almost obnoxiously optimistic in the face of unsurmountable challenge. Today was no different in most respects, but DG’s growing experience with dangerous enemies gave her a healthy dousing of caution that had not been there when she first appeared in the OZ. DG’s greatest strength lie in her ability to compartmentalize, enabling her to focus on the individual steps in their plan, and what she still needed to do to accomplish her part. While she stood before the balcony doors, her mind drifted away from that friendly bird and his similarities to herself, to what she would need to do in the coming days. She chewed on her lower lip absently while she mentally calculated the steps, until she finally shook herself free and stepped away from the doors.

I’ve got a lot to do, DG reminded herself, aiming first for her vanity, where she reached determinedly for her hairbrush. She began to brush out the wildness of her curls with furious intent, still focused on her goals for the day. Then, as if being smacked in the nose with sudden inspiration, DG dropped her brush and stared at her reflection with a quizzical eye. How have they been watching us, and how can we get past it? She questioned her reflection, a thoughtful frown forming the longer she stood frozen.

Then, as if Ozma herself had heard her, her mind suddenly replayed the deity’s warning to her. Their enemy enjoyed using enchanted items to toy with his opponents. It only made sense, then, that however Boulderstone had managed to spy on them, he’d done it employing less-than conventional means. He’d been proud of himself, judging by the tone of his letter, finding twisted joy in relaying to DG the most secret aspects of her personal life. What was more, he’d made mention of both Ozma and Dorothy almost as if he’d known them personally, so DG reasoned that whatever artifact he might be employing might have existed during Ozma’s reign. It was a start, anyway, giving DG a place to begin in determining a way around Boulderstone’s advantage.

“To the Batcave!” DG burst out excitedly, grinning as she ran from the vanity and into her dressing room.

Elsewhere, Wyatt picked his way down the crowed subterranean avenue, determined grimace plastered on his face. Every inhabitant within the Realm seemed to act as an obstacle today, though, and the Tin Man found his overall progress maddeningly slow and aggravating. When he finally eased up to DeMilo’s counter, Wyatt found the need to check himself, feeling that the grimace on his face might spook the woman, and undermine his goal. Wyatt shook his head minutely and strategically allowed a humorous image of Antoine DeMilo to enter his mind, and a slow smile spread jauntily on his face. Now confident that he was in the right mind frame, the Tin Man cleared his throat at the woman’s back in signal and waited patiently for her to acknowledge him.

Ma DeMilo had not heard Wyatt’s approach, and almost jumped out of her skin when Wyatt’s deep voice purred behind her, “How’s business today, Mrs. DeMilo? Any interesting visitors?”

Ma DeMilo whirled around, her lips pursed in irritation, “Business is slow, and no, I haven’t seen your little friends today.” Although she continually eyed Wyatt with overt irritation, her manner softened when Wyatt spoke or smiled, belying the fact that she secretly liked the man standing in front of her.

Wyatt grinned in response to the woman, finding humor in her salty expression. “Aw come on, it can’t be all that bad. What if I told you that I could help you make a big score?”

Ma DeMilo’s expression softened, and she leaned on the other side of the counter, “I’m listening.”

“Well,” Wyatt began, eyes shifting from side to side to be sure they were alone, “I think I’ve got a lead on that belt that Vizor was asking about. I could have it here for you before they show up again, but there’s a catch.”

Ma Demilo snorted, “Ha, there’s always a catch with your type. Badge or no badge, but out with it, what is it?”

Wyatt leaned closer to the woman, close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheek, and he spoke in a suggestive purr, “I need you to pull a bait and switch at the end. They can’t leave your stall with the real deal. Got it?”

Ma DeMilo considered for a moment as her eyes searched the top edges of her stall. Finally, her eyes fell back on Wyatt, and she growled back, “Let’s just say I do this for you, Seeker, what do I get that’s better than what he can offer?”

Wyatt smiled a true smile now, knowing he had won, and his eyes sparkled as he spoke, “I can pay you at least as much as he could, but probably more. More importantly, I can make your son look really good to the girls so you can get those grandbabies you’ve been complaining about not having.”

Ma DeMilo chortled in response as she wagged a finger at him, “You’ve got me Seeker. I’m in. Just have them both here tomorrow morning. I expect to have company by the afternoon, so don’t be late.”

Wyatt nodded, flashing her a smile as he tipped his hat, and faded back into the crowd from whence he came.  Ma DeMilo watched Wyatt fade off, fighting the blush on her cheek. That bearded man might have probably been her son’s age, but she’d have shrugged off motherhood and the possibility of grandchildren for that smile or a flash of his blue eyes.

When Wyatt returned to the hut, he was greeted by his son and Ahamo, who had relit the fireplace in preparation for the slow crawl towards the next stage in their plan. Wyatt threw his hat down on his bedroll as he stepped down off of the ladder, scrubbing the back of his neck in agitation. He’d formed quite a relationship with the consort in the past few annuals, and the sudden lack of communication brought on by DG’s intel made him intensely uncomfortable. He huffed through his nose, as he sat down on the ledge, feeling somewhat like a caged animal while he when straight to relieving his feet of their confinement, shoving his boots to the side as he pried them off.

“How’d it go dad?” Jeb asked as he handed his father a plate of food.

Wyatt took it willingly and hung onto it uneaten as he responded, “Ma DeMilo’s in. They’re set to show up tomorrow afternoon, so I need to get the belt to her before then. Once the belt hits her custody, I need all hands on the square, we need to make sure that that belt doesn’t go anywhere.”

Ahamo and Jeb nodded in agreement, and Jeb added, “I left word with my contact to get a truck here by morning, but my guess is, they’ll probably be here sooner than that.”

 Ahamo cut in, giving Wyatt and Jeb a smirk, “Also, the stableman is ex-resistance, as it turns out. He’ll be more than happy to put up a transport for the night.”

“Yeah,” Jeb scoffed, “I might have mentioned that in my note to the army. Once they hit the settlement, they know to head straight there and wait for our orders.”

Wyatt gave both men a tired nod, and he swallowed down his own urge to fill them in on his part of the plan. Although it appeared that their plans seemed to be lining up, a voice in the back of his head that sounded somewhat like DG niggled at him, reminding him that this was generally where things started to go wrong. Keeping everything under his hat was burdensome, and the constant awareness of having an audience caused an almost debilitating exhaustion to creep up on him, so he leaned against the wall in almost involuntary deflation, and he shut his eyes in an attempt to cancel out all of the worries floating around in the back of his head. His breath slowed while he emptied his mind, and without meaning to, Wyatt drifted off, his mind wandering back to his wayward princess all the while.

Chapter Text

DG’s mind had been wholly occupied with outfoxing their newest enemies and had taken to locking herself into the library for hours of the day, alternating between research and practical application of her light until she very nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Whilst Wyatt was drifting off leagues to the south, DG mirrored her spouse, having dozed off herself while flitting through a heavy tome of Ozian history. The massive volume, dusty with annuals of abandonment within the royal library, was still perched precariously on her trouser-clad lap as she snoozed, her cheek resting on her hand as if she had fallen asleep while gazing absently at the fire that still crackled in the grate off to her left. Her enchanted slippers had been discarded at some time after the Princess had taken to the overstuffed chair and had been carefully pushed underneath the seat. Her bare feet flexed in her sleep, digging deeper into the cushion when her expression darkened, and apart from DG’s furrowed brow, which denoted a certain amount of inner tumult, the Princess was the picture of comfortable repose. From the soft creamed colored sweater that framed her in a warm glow to the relaxed position she and her book maintained, the Princess inspired a certain amount of quietude in her state and had been left to doze by her ever-watchful guard, who stood sentry outside the door in case anyone should try to disturb her. Gates had not counted on Azkadellia, however, and allowed her past only to groan internally when the Princess closed the door behind her rather abruptly, causing DG to jump with a start, and the book in her lap to fall to the floor with a resounding clap.

DG spun around in her seat, craning her neck around the edge of the seat to stare wide-eyed at her intruder, finding Azkadellia standing just before the door, smirking wickedly. “Seriously Az, are you sure it was just Malfalba that was sadistic? Or did you provide your own input from time to time?”

Azkadellia pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose as she gave DG a simpering smile, her eyes narrowed in sisterly irritation at her sister’s jab. “Just thought you needed a wake-up call, is all.” Azkadellia replied sweetly when her face cleared, and she added as she swept around DG’s seat to the chaise directly opposite her, “How’s the studying going? Learning anything new about Ozian history?”

DG inched forward in her seat and stretched down to retrieve the book from the floor, answering all the while with a sigh, “Oh sure. I learned that reading Ozian history makes for a better sedative than any cup of chamomile. I don’t think I got past one chapter before I fell asleep. Thanks for assigning the light reading, sis.”

Azkadellia smirked while she picked at her dress, asking wordlessly, her gaze still cautiously turned away from DG, “Did you manage to find clues as to how we’re being watched? Anything from Ozma or before?”

DG appeared to resume her reading, answering back, her voice grumbling quietly in her sister’s head, “No, I didn’t. Most of these books paint an obnoxiously rosy picture of Ozian history, like nothing bad has ever happened here. Is there a restricted section, or something, where I might learn more about Ozma’s enemies?”

DG’s eyes lifted from the page momentarily as Azkadellia stretched leisurely, rising from her seat at the end of her stretch to stroll over to a shelf, where she scanned slowly. When she found what she was looking for, she pulled the book with relish, and spun on her heel to face her sister, announcing with almost wicked sadism, “Well, if you’re all done with that one, try this one next. True light reading this time. You’re welcome.” In DG’s head she added thoughtfully, “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. No one has ever been too fond of pointing out the negative points in our history, except maybe to scare the pants off a squirrely kid.”

DG took the small book from her sister’s hands, skeptical eyebrow raised, and she laughed when she read the title. Printed in archaic, golden letters above a faded cartoonish illustration of their forebearer cowering in the shadow of a one-eyed, gruesome looking witch, read “A Fairy’s Tales: Witches, Wizards, and Wars of the Outer Zone.”

“Fairy tales, Az? Really?” DG scoffed outwardly while trading the more massive volume with her sister.

Azkadellia graciously accepted the abandoned tome and turned to redeposit it on the shelf, replying with a dry laugh, “Fairy tales are no joke, little sister. Tutor never let me anywhere near them until I’d mastered some of the basic pictograms of the ancients.” She frowned at the thought and glanced at her sister before muttering, “Not that it did me any good though.”

Azkadellia dropped back down on the chaise with a heavy sigh, giving DG the chance to answer sadly, “Yeah, I probably could have used a little scaring before I dragged you into that creepy cave.” Her eyes turned down onto the book now in her hands, and a worried expression clouded her otherwise glowing face when she offered silently, “I just hope it’s not too late this time. Thanks Az.”

DG’s eyes flicked up shyly on Azkadelia, noting how her hand rested contentedly on her modestly round belly, encased in the pale green silk of her sister’s dress. Her own hand fell on her own small mound, and she let out a choppy sigh. Azkadelia offered DG a sympathetic smile, answering audibly, “You’ve really got to stop thinking about that. Ancient history, little sister.”

DG smiled weakly at her sister before her eyes returned to the page and she asked wordlessly, “So, ready for a little practical magic, sis?”

Azkadelia let out a long, leisurely yawn, answering in almost a whisper in DG’s mind, “Give it a minute, okay little sister? I’d like my personal pillow to get here first.”

DG cleared her throat in response while she continued to glance at the book her sister had assigned, pausing momentarily on an illustration of Ozma, standing before what appeared to be an ornately framed mirror. The queen, appearing no older than her own sister in the picture, mesmerized DG even in this format, so one dimensional and small. Her long, golden hair trailed behind her luxuriously, and her voluminous gown billowed about her bare feet like a soft cloud. A dreamlike expression painted the woman’s face, and she gazed forward at the frame, her graceful fingers barely touching the gilded edge as she examined the image before her. As beautiful as the woman in the image was, she was only a shadow of the woman that DG had met before, DG decided, and she flipped the page again, determined to study only the pictures contained within the book while she waited for Azkadellia and who she could only assume was Glitch.

The book was a veritable example of vintage Ozian illustrative art, reminiscent of the Otherside’s art deco period. Benevolent rulers and other bastions of light in Ozian history were portrayed in a complementary, if not almost glamorous light, while villains were given an almost comical treatment with their negative and sometimes gruesome features. Ozma was featured more than most, save Glenda herself, and was often pictured before the same gilded mirror. At times she faced the reader, almost meeting DG’s eyes from the other side page, but otherwise, she studied the image behind the frame. As odd as it seemed to the young princess, she shrugged it away for the time being, deciding that it must have been a preference of the illustrator or some storytelling tool of the author rather than a message to be decoded. At any rate, if it was some secret message, it was one that would have to wait until after DG’s practical lessons.

DG frowned at this thought, not relishing the drain it would cause, and she shut the book firmly, causing dust to fly into her face. DG coughed loudly as she threw her head back, and grunted in annoyance when she recovered, grumbling to Az, “Do you think someone could dust these books? They’re really becoming a hazard to my health!”

Azkadellia opened her mouth to reply, but stopped short as the door swung open, and a harried advisor rushed in. Judging from Ambrose’s unruly appearance, from wild, unkempt curls to his dress shirt hanging half-untucked from his pants, DG guessed that he was more Glitch today than not and smiled devilishly at her friend as he collapsed on the couch next to her sister.

“Sorry love, got sidetracked in my workshop.” Glitch breathed as he opened his arm to Azkadellia, who shrugged noncommittally before accepting his offer and laying into the crook of his arm.

“Whatcha doin’, Glitch? Solving more of life’s mysteries with another dangerous invention?” DG joked, impish grin widening on her face.

Ambrose smirked back bashfully, his dimpled face reddening slightly when he replied with modesty, “Oh no, just a little dohicky I’ve been working up for the new princesses. Nothing that a little babe couldn’t handle,” He paused when DG and Azkadellia’s faces brightened in interest, and he blustered, “but no more questions, it’s a surprise!”

DG’s face fell in disappointment, and she silently pouted at Ambrose, only to be met with a resolute turn of the advisor’s head, signaling that DG’s pleas would fall on deaf ears. DG sighed in defeat and turned back to her book, noting yet another image of the late Queen, before clearing her throat suggestively in her sister’s direction. Azkadellia yawned loudly in an otherwise silent reply to her sister, at which point DG closed her book and allowed her eyes to fall closed, her concentration turning instead to the breath moving in and out of her chest. Minutes ticked by in relative silence while DG focused her energy, allowing the room around her to slowly fade away, until all DG heard was the drumming of her own heart and the steady movement of her lungs as they took in air. When the pace of her heart’s rhythm slowed, DG began to mutter wordlessly while her mind homed in on her sister, still seated across from her. As she finished her incomprehensible incantation, her eyes finally opened to spy the results of her practice.

The elder princess and her consort appeared as they had been before, both lounging leisurely among the green velveteen cushions. Glitch had stretched out, with his legs at odd, jaunty angles in front of him in his upright position, while Azkadellia had fallen asleep with her head resting on her husband’s lap. DG cleared her throat once more to obtain Glitch’s attention, and his eyes flickered on hers briefly before he gently shook his wife, checking silently for the success of DG’s spell. It appeared affective, and Glitch’s initial attempts to rouse the princess royal were a failure; the woman remaining wholly unmoved until DG’s finger reached out, pointing gracefully in her sister’s direction while she wordlessly broke the enchantment she had created.

Azkadellia’s eyes fluttered open immediately, and she gazed around blearily for only a moment before she rose from her seat, smiling demurely at her husband while she feigned fatigue with a false yawn. “I’m sorry Ambrose, I suppose I dozed off,” Azkadellia laughed, adding, “how long was I asleep?”

Ambrose glanced from Azkadellia to DG minutely, his dimpled smile brightening his face when he replied nonchalantly, “Aw, not long enough for a doting husband who hasn’t had enough time with his wife all to himself.” Glitch chuckled brightly as he paused to rise, reaching his hand out to his wife as he asked, “shall we make it an early night, Dee?”

Azkadellia’s smile widened at Glitch, and she paused to consider her sister, who had taken to resting her cheek on her hand and seemed to struggle with keeping her eyes open all of the sudden. “I’d say we all need to make it an early night, Ambrose.”

Azkadellia took Glitch’s hand and allowed him to help her up, at which point, the princess glided towards her sister, leaning down to place a cool hand on DG’s free cheek. “Deeg, why don’t I have Gates escort you back to your room, you look like you’re about to fall over.”

In DG’s state, with her head swimming and her eyesight rimmed in fuzzy white light, it took a moment to focus on her sister, and she finally forced herself to sit upright to meet her sister’s gaze. Azkadellia’s green eyes were darkened, and her brow was furrowed in obvious worry. “Are you okay little sister? Was it too much?” Azkadellia whispered within DG’s head.

DG fought the wooziness to try and answer wordlessly but found her stomach turning cartwheels when she made a half-hearted attempt, and she groaned instead, answering huskily, “I think I might have overdone the studying a bit, and I don’t think little bit likes me skipping meals. I’ll be okay sis, just need to go lay down, like you said.”

Glitch had already swept past the ladies while they spoke and reappeared shortly with Gates hot on his heels. The poor guard looked more like mother hen than intimidating guard when he walked around the chair to inspect his charge, and his eyes were full of concern as he reached a giant hand down to help DG up. “Princess,” he breathed out,” are you okay, Milady? Should I take you to the medicoats?”

DG laughed a little too loudly at this, and replied with a light jab, “You do look a little pale Gates, are you feeling alright?” She winked in peace offering to the man, now tipping his head and frowning in slight annoyance before adding in a sober voice as she took his hand, “I’m fine, really. I just need to go lie down.”

Gates acted as if he was lifting glass as he helped the petite princess out of her chair, blustering quietly all the while, “Cain will have my head if somethin’ happens to you Princess, are you sure I can’t take ye’ to the medical ward?”

Glitch inhaled sharply behind DG’s back and silently shook his head in warning, without having to see DG’s eyes narrowed on the large man when she grumbled in a manner reminiscent of her absent husband, “The Tin Man will be the least of your worries, Gates, if I turn you into a cute little mouse before he gets here. I’m fine.” DG stomped her foot petulantly as she continued to eye her guard, only relaxing when he sighed in defeat.

“Alright, yer highness, no need to get strident.” He nodded to Glitch and Azkadellia and added in parting, “Good evening, your highness, Lord Ambrose.”

DG waved weakly to her sister as she let Gates lead her out, and Azkadellia returned the wave with an amused smirk, her eyes still showing a glint of worry. As her sister disappeared, however, her eyes flicked onto the form of her husband, who strode forward and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead, offering softly, “We’ll check on her in the morning, Dee. Don’t worry, Deeg is tough.”

Ambrose pulled the princess into his arms, and Azkadellia gratefully surrendered, replying with a sigh, “I know, Ambrose, just can’t help being a concerned older sister. Especially with Wyatt gone. Do you think he’s having any luck finding Vizor?”

Ambrose smiled while he paused to recollect his past adventures with the Tin Man, and he answered with a lighthearted chuckle, “I wouldn’t be surprised if Cain wasn’t beating his door down right now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sleep, except when he got thrown out of a window, but he can’t really be blamed for that. As a matter of fact –“

Ambrose paused only to yawn amidst his rambling, and Azkadellia stepped back slightly, placing a small hand on her husband’s cheek as she interrupted with a gentle whisper, “Ambrose, you’re glitching.” Ambrose’s face reddened, and his dimpled smile widened as he returned his wife’s knowing smile, at which point Azkadellia added, “I think we could both use a little rest. Join me?”

If Ambrose had smiled any wider it seemed that his mouth would split wide open, and the brightness of his grin was infectious as he looked down on his wife. Far from being bothered by Azkadellia’s observation, the man was grateful to be so intimately known by her, and his gaze reflected the mixture of happiness, gratitude, and giddy excitement for the future that fought for dominance within his mind. This internal battle seemed to leave the man speechless, and he could only nod at the princess, allowing her to lead him away like a giddy child with her favorite puppy.

While Ambrose and Azkadellia reveled in each other, delighting in the opportunity to be alone, DG’s fogged brain brooded over the lost opportunities with her own partner. Fatigue and magical drain had the unfortunate effect of keeping the Princess stubbornly awake, and after the slow crawl to her quarters, DG found herself unseasonably grumpy and irritable. As she shut her bedroom door noiselessly, she couldn’t decide who she was more annoyed with; Gates for his overbearing concern, or herself for being so ungrateful to him. He’d only briefly mentioned Wyatt, but it had been enough to remind her of his absence, and she’d been almost as surly as Wyatt had been when she’d released him from the iron suit over two annuals ago. She’d left Gates in a huff, barely saying goodnight to the worried man before she shut the door. Her steps had become sure by this time, and although she still felt drained, her vision was clear and her gait smooth and strong as she stomped into her bedroom. It was only when she’d heard a muffled sigh from the other side of her outer doors that DG paused, realizing her error. Gates had become a friend in the past annual and had only been worried about her. He hadn’t meant to upset her by mentioning the absent Tin Man, and the realization coupled with DG’s stormy response had created an overwhelming sense of guilt in the man. So now, as DG crossed from her bedroom door to her bathroom, she too struggled with guilt.

DG sighed as she shut herself behind yet another set of doors, and she paused at her bathroom vanity to drop the book of Fairy’s tales unceremoniously on the counter with a loud “flouff,” before venturing a glance at herself in the large mirror. “Nothing to see here,” she grumbled at herself, finding her own reflection accusatory and judgmental.

The Princess struggled to meet her own gaze, feeling that one look in those stormy blue eyes would cement the feeling of loneliness and foreboding that crept up on her psyche. Instead, she examined the rest of the woman in the glass. Her usually unruly curls had been tamed into a tight ponytail, which she pulled out now with a grunt. The deep, chestnut waves fell around her shoulders as they were released, making DG’s pale face appear wild and young. With her hair down, DG could almost look past the dark circles under her eyes, and the somewhat gaunt quality of her cheeks. The color had left her face in much the same way that her light had been drained by exertion, and a whisper of worry flashed in her eyes at this observation. DG shook her head furiously at herself, desperate to remove the troublesome thoughts before they overtook her, and she turned from the mirror to face the claw footed tub behind her.

DG marched forward with a determined set in her jaw, muttering to herself, “Maybe a bath would help.” Her hands trembled slightly as they reached forward, and she grasped the gleaming taps in both hands tightly in effort to stay the troublesome sign of her physical and emotional toil. “Get a grip Deeg,” the princess continued to mutter, now twisting the taps in her hands to allow the water to pour forth.

DG sealed the tub and stood up, still gazing absently at the water as it filled the tub. She very nearly allowed the bath to overflow before she finally shook herself free, sighing in irritation as she closed the taps once more and let some of the water out of the porcelain coated vessel. Now satisfied that the tub would not overflow, DG next worked to peel her clothing from her body, dropping them into a messy heap at the foot of the bathtub before creeping into the warm water.

The water lapped at DG’s shoulders as she settled herself in the tub, its warmth seeming to seep into her bones as she scooted down, causing the water to rest just above her chin. With the water so close to DG’s face, the princess could easily smell the lavender essence that always permeated the palace water, and she breathed deeply of the calming scent while her eye lids dropped and her head to fell back on the porcelain rim. It seemed impossible to focus on her worries in this state, and instead, DG’s mind wandered even further while her body became limp and heavy, until she was wholly unaware of anything other than the hazy dreamscape she’d fallen hard and fast into like an errant leave tumbling on a gust of wind. She felt like she had been tossed into a travel storm, and DG’s mind swirled in a warm, comfortable haze of lavender. She felt wholly at the mercy of the disjointed images that began to emerge and skate past her mind’s eye like loose pictures falling out of an old photo album. Some were familiar, memories of recent days: being held by Wyatt in the darkness of the hut, spinning wildly within the arms of a twister before being deposited firmly in a Kansas cornfield, and standing before the bathroom mirror just moments before.

This memory seemed to hold its ground longer, and DG gave herself an opportunity to examine her surroundings. It was almost as if she’d stepped out of the bathtub instead of wandering into a dream, for the room was as she had left it, with her clothing piled at the base of the tub, and the volume of Fairy’s tales perched on the countertop. The only difference between her dream and the reality she’d left behind was the heavy steam that hung in the air, permeating the surfaces with a fine film of moisture, and obscuring the reflective quality of the large, gilded mirror that hung over the vanity and wash basin directly opposite the bathtub. DG frowned at it before swiping at the glass to view her reflection. What greeted her when she cleared the fog away was so far removed from what she’d expected, however, and DG jumped back, gasping in surprise at the face that eyed her from the other side of the glass.

“We really have to stop meeting this way,” DG scoffed at the fair headed woman in the mirror, adding in a sarcastic tone, “Fair warning, if seven short little gnomes come marching in here, I might break something, okay?”

DG thought she might have spied a smirk crack the woman’s otherwise impassive expression, but as soon as it appeared, it was gone again. In its place, Ozma’s expression hardened into something more serious, and a quizzical eyebrow raised itself instead, as the late Queen sighed in mild exasperation. She seemed to look straight past DG, though, as if she hadn’t seen or heard anything from her, and DG stepped closer to the glass and tapped at it lightly.

“Your Majesty,” DG called to glass, her voice high and puzzled, “Can you see me? Hello?”

Ozma continued to frown at what must have appeared as a blank picture to her, and she huffed before grumbling quietly, “Show me Dorothy Gale, you silly picture frame.”

The Queen sighed once more while her eyes scanned the blank image before her, while DG waved frantically at her, desperate to get her attention. “I’m right here! Hey!” The Queen did not seem to hear or see her, however, and turned away, causing the image to go dark. DG leaned close to the glass, hoping to get a glimpse of something, anything, to explain what had just happened, but Ozma had disappeared altogether, and after moments, showed no signs of reappearing.

“Craptastic!” DG cursed herself, allowing her palms to slap against the cold marble of the vanity. In her exasperation, the book of fairy’s tales was knocked from its place, and fell to the floor with a resounding smack, causing DG to jump with a start.

DG’s eyes popped open with equal surprise, and she sat up suddenly, her eyes wide a clear. “Watson, a clue!” DG exclaimed excitedly, all while jumping out of the bathtub and rushing across the room for a towel in a flurry of renewed energy.

She’d barely dried herself, and her hair was still dripping about her back and chest when she wrapped the towel around her small frame, suddenly oblivious to all else besides the book that still sat on the counter. Her fingers seem to fly through the pages as she scanned for the multitude of pictures devoted to the late Queen, only pausing when she’d found one of interest. Each picture of the Queen standing before –what DG had previously thought was a mirror – only increased the princess’s excitement, and when she finally stopped, she was out of breath and heaving excitedly as she looked down on the page. “Talk about cable on demand. It’s always the same frame, same place, but the picture is different!” DG muttered to the book, smirking knowingly like a detective solving a mystery.

When her scanning finally stopped, it was on another image of the late Queen. In this image, however, the Queen looked away from the frame in question and her eyes were downcast and troubled. The caption under the image read, “Ozma searches for Dorothy Gale.”

DG examined the page further, hoping for context clues within the text of the story for how the frame worked and why it failed to help Ozma, but the author remained stubbornly silent on it, focusing instead on the larger story being told, like the frame was a mere afterthought. DG sighed, almost giving up altogether, when she flipped another page, where someone seemed to have had the same question, and had thankfully answered it for her. Just below a passage of the story recounting Ozma’s continued difficulties in her search for the missing Gale, a note had been hastily scratched in the margin. The script was miniscule, and barely legible for its cramped penmanship and faded ink and consisted of only one word: “Fog.”

DG stopped squinting at the page and stood upright while she blew out a long huff of air through her nose. A smile grew as she stared down at the book, where the answers stared back up at her triumphantly, and DG swiped the book off the counter with glee, hugging it to her towel draped frame before she skittered out of the bathroom with an excited giggle. With such news, it was hard to imagine anything going wrong, and although DG reminded herself that this was where everything usually fell apart, she could not help but bask in the euphoria of finally having some glimmer of hope. Even if Boulderstone hadn’t been using Ozma’s picture frame to spy on the Gales, there had to be something inherent about fog that inhibited any form of magical espionage, DG reasoned, and she rushed to change, now intent on hunting down someone who could assist in proving her theory. With Wyatt being so potentially close to coming home, DG felt as if the hands of time were ticking against her, spurring her forward at such a breakneck pace that she was almost oblivious to her fatigue.

A voice not unlike Wyatt’s whispered a warning to her mind, cautioning her to rest, and she shook her head as she pulled her slippers back on. “Not yet,” she murmured to her absent husband, “but soon, I promise.”

Chapter Text

The alley which Wyatt found himself in was shadowed on both sides by tall, crumbling ruddy brick structures, which climbed to the earthen roof of the Realm, only stopping where the roots of some massive grove of trees above feathered their cornices tauntingly. Although the shadows thrown onto this space were more than adequate to shield Wyatt from most prying eyes, he’d decided to conceal himself even further, by ducking into the alcove of the older building, where he seemed to disappear into the inky darkness of the unused doorstep, partially obscured by an overfull dumpster and a heap of broken packing crates. Wyatt’s nose twitched unhappily as a breeze wafted in his direction, making it difficult to ignore the putrid smell rising from the nearby bin. Wyatt grunted, imagining some poor creature expiring within the confines of the rusted container, and fighting the urge to retreat from his hiding spot. Although he’d been planted here for hours, he knew it was only a matter of time before Vizor showed up, and there was no chance he’d lose him this time. He’d just have to ignore the smell, and his aching feet with the knowledge that what he’d gain would be worth the discomfort.

All the same, Wyatt reasoned that this had to be the worst stakeout he had ever been on. At least when he’d been a Tin Man, he could count on his partner to help him pass the time. Paul Manzetti was a lot of things but being boring wasn’t one of them. Paul and Wyatt had both formed a fast reputation with the ranks of the Tin Men for being exacting officers and excelled at detective work for their attention to detail and strong stomachs. The two men also shared a certain pride in a job well done, as well as a strict adherence to their personal code of ethics. From here, their personalities diverged, and in some ways, the rough-edged city cop was everything Wyatt was not; loud, foul mouthed, and gregarious, to name a few traits. Wyatt often joked that Paul was so congenial that he could probably make a papay runner roll over for a belly rub without even having to say please. That being the case, it shouldn’t have surprised the ex-Tin Man that Paul made such a good politician. He was practically made for the position. Wyatt shifted slightly and leaned his head against the back wall of the alcove, allowing a smirk to crack his stony expression for just a moment; the truth was, he missed the bastard, and despite the discomfort he currently felt, he actually missed being a cop as well.

Wyatt shook himself out of his thoughts – now wasn’t the time for reminiscing. Wyatt straightened himself up – with a quick shake of the shoulders and low rumble in the back of his throat to dislodge the smile that had glimmered only briefly to be replaced by his mouth’s usual hardened line – and stepped closer to the edge of the alcove, where he could get a closer view of Ma Demilo’s stall while his shoulder rested on the crumbling brick. The woman’s stall was a little like a carnival booth and was heavily laden on all sides with brightly twinkling colored lights. Their brightness was almost a distraction, and Wyatt had to wince somewhat to get past their glare. If this wasn’t bad enough, the street on which the vibrantly lit stall sat was considerably trafficked today, almost like he’d stumbled upon some holiday market, and scores of people bustled this way and that, obscuring his view of the woman’s counter and elevating his already stressfully high sense of urgency. Wyatt continued to resist the urge to emerge from his shadowed stoop, and instead craned his neck to spy visitors as the came and went from the booth.

Most that patronized the Ma Demilo’s operation were forgettable though, and Wyatt shrugged them away the moment they appeared, letting his eyes move back to their constant scan of the humming organism that was the constantly moving crowd of underside dwellers. The people of the Realm were an odd sort. Either their garb was colorful and flamboyant, leaning towards the highly sexualized or absurd, or they were so drab in their appearance that one would have thought them an extension of the earthen world. There was never an in-between with this bunch, so it was a surprise to see anyone semi-normal looking milling about amongst the locals. This was why, when a familiar-looking brunette, sporting a leather jacket and a pair of worn pair of dungarees, caught his attention. Wyatt pushed off the brick and made to move out of his hiding space, seething quietly as his eyes narrowed on the woman, like a bird of prey homing in on his target. She was moving quickly, to be sure, and Wyatt had to move fast.

“What the hell is she doing here,” Wyatt growled under his breath, just as he reached the throngs of people at the threshold of the alley.

He was bumped though and paused to glance at the obstruction. A man, a few heads shorter than himself for his visibly hunched shoulders, had shoved past the lawman without a thought while moving swiftly towards his own destination. He wore a cloak of rich, chocolate brown, and his face was obscured by the shadows created by the cloak that hung over his head. He was moving away from Wyatt almost too quickly for one so handicapped, which caused Wyatt to watch, and the longer he looked on, the more his alarm grew. It soon became clear that the man’s destination was the same as his, but he was much closer now, and stood a good chance of reaching the woman that so resembled his own wife, that he swore it had to be DG. Wyatt’s heart seemed to thud loudly, like a war drum calling him to battle, and he began to surge forward, forgetting his prior goal. A scream in the other direction stopped him however, and his head whipped around on instinct.

“Thief! Stop!” Ma DeMilo had bellowed out, her hands raised in alarm as she yelled shrilly.

She waved frantically at Wyatt, desperate for his attention, and when she felt she’d gotten it, she gestured pointedly at a dark man, scurrying away hurriedly from her shop in the other direction from the DG doppelganger. Wyatt’s jaw hardened as he considered, in a fraction of a moment, which way to go. On the one hand, there was his mission. On the other hand, was a woman who looked remarkably like his wife, who might or might not be in danger. Was she DG? He didn’t know, but he had to believe that she couldn’t be, which meant that the man approaching her could be anyone. Wyatt huffed irritably, hating both avenues but knowing he had to move quickly in either case, and he turned then to chase Vizor who was quickly being swallowed up by the crowd that seemed to move against Wyatt at every opportunity.

Wyatt’s panic was increasing exponentially with every person he shoved out of his way, and every moment that ticked by without even a glint of the man that had absconded from his clutches once again. Then, an unmistakable sound reverberated in his ears, causing him to stop in his tracks, and his breath to still in his throat as he shut his eyes in recognition of the pit that had suddenly grown in the pit of his stomach. He’d only heard DG scream a handful of times in the past two annuals, but even as seldom as DG let loose her particular brand of shrill terror, he’d known its sound anywhere. Wyatt’s blood ran cold, and although he dreaded turning to connect the sound of DG’s peril with what he could only imagine seeing in his worst nightmare, he knew that there was no other choice now. He’d already lost.

When he turned, a weight seemed to keep his eyes shut, and he had to force them open, feeling all the while that his chest was caving in with the absence of oxygen to hold it up. When he saw what he had feared, his breath came back, although it was shaken and choppy, being punctuated by an involuntary sob that had escaped him in that awful moment. Wyatt didn’t know how his feet moved so fast, or where the crowd had suddenly disappeared to, but he swept forward, his shoes echoing on the cobblestones as he ran. The sound was almost as deafening as his heart, suddenly thudding loudly in his ears. Tears were blinding his eyesight, and he swiped furiously at his face as he dropped to his knees before the woman, now unmistakably DG, lying in a crumpled heap on the street, her hair damp from falling into a nearby puddle as she collapsed to the ground. Wyatt gathered his wife in his trembling arms, and he struggled to speak as he gasped and sobbed, wiping the wet strands away from her unmarred face.

“DG, darlin’, I’m sorry. Please come back,” Wyatt blubbered, pleading with the stark blue eyes that stared blankly skyward, not connecting with anything any longer.

When he realized that she did not see him, a wall seemed to shatter within him, and Wyatt’s body shuddered as he let loose a bone-chilling cry of anguish to the cavernous ceiling. There was no consolation in that earthen ceiling, and Wyatt’s steel-grey eyes turned back down to the woman in his arms, and he whimpered again before clutching her limp body to his chest, his face now completely soaked with tears. The grief turned quickly to anger so boiling hot though, that Wyatt struggled to let go of his wife. He knew that the moment DG was out of his arms, the man she loved would be gone for good as well, leaving behind someone so fully consumed with a vengeance that had once threatened to eat him alive that there would be no coming back from it. Nonetheless, he did let her go, placing her gently down onto the ancient cobblestones before he again looked up, intent on finding the man that had taken her from him. When he was met with the sight of a small fair-haired child, staring down on him with a set of somber, yet serene crystalline eyes, he was instantly startled, and lost his balance, causing him to sit back onto the cobblestones, looking a little like a scarecrow without his pole for the odd angle of his limbs that seemed to fall around him. He was in for another shock, for DG had suddenly disappeared when he’d sat back, leaving him and the girl to survey each other alone; Wyatt still trembling in grief and shock, and the girl with an odd sort of patience given what she must have seen a moment or two ago.

When Wyatt finally spoke, his voice was strained, and his throat burned as his he’d swallowed cotton, and he choked out, “Who are you?”

The girl’s eyebrow raised curiously, and she shifted her silver-slippered foot in the puddle before her when she responded with a question of her own. “Does that really matter right now, Mister Cain?”

Wyatt considered this. Given the odd turn of events, and the fact that he’d just lost his wife and child, he finally came to the conclusion that the girl’s identity was probably the least of his problems. “No, I guess not, but I don’t understand -” Wyatt faltered, and he struggled with what he really meant to ask her as he stared down at the space where DG had lain. Everything suddenly seemed so surreal. Then it hit him square in the chest, and he took a sharp intake of air before he stated rather than asked roughly, “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

The girl answered only with a grim smirk and a tight nod, and she held a hand out to him when she spoke again. “Yes Tin Man. You’re dreaming about what will happen if you forget your real mission.”

Wyatt accepted the girl’s hand, and he wasn’t the least bit surprised that she was able to pull him up, despite the fact that he was more than twice her size. He stared down on the girl for a moment, suddenly taken with how familiar she seemed all the sudden. Her eyes seemed to bore into him almost like DG’s, and she even referred to him in much the same way that she had in the beginning of their relationship. Her very person seemed to dare him to not take her seriously, and somehow, he knew that he’d regret it if he did, for the eerily familiar earnestness of her gaze and the hard set of her jaw told him that she meant business. A smile spread on his face of its own accord, and he was about to respond sardonically when the crowd suddenly reappeared, along with the din created by its presence.

The crowd only phased him for a moment, and when he finally met the girl’s eyes once more, he noticed a hint of a smirk on her own face, and he asked, his voice louder now so he could be heard over the crowd, “So what mission is that Princess?” The girl rolled her eyes and allowed her smile to widen, and she shook her head in disbelief before answering. He couldn’t hear her for the crowd though, and he barked back, “What? I can’t hear you.”

When the girl opened her mouth once more, he was surprised to find that she spoke with Jeb’s voice, calling out above the crowd, “Dad, wake up!”

Wyatt’s eyes popped open. At the same moment, he sprung to his feet, pistol already cocked and ready in his hand. His eyes, though glassy and somewhat unfocused for having just woken up, were wild and wide, and he surveyed his surroundings as if expecting imminent danger. It took a moment for his brain to click into gear and his breathing to slow, and he finally noticed Jeb standing nearby, his hands out in a non-threatening fashion and his eyes wide with his own form of astonishment.

“Dad, it’s okay! You’re in the hut,” Jeb explained calmly, stepping closer to his father slowly and reaching a hand out to his father, hoping to ease him out of his threatening posture.

Wyatt’s shoulders dropped and he took a deep breath while he holstered his weapon, and he met his son’s eyes, his own looking sad and apologetic. “I’m sorry son. Just a little jumpy, I guess.”

Sensing that it was safe, Jeb laid a hand on his father’s shoulder and, while letting out a sigh of relief, he offered his father a sympathetic smile. In this moment, Wyatt finally allowed himself to take in his surroundings, and after returning Jeb’s weak smile, his eyes darted from Jeb to the room in which they stood. The suns had moved over to the west since he was last awake and were quickly setting, judging by the amber light bleeding in from the roof of the hut. This was a weak light though, barely adding to the ambiance of the place. The primary source of light now came from a fire that had been newly lit in the hearth and was throwing its own warm light on the scene, making Jeb’s face glow and the worried crinkles at the edges of his eyes stand out. Then Cain realized, with some embarrassment, that they were not alone. At some point during Wyatt’s odd dream, they had been joined by Artie, and he sat by the fire with Ahamo, and both men had stopped their conversation to watch the interaction between Wyatt and Jeb, their interest veiled and covered over with a kind of passive understanding that only men who’d experienced similar hauntings could. Wyatt was grateful for this, and accepted Artie’s nod in greeting, and allowed Jeb to lead him over to the group, sitting himself down amongst them while he unburdened himself with a loud huff.

Wyatt’s head was still a jumble, and he was thankful that his companions seemed to carefully avoid asking him about his dream, since he wasn’t completely sure what had happened himself. Wyatt settled on a stool close to the fire and stared at the flames, struggling to hold together the pieces of his dream and make some sense of it, and his eyes reflected this, appearing stormy and worried in the light of the fire. While around him, the other men resumed their previous activities in a deliberate attempt to offer the man privacy. Ahamo had apparently made a dinner, and began doling out mugs full of stew, a pipe perched precariously on his lips as he did so. Artie, meanwhile, was regaling Jeb with stories of the Otherside, keeping the young man enrapt with descriptions of the first moon landing, and the subsequent visits to the heavens that had occurred since. Once everyone had their mugs in hand though, the conversation petered out, and all became silent as they chewed quietly on their meals.

Wyatt allowed himself to get lost in thought during this quiet interlude and replayed the images from his nightmare – if he could call it that – while he chewed slowly. The memory of DG’s body, cold and limp in his arms, made the hairs stand up on the back of head. It was her eyes that truly haunted him though, and he fought a shudder at the thought of their empty stare. The small girl was a curious addition to his dreamscape, unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and he wondered if she was truly of his imaginings or perhaps some odd interloper into his thoughts. He had had many dreams over the years, to be certain, and his most vivid had come in the days after being released from the iron prison. Memories of his torture and imprisonment would come back to him in technicolor on most nights, only to be replaced by the imaginings of Adora’s death once it had been confirmed by the crude grave behind the white elm. He’d never been given any foresight though, or otherworldly message, and he grimaced as his suspicions grew. Wyatt might have continued on in this fashion indefinitely if he had been allowed, but as he continued to consider the young girl and the potential message implied in the overall dream, the other men were finishing their meals, and had begun to discuss the events of the day, recapping in preparation for the operation to be set in motion on the next day.

“Dad, I went back to the settlement an hour or so ago. We received a dispatch from the Army. They’ll be here by midnight. I let the stableman know so he’d be ready,” Jeb announced to his father and the others, drawing Wyatt out of his thoughts.

Wyatt cleared his throat, feeling that it had grown dry for its lack of use in speaking, and rested his elbows on his knees as he spoke, “Good, we’ll meet them at the livery stables and give them their orders as soon as they get here. I want a small extraction team to go down with us, and another topside saddled up and ready to go when we come out with Vizor.” It occurred to Wyatt that his tone was slightly more business-like than he had intended for the still unsettled nature of his mind, and his tone softened somewhat as he tried to compensate, turning his attention to Artie to ask quietly, “Any luck with that item I requested?”

Artie’s bushy eyebrow raised expectantly, and without breaking eye contact with Wyatt, he reached down to grasp his bag, opening it as he answered cryptically, “Indeed, Mr. Cain, indeed. You’ll find everything you need in this bag.” He paused to hand a simple, burlap sack to Wyatt. When Wyatt attempted to retrieve the bag, finding Artie still firmly affixed to it, Artie added with a raise of his bushy eyebrow, “I expect that you’ll contact me to return it when this is over and done with?”

Wyatt and Artie exchanged a knowing look, and Wyatt returned darkly, “Don’t worry Artie, I won’t forget you. When the time comes, I’ll contact you. Just keep your dance card open and be ready when I send the signal.”

Artie released his grip on the bag with a long, slow release of air and a resigned nod, replying, “I’ll be ready General.” He then handed his mug to Ahamo, who accepted it silently. When Artie then slapped his knees and stood, the sound reverberated on the stone walls, effectively catching the attention of all assembled so he could proclaim loudly, “Gentlemen, I take my leave of you now. Good luck to you all, and may we meet again along the Old Road.”

Wyatt stood with Artie and shook his hand firmly, and he walked with him to the outer wall of the room so he could mutter conspiratorially, “You be careful, Artie, I don’t think this is going to go as smoothly as we’d like. I’d lay odds on it, in fact.”

Artie nodded seriously and replied, “A wise man once said, never tell me the odds, General. Just be safe.”

Wyatt nodded in agreement and released the man’s hand, watching as he stepped closer to the wall. The brass knob was quickly extracted from his bag, and after affixing it to the wall, he turned to offer a final wave. Then, he disappeared behind the door, leaving the other three men watching in resigned silence. Wyatt stared down at the bag left in his custody, feeling the weight of responsibility hanging over him like a dark shroud. The voice that had bothered him before was back, screaming now that things would very likely go bad, and they would be handing over the one item that their enemy had been seeking in his quest to bring doom on Wyatt’s burgeoning family and on the OZ as a whole.

As if Wyatt’s dark frame of mind had lifted itself out of the hut and transmitted itself to DG over the leagues between Lake Lurline, far in the south, and Central City in the center of the realm, DG paused in her march down the wide carpeted hall. It felt as if an icy breeze had passed over her, and one might have said that she’d felt someone walking over her own grave. DG, at one time, might not have given that notion much thought, but after the events of the past two annuals, she found herself feeling more and more receptive to such superstitions. As she considered the foreboding that washed over her in a wave, she stared off blankly, only shaking herself free when Gates’ voice broke her concentration, sounding quiet and concerned.

“Are you alright, Milday?” Gates asked in a hush, standing just to her left and close enough that they could speak without being overheard.

DG physically shook herself and turned to Gates, answering absently, “Hum? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” Then she paused to remember where she had been going, feeling a Wyatt-like sense of caution growing in the pit of her stomach. “Gates, are Tutor, Raw and Glitch still planning on hanging out tonight? I mean, I know I cancelled on them and all, but are they still – “

“Gathering you mean?” Gates cut in, adding with a nod, “Yes ma’am, in the library, just as you’d all planned. I think they hoped you’d change your mind after you got a bit o’ rest, since Master Raw is leaving soon, and all.”

DG chewed on her lower lip and considered the information Gates divulged, and her brow furrowed suddenly when she asked suspiciously, “I thought Glitch and Az were making it an early night. What gives Green Giant?”

Gates ignored DG’s odd form of address and asked his own question instead, his armed folding in front of his chest as he looked down on her appraisingly, “Now Princess, would ya have gone to your quarters if they hadn’t told you they were leavin’ as well? I don’t think they’d be real good family if they didn’t try to do what’s best for ya. Don’t cha?”

DG cocked her head sideways, mulling silently over the thoughts racing through her brain, and she tapped her foot on the carpet while she chewed on her lip. Then suddenly, her sight cleared, and she looked up at Gates, allowing a full-blown grin to brighten her face as she looked up at the man briefly before she whipped around suddenly and called back to him, “Well what are you waiting for, Gates, let’s go!”

Far from disappointed by her family’s well-meaning deception, DG was thrilled. Given her bath time revelation, and the knowledge that time was growing short, there were only a few people that she could confide in that might be able to offer some form of assistance. Given that they all seemed to be gathered in one place at that very moment, DG felt that her timing could not be any more fortuitous. The princess was so driven that she sprinted down the hall, leaving Gates behind only briefly before he closed the distance, puffing steadily behind her in otherwise silent acceptance until they neared the oaken doors of the library. DG grinned maniacally at the sight of Azkadellia’s guards, standing wide eyed but firm at the threshold of the doors, and they struggled to maintain their composure as the whirlwind princess and her own guard approached.

“Hey guys!” DG announced herself with intentional informality, delighting in ruffling the overly serious men, and winking impishly at Gates, who’d stopped just behind her. The men maintained their composure though and responded with polite nods as they opened the doors for the princess. As DG stepped through the doors, she called back to Gates, “Make sure we’re not bothered, okay fellas?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Gates and the others replied, shutting the doors noiselessly behind DG as they did.

Before DG had burst in on the small band of friends within the library, it had been a rather mellow gathering. Azkadellia had taking to embroidering a sampler as she lounged on the settee near the cheerfully lit fireplace. Her pale green dress fell fluidly around her legs, and her feet were bare on the cushion, tapping the air while she noiselessly recounted a tune she’d recently remembered from her childhood. Ambrose, meanwhile, had engaged Tutor and Raw in a game of cards, and the men were seriously considering their individual hands at a card table set up near the large sitting window behind Azkadellia. Ambrose had discarded his court coat, and had unbuttoned the uppermost buttons of his crisp, white shirt, letting his vest hang open as he leaned over the table. He was fiddling with a curl as he considered his position, and he eyed Raw and Tutor suspiciously over the top of his hand, desperately determined that he would outsmart either of them in their game of strategy. Raw had a mixture of serenity and humor plastered on his furry face, and he struggled not to smirk at the advisor, who had so far lost two matches to him, and was in serious danger of it once more. Tutor appeared wholly unaffected and downright leisurely and had also discarded his coat. As the game marched on, he had taken to leaning back in his chair, and periodically shook his head in amused disbelief at the other two, allowing a good-natured scoff to escape him when Ambrose would decry some move made by the viewer.

Raw was done playing though, sensing the approach of the younger princess, and he laid down his hand for the table to see with a satisfied smile. His eyes moved between the two men to gauge their reactions, and grinned wide when Ambrose groaned, throwing his cards down as he exclaimed in exasperation, “Aw, come on Furry Lips, can’t you let a guy win just once?”

“Glitch know he can’t bluff Raw,” Raw responded with a put-upon sigh, to which Tutor chuckled, dropping his own cards on the table.

Ambrose gathered the cards and began to shuffle them, grumbling quietly as he did so, “Well I still have to try, don’t I?”

The advisor had only managed to dole out a few cards before the doors swung open, and DG breezed in. All heads looked up at once at her entrance, to which DG grinned back, addressing Azkadellia directly the moment the doors were shut behind her, “Az, let’s blow some bubbles.”

Azkadellia’s eyes narrowed, and she sat up as she asked cautiously, “Are you sure, little sister?”

DG nodded resolutely, to which the elder princess shrugged, replying as she stood and crossed to her sister, “Okay then, but you’ve got to take a break after this, Deeg.”

“You have my solemn oath,” DG replied, taking her sister’s hands as she neared.

By herself, DG could erect a small sound bubble just large enough for two people to stand in. This had drained her somewhat the night before, and even if she had been in perfect condition, she knew that it would have been impossible for her to silence an entire room. Fortunately for DG, Azkadellia’s addition into their gathering was a lucky happenstance that she was more than happy to take advantage of, and before any more could be said at her arrival, she was eager to get the job done. Azkadellia understood, of course, and so the two women came together without too much trouble to see the task done. They spoke in a hushed dreamlike voice, almost as one person while their eyes shut tight, and their hand remained tightly clasped with the other. Meanwhile, the ambient sounds – the bustle of people in the square two stories below the large window, and even the crackling fire in the grate – quieted, and the air became noticeably still. The women opened their eyes to look on the other, Azkadellia’s appearing concerned while she surveyed her sister. DG only swayed for a moment before she took a deep breath and smiled, nodding encouragingly to her sister before she dropped their hands.

“I’m alright Az,” DG whispered before they both rounded on the men, who had moved closer to the pair, all now seated near the fireplace except the worried looking viewer, who stood nearby, waiting to catch DG if needed.

Tutor had taken an armchair, while Ambrose had taken over Azkadellia’s space, and both waited in patient anticipation as if two annuals hadn’t already passed, and they were still on a hunt for the Emerald. Once Azkadellia had joined Ambrose, leaving DG with Raw– who helped her to her own armchair closest to the fire before he seated himself on the floor nearby – all eyes were on the youngest Princess, all holding their breath for what they sensed would be an important conversation.

“Okay little sister,” Azkadellia announced loudly, “this had better be good, or I’ll have a hard time explaining to Mother why I just let you do that.”

Raw growled low in agreement, and DG reached down to squeeze his hand in reassurance before she settled more comfortably in the chair and replied, “I think I have a way to get past our spy.” She paused dramatically then and continued in question, “Do any of you know if there anything left in the palace from Ozma’s time, like a mirror or picture frame?”

Ambrose scoffed and smiled, muttering sarcastically, “You don’t need us Dollface, what you’re looking for is a museum curator.” When DG eyed him curiously and Tutor coughed suggestively, Ambrose blustered and added, “but maybe.”

DG looked from Tutor to Ambrose, a look of accusation growing on her face. Instead, though, she turned to her sister, whose face was screwed into a thoughtful frown, and seemed to be lost in thought while others conferred. “Az, do you have something to add?”

“I don’t know Deeg,” Azkadellia replied in slow, thoughtful reflection, “if there was anything of use in any of the royal palaces, the Sorceress had it removed ages ago. I doubt there’s anything left here now unless it was purely ornamental. Why?”

DG explained her discovery to her friends, outlining the images within the book given to her by Azkadellia just hours before, and finishing with the interesting vision and tight scribbles within the pages of the volume afterwards. Tutor had been listening to the entire description in utter silence, while a finger remained pursed to his lips and his eyes narrowed in concentration.

When DG had finished her explanation, the man let out a pensive “humph,” followed by a thoughtful theory. “I don’t know if what we’re being spied on with is some magical picture frame or not, seeing as I’m no expert in enchanted objects, but there may be something to this fog idea.” DG shot a quizzical look in his direction, and he expounded further after uttering a loud sigh, “DG, do you remember when I was trying to help you break through your memories?”

DG chewed on her lip and blushed, replying, “uh yeah, it’s a little hard to forget having fevered dreams Tutor, but I’m not sure I’m following you here.”

Tutor sat forward in his chair and fixed her with a stern steady look in his chocolate brown eyes, “Think DG, Think. Remember what you saw in your visions before the fevered dreams? You said that any time you got close to the images in your dreams, they seemed to dissipate – “

“Like smoke, yeah I remember,” DG interrupted, and her brow was still furrowed in confusion when she asked, “but what does this have to do with getting past our spy?”

Azkadellia suddenly burst out with a bright laugh, and she jumped up suddenly, pacing as she voiced her sudden clarity of vision, “Deeg! Come on, it’s so easy,” She stopped and glanced at Raw and withdrew in slight embarrassment, “at least it is for me.”

Something passed between the viewer and the elder princess – a certain understanding and, on Azkadelia’s part, guilt. Her face had grown pink, and her eyes suddenly averted, as if she was afraid of offending him, and it wasn’t until Raw spoke that she seemed to relax.

“Azkadellia see what Sorceress see. Know that when viewers can’t see, there is only fog.” Raw explained sagely, which earned nods of understanding from Tutor and Azkadellia, and more confused looks from DG.

DG did little to hide her lack of understanding, and replied in a sarcastic tone, waving her hand before her so as to encourage more explanation, “And that means what exactly? Still catching up on my magic lessons, remember? A little help here?”

“Yeah, and I might not be a zipperhead any longer, but I’m still completely lost here,” Ambrose chimed in, earning him a delighted grin from DG and a sympathetic pat on the thigh from his wife.

Tutor sighed in response, and took a moment to mull over his response before he finally answered, “DG, you remember how your mother’s magic kept Lilo and you out –“

“Yeah, fog, I know, but isn’t that just a manifestation of the spell she placed on my memories?” DG cut in.

Tutor shook his head resolutely, a smile forming on his otherwise passive face when he replied, “In that case, yes, but real fog has also been known to interfere with viewers and other seers as well.”

“So, if this guy is using magic to spy on us, we can use this, right?” DG asked, her own face brightening with her own growing understanding.

“I don’t see how Deeg,” Azkadellia scoffed, “it would hardly be practical to shroud ourselves in mist all the time.”

“Well, not all the time,” Ambrose pondered aloud, adding when the others turned to hear more, “maybe just long enough to make him think you’re not a threat anymore. I hear that Finaqua’s a little impassable lately, maybe we could, I don’t know, take a little trip.”

DG popped up from her seat, grinning brightly as she exclaimed, “Glitch, you’re brilliant!” She skipped across the floor to her friend, and placed a peck on his check before she sat once more and continued, “We’ll give it a codeword, and when I say it, that’s just what I want you to do, okay?”

Ambrose flashed DG a dimpled smile and nodded, offering, “Clearwater it is, Princess. Just say the word.”

DG nodded back before she turned to her sister, and she knelt down before her as she grasped her hand, and she spoke softly, “It’ll be okay, Az. I promise.”

Azkadellia’s head dipped, and a singular tear escaped her eye before she replied, “I know little sister,” her head raised once more, and her green eyes sparkled when she smiled, saying brightly, “I’m proud of you, Deeg. I’m just worried. Can we at least let this barrier down now so you can get some rest? I have a bad feeling that you’re going to need it.”

DG released her hand and nodded back as she raised herself back up. In that instant, the fire crackled back into audible existence, and the sound of a breeze buffeting the windowpanes made themselves known, signaling that the two princesses had released their hold on the spell keeping their meeting private.

“Well guys, I’m off to bed,” DG announced brightly before she paused to yawn loudly.

Relief coursed through DG’s body as a result of her brief visit with her friends, and with such a release, fatigue was quickly beginning to creep up on the young woman once more. While she stood before them all, her limbs felt suddenly heavy, and her eyes burned with the strong urge to shut. She maintained her balance with little effort though, and although it was a small consolation that they all took to heart, Raw was still quick to offer his assistance to his young friend. Soon after DG had risen from her short interchange with Azkadellia, the viewer had risen as well, and stood apart from DG until she announced her departure. At that point, the viewer quickly stepped in, and quietly waved goodnight to the rest in attendance as he guided DG out. DG, for her part, was extremely grateful, and rested her hand on the soft arm of the kind viewer, and she smiled dopily and waved as they exited the room.

Raw moved DG down the hall at a smooth pace, with Gates following silently in their wake. Although she’d put on a brave face for her sister, he could sense the Princess’ disquiet and silent plea for his particular brand of assistance. When they’d left everyone behind, he finally spoke, and it was in a low rumble, barely audible outside their small circle, “DG want to ask Raw something?”

DG stopped, and she met his eyes with a certain seriousness that he hadn’t seen from her since their siege of the tower. Knowing that she would be requested something of grave importance, the viewer held her gaze, despite his natural inclination to avert his eyes, and DG replied in a voice of grave seriousness, “Yes Raw. I need you to stay close to me for the next few days. I’m worried about draining myself, and I don’t know what that might do to me or the baby. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Az, because if she knew how I was feeling, she’d never to agree to anything we’ve talked about doing. Will you do it?”

Raw offered DG a soft smile, and he patted her hand while he nodded in acceptance, replying simply, “Raw stay. Protect DG and baby. Princess never have to ask.”

DG smiled in return and threw her arms around the man’s neck, and she muttered against his fur, “Thank you Raw, I think I needed to hear that.”

As much as DG had needed to hear those words from the viewer, he had wanted to say them. Never one to impose, Raw would never have pressured the Princess to accept his presence, and all the gifts that came with him. It was a great relief that he didn’t have to grapple with that possibility, and it was a small consolation for the task that he felt he would be given in the coming days. The Princess would be putting her body under a great deal of strain in the coming days and would need his support as well as his healing abilities. Although he sensed that DG had some inkling of the grave circumstances she was facing, judging by the tone of her request, she could not know – could not see – the dark clouds forming on the horizon that were already making their steady march towards them. Raw could, of course, and they filled him with a cold dread that he hadn’t felt since the dark days of the Sorceress.

Chapter Text

History seemed to be repeating itself, Wyatt considered quietly as he shifted his weight on his feet and leaned his shoulder on the edge of the brick alcove so he could get a clearer view of the stall standing yards away from his hiding space, in the center of the busy subterranean square. Apart from Ma DeMilo, Wyatt could also, from this vantage point, spy his cohorts in their appointed locations – Ahamo sat at an outdoor pub, pretending to sip on a pint of brew, and was chatting up the barkeep in an animated debate about whether the women in Central City’s sin district were more beautiful than the specimens found in the Realm. Jeb was on the other end of the square, and having found his most tattered costume, appeared as a lowly street urchin, pretending to nap under a pile of discarded newspapers in the corner of an abandoned stoop. The other men had blended so well into the shadows that Wyatt had trouble finding them, which gave him a small glimmer of comfort, having not been familiar with them before last night, and uncertain of their abilities. He needn’t have worried, since all of the men now under his command had been assigned and trained by General Andrus himself and were equivalent to any seasoned Tin Man for their steadfastness and proficiency.

All the same, the similarities in his circumstances to the dream he’d had the day before were unsettling, and his mouth twitched unhappily while he brooded on the matter. He’d taken great pains to obtain the false belts, now in Ma DeMilo’s possession, with the intent of passing off a replica to their unknown enemy, and he now strongly suspected that he wouldn’t show at all. If anyone sprung his trap, it was sure to be Vizor, and Vizor alone, which meant that the subterfuge created by the false belts was a moot point. The more Wyatt considered the matter, the more he believed that this unseen cohort of Vizor’s had other plans, and probably intended to spring a trap of his own. This had been why he’d still taken the genuine article from Artie, on the outside chance that Boulderstone might try to get the jump on him while Wyatt was down in the Realm. Perhaps, he hoped, Boulderstone might expect Wyatt to still have the belt on his person and would try to ambush Wyatt instead.

Wyatt turned from his vigil to look the other way down the alley. Dark as it was in that narrow passageway, he could still easily make out the outlines of the random articles of trash and debris discarded by the occupants of the building on either side, as well as the various openings onto this space – doorways and windows, fire escapes, and brighter areas where the alley was broken up by other avenues cutting across the realm. The alley went on for some way like this, like a narrow tunnel into the dark, and he could barely make out the dead end where more trash bins and boxes were piled haphazardly a few streets away. A cool breeze suddenly pushed past Wyatt’s space as he stared down the expanse, and it picked up a discarded piece of newspaper, sending it sailing down the dark walk a few yards past him, and setting it down again close to a large pile of boxes. A glint of a firearm muzzle caught his eye, barely noticeable amongst the boxes until the glossy page threw reflective light onto it when it landed. This had to be Breckenridge, the keen-eyed sharpshooter assigned to guard Wyatt’s backside, Wyatt noted silently before he touched his finger to the brim of his hat in acknowledgement and turned back to gaze on Ma DeMilo’s shop. He was somewhat satisfied now, knowing that he would not be completely alone should his suspicions be confirmed.

It was unlike Wyatt to be so easily assuaged, and his brow furrowed at the realization. He opened his jacket for a moment to gaze on the belt wrapped snuggly around his waist, and its jewels seemed to wink at him even in the low light of the alcove. His fingers glanced over the stones for a moment and a giddy feeling seemed to bubble up in him at the contact. Wyatt withdrew his hand from the belt as if burned, and he rebuttoned his jacket hastily before he withdrew a note from his pocket and read it once more for edification:

Cain –

The Belt of Roquat is known to cause its wearer to experience delusions of grandeur and may greatly affect your judgement if you are forced to wear it. If you begin to feel stronger than you’ve ever felt, or like you are incapable of being harmed, DO NOT TRUST IT. This is a side effect of the belt. If you do have to use it at all, place both hands on the belt a tell it where you want to go. When you get there, you need to take the belt off immediately, or the effects of the belt may multiply and cause irreparable delirium and paranoia. The minute you have accomplished your task, please contact me via the lamp, and I will come immediately. Do not let this belt out of your sight.

Wyatt crumpled the note in his hand and grimaced, while a low growl emitted from the back of his throat. He’d have to be careful – now was not the time to become lax in his usual vigilant nature, and although it seemed necessary now to second guess himself, he knew that doing so might cost him valuable time overall. He wouldn’t have too much time to mull over these factors though, because his cohorts outside the alley had all changed in their overall demeanor, signaling that their target had finally arrived. Wyatt and his team had been on standby for hours, and weariness had long settled in their bones and made their eyes grow tired of the endless stream of suspicious looking people milling about the square, but when Vizor finally appeared, their collective weariness seemed to melt away instantly. The Sorceress’s former advisor seemed almost snake-like in the way he slid towards Ma DeMilo. He meandered through the crowd without touching a soul, and his dark leather coat glistening in the lamplight as he went.

 Wyatt’s eyes flickered onto the forms of his team. Despite being seemingly involved in their own activities, Wyatt could discern a focused and serious undertone in the manner in which the other men seemed to track the movements of their target. Ahamo had put down his drink and his eyes roved over his shoulder to land on the man, drawing nearer to the stall. Jeb had discarded his paper coverings and was stumbling closer to the center of the square, panhandling for change as he went and throwing covert glances to Ahamo and his father. Wyatt held back a split second longer though, holding his breath while he watched the scene unfold in near slow motion, and half expecting the other to appear at his shoulder the moment he cleared the alley.

Wyatt pushed the notion aside quickly, feeling confident that he could handle any challenge that confronted him. He turned his attention back to the stall, where Vizor had finally landed, and had already begun his fatal transaction. The picture before Wyatt was like a carefully timed dance, and if he weren’t part of the overall choreography, Wyatt would be utterly mesmerized by the events. Ma DeMilo was like a snake charmer in her abilities of keeping Vizor occupied, creating a great deal of excitement from him when she produced the Belt of Roquat and laid it on the counter. The gems on the belt glittered temptingly, and Vizor gasped quietly as he leaned down to examine them. He seemed quelled enough to let his attention waiver, glancing downward so he could withdraw his payment from within the confines of his pocket. While his eyes were averted, the shady woman pulled her switch, and it was so seamless that one wouldn’t have realized what she had done had they not already been aware of the deception, and when Vizor straightened to present her with a small velvet bag, he seemed completely unphased.

Ma DeMilo wasn’t done sealing the deception, and she maintained her grasp on the article while they haggled over her fee. From Wyatt’s distance, he could not hear the words spoken between the parties, but he could tell by Ma DeMilo’s disgruntled face, and the way that she held the belt back from the man’s grasp, that there was some question of payment. When Vizor sniffed and presented yet another petite bag, Ma finally relented, and released her tight grip on the coveted belt, laying waste to any remaining suspicions the man might have had about the belt’s authenticity.

While this was happening, the other players in the scene slid smoothly into their places, ready to catch and block their prey at the appointed moment. Wyatt held back only slightly before he examined his surroundings cautiously. Maybe he felt somewhat overconfident when he failed to find any threats closing in on his position, but he shrugged his concern away quickly. He rationalized that he had so far gone unnoticed, and he stepped away from his alcove with sure, quick moving feet, gliding quietly to his target standing directly ahead, now completely uncaring to any potential danger, and certain he would prevail in his goal.

Vizor seemed completely unaware that he had been suddenly surrounded in a loose circle, so when he turned from Ma DeMilo with the false belt in hand, his eyes were wide in surprise to find Wyatt so close by.

“Well, hey there, Vizor, long time no see,” Wyatt exclaimed brightly, clapping the man on the shoulders and grinning as he spoke in a booming, overly friendly voice.

Vizor attempted to shift out of Wyatt’s grasp, but found his shoulders held fast in Wyatt’s vice-like grip. He couldn’t have gone far in any case, he discovered, for Ahamo, Jeb and two other members of their extraction team had sealed the distance and stood barring his other possible exits. So instead, the dark man turned his eyes back to the ex-law man and he sneered as he replied coolly, “I wish I could say the same, Mister Cain. I’ve seen more of your face in the past cycles than I care to remember. It’s too bad Zero didn’t have the heart to finish the job I sent him on all those long annuals ago. It would have saved your family a great deal of suffering.” He stopped to chuckle with a sudden realization that made his eyes grow wide, and he continued in astonishment, “My goodness, I do hope your new wife has the opportunity to see your face again before my employer finds her. What a shame for you not to be able to say good-bye. Again.”

Wyatt’s smile narrowed into a tight curl, and his eyes turned to cold steel as they surveyed the man critically. The longer he looked down on the Sorceress’s former advisor, the hotter his rage became. It was as if someone had lit him on fire, simultaneously transmitting images to Wyatt of his past – the last man who had sneered at him in this fashion had been Zero himself, and the only thing that had saved him then was DG’s influence on his psyche. There were no angels of mercy now, however, and Wyatt’s rage grew unchecked, causing his very presence to grow in time with his anger.

As Wyatt stepped into his space, Vizor attempted to step back, feeling the threat in Wyatt’s eyes looming largely over him like a tangible thing. He stepped into the chest of one of his captors though, and he sniveled as Wyatt maintained his proximity, growling low as he answered in a deathly quiet voice, “You’d better hope I’m not the last thing you see, Vizor. Lucky for you, you’re not really the fish I came to fry. Where’s your buddy?”

When Vizor laughed, a chill ran down Wyatt’s spine that he masked by clenching his jaw, and when Vizor paused to breathe, he held Wyatt’s gaze and replied darkly, “Oh, don’t worry Tin Man, he’ll find you, I’m sure. As soon as he’s done with your little curator.”

Wyatt froze, and something snapped within him, like he had been splashed with cold water. He shook his head furiously, like he was forcing drugs out of his system, and he growled at him as his eyes flicked on the men standing behind him. He had had enough of talking to Vizor, and given what he’d just said, he felt an urgent need to confer with Jeb and Ahamo, knowing that time was running short on the next stage in their plan. With a jerk of his head, he signaled for the extraction team to take over, and Wyatt stepped back to make way while he commanded in a quiet rumble, “Get him topside right away.” When they nodded and turned to leave, Wyatt’s eyes darted to Ahamo and Jeb, who still stood close by, awaiting his orders.

“Dad, Artie– “Jeb began with a troubled expression, only to be interrupted by Wyatt, who raised his hand to silence Jeb before he interjected.

“I know son.” He paused to breathe and consider, and continued on in a metered voice, “I want you both to go with the truck. Hightail it to Central, and don’t let Vizor or the Princesses out of your sight.”

Ahamo placed a fatherly hand on Wyatt’s shoulder, and he stared into Wyatt’s eyes as he asked, “What about you, Wyatt? How are you going to get back?”

Wyatt opened his jacket to reveal the belt, and he answered cryptically, “Don’t worry about me, I’ve got it covered.” Ahamo and Jeb stepped back and nodded in silent understanding, and Wyatt added quickly, “If I don’t see you guys first, tell DG I love her, and I’ll be home as quick as I can.”

Wyatt could see the worry in their faces before he commanded the belt to take him to the hut. They knew just as well as he did that he was very likely walking into a trap. They’d hoped that Boulderstone would try and ambush Wyatt in the square, where there was plenty of backup and the risk was much lower that Wyatt might end up dead. Going alone raised so many red flags that Wyatt would have ordinarily advised anyone else against it. As it was, he felt oddly certain that he could overcome this foe and save Artie, even if the look on his family’s faces said otherwise. Although he’d kept control of a dangerous artifact and had successfully kept it out of the hands of their enemies thus far, it felt important to see this through. Artie was the keeper of so many more artifacts, many of which Wyatt had little to no knowledge of, and the very fact that they were so well hidden and so secret meant that they had to be guarded at all costs.

He could not let the archives, or their keeper get into the hands of this mysterious foe, he determined swiftly, before he placed his hands on the belt and muttered, “Take me to the Seeker’s hut.”

If Ahamo and Jeb had known the content of Artie’s secret note to Wyatt, they might have stopped him from going. There would have been no doubt in their minds that Wyatt’s judgement had been impaired by the belt that he had been wearing for hours, but as it was, they were completely clueless as to the real threat to their mission. Wyatt had completely lost his objectivity and had finally given in to the pull of the belt, believing that only he could stop Boulderstone now, without any thought for the warning he’d received the day before. By the time he peeped out of existence before Ahamo and Jeb’s eyes, and reappeared seconds later within the confines of the hut, the damage had been done, and Wyatt’s ordinarily cautious nature had been scattered to the winds.

The hut was lit only by the weak light of the late afternoon sun when Wyatt appeared, standing just before the ladder and surrounded in the small amount of light that filtered from the opening in the roof. Although the place appeared uninhabited, Wyatt sensed that he was not alone, and in the moment that he turned quickly to face the source of a muffled cry, the fireplace roared to life, throwing light onto the room and its previously unseen occupants. Artie had been the source of the muffled warning, and he sat on the stone ledge directly opposite the fireplace, unable to speak for the rag shoved in his mouth. His hands were bound before him, and his fingers, appearing stonelike and immovable, were wrapped around a garnet-colored gem that twinkled menacingly in the firelight. Beside him sat a jovial looking old man, whose snow-white hair fell around his face and shoulders in stringy clumps and barely covered the withered, grey skin of his ancient face that grinned back at Wyatt. If it weren’t for Artie being bound, it might have seemed as if the two men were friendly, and Wyatt was unsurprised to find them there, but the overall condition of the two stilled his hand on his firearm, and he let it drop useless to his side.

“Hello, my boy, how nice of you to join us,” the old man greeted Wyatt in a crackled and friendly sounding voice, and he pointed a gnarled finger at Wyatt when he warned, “now why don’t you just hand over what I came here for, so I can release your friend here?”

Wyatt scoffed to the ceiling and folded his arms in front of him before he shot the old man a skeptical look, replying through a disbelieving laugh, “And why would I do that old man?”

Artie grunted through fabric in his mouth, and jabbed the air with his bound hands, his eyes wide in terror. The old man snickered, and answered for Artie, “What your friend is trying to say, is that the lovely little stone in his hands is slowly turning him to stone, and although I have the antidote to his current predicament, I have no reason to give it to him while you refuse to do as I’ve asked.”

“I could just shoot you and get the antidote myself,” Wyatt offered thoughtfully as he scrubbed his beard, his eyes glinting with a certain amount of danger.

Artie shook his head furiously, as if warning Wyatt against threats. The old man was not swayed, and instead laughed brightly and answered with a question that made Wyatt pause and his heart to thud loudly in his ears. “My dear boy, I believe that my belt might be going to your head. Didn’t the good curator here warn you about its effects?” He wagged a finger at Wyatt and smirked, and he sighed before his face became serious once more and he continued quietly, “You don’t really think it would be that easy, did you? Do you really believe there’s a little vial just hidden away within the folds of my cloak that will save your friend here? I’ll need to use the belt to get what he needs.”

Wyatt glanced at Artie’s hands again, silently measuring how much time he thought the man might have. The old man seemed to read his mind, and he offered suggestively, “Time is short, my boy, shorter than you think, and the antidote will do him no good if he cannot swallow any longer.”

 Wyatt continued to survey Artie, whose arms were now a definite shade of grey up to his elbows, the color darkening as it traveled further up his limbs. Despite the continued sense of unflappable confidence that washed over him in continuous waves, Wyatt was now keenly aware that the man was right; he’d erred in coming here at all, and although he might save Artie, he would be endangering much more in the process. It was unavoidable at this point, and he knew it, so with a heavy sigh, he unbuckled the belt and stretched his arm out to offer it to the man. The old man rose to his feet slowly and pushed his dark cloak open as he retrieved the article from Wyatt’s outstretched hand. His smile menacing and triumphant from the time he stood, until the time he secured the old leather around his own small waist, and the coldness in the man’s dark eyes seemed to pierce Wyatt’s very soul, leaving a feeling of dread in its wake. Then he was gone, and Wyatt felt his stomach drop. Without the belt, he felt bereft, as if someone had cut a limb from his body, and he felt a paralyzing fear take over him. It was difficult to move, and his limbs felt heavy, but he stepped forward to remove the gag from Artie’s mouth despite this, feeling as if he was dragging his feet through tar as he moved.

Artie breathed a sigh of small relief when the gag was removed, and he took a moment to breathe freely before he gave Wyatt some encouragement, telling him authoritatively, “It’ll pass Cain. You had the belt on a little too long. It’s a little like coming off vapors, just breathe through it.”

“Artie,” Wyatt replied in a shaky voice, “I don’t know what to do. What if he doesn’t come back?”

Artie’s eyes shifted suddenly, and the air changed behind Wyatt, where a voice announced itself cheerfully, “Have no fear my boy, I always keep my word.” Wyatt spun around to face the man, whose black eyes met Wyatt’s in a stern, promising look, and he held out the aforementioned vial while he stated, “and here is your salvation, Mr. Saul.”

Wyatt swiped the vial from the man and wasted no time in pouring its contents down Artie’s throat, despite still being watched by his unsettling foe. Wyatt watched as Artie’s gradual metamorphosis halted, and his natural color inched back at a snail’s pace, ignoring the man at his back. The man had to be waiting for him though, and when Wyatt did not turn quick enough, the man barked at him gruffly, “Now turn around, Mr. Cain, I’ll have a final word before I leave.”

Wyatt was already regaining some of his natural gumption, and his voice was impatient as he turned, asking angrily, “Who are you really, anyway?”

When he turned and faced the old man completely, his body was forcibly slammed against the wall behind him by an unseen set of hands, and he heard an unpleasant crunch where his skull struck the stone. His vision blurred and his head spun, his body slumping to the earthen ground in a heap. He felt like a weight had suddenly pulled his head and body down, and he struggled to get up, but a set of worn leather shoes had appeared beside him and he was certain the man had drawn close to him, making him all the more determined to move.

When he looked up, the man’s face was close by, and he whispered to Wyatt as he pushed him back down onto the ground easily, “I’ve been called many names over the long annuals Mr. Cain, but when next I see your dear wife, and bring an end to that wretched line, she’ll know me as her greatest great grandmother did. She called me Roquat the Red. Now sleep well, Tin Man.”

Wyatt’s eyes could not hold their focus any longer, and his body had finally grown too heavy for him to control, and he sunk to the ground with a groan. He was desperate to get up, and he could hear Artie yelp in his half-conscious state, but he could no longer control his limbs, and darkness was creeping up on him in rapid succession. The last thing he remembered hearing before his body was plunged into a fitful state of unconscious was a cold, menacing laugh that seemed to echo through his skull and plunge his body into ice water, freezing his mind in a state of utter dread and terror, and leaving him to question what the man would do to him and DG next.

Chapter Text

There’d been a scream. She just knew it, but when DG sat upright in bed, she saw nothing beyond her bedroom to indicate that anything had been amiss. It was still dark outside her window, with no light showing through either the slit in the curtains, nor under the door that connected her bedroom with the common area of her quarters. Raw seemed to have disappeared sometime during DG’s slumber as well, she realized after she switched on the lamp beside her, and she scanned the room frantically for any sign of the man that had held her hand until she’d passed into a dreamless sleep. He wasn’t in the armchair facing her bed either, and as DG’s heart thrummed in her ears and the sweat covering her created a chill, she wished she knew where he’d gone. It wasn’t Raw’s scream that had awoken her, but Wyatt’s, and since her husband stood no chance of being nearby enough to be audible in the conventional sense, she worried that something had happened. At least if Raw was here, he could assuage her fears, and possibly confirm that she’d just been dreaming. She hoped she had been dreaming.

The princess rubbed her shoulders furiously while she considered getting out of bed to find her friend, and she’d just started to inch towards the edge of the bed with the door swung open, and Raw swooped in noiselessly. DG realized that he was panting as he drew near, and when he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand, he was still fighting to control the pace of his breathing, causing him to sound winded when he spoke.

“DG dream of Cain?” Raw questioned her gently, and DG could see the look of concern in his warm eyes, even in the pale light of the lamp.

DG chewed on her lip, and she searched Raw’s eyes, her own anxious and afraid, and her voice waivered when she finally answered in a jittery stream, “Was it a dream, Raw? It seemed so real. I mean, is Wyatt okay? Can you tell?”

Raw placed is free hand on top of hers and fixed her with a sad, sympathetic smile, and he nodded slowly as he replied, “Raw see. Raw tell Princess.” He closed his eyes and reached out through DG, stretching his second sight into the far reaches of her connection with her husband.

When Raw pierced the veil of DG’s soul to search out Cain, DG could feel a kind of crack open wide within her, exposing her innermost feelings like a fresh wound. Her fears and worries intermingled with the deep love and joy she felt for her husband, and they bubbled up furiously like a strange concoction that threatened to overwhelm her. DG gasped at the sensation and was helpless to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes as Raw continued to probe the thin line of what was DG’s physic connection to the man that he’d heard calling out in her dreams. When he released his grip on her hand and met her eyes, there was a reluctant sadness that purveyed in his posture.

His shoulders were hunched, and his head bowed slightly while he rumbled uneasily, “Raw cannot see. Only feel. Cain alive, but scared. Thoughts confused, messy.”

DG’s eyes widened and her lip trembled as she asked in a cracked voice, “Do you know where he is, Raw?”

Raw shook his head slowly, and answered only, “No,” before DG jumped from the bed and began to pace. Raw wrung his hands unhappily while DG walked back and forth at the foot of the bed, her eyes downcast and thoughtful while she considered what, if anything, she could do.

When the Princess finally stopped, it was only to swing around to the dressing room, and she dashed inside the dark confines for only a moment. She emerged seconds later, with her slippers on and a robe being tightened hastily around her rounded middle, and she reached out for Raw, and pulled him along as she commanded firmly, “Come on Raw, we’ve got to go see Jennifer.”

Raw allowed himself to be yanked away from the bed, and he hurried after the princess as if trying not to be dragged. She stopped just outside the outer doors of her quarters, and Raw had to stop short to keep from plowing into her backside as she addressed Gates on the other side.

“Gates, what time is it?” DG asked her guard, who looked more than somewhat startled to be so addressed by the woman who was usually unconscious at such an hour.

“Milady,” Gates exclaimed in a surprised hush, “It’s not quite midnight, ma’am. Is something wrong?”

DG shook her head impatiently and replied quickly, “There’s no time, Gates. Where is General Jinjur?”

“She should be in her quarters, ma’am. She usually goes to bed after nightshift roll call.” Gates blustered, his alarm growing with every question uttered by the Princess, and he worked up the courage and asked in a near whisper, his eyes looking past her and Raw to the room beyond, “Did something happen, Milady? Is there someone in your room?”

DG shook her head and stepped through the door, allowing Raw to emerge and shut the door behind himself. When she’d heard the door click behind them, she moved past Gates and motioned for him to follow, muttering quietly as she went, “Come on Gates, you’ll hear about it soon enough. At least this way I don’t have to be a broken record.”

Gates wasn’t sure what DG meant, and given her harried state, he didn’t think it wise to ask. Instead, he hurried after the Princess and her silent viewer, hoping that the General wouldn’t skewer him for allowing the Princess to walk the halls at such a late hour.

The hall in which the General’s office and private quarters resided was silent at this hour, with nary a soul traversing its plush expanse. The moon shone brightly through the windows that lined the outer wall that looked out on the private courtyard below. That lush space was guarded only by the buffets that surrounded it and cut it off from the greater world beyond the palace, and the trees within blew gently in the breeze that whipped around the stone walls, whispering cautiously in the night. The sound of the whispering wind was enough to rattle DG, and she trembled as she quietly plodded down the hallway, rubbing her arms protectively and glancing out the windows as she went. When she reached the General’s door, she had to actively stop herself from turning the handle of what used to be Wyatt’s office, and she chastised herself with an annoyed ‘tsk,’ before she removed her hand from the knob and instead knocked hurriedly.

There was a muffled shuffling from behind the door, and it swung open so swiftly that DG was taken aback and took a step backwards when the General was revealed. The woman was wide eyed, and her blazing hair was loose around her shoulders, and whipped around her when the force of the door’s swing created a gust of wind. Her face was pale, which made the blush that formed all the more evident when she was met by the Princess and her companions the other side, and she hastily pulled her robe more tightly around her before she spoke.

“DG,” she gasped, averting her eyes from Gates, who was still staring at the General, seemingly mesmerized by her casual state. She cleared her throat suggestively while straightening her spine, causing Gates to shake himself out of his trance, and she opened the door wide to admit the party, continuing with more formality, “Please, come inside.”

DG and her larger shadows stepped carefully inside, and waited, just inside the threshold for the General to set the pace of the meeting. The woman paused behind them only long enough to lock the door, after which she stepped around the small group, and indicated to a set of armchairs with a wave of her hand.

The woman waited until DG had seated herself in a chair before seating herself, to be followed only by Raw, who crawled into a cross-legged position on the carpet nearest to the fire, where he purred quietly and was otherwise silent. Gates positioned himself at the door, where he eyed the party expectantly, all while maintaining a rigid stance that blocked anyone entering from being able to clearly view the individuals seated at the fire.

“Alright, DG, I think it’s safe enough now to talk,” the General proclaimed with a tired sigh, and she removed her slippers so she could pull her feet up into the seat with her, mirroring DG’s pose in a deliberate attempt to set the woman at ease.

DG’s eyes flickered from Raw to the General, and she waited for Gates to clear his throat suggestively before she let out a burdened huff, and she explained, “Something’s wrong. I can’t explain it, but I know Wyatt is in trouble.”

Jennifer’s eyes narrowed, and she only seemed to study DG for a moment before her eyes became unfocused and she seemed to stare off into space. While the General sat in relative silence, the sound of the fire crackling in the grate seemed louder than usual, and its periodic popping made the skittish princess flinch and stare at it like a deer caught in headlights. Finally, Jennifer cleared her throat, and when she spoke, it was with a quiet, non-threatening tone, as if she were a dear friend or sister, “DG, are you sure about this? Could it just be nerves? I know you’ve been under a lot of strain.”

Raw growled, and he spoke before DG could answer, sounding protective and oddly authoritative, “DG not wrong. Raw feel it. Tin Man scared. Tin Man never scared except when family not safe.”

The General’s eyes darted from DG to Raw, and she considered his comments with an air of sudden clarity. She hadn’t had much experience with viewers, but between the tales she’d heard, and the frequency with which the Sorceress’s imprisoned viewers had unearthed various cells of the Resistance, she’d learned to be considerate of Raw’s kind. So, when her eyes met DG’s once more, finding the Princess blinking back unwaveringly, she knew she shouldn’t have questioned her.

“I must apologize, Princess,” she said, and she then asked, “do you know where he is?”

DG shook her head sadly, and replied quietly, “all I know is that Wyatt was planning to bring Vizor back in the next day or two. He said that I should be ready.”

The General didn’t waste any more precious time, and she rose from her seat and glided swiftly over to her desk, where she motioned for Gates to approach while she began scribbling a note. “Captain,” she addressed the man in a firm, commanding voice, “these are orders for the night watch. I want you to take them to the gate house straight away and double time it back here. I’ll guard the Princess until you’re back.”

Gates nodded, and he saluted his commanding officer after taking the note, only relaxing his position when she returned the gesture. “Yes ma’am.” He answered formally and turned on his heel to exit at a rapid pace.

When Gates slipped quietly outside, the General re-locked the door and returned to her place by the fire. Once there, she sighed and rubbed her arms, explaining softly, “DG, General Andrus sent an extraction team to the Realm of the Unwanted two days ago.” She paused and met the Princess’s eyes and continued, “I just sent a detachment to scout for the truck. With any luck, if the first team made contact and stayed on schedule, they’ll already be on their way back. If not, we’ll know soon.” She rose slowly then and strolled over to the fire, where she carefully hung a heavy copper tea kettle on an iron rod and stood watching the flames licking the gleaming surface of the metal for a time before she turned away once more.

DG and Raw watched the woman in silence for a time, and Raw noted her intentional quietude. He could sense that her emotions bubbled wildly under the surface, and yet she maintained such a cool exterior. Apart from this, Jennifer Jinjur was in many ways DG’s match, and the viewer found the similarities in the women intriguing. DG seemed less enamored with their similarities and seemed lost in thought while her eyes maintained their study of the woman, who was currently gathering cups and saucers from a sideboard and was arranging them at the coffee table between the two chairs, clearly setting the groundwork for the three of them to share in a cup of tea. With how pacifying the woman was, it was easy to forget that she was, in fact, a General, and not one to be trifled with. It was only when she spoke, with so much authority and confidence, that both DG and Raw could understand how she might rattle the men in her command.

This evening was no exception, and when she next spoke to DG, in the midst of passing out steaming cups of tea like a good hostess, that she surprised even the princess. “DG, you’re not going to like the orders I just gave out, but I have to be honest with you, because its important.” Her eyes leveled with DG’s and they held each other’s gaze in earnest silence for a moment before the General continued, “I put the palace on high alert, and have given orders to double yours and your sister’s guard until further notice. I’m telling you this now, because I need you to stay where we put you and do what we ask until we can ascertain the threat. Do you understand?”

A switch seemed to flick within DG, and Raw noted a slight shift in her eyes when the General broke the news. Although Raw suspected that there were a certain number of gears turning within DG’s mind, she nodded solemnly all the same, and she replied in a calculated voice, “What about Vizor? I need to know that if something has happened to my husband, that you will agree to let me or Az interrogate him. No one else will be able to get anything out of him.”

Jennifer shook her head and replied quickly, “Absolutely not, I will not make that pact. I will promise not to let anything happen to him until we find out what happened to General Cain, but I cannot allow either you or the Crown Princess to be put at risk. I’m certain that we’ll be able to get the information out of him we need without either of you getting involved. Besides, there’s no guarantee that anything has happened to him.” When DG’s eyes narrowed and she folded her arms before her chest in protest, Jennifer added with an edge of conciliation, “DG, this was Cain’s order to me before he left. Please don’t make this harder for me than it already is. If I can’t get Vizor to talk, you have my word that I’ll let you have a crack at it. In the meantime, we have to play it safe. You have to let me do my job.”

DG chewed on the inside of her cheek and continued to survey the woman sitting across from her, whose brilliant green eyes seemed to pierce through DG when she requested DG’s compliance. She might have sounded conciliatory, and as inviting as any good hostess, but the edge in her voice told her that General Jinjur would do what was necessary with or without DG’s assistance. The only aspect of the plans that DG was being given any command over was herself, and she suspected that the less she complied, the less she would be invited to participate should anything go amiss. The General was still giving her that expression now while DG looked on coolly. The tension had grown considerably in those short, quiet moments, and Raw shifted in discomfort while the women silently stared the other down. DG’s disdain for protocol aside, she understood the General’s request, she just had difficulty quieting her usual impulsiveness. Her better judgement won out in the end though, and DG finally sighed and nodded her agreement, which allowed Jennifer to relax somewhat, and the women both took a sip of their tea in response to the silent standoff expiring between them.

DG emptied her cup quickly, unable to maintain the rouse of patience in that department, and when she finished it, she set the cup down on the table and sighed. “What do we do now, General?” She asked with a practiced meter in her tone, and Raw wondered if she’d been taking lessons from her mother in how she maintained her composure while, behind her eyes, frustration with their apparent complacency burned like a forest fire.

Jennifer set her own cup down, and Raw saw a similar intensity within her eyes when she met DG’s stare and replied patiently, “We wait.”

It seemed that there was nothing more to do except do as the General had suggested, and when the General poured out more tea, the viewer and the Princess accepted graciously, not knowing what else to do while they counted down the minutes until news finally came. Time seemed to drag on at a torturously slow pace, and none of the three individuals sitting at the General’s fireside showed any intention of breaking the nervous tension that had been the hallmark of their visit. Every sound seemed heightened, from the flap and crack of the orange flames in the grate, to the soft tick of the clock on the woman’s desk. Despite the apprehension that hung thickly in the air, or maybe because of it, the General continued to refill the teacups while they passed the time. Even Raw was eager to partake in a beverage, happy to have something to distract him from the thoughts of the two women, who both sat in silence while they plotted their next individual moves. It was maddening for all, and by the time a runner was finally admitted by Gates, the tension had reached such a peak that were it a tangible thing, it might have finally snapped. The young man passed a slip of folded paper to the General, after which he hastily saluted and skittered away, being silently shooed by the woman as she stared at the sheet in her hand. She flipped the page open and read quickly, while DG paced behind her chair, chewing on the edge of her thumbnail and watching apprehensively.

The General looked up after only a few moments, and the look in her eyes was an unreadable mixture of nerves and uncertainty, and she explained, “The truck will be here within the hour.”

“And Wyatt?” DG asked expectantly when she paused behind her chair, clutching the back with white knuckles as she spoke.

Jennifer shook her head and replied cautiously, “No way to know yet, Princess. We’ll have to wait until it gets here to know for sure.” She didn’t wait for DG to respond, and instead glided to the door, where she poked her head out to bring Gates inside. When the door had shut again, she addressed them all once more, her voice louder, and formal. “If you’ll excuse me Princess, I have to be ready for our prisoner’s arrival. Captain, if you would, please take the Princess and her companion to her quarters and keep them there until I give new orders. Is that understood?”

Gates straightened considerably to this order, responding rigidly, “Yes ma’am.”

Satisfied that the captain would do as ordered, the General turned back to DG, who had maintained her position behind the armchair, but now stood by it with arms folded in defiance. The hardened expression of a commanding officer melted from the General’s face, leaving only the fiery, warm young woman before DG, and she offered in a soft, yet firm voice, “You have my word, DG. As soon as the truck gets here, I’ll let you know. I won’t keep you in the dark.”

DG accepted this olive branch reluctantly, murmuring a soft “thank you,” before she walked slowly past her, and into the open threshold where Gates and their extra detail waited, Raw tagging quietly along, like a silent shadow.

DG spoke very little as they traversed the cavernous paths of the palace, with Gates in the lead and Raw and the other guards continuing to trail behind. It was as if a clock was ticking menacingly within her mind, with its constant beat counting down to the appointed hour that she and Azkadellia had been planning so meticulously for. Wyatt’s possible absence threw her plans into doubt, however, and she wondered if this was the moment that Ozma had spoken of, when Wyatt would need her and the aide of her enchanted slippers. It felt as if she was being pulled in two directions, with her sister on one end and Wyatt on the other, and her gut twisted painfully at the notion that she might have to choose between them.

A furry hand landed softly on her arm as she grappled with this particular thought, and she turned to spy Raw falling into step with her. His warm eyes were serious, and although he returned her weak smile, it faded quickly when he spoke. “DG not need to choose. Just wait. You see.”

Raw’s insight was always welcome, and in that moment, it provided DG the courage she needed to see her task through. “Thanks, Raw,” DG returned quietly, averting her eyes momentarily to acknowledge Gates, who had opened the door for the Princess, and stood aside while she and Raw stepped through. Satisfied, at least, that she would not have to give up one to save the other yet, it made it easier to make her next move, and she stopped at Gates’ shoulder and softly commanded, “I need my sister, Gates. Please see that she is allowed in when she arrives.”

The towering man knew better than to argue with the Princess in her current frame of mind, and he nodded his agreement silently, and poked his head out to eye the other guards. When he addressed them, there was a certain formality and gravity in his voice that DG had never heard, and she was silently thankful for his complicity.

“No one enters this room unless cleared by me or General Jinjur, is that clear?” Gate commanded gravely, adding per the Princess’ quiet edict, “The Princess Royale will be arriving shortly. Please admit her and her consort without question.”

The others nodded curtly to their commanding officer, straightening considerably in their posts as they answered, “Yes sir.”

Satisfied with their reply, Gates shut the door on them, and sealed the three of them inside the room. “Princess, I need you and Master Raw to stay here until I can sweep the residence.” Gates announced firmly. His voice was still deadly serious when he spoke, and his eyes fixed her with a steady gaze when he demanded her full compliance.

DG nodded silently and remained utterly still, while the man stalked past, intent on sweeping the premise room by room. DG, meanwhile, had set about her own task, and she allowed her eyes to become unfocused as she reached out through her mind to contact her sister. In the past cycle, she’d only ever spoken to her sister in this fashion while they’d been in the same room, never having had the opportunity to test their connection across greater distances. Although their timing could not be worse for cementing this particular aspect of their plan into place, DG knew it would be her only chance before Vizor arrived and they were completely out of time. DG took a long, steadying breath, fighting the apprehension that was rising incrementally within her, and hopeful that she’d be able to reach her sister.

“Az!” DG called out, mentally, causing Raw to wince as if she’d yelled in his ear. “It’s time. Please come find me. I’m in my room.”

DG’s eyes had shut on their own while she’d been focusing on her connection with Azkadellia, and having finished, they opened once more as the Princess took a sharp intake of air. She waited for what felt like an eternity for her sister to respond, uncertain that it had worked, and nervously chewing on her lip while the minutes ticked by.

“I’m coming,” she finally heard, faint and muffled as if her sister was speaking through her pillow; a sure indication that she’d just woken up and was still clearing away the cobwebs of the remaining dreams that had blanketed her consciousness.

DG breathed a sigh of relief, and her shoulders collapsed from the sudden lack of tension. A smile flickered on her face when she realized that she’d been successful, and it widened when she completed a mental inventory of her physical state. Her mother had been right, it seemed, and reaching out to her sister had done very little to her overall. Despite this, she knew that the next few hours would be a test of her strength, and she crossed over to the couch with Raw at her side and seated herself there to finally give in to the request that so many had made of her in the past hour. She waited.

Patience was definitely not one of DG’s strongest traits. Although she knew she had nowhere to go, and nothing to accomplish for the time being, it did little to stop her from needlessly fidgeting. In the hour that it took for the truck to arrive, the Princess had been joined by her brother and sister, and the pair looked on in silent acceptance of the woman who paced relentlessly before the fireplace. DG had done everything possible to keep her mind occupied; she’d changed into a dress, of all things, and the deep blue cotton hung down to her calves, hugging her small mound in its soft fabric. She’d even taken the time to affix Wyatt’s pendant around her neck, and the gleaming silver heart was framed perfectly in the v of her dress, sparkling like a talisman around her neck. Changing her attire had done very little to settle the thoughts running rampant in her mind, and DG had resumed pacing soon after, focusing only on the path she wore in the rug as she moved. Raw, meanwhile, sat in a corner away from the others, desperately trying to ignore the turbulent thoughts of his friend and retain some sense of balance in that unsettled time.

When news finally arrived, DG found it difficult to restrain herself, and fought the urge to sprint to the door the moment the guards knocked from the other side. Instead, she stood expectantly by the fireside, her eyes wide with urgency while Gates strode over to confer with the others, still waiting beyond the threshold. He slipped through the door and shut it noiselessly behind him, leaving DG and others to watch the space where he’d disappeared in nervous anticipation.

When he reappeared, moments later, his face was ashen, and he didn’t speak until he’d shut the door once more. “Princess,” he addressed DG as he stepped into her personal circle, his unnaturally soft voice increasing the level of apprehension in DG to a fevered pitch and causing her breath to become shaky. “The Consort and Captain Cain have arrived with Vizor.”

“And Wyatt?” DG asked in a wavering voice.

Gates shook his head solemnly, and he replied, “No ma’am, but the Captain asked that Master Raw join him downstairs. When Jeb found out the General wasn’t here, he was a might upset. Seemed to believe he’d be here already. He wants Master Raw to find out where we can find the other one, and hopefully General Cain.”

Raw had already stood, and was already creeping up to DG’s side, and when Gates swallowed down the last of his explanation, he laid a comforting hand on DG’s shoulder and turned her to face him. “DG have courage. Tin Man be back soon. You wait. You see.”

DG’s lip trembled, and she nodded faintly before she fell into the viewer’s arms, sniffling as she spoke, “Okay Raw. Thank you.”

Raw pulled back from the Princess and offered her a sympathetic smile before they parted, leaving DG to stand in the middle of the room, looking lost and alone while he exited the room hastily. Time seemed to pass even more slowly without Raw’s calming presence, and the knowledge that Wyatt was indeed missing only served to create more anxiety for those left waiting in the Princess’s quarters. Azkadellia soon left her post at the couch and joined DG in standing. The elder princess was visibly nervous, being that she would most likely being playing the part of the victim before too long, but mostly she worried for DG and her missing spouse. DG seemed frozen in the space where she’d stopped before and was still staring at the long-since closed door when Azkadellia wrapped her arms around her. Her chin rested on her little sister’s shoulder as she added her own eyes to the vigil on the door, and they stood there, locked together in both body and spirit, holding their breath for something to happen.

It was a sluggish wait for that door to open once more, and when it did, it swung wildly at the hands of a Cain. Jeb to be precise, and he was so flustered and frustrated when he charged through that he surprised both Gale women, the elder of which threw up a protection spell the moment the door swung open. This caused Jeb to bounce harmlessly backward, and he grunted in frustration as he fought to regain his balance.

“Sorry Jeb,” Azkadellia muttered at the red-faced man, and she let down the shield immediately, looking sheepish and apologetic as she did so.

“Well, it’s you I came to find anyway, Your Highness,” Jeb explained, and he ran his hands through his hair in a clear sign of discomfort while he attempted to avert his gaze from DG. When DG took a step forward, with a questioning look apparent in her eyes, he added apologetically, “I’m sorry, Deeg. He wouldn’t tell us where dad is, and he just about laughed in my face when I brought Raw in. He’s still in there with him, but I don’t think it’s going to work.”

“It won’t,” Azkadellia replied firmly, and edge of bitterness in her voice as she continued to explain, “The Sorceress put a protection spell over Vizor and all of her Longcoat generals to stop any attempt to read them. I might be able to lift it though.”

That was DG’s cue, and she whipped around, her eyes blazing and her voice firm when she retorted, “No, Az. No chance.”

“DG, you know this will probably be our only opportunity to help Wyatt.” Azkadellia replied to her sister before she turned back to Jeb and inquired seriously, “Jeb, please.”

DG and Azkadellia both hated playing the young man, essentially using him to achieve their goal. Unfortunately, he’d bought it though, and nodded his approval before he answered apologetically, “I’m sorry Deeg, but she’s right, and General Jinjur has already approved of the measure.” Then to Azkadellia, he continued, “If you’re ready, Your Highness, I’ll escort you to the holding cells.”

Azkadellia turned to her sister, and hugged her tightly, and she whispered internally while their embrace lit the room with their shared light, “When I call, don’t hesitate. I love you little sister.”

“I love you too Az.” DG whispered back, and she stepped away from the elder Gale to allow Ambrose to take his place, grasping her hand as they departed quickly.

Chapter Text

Wyatt was underwater. Rather, he felt as if he was underwater. Behind his eyelids, the heavily weighted curtains that kept out the light of the world, he drifted in and out of consciousness, as if observing the world from the murky depths of dark water. He struggled to climb out of those depths, clawing mentally at the weightiness of his mental fog, but it felt as if something was continually dragging him down, and drawing a dense blanket over his face. His eyes would flutter open for moments while he fought his own body, and blurred images would shift before his eyes. These disjointed images were exhausting to decipher, and his lids would shut once more, his mind exhausted by the small spurts of exertion he’d forced upon it.

“Cain!” A voice seemed to call faintly, sounding muffled as if passing though water or some other thick barrier.

The distortion in the voice, probably due to his own mental haze, confused Wyatt and he groaned when his attempts to identify the source made his head throb. The voice grew louder despite his half-hearted protests, sounding increasingly desperate in its attempts to gain his attention. Each incremental change in the frequency of the voice was like an axe striking his skull, and the vibration alone was like the blade, widening the gap with every blow. It was too much, and Wyatt was finally able to gain control of his arms enough to draw his hands to the side of his face, where he covered his ears and groaned.

“Please stop,” Wyatt muttered through his cottony mouth, his hands still clutching his head as if trying to hold it together.

“General Cain,” the voice spoke again, this time quiet and breathless when it replied firmly and urgently, “you have to open your eyes.”

Wyatt complied, but only to silence the voice, and when he peered out, it was with an unfocused glare. “Why?” He barked at the form slowly coming into focus before him. It was a face, he realized slowly, and when it finally came into full view, he realized it was too close. He jerked his head backward, away from the overly large face of the curator, and his head thudded unhappily in response to the sudden movement.

“Augh,” Wyatt grunted while he slowly scrambled into a seated position on the floor. The room swam around him, and although the light of the fire was low, it still seemed too bright, and caused him to wince. “Great Ozma, what the hell happened?” He finally grumbled, resting his head in his hands while he waited on the spinning to slow.

Artie scoffed darkly as he scooted back on the floor and leaned his back against the ledge, and he shook his head as if uncertain how to answer while he studied the other man seated on the floor by his feet. His bushy eyebrows were knitted in thought, and he finally answered clinically, “What’s the last thing you remember, General? Can you tell me your wife’s name, or what you had to eat this morning?”

“Damnit Artie,” Wyatt barked defensively, “What’s with the interrogation, and how the hell did I end up on the floor?”

Artie eyed the scowling man from over the top of his spectacles and replied pointedly, “Answer the question, General.”

Wyatt huffed, but complied when he grumbled in irritation, “My wife’s name in Dorothy Glenda Gale-Cain, but she goes by DG, and I had a stick of mutton jerky and some coffee for breakfast. In this room, I might add. For grins and giggles, I’ll tell you that my name is Wyatt Ulysses Cain, former Tin Man and presently pissed off consort to a princess.” He looked up at Artie and met his gaze and added sarcastically, “Satisfied that I’m not a complete headcase, Artie?”

Artie’s eyes narrowed while he considered Cain’s answer, and he finally shrugged noncommittally in response. With Artie apparently satisfied that Wyatt would not fall into an unconscious state again, silence settled around them for a moment, which allowed Wyatt to gain his bearings in peace. Although his head still throbbed painfully between his ears, he could at least manage to keep himself upright and awake now, even if the light did tempt him to shut his eyes. The longer he sat, the less the light seemed to bother him, and he finally began to examine their predicament through narrowed slits.

This was when he realized that Artie was bound by his wrists and feet, and his hands were tinged with grey. His memory was still somewhat hazy, but he vaguely remembered administering some sort of medicine to Artie before he was knocked unconscious, and he wondered with some curiosity how long it had taken for the antidote to reach its current stage. “How long was I out?” Wyatt asked in a gravelly voice while he continued to study Artie.

Artie glanced down at his own hands before he responded with uncertainty, “A few hours at least, Mr. Cain. Do you remember now what happened?”

Wyatt’s gaze became unfocused while he considered his answer, and he finally replied hesitantly, “I remember catching Vizor, and I remember taking off to find you when his partner was a no-show. And I remember finding you like that,” he paused to gesture at Artie’s hands, and his voice became low and disgruntled when he added, “The rest is still a little hazy, but I’m guessing by the nasty bump on my head that it didn’t really go according to plan.”

Artie chuckled low in response to this, and carefully pushed the spectacles up the bridge of his nose with his stonelike fingers as he continued to hold Cain’s gaze. “That’s putting it mildly, Mr. Cain. I’m afraid it couldn’t have gone much worse, except for the fact that we’re still alive. Considering our adversary, and the fact that he is now in possession of the Belt of Roquat, that might not matter for too much longer.”

Cain’s eyes widened in sudden recognition, and his hands darted to his waist. “DG!” He exclaimed suddenly, as he began to scramble to his feet, stopping suddenly while still on his knees to grasp his head, groaning in pain and frustration when the room began to swim once more.

“Not so fast, Mr. Cain, you’ve had a rather nasty concussion.” Artie growled as Wyatt collapsed back onto the earthen floor. “Better stay put until you can keep your wits about you. You won’t be doing the princess any favors in your current state.”

Wyatt groaned again. He fought a swoon as he searched the roof above, noting the dark, starry sky peeking through the hole over his head. His mind began to race with scenarios, and he considered the uncomfortable possibility that he had not been meant to act as ferryman at all. Judging by his current state, it seemed more likely now that Roquat had intended to get him out of the way. An uncomfortable knot formed in the pit of his stomach, and he again stared out the hole in the roof above him. If Artie was right about the time, the truck would just be reaching Central City, and he wondered what bringing Vizor within arm’s reach of DG and Azkadellia now meant. DG and Az were probably still intending to go through with their original plan, without any knowledge of what had transpired between himself and their ancient rival. Wyatt might have continued to play out scenarios in his mind, but his brain’s continued throbbing was very much like a drum and kept him from being able to focus on anything more than the steady thudding that reminded him of the time, counting down menacingly with each beat. Time’s slow progression only increased his desperation to reach DG soon, but Artie was right. Until he could stand, he would just have to wait out the anxiety growing in his mind and ignore the waking nightmares that niggled tauntingly at him.

Despite Wyatt’s worst fears, things seemed to be going according to plan elsewhere. Having successfully convinced General Jinjur of her lone ability to clear the magical blocks within Vizor’s mind, created by the Sorceress annuals past, Azkadellia made her way to the lower levels of the palace flanked by a severe looking Captain Cain and anxious viewer. Raw rung his hands together as they walked hurriedly down a dimly lit hall, and as much as Azkadellia had wanted to ignore the man’s concern, she had to admit that she shared his unease despite the firm set of her jaw and steady stride as she swept forward.

“Raw, I need you to stay close to DG no matter what. Whatever happens in that room in the next few minutes, I need to know that I can trust you to do that. Do you understand?” Azkadellia asked the viewer wordlessly, and she stopped just before the threshold of the closed door, eyeing him expectantly before she entered.

Raw growled softly and averted his eyes but nodded slowly despite his discomfort. Neither princess had directly expressed the entirety of their plans, but the viewer had known without asking; the less people who knew what they intended to do, the better, and his performance would be the most convincing of all given his particular set of gifts. Subterfuge was not among the viewer’s gifts, he thought nervously, but for DG and Cain, he’d do anything. So, he’d lied when he had told Jeb that he couldn’t get through the Sorceress’s block, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last time tonight that he’d have to employ that tactic. Given the psychic turbulence that he’d recently experienced via the youngest Gale, he hoped it would still be a lie when the time came to give his next performance.

Azkadellia’s eyes flashed from Raw to Jeb, and she commanded in a deadly quiet voice, her hand still on the handle, “I need you both to remain outside.”

“But Princess – “Jeb began, only to be silenced by Azkadellia, who raised her hand and shook her head.

“Captain, I am well aware of Vizor’s abilities, and I cannot deal with him properly if I am also trying to protect you and Master Raw. I assure you; I can take care of myself. I will call for you when you may enter. Is that understood, Captain?” Azkadellia interrupted firmly, her green eyes piercing and her shoulders square and commanding as she spoke.

Jeb’s usually defiant stance against the elder princess melted away in the moment that she addressed him with such regal firmness. His eyes became quickly downcast to those of the future queen, and he became almost penitent when he replied to the ground, “Yes ma’am. Understood.”

Azkadellia’s hand trembled only slightly on the handle. She hoped Jeb hadn’t seen it, but she knew Raw could feel it. Acknowledging either the apprehension creeping up on her, or Raw’s knowledge of the events unfolding before them would only serve to complicate matters, she reminded herself, so she took a deep breath and let it out in an annoyed-sounding huff. She donned the mask of the Sorceress, hoping that the guise would make her appear fearless where her conscious said otherwise, and opened the door with a firm jerk.

As it shut quickly behind her, Jeb caught Raw’s eyes and he muttered quietly to the man, “You tell me the minute something goes wrong, got it Raw?”

Raw nodded back, but his heart whimpered in fear. He wasn’t sure if he could keep that promise. Looking in the young man’s eyes, which were so much more open, and less piercing than those of his father, he worried for them all, and hoped Wyatt would get there soon.

Wyatt too was hoping he hadn’t lost his window of opportunity. As his mind cleared, the anxiety subsided only somewhat, giving way to burning frustration with his circumstances. He could keep a thought in his head now, but he still couldn’t get up without his head feeling as if it was caught in a vice.

Wyatt rubbed his left temple and closed his eyes for a moment, and he let out an exasperated huff of air as he asked, “Did Roquat say anything before he took off?”

Artie shook his head bitterly and replied through a raised eyebrow, “No, but he was very intent on taking that little gem with him. I’m grateful that he didn’t break my hand to get it.”

Wyatt reached into his pocket to find his knife, and he withdrew it as he silently mulled over what Artie had said. While Artie held his now restored hands out to the Tin Man, allowing Wyatt to begin cutting away the bindings, he grumbled thoughtfully, “Something’s not right. We’re missing something big.”

Artie rubbed his wrists and inquired, “Come again, General?”

Wyatt now moved to Artie’s feet, and he answered in the same calculating tone, “He wanted to eradicate DG and the rest of the Gale line completely. He didn’t want to just turn her to stone.”

Now freed, Artie scrambled up and began searching the hut for something, while Wyatt closed the blade and returned it to its home. Not knowing what was happening troubled the Tin Man greatly, and with Artie now freed and past eminent threat, he pushed himself to move forward. He barely registered the curator bustling around the hut as he dragged himself onto the stone ledge and did not pause to consider him again until he was firmly seated and stationary once more. “What are you doing, Artie?” Wyatt finally asked, still wincing in pain from the pressure created by his change in elevation.

Artie seemed to have found what he was looking for, and swung his leather satchel in front of him as he sat down next to the Tin Man. He sighed in relief as he opened the bag, replying wryly, “Well, you don’t want to sit around here all night, do you?”

He withdrew the brass doorknob from within the confines of his bag and held it out in the light proudly, smiling smugly at the brass that gleamed in the firelight. Wyatt could not help the smile that spread on his face because of that knob’s appearance. Although it was no guarantee that DG would be safe, it would at least enable him to get to her quickly. Now if he could just get his head to cooperate.

While time seemed to crawl for the Tin Man, it seemed to be picking up steam for the Princesses. When Azkadellia had left DG standing alone in her quarters, DG could barely contain her nervous energy. Her pacing resumed, and her heart thundered in her chest. She silently repeated the next steps in her scheme to herself like a mantra, or meditation, meant to center her and keep her focused on the end goal. All that mattered was Azkadellia. Making their enemies think she was dead and getting her to Finaqua and out of sight was all she could see, and even the nervous churning of her unborn daughter within her could not sway her mind. She rubbed her small belly absently as she moved, shushing her daughter quietly while she stared ahead, feeling determined and ready for Azkadellia’s call.

It seemed like only moments had passed when she heard her sister’s voice, urgent and wounded in her mind, and her heart seemed to still when she gasped in surprise at the sound.

“Deeg, come quick,” Azkadellia begged her little sister, and the words had barely escaped the elder princess before DG swirled into the foreground before her eyes, her sliver slippers shimmering just inches from the elder princess’s nose.

DG did not utter a word, and her eyes seemed to burn on the man that loomed over her sister in the moment she appeared. All of their planning hadn’t prepared her for the rage she’d feel when she saw Vizor standing over Azkadellia, poised and ready to strike her, and as exhilarating as it felt coursing through her, it was also terrifying. Her hands swept out graceful and swift, and with an unseen force, she flung the man across the room, where he seemed to crumple against the far wall, groaning as he slumped to the ground.

With Vizor briefly knocked out, DG dropped to her knees at her sister’s side, and she gasped in near terror, “Az, are you okay?”

“DG, I’m sorry. He wouldn’t tell me anything. I don’t know where Wyatt is.” Azkadellia whimpered. In DG’s mind, she continued, “I think I’ll be alright, just a little woozy. He knocked the wind out of me when I came in. We don’t have much time, Deeg, he’s waking up.”

DG was fighting panic now. With the adrenaline wearing off, the drain caused by disarming Vizor was beginning to set it, and she worried if she’d be able to put Azkadellia into a sleeping spell without causing herself harm. Worse, if she was successful in her rouse, what would keep him from going after her next before she succumbed to her own fatigue? And where was Wyatt? She felt suddenly so vulnerable, and so hopeless, but the goal had not changed. She had to move.

DG’s voice seemed to carry on the air, and despite Wyatt’s throbbing head, he knew he had to heed her plea.

“Artie, give me the doorknob.” Wyatt commanded flatly, his hand outstretched and his eyes pained as he leveled them at him.

Artie hesitated while he considered the man. While returning his stare skeptically he asked, “are you sure you’re ready, Mr. Cain?”

Wyatt had learned a long time ago not to question the link he had with DG. She was in trouble, and he had to move now. “There’s no time, Artie. DG needs me now,” he replied, struggling to stand while he spoke and looking down on Artie when he’d risen to full height.

Artie was still uncertain when he rose after Cain and handed him the brass knob, but the look in the man’s eyes told him that it would be unwise to argue. Cain had a reputation, after all, and he knew better than to be on the wrong end of him when he’d made his mind up. There wasn’t another word spoken between the two, and Artie gathered his bag and waited patiently behind the former Tin Man as he stood before the stone wall, his eyes shut in concentration.

There were only a few places DG could be right now, Wyatt considered silently, and only a finite amount of time to get to her. The royal guard would not allow both princesses to be in the same room with Vizor at one time, and so he quickly set aside the lower levels, feeling that although the plan had been to fake Azkadellia’s death, the guard would keep the pair separate, and would be unaware of DG’s peculiar slippers. DG would either be in her quarters, or in the General’s office, where she would be best guarded until the threat could be better ascertained. He had made sure of that himself before leaving General Jinjur in his position. Until Azkadellia called on her, that would be where DG would wait. Although his office was his second choice overall, he’d never seen their new quarters, and had no image to draw on in order to make the doorknob work, so it would have to do. Wyatt growled. He expelled an annoyed huff through his nose and grimaced at the wall as he shoved the knob into it, while he imagined the rich warmth of his former office, hoping that he’d find DG standing on the other side.

“Here goes nothing,” he grumbled as he grasped the handle, and threw the door open to look on the room beyond.

Wyatt stepped through and moved aside for Artie, and he gaped at the room. It was his office to be sure, but the furniture had been rearranged, and the very configuration of the physical space was different. Wyatt grimaced again with the unpleasant realization that his room had been moved, and he had no idea where they’d landed. What was worse, DG was nowhere to be seen, and time was growing short. With no more time to reconsider, Wyatt strode forward and through the open French doors to the next room – a sitting room. He took no notice of the room, and his steps quickened to a run as he crossed it, his eyes focused only on the outer doors that drew close. These doors were flung wide as well, which caused the guards on the other side to jump, swinging in his direction with guns drawn.

“General!” A harried Gates exclaimed, holstering his pistol.

He then stepped between Cain and the other guards, who had yet to recognize the wild-eyed man, covered over with a thick, golden beard, and dirty travel clothes. When the other guards relaxed in their stance and holstered their weapons, Gates turned back to his former commander, who growled before he could ask him anything, “Where is she?”

Gates was nonplussed by this greeting, and peered past Cain to see the empty room, and met his eyes again to reply in slight confusion, “I take it she’s not inside, sir.” Wyatt shook his head firmly, to which Gates swallowed hard and replied, “then she’s gone to the lower levels, sir. The Princess Royal was asked to assist with the prisoner. I’d wager DG slipped her guard to join her.”

Wyatt huffed through his nose and moved past the giant man, commanding gruffly as he moved off, “Come on Gates, I have a feeling I’m going to need you.” He picked up speed now, knowing that Gates was just steps behind him, and he muttered to the air as he began to sprint, “I’m coming Princess, hang on.”

DG’s heart fluttered like a frightened bird, flapping useless behind a gilded cage. Her time was out, and Cain was still not there. “Az,” she whimpered, sounding terrified and small.

It was no act when she clutched her sister to her chest and sobbed. Although Azkadellia slumbered, having been successfully put under DG’s sleeping spell, DG could not help the fear that still poured though her. Her body was heavy, and her eyes struggled to remain open, and were only burdened further by the tears that clouded the Princess’s vision. Just steps away, she could hear the winded Vizor regaining consciousness, and he chuckled quietly as he looked on the sight before him.

“Aw, poor little princess,” Vizor taunted DG as he stumbled to his feet.

DG could barely lift her head, and she clutched Azkadellia to her protectively as she looked up at the man, her body trembling and weak. She could not think, much less speak, as she looked on the man that now stood over her, smiling menacingly, and she could feel time slipping away, like the shallow pants that escaped her lips as she waited for his next move. Then time seemed to pause, like it too was holding its breath in hope of a miracle. Vizor seemed paused in the act of striking and was wholly incapable of the slightest movement or flinch when the door swung wide behind DG, slamming against the wall with a loud bang as it went. In that moment, DG finally let go of the breath she’d been holding, and she barely registered a familiar set of leather shoes before her before her eyes slipped closed and Vizor crumpled to the ground.

When she opened her eyes next, just moments later, she’d been scooped up into Wyatt’s arms and Vizor was gone. Ambrose was crouched on the other side of her and Wyatt, and his worried eyes rested on his wife. “Glitch, Clearwater.” DG muttered softly before she swooned again and fell deeper into the protective wall of Wyatt’s chest.

Wyatt was frantic and called out to Raw without knowing if the man was near enough to hear him. Logic and common sense had been abandoned in that moment, that seemed frighteningly like his nightmare. Tears drenched his face, and it felt as if he could not breathe while he worried for DG’s wellbeing, while next to him, the Princess Royale and her consort seemed utterly lost. When Raw confirmed their fears, with a sad shake of his head, Ambrose rose, offering Wyatt only a small, concerned glance before he departed. His face was pale and somber as he carried his wife away, her countenance perpetually serene in a slumber that none could pierce. Even with the knowledge that Azkadellia was truly safe, Wyatt could not be calmed, and he continued to shake as he held DG still for Raw, who drew near and laid his hands on her shoulders, quietly diagnosing the state of her spirit. She was weak, and her breath barely registered while Raw searched. The beat of her heart was faint, but it was there.

Raw opened his eyes abruptly, and he laid his hands on the Tin Man’s shoulders, shaking them firmly as he spoke in a low growl. “Tin Man. Princess alive. Safe. We take her home now. Rest. You rest. You understand?”

Wyatt blinked through his tears, and a relieved gasp escaped him while a weak smile formed. “Yeah Raw, I understand.”

Chapter Text

The hours subsequent to Wyatt’s unexpected reappearance within the palace walls seemed to blend into a blur of events that flew past Wyatt’s adrenaline-soaked brain, and if it weren’t for his training over the annuals, he might not have retained any memory of it whatsoever. Wyatt had virtually ignored all the buzz surrounding his return, as well as all the whispered rumors of the elder Gale’s demise, and instead rushed his own Gale princess upstairs to the privacy of their quarters. Raw, Gates, and Jeb followed closely behind, running interference for the couple as Wyatt navigated them through the oddly busy corridors. Once behind closed doors once more, Raw had been surprisingly forceful in his insistence that the Tin Man allow him to heal his concussion before seeing to the Princess, still slumbering within the circle of his arms. Raw had, unfortunately, forewarned him that he would have to release his protective hold of the small woman to accomplish this task, and would most likely become unconscious himself during the process of the viewer’s advanced form of healing due to the location of the injury. It was a miracle that Raw had any positive effect on the snarling Tin Man at all, but the continued throbbing in his skull coupled with the fatigue that grew exponentially once the initial adrenaline rush wore off were the final nail in Wyatt’s stubborn coffin, and he finally gave in.

Letting go of DG, even knowing that she was safely encased within the confines of their quarters and guarded by an obscene number of soldiers gave Wyatt very little solace. His eyes were still tear stricken and panicked when he gazed down upon the serene beauty of his slumbering spouse. She seemed completely unencumbered by the cares that had plagued her in waking, as if the combination of Wyatt’s presence and the darkness of sleep had removed all traces of its icy touch on her soul. He might have found some reassurance in her countenance, except her skin was clammy to the touch, like she was in the throes of fever, and the hair closest to her neck curled tightly against the base of her skull and clung to her skin where the beads of sweat had accumulated. She whimpered faintly when Wyatt slid his arms out from underneath her; an almost-protest for his withdrawal that, although momentary, was enough to still the Tin Man’s heart and his hands to waiver in their removal from her being.

Raw won out though and chaperoned the man to the other side of the bed, where he waited until Wyatt had settled completely. When he’d finally completed his adjustments of the pillows behind his head, and checked DG one last time, his clouded blue eyes finally gazed upward, and the Tin Man sighed heavily, while nodding his compliance. Raw set to work immediately, and Wyatt had the distinct feeling that the reach of the man’s fingers seemed to go beyond the barrier of his skull and reached into the very grey matter that made up his consciousness. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, having the furball digging around inside his skull, and Wyatt’s mind wandered on the last time such a thing had happened. It had been Ambrose the last time, who’d complained of Raw’s intrusion, and Wyatt’s sympathy for Glitch’s former predicament only grew while the viewer continued to unscramble his mind. Memories such as these were an intentional effect of the viewer’s procedure, akin to a brain surgeon requesting that a patient count or sing a song whilst performing a complicated surgery. Raw needed Wyatt to recollect all manner or memories and feelings that made up the complicated tapestry of the man’s mind as a way of ensuring the efficacy of his work. It was when Wyatt was nearly senseless and overcome with emotion that Raw knew his work was complete. Wyatt sobbed freely in the end, and when the viewer stepped back, the emotions had so overwhelmed him that he paid the man no heed and slipped quickly into an overwhelmed sleep.

When Wyatt’s eyes opened once more, Raw was nowhere to be found, and the room had been thrown into darkness. This darkness would have been complete, were it not for the open balcony door, with its gauzy curtains blowing gently in the early morning breeze. The faint beginnings of sunrise were apparent from his position on the bed, for the sky beyond the open doors was an ombre palette of purples and blues, with a hint of dusky pink and orange where the suns would appear in short order. His eyes moved from this welcome sight to the form that breathed deeply at his side. Wyatt turned to gaze at the sleeping form of the princess, whose countenance had greatly improved since the last time he’d looked upon her. The clammy pallor had long since been replaced by a healthy glow, and he could spy the pleasant blush on her cheeks even in the weak light of dawn. A faint smile appeared on her plump lips as she slept, as if she might have been dreaming in that moment. Wyatt considered leaning in to kiss that beloved smile, but the tickle of wiry hair reminded him of the now thick beard on his face, and he rechecked himself. Instead, he crept from the bed and into the confines of the bathroom, feeling suddenly eager to rid himself of the persona he’d donned for the past cycle.  

Wyatt stood before the bathroom mirror and eyed himself critically as he peeled away the dusty layers of clothing to reveal the man beneath. Although his body was the same overall, he felt unrecognizable with the bushy beard obscuring his face. Only the piercing blue eyes that stared back at him reminded Wyatt of the man he’d been a cycle before, and he winced when the image before him reminded him painfully of who he’d been when DG had found him in the iron suit annuals before. That man, similarly wild-eyed and unkempt, had lost everything, and had stared vacantly back at him through the glass whilst plans of revenge had boiled just beneath the surface. Wyatt pushed the memory of that time away, pausing only momentarily in cutting the long hair away from his face to furiously shake its remnants from his head. He resumed removing the beard, while silently reminding himself of the improvement in his circumstances from the last time. He paused to splash his now clean face with cold water – DG is still alive – his mind seemed to say to him, and he sighed audibly as he straightened to take stock of his appearance once more. The face staring back offered him a satisfied smirk before he turned away to turn on the shower, his steely eyes glinting with growing impatience. He wanted to get clean again so he could return to her – and make sure that she didn’t disappear on him.

While Wyatt bathed, letting the searing hot water seep into his bones and steam his skin, he continued to take a mental inventory of his state since the last time he’d been conscious. The searing pain in the back of Wyatt’s skull, that had been near blinding before, had thankfully disappeared. The fatigue that had accompanied this injury, making him feel as if he was dragging his limbs through molasses, had dissipated as well, leaving Wyatt with the ordinary road weariness associated with prolonged travel. A cycle of sleeping on a combination of hard, packed dirt and stone had left his muscles in a state of perpetual soreness that Raw’s attentions had not corrected, and he groaned quietly when a jet of steaming water pounded against them. It was a tempting thought, to stay under those hot jets until his body melted into a submissive puddle, but he was clean now, and the bed was a much more tempting prospect given his continued weariness. With that, Wyatt exited the shower and dried himself before he left steamy confines of the bathroom.

After crossing to the balcony door, and closing it with a calculated caution, Wyatt drew the curtains to complete the darkness of the space. He crept to the bed to find DG still breathing softly in her sleep, and his lips curled into a soft smile. It was enough for now, given his screaming muscles and tired mind, to just be near to her. Wyatt slid in bed, groaning softly at the feel of the sheets, so soft and warm against his bare skin, and a relaxed sigh escaped him as his head settled on the pillow. His eyes lids dropped, and his breathing slowed as he finally allowed himself to relax, and drift back into a pleasant sleep.

Time no longer meant a thing to the slumbering couple, and it passed over their darkened cocoon without any acknowledgment from the pair. Their collective breath was soft and contented as they settled into an affectionate tangle, somehow aware of each other even in their unencumbered state. Not a care seemed to trouble them whilst they remained in this state and were it not for DG’s curious hand on Wyatt’s chest, they might have stayed that way for a few days. Although she had been vaguely aware of Wyatt’s return, DG’s mind had been a hazed, almost drunken jumble after the events in the interrogation chamber. Once Wyatt’s arms had wrapped around her, physically shielding her and surrounding her in their warmth, she’d lost all sense of herself, and did not regain any sense of her physical body until much later, when she’d found herself draped over his bare chest. Her fingers glided delightedly through the soft, blonde hairs of his chest, and they gently pushed on his pectorals to test the realness of his body under hers. Wyatt hummed contentedly at DG’s touch, and he stretched out like a cat as she continued to caress his skin, giving her soft fingers more access to explore him. DG smiled devilishly as he did this, and sat up to look down upon her husband, still asleep and smiling of his own accord while he undoubtedly dreamed of her.

DG realized that he’d clearly had an opportunity to bathe while she’d been unconscious and was blessedly bare and shaven, and the muscles of his arms and legs flexed as he shifted below her. DG looked down, and finding herself woefully overdressed, made a swift decision. Her dress was soon discarded, as well as her undergarments and slippers, until she was left with nothing more than the silver pendant glittering around her neck. Her pale, curvaceous body seemed to luminesce in the soft light, muted for the thick curtains covering the windows. If Wyatt had awoken in that moment, his heart might have burst for the raw beauty that stood before the bed, seeming like some sort of angel for the manner in which the light seemed to be drawn from her very being. He did not rouse, however, even when DG slid back under the blanket to rest beside him, and she happily resumed her exploration.

They’d both discovered, early in their romance, that the touch of the other was better than any salve. Touching Wyatt now proved better now still, and while her hands gliding along his body, she felt as if she was awaking after an eternity of sleep. Her lips soon joined fingers while her arousal grew, and her hair tickled Wyatt’s sides when she leaned over him, until her soft touches finally moved the man and his eyes fluttered open. Finding DG on top of him brought an instant grin to his face, and Wyatt’s hands drifted to her arms, where he grasped her gently and held her still while he turned them over.

“Hey there, Princess,” Wyatt purred at the woman smiling beneath him.

He didn’t give her an opportunity to speak, and instead leaned down, meeting her lips in a soft, hungry kiss. DG whimpered in his mouth, and her hands slid around his torso as they continued to devour the other, getting drunk off each other and finding no satiation to slow them. Wyatt shifted as they continued this way, moving himself to rest his hip on the bed next to her, while his free hand traveled slowly from her graceful neck to her growing belly, until it finally stopped at her knee.

His lips left hers, and she whined only slightly before he complied again, but by nuzzling her neck until she stretched upward, allowing him access to the soft column of her throat. “I’ve missed you, Dorothy,” he murmured to her skin while his hand resumed its travel.

DG whimpered as his nimble fingers lightly grazed the inside of her thigh, and she gasped when he gently pushed her leg outward to expose her further. His fingers glided in the soft folds between her legs, causing her heart to flutter and her breath to go shallow. It had been too long, it seemed, and a mere tease was enough to make her come unglued. His fingers seemed to unlock something within her, kept hidden while he was absent, and now set free, it seemed as if she would shatter were it not for his firm grip on her, and his eyes, watching her as she lost control. She moaned senselessly when his index finger slid inside to test her, while his mouth suckled at her breast hungrily. She cried out while her legs shook and her body trembled, and Wyatt’s hand slowed to a gentle massage, until he finally withdrew from her warmth and kissed her softly. DG’s eyes had shut tight when she’d shuddered against Wyatt’s hand, and when they fluttered open again, the pupils were blown wide, and her face was flushed.

Her heart thundered in her chest, and she pushed Wyatt onto his back, growling sexily as she slid on top of him, “I’m not finished with you, Tin Man. It’s been too long.”

Wyatt growled back when DG reached down to meet him in her own hungry kiss, and his hands grasped her head to his while they desperately fed on the other. This only seemed to amplify their need, and DG sat back suddenly to breathe, causing Wyatt to look on her, seemingly frozen by the sight that he’d so missed in the past cycle. DG smiled demurely down on the awestruck man, relishing the moan that escaped his lips as she slid down his length and bottomed out with a delicious whimper. His head leaned back as she started to rock back and forth at an unhurried and torturous pace, his hands flexing on her hips and guiding her as she stroked him, leaving him helpless to her. Every turn of her hips was a caress on the man’s battered body, and her hands on his chest seemed to sap the venom of the past few weeks out of his soul. DG was like oxygen, and the longer he breathed her in, the more he needed her, imploring her for more as she continued to move over him. As DG drew Wyatt closer to his breaking point, and he begged her to not stop, his eyes could not help but settle on her as she moved. She was like a goddess with her rounded belly and swollen breasts, and she moved as if possessed by some internal rhythm that he too was entranced by. His hands seemed drawn to her body as well and glanced over every inch of her skin while she drew every ounce of pleasure out of him. DG only hummed in contentment when he touched her, goading him with the small sounds from her mouth until her breath became shaky and feverish.

This was Wyatt’s signal, and he drew her close to him while he turned them and sat up on his knees to stroke her. While one hand grasped her knee, using her to keep his body balanced above hers, the other reached forward between her legs, where his thumb found her sensitive button. The digit rubbed her in firm, slow circles while Wyatt continued to strum his body against hers, until DG exploded with a bright cry. Wyatt’s hand moved now, while DG panted and shuddered, and he held her body against his as he thrust once more, hard and fast while a hoarse shout of completion issued from his mouth.

His body collapsed next to hers, and the pair panted to the ceiling while they recovered their senses. An exhilarated smile graced the princess’s face, while next to her, the Tin Man fought to bring his heart under control. Only when he’d pulled the princess into the crook of his arm, and felt her cheek against his chest, did his heart begin to slow and his breath even out. A contented smile spread on his face, and he pulled her closer still while a possessive purr sounded from the back of his throat.

“I love you Wyatt,” DG murmured in near sleep, adding with a yawn, “Don’t leave me again.”

Wyatt’s chin rested on the princess’s crown, and he inhaled the smell of her hair before he murmured back in blissful fatigue, “Never again, Dorothy. I promise.”

DG hummed her approval and nestled against her husband’s firm chest, while his other arm encircled her. They both sighed and allowed the silence to surround them once more. Their wounds had been healed, and their hearts were full, and they drifted back into a satiated sleep, both finding it impossible to focus on their troubles while in such a harmonious state.

It was an illusion of course, this blissful haven created by the Princess and her Tin Man, and both knew that without a doubt, the gears of time were still turning just outside the confines of their protective shell. There were whispers amongst the royal guard and palace staff that the eldest princess had been fatally wounded, and the youngest spirited away to heal from her own injuries sustained while failing in her attempt to protect her sister. These rumors were swiftly squashed by the monarch, who vehemently denied such allegations, and ordered complete silence on the matter whilst the threat to the monarchy remained. It was widely known amongst the staff that Lord Ambrose had left expeditiously in the night to deliver the eldest princess to Finaqua, where many assumed her young, broken body would be carefully deposited amongst her relations in the Gale family tomb. The Queen had refused to witness this departure, and many believed that she was inconsolable, and unwilling to admit the painful truth of her family’s loss. The fate of the youngest princess was still in question outside the circle of her closest friends and family, and even the maids had been told to stay away from her quarters when they’d normally be going about their morning tasks which included changing linens and deliverying breakfast.

Whilst the royal wing of the Central City Palace was under a sort of moratorium, and servants moved about as expertly as ghosts in effort not to disturb the remaining royal family, the lower levels were abuzz with activity. The Royal Army was in an uproar, and its generals were like a nest of angry hornets as they stormed from one meeting to the next. Without General Cain’s input, there was some question as to how to proceed next, and none dared to disturb him while he remained resting in his chambers. The matter of how to deal with Vizor was his assigned task, after all, and none would be more effective than he himself, and so the only matter truly on the table was how to handle the younger Cain. While there was no doubt amongst his commanding officers and compatriots alike that he was an able officer and deserving of commendation for his many services to the royal family, there was some discussion about the events of the night previous. His presence during the Princess’s attack threw some doubt on his judgement, and some wondered if he could be trusted to make the best decisions when faced with having to choose between his own father, a fellow soldier, and his greater edict, to guard the royal family. General Andrus had been the boy’s greatest supporter, while General Jinjur had vied for his censure. In the end, the matter was left to the Monarch, who refused to even speak of the matter until her son in law could offer his own opinion. For now, she would only allow the Generals to remove him from duty, which they fought over as well, until she very nearly had to step in on that matter as well. The Queen could not disclose the truth of her reluctance, of course, since it would entail revealing the rouse that she and her daughters had worked so hard to create. The truth would have to remain hidden for now, until General Cain could eliminate the remaining threat presented by Vizor and his unknown partner. Until then, Jeb was an unfortunate scapegoat, and the Queen silently vowed to correct the boy’s situation once the smoke cleared on the operation.

It had only been a day since the Princess Royale’s apparent death, and the General had yet to make an appearance. The other generals had given up on their bickering as the second sun set on that first day, and retreated to their various corners, knowing that the entire process would be repeated the next day. Tension was high amongst the military, even with the Generals removed from sight, and the guard detail throughout the palace remained on high alert. Ordinarily, these men and women would balance duty with a sense of positive energy, and laughter and light banter could often be heard in the common areas of the palace. Tonight was a somber affair, however, and the Queen’s Royal Army was in a state of mourning that they could not yet share with the rest of the OZ. It was a difficult task, to continue about their assignments without discussing the deep sadness that purveyed amongst them, and many avoided speaking all together, unless required by their shared missions. None were grimmer than those assigned to the Sorceress’s former advisor, and these were a tough bunch to begin with. Many had seen the inside of an iron suit at one time or another during the dark annuals of the Sorceress, and all had fought alongside Captain Cain and General Andrus at the siege of the tower. These soldiers had been tried of under the most challenging of crucibles, and their metal was being tested again when they had been tasked with guarding the man who had taken the hope they had found in the elder Princess and the pride they’d had built by rejoicing in the continued livelihood of their Captain. The halls of the prison level were filled with soldiers that night, daring Vizor and his partner to attempt escape, so that they might be afforded the opportunity of the retribution they bitterly sought.

The prisoner’s cell was silent, however, and the soldiers milling about outside his iron door were not afforded the opportunity to act against him. Behind that door, the dark man paced anxiously. It had been hours since he’d successfully dispatched the bitch child who’d murdered his mistress, he thought with a snarled lip, and he’d yet to hear from his new master. There was almost no doubt in his mind that His Highness had been successful in his campaign to retrieve the belt from the former Tin Man, but where was he now? There was no light in that small room, apart from the small metal sconce that hung from the wall by the door, so he could not judge how long he’d truly been waiting. He hadn’t had a meal since entering the closet of a room, and until something was offered, he wouldn’t know if it was morning, noon or night.

“That’s assuming they want me to know anything at all,” the man sneered to himself, imagining the Queen’s loyal Tin Man, pulling the strings on his confinement until he talked like a good little puppet. “I won’t be played by that pathetic excuse,” he scoffed haughtily to the door, hoping his jailers would hear his protests and pass them along to his adversary in the grey fedora.

He paused to listen. There was no sign of response or even a slight shuffle of feet from the soldiers on the other side, and Vizor began to wonder if he’d been left to die in that abandoned corridor, devoid of any other prisoner except himself. Vizor’s mouth was dry, and his stomach growled in anger, and he huffed loudly while he fought the anxiety that grew where food ought to have been hours ago.

Whatever brave front he put on in front of the Royal Army, it had all but vanished now that he was alone. In its place, panic had set it, and his brown eyes darted around aimlessly when he resumed his useless sentry of the room. “Where is my master,” he hissed to himself as he turned to stomp in the opposite direction, pausing only when a soft voice curled through the air and sent shivers up his spine.

“You called, my boy?” Roquat whispered from the far, darkened corner of the room. When he emerged from the shadows, the shriveled man removed his chocolate-colored hood, and his coal-like eyes, that glowed red for a moment before turning black as night once more, pierced the sorcerer’s chest like a hot poker.

“Your Majesty,” Vizor exclaimed in a quiet hush, and he dropped to his knees while sweeping through a bow that was a graceful as a dancer’s.

Roquat was visibly perturbed by the tall man’s prostrating, and seethed dangerously, “Get up, Vizor. Give me your report.”

Vizor was ruffled by the man’s dangerous hiss, and he scrambled to his feet and complied quickly, “I have successfully dispatched the Princess Royale. I was almost successful in doing the same to the slipper, but I was interrupted by the Tin Man.”

A satisfied grin spread on the wizened face that hovered at Vizor’s chest level. Despite the old man’s stature, Vizor knew Roquat to be a formidable wizard, greater possibly than The Wizard himself, and at least as menacing as the Sorceress had been. So instead of meeting the old man’s eyes, he stared at the wall beyond as a good soldier might, his body ridged as he awaited his master’s response.

Roquat studied the trembling man before him for a count of seconds, finding pleasure in making the tall man sweat while he remained utterly silent. He’d been a useful pawn, he calculated silently, but his time on the board had come to an end and would no longer serve his goals.

Roquat swished away from Vizor, and he proclaimed appraisingly while he reached within the confines of his deep trouser pocket, “You’ve done well, Vizor. I can see why the Sorceress kept you so close.” He held a velvet pouch before him and continued, “these are for your services. They should recompense you for all you’ve endured, as well as the permanent consignment of your laboratory.”

Vizor retrieved the purse from the old man, and he poured the contents into his palm. He studied them for a moment, before pinching a particularly eye-catching ruby in his fingers and meeting the other man’s eyes with a confused expression. “But, sir, I’ll need my laboratory. Where else shall I go? The entire kingdom will be after my head once the news has broken about the Princess’s murder.” Vizor stopped mid-protest and stared at his fingers. A grey, stone-like pallor was spreading from the tips of his fingers where he still grasped the gem and continued to climb with every panicked breath that escaped his lips.

“I am afraid that you won’t be needing the use of your laboratory any longer. In fact, you won’t be needing anything. Except maybe a decorative plant or two at your feet, to brighten your gloomy countenance in the cold cycles.” Roquat replied darkly as he crept closer to the man, whose arm was now distinctly stonelike, and unmoving when Vizor tried to jerk away.

Vizor’s panic was increasing by the moment, and as much as he hated to rely on the saccharin sweetness of Queen Lavender and her toy soldiers, he knew that even they would have mercy on him. Seeing that Roquat would only stand and watch him slowly turn to stone, he did the only remaining thing he could think to do, and yelped with frightened gasp, “Help! Someone, please help!”

Roquat sneered in disgust at the man screaming before him, and he considered swiping the gems from the stone fingers just inches from his face, but a commotion sounded in the corridor, and footsteps were quickly approaching. His spindly fingers moved to his waist instead, and after he muttered a few indistinguishable words, he was gone with a wosh of air.

When the door swung open, it was too late for Vizor already. His face was frozen in perpetual fear, as if carved, and he stared forward forevermore, as if pleading for assistance. In one hand, he held a singular ruby as if inspecting it in the light, and in the other, open for the guards’ inspection, was a pile of the same rubies, glittering threateningly like snakes’ eyes in the dark.

Chapter Text

All things, at one time or another, must come to an end, it has been said, and in Wyatt and DG’s case, it usually came to a crashing conclusion that left both feeling as if they’d stepped unscathed from a train wreck. At least, this was what Wyatt thought as his eyes crept open on the morning of the second day. It was probably an unfair assessment from the Tin Man, but it was at least an effective means of rousing him from his comfortable slumber and getting him out of bed. DG groaned in protest when he slid away from her, reaching in vain for him as his feet hit the plush carpet and he pushed away from the edge of the bed.

“Sorry Darlin’” Wyatt sighed as he stepped away from the bed and strode into the dressing room, calling out as he dressed, “but I have to get downstairs and deal with Vizor.” He stepped back into the room with his shoes on and a pair of slacks hanging open around his waist, his bare chest taunting her though his open shirt. His crystalline eyes caught her staring and they narrowed on her when he added seriously, “and you have your own issues to deal with. I’m sure your parents will want you close given what happened.”

DG averted her eyes guiltily and grumbled as she too exited the bed, “Okay, I get it, Wyatt. Just do me a favor and take Tutor with you, okay? I don’t like the idea of you getting attacked by that weasel. I’d still like to rearrange his face – “

DG was getting flustered, and her face had reddened considerably as she stormed to his side of the bed, intent on crossing past him to the dressing room while she spoke. Wyatt stopped her midstride and mid-soliloquy, with his hands planted firmly on either shoulder, and he grimaced in sympathetic concern as he spoke, “Dorothy, I promise I’ll be careful, but I need you to take it easy. Raw said you’re still weak. If you get yourself lit up like one of your Christmas trees, you’re liable to end up in the medicoat wing or worse. Trust me, okay?”

DG let out an exasperated huff while Wyatt’s eyes leveled on her, and his thumbs rubbed her upper arms soothingly. She swallowed a nod and fully intended on replying, when a hard flutter in her stomach stopped her, and her eyes grew wide in surprise. “Wyatt!” She exclaimed in delighted surprise, and she grabbed his hand and planted it on her abdomen.

It happened again, and this time, it was like a focused kick on the Tin Man’s hand, like his daughter too had a few things she had to get off her chest. Wyatt’s face morphed into a wide array of expressions, beginning with mild confusion, and ending in giddy excitement when he’d very clearly been kicked in the palm. “Great Glenda!” He laughed nervously, and his hand raised to DG’s cheek, which he caressed lovingly before leaning in to offer her a happy kiss.

DG giggled through their kiss, seemingly forgetting her prior flash of anger, and delighting in the simplicity of the moment. As soon as their delight had appeared, it was gone again however, and Wyatt’s face grew serious once more as he continued to caress DG’s cheek. “Dorothy, you and our daughter are why I’m doing this. Not for any crown, and definitely not because I want some nostalgic run through my days as a Tin Man before she gets here.” He paused to breathe, and his suddenly pained eyes searched the ceiling above their heads before he met her eyes once more and admitted in a choked voice, “Dorothy, I don’t know what Roquat has in mind, beyond wanting make sure you stop breathing. I’ll do anything to make sure he doesn’t make that happen, and I need you to promise me that you won’t get in the way. Promise me, Dorothy.”

As emphatic as the Tin Man was as he looked down on her, DG could not get past the memory of similar parting over two annuals past. They’d both survived that day, and somehow, she knew they’d make it through this storm as well. Despite this, the pained expression in Wyatt’s eyes still twisted her heart and stilled her usual kneejerk reactions.

“I promise,” DG finally replied softly, and she lifted herself up on the tips of her toes to add a soft kiss, sealing her commitment to her husband with what she suspected might be one of the last bits of sweetness between them before they were both thrown into the fray once more.

Wyatt had barely melted into their kiss before he stepped away with a wistful expression in his eyes. It felt unnatural to be leaving her at such a time, when she was vulnerable, and her protective circle virtually scattered to the wind. He could only watch as she buttoned his shirt for him, her cerulean eyes studying his body as she encased him in the crisp white cotton, until her fingers glanced over his adam’s apple briefly on their way to his cheeks, which she touched softly before pulling him down to her once more. It was a bittersweet meeting when Wyatt encircled her bare waist with his arms and dragged her against his chest, and the whimper that sounded from her mouth as he deepened the kiss was anything but happy. It was all they had, though, and when they parted once more, it was difficult for them to meet each other’s eyes, knowing that there, love and hope had become mingled with fear and uncertainty.

When blue eyes did meet again, their shared resolve burned between them instead of fear – for a Cain does not give up – but that silent oath between the two Cains was interrupted by a knock that rung out like a shot, causing the attention of both to waiver and flash on the door. Wyatt’s hand lingered on DG’s shoulder briefly before he crossed to the door and she to the dressing room, both suddenly moved to take their places. Wyatt paused with his hand on the door to watch DG disappear behind the closed door of the dressing room, and he huffed minutely as he turned to open their bedroom door a crack, spying Gates on the other side.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Sir, but you’re needed downstairs. It’s the prisoner, sir.” Gates announced, his tone apologetic and his eyes flickering with alarm.

Wyatt straightened considerably at the mention of Vizor, and he nodded before stepping through the door and shutting it. Gates’ unspoken concern could only mean one thing; something had happened, but it hadn’t been a run-of-the-mill escape, otherwise Gates would have just gone out and said so. He paused to gaze at the open doors of what he now knew to be his study, and a curious thought ran through him when he remembered his unconventional arrival. Artie had been instrumental in getting him there so fast and could prove just as useful now that the tide appeared to have turned again, and it occurred to him that he hadn’t seen him since entering his study for the first time. Instead of crossing to outer doors, he moved swiftly to his study while he considered this, asking Gates cautiously as he went, “Was there a man with me when I got here the other night, Gates?”

He stepped through the French doors and stood in the center of the room, his eyes critically surveying every corner of the room. Behind him, standing just inside the door, was a rather baffled guard, and he answered with a question in his voice, “No sir, it was just you. Should there have been someone else?”

Wyatt’s eyes continued to scan, and they stopped at a familiar lamp sitting in the center of his desk. It was the lamp from the Seeker’s hut – which meant that Artie had not really followed him past this room, and probably intended to remain anonymous. He intentionally let his eyes rove past this sight, and instead he located his fedora, coat, and gun belt, and swept over to them to don them as he replied to Gates. “No, I was just making sure I wasn’t followed. Tell me about Vizor, Gates. What’s going on?”

Gates waited for the Tin Man to finish dressing and did not reply until the man’s steely stare pierced through him from under the man’s trademark hat. “It’d be best if you saw if for yourself, sir. I don’t rightly think you’ll be able to get much out’ve him now.”

Wyatt huffed though a frown, and he only offered Gates one final order as he swept past. “Stay with DG, Gates. She’s going to need you. This isn’t over yet.”

“Yes sir,” the man called back as Wyatt swept through the sitting room and out the double doors. Before he shut the door, his eyes stopped worriedly on the closed doors of his bedroom, where behind them, DG still hid. He had to trust that she’d do as he asked, he reminded himself, and he hoped desperately that he wouldn’t have to in the end.

All the hoping in the world couldn’t help Vizor, though, he soon discovered. Wyatt had charged through the palace to reach the lowest level, where criminals to the crown had been kept throughout Ozian history. The cells were rarely used, and so many of the were empty except the one that should have held Vizor. This solitary room lay at the end of the long, dim hallway, which was currently lined with nervous looking soldiers, who whispered in hushed voices amongst themselves until Cain’s appearance. When Cain strode through, his gaze singularly focused ahead, the men and women instantly grew silent and their stature stonelike and ridged as they stepped back to meld with the walls on either side. Cain was in no mood to address these soldiers, being more concerned with the iron door at the end of the hall that he stalked towards swiftly. The door was pushed wide, and a small group of soldiers was gathered closely at its threshold and was oblivious to the General’s approach for their awestruck stares into the interior of the space. Wyatt stopped abruptly just behind this small gathering and cleared his throat suggestively, to which the men crowding the doorway jumped, and parted the way for Cain with apologetic mutterings and averted eyes.

Wyatt’s trademark expression seemed plastered permanently on his face at this point, and he grimaced at the men as he moved past them, to step into the small cell. Inside, General Andrus, General Jinjur, and Tutor stood conferring around what appeared to be a statue of the former advisor, staring pleadingly at Cain as he entered.

“Good morning,” Wyatt announced himself to the group, and stepped into their lose circle to join in the conversation.

Andrus nodded to Cain and cleared his throat before he replied gruffly, “No so much, I’m afraid Wyatt, it doesn’t look like we’ll be getting to much intel from this fella here. Tutor seems to think a spell backfired on him when he was trying to escape.”

Tutor was still studying the statue when Andrus greeted Cain, and he glanced at his friend momentarily before resuming his analysis. “I said it was a possibility, General,” Tutor muttered to himself, as he leaned closer to study the frozen man’s hands.

Wyatt remained silent for a moment while Tutor continued his survey, until the man’s hands reached to examine the gems glittering in Vizor’s hands. “Stop pooch!” Wyatt exclaimed, reaching for Tutor’s hand and yanking it away from Vizor.

“Mr. Cain, really!” Tutor protested, his eyes wide and shocked, as he swung around to jerk his hand out of Cain’s grasp and exclaimed, “Do you mind telling me what the problem is?”

Wyatt’s finger gestured pointedly at the gems in Vizor’s hand when he replied in a growl, “Don’t touch those unless you want to end up like him.” He stopped and swung around to spy the soldiers still standing in the doorway, and he barked, “Sargent, were you on duty when this happened?”

A particularly troubled looking man stepped forward, and despite his age and obvious experience, he seemed visibly intimidated by the glare of the Tin Man and cowered like Raw as he drew near. “Yes, sir. I was.”

Wyatt turned to face the Sargent fully, and asked firmly, “Did you hear or see anyone other than the prisoner before this happened?”

The Sargent shook his head resolutely and replied with confidence, “No sir. There wasn’t a soul in the prisoner’s cell or outside it, other than me and five other men, and the only sound we heard was the prisoner when he started puttin’ up a fuss, sir.”

Wyatt huffed through his nose and nodded before dismissing the man, “Thank you. That’s all for now Sargent.” The Sargent saluted the gathering of senior officers, causing them all to respond in kind before he’d leave, at which point the others returned to their questioning study of the tight-lipped Tin Man.

Wyatt seemed unmoved by the curious stares of his cohorts and his eyes rested instead on the gems resting in Vizor’s hand. His eyes became unfocused and instead of the room before him, he seemed transported to his adversary’s chess board, where he imagined the shriveled hand of Roquat moving pieces with a threatening cackle. He was certain that Vizor’s state had been caused by the ancient gnome, and he wondered frantically what he was planning next. Clearly, he’d been able to access Vizor without so much as rousing the suspicion of the man’s guard – and these were not the type of soldiers that were easily duped. If Roquat could accomplish that much, he could have easily visited DG as well, which led Wyatt to the conclusion that the man had some larger move to play beyond just taking DG out of the picture. He had the distinct impression that he was being played still, and the feeling did little more than rile him, and convince him that he had to find some way of cutting the marionette strings for good.

“General Jinjur,” Wyatt growled as his eyes flicked from Vizor to the woman standing silently at his right elbow, “I’m going to need you to send a message to the Commissioner of the Tin Men.”

“What do you have in mind, Cain?” Andrus cut in curiously, folding his arms in front of his chest as if expecting something rather unconventional from his old friend.

Wyatt met Andrus’s curious gaze and an eyebrow arched at him when he rumbled distastefully, “We’re going to have to go to Plan B, Pete.” Andrus huffed in acknowledgement of their meeting over a cycle ago, and Wyatt turned then to the still confused General Jinjur to explain, “We’re going to need Damon Zero to take us to Vizor’s lab, Jennifer. That’s the only link we have left to Roquat now.”

“Roquat! You mean Roquat the Red?” Tutor roared in astonishment.

Wyatt nodded minutely at Tutor, his eyes serious and deadly, and he replied darkly, “You got it pooch. Do you think you can work on a few protection spells while I’m gone? This guy can go anywhere, but for some reason, he chose not to pay DG a visit yet. Her protection is your main priority now, and she won’t be able to do much to help you herself, got it?”

Tutor was aghast, and his dark eyes were beyond worried when he nodded lamely. Wyatt was satisfied, at least, that he understood the gravity of the situation despite how little he’d said, judging by Tutor’s reaction to the name alone. His attention turned back to General Jinjur then, and he fixed her with an intense stare while she considered his comments.

“You won’t be taking Zero out of that prison cell without our best team with you. Are we clear, General Cain?” Jinjur finally replied in a commanding, firm voice.

Wyatt’s lip twitched in approval of the young woman, and he nodded his agreement in lieu of any other reply. This seemed to satisfy the woman, and she nodded curtly before sweeping past the group, commanding the other soldiers as she went, “Sargent, gather your team and meet General Cain with a truck in rear loading dock in less than an hour.” She paused and glanced back at Cain and added, “and make sure that Captain Cain is put back on duty. I believe the Princess will be in need of his protection until the General returns.”

Her eyes flickered on the faces of Wyatt and Pete Andrus only momentarily; and a conciliatory smile flashed on her face for a fraction of a second before she swung around once more and exited the room. General Jinjur wasted no time, and almost left Cain behind when she charged upstairs to her office. She only paused once to admit the man into his old office and seemed wholly unaware of him while she scribbled a note on a sheet of paper and sent it whooshing away through the hidden neumotube behind the desk.

It was only when the note had disappeared through the clear glass tube that the flush-faced woman looked up at Cain, and she spoke in a an oddly apologetic voice, “I’m sorry that I had to remove Jeb from duty, Sir. I didn’t have any other choice, given the circumstances.”

Wyatt’s sense of urgency notwithstanding, the woman’s sudden change in demeanor puzzled him, and he replied affirmatively, “Jennifer, there’s no apology needed. You did what you needed to do. I wouldn’t have put you in this position if I thought you’d give my son special favors. Just do me a favor and hold off on the firing squad until I get back, okay?”

“Yes Sir,” Jennifer replied with added firmness and a slight smirk.

Wyatt turned to stride to the door, and paused to add thoughtfully, “You might even give him a real chance, Jennifer. He might change your mind about his character. Put yourself on DG’s guard duty with him. You’ll see.”

A look of impetuous challenge seemed to flash in his eyes for a moment before he tipped his hat, and then it was gone, along with the man that had thrown the gauntlet. Wyatt wasted no further time and sped down to the loading docks at the rear of the palace. General Jinjur’s appointed team was already in place and waiting by a large, forest green army truck, and seemed itching to move when the General appeared.

There was hardly a word spoken beyond Wyatt’s gruff, minimalistic orders, consisting merely of “Watch Zero, and watch my back. We go where he says,” and the group set off.

Jennifer’s message seemed to reach Manzetti in time, and by the time Wyatt and his team pulled up in front of the Hall of Justice, the large man was standing on the curb, waiting for him to appear. Manzetti was a heavy-set man with dark eyes and thick curly black hair, and spoke with in gruff, familiar terms with most people, even those he didn’t really know. Wyatt was an old friend though, so his usual manner was even warmer. He could see that Wyatt was on a mission though, so he did away with his usual greeting and walked hurriedly into the Hall with Wyatt. Manzetti quickly led Wyatt to the holding cells, shutting Wyatt in so that he could chat with Zero without an audience. Zero was asleep on his cot when Wyatt appeared and did not notice the man standing impatiently on the other side of the bars.

Wyatt tapped his wedding ring on the bars. The sound reverberated through the stone-flanked room like they might have been standing inside of a bell, and Wyatt choked down the urge to wince as he continued the intentional irritation.

In a voice seeping with sarcasm, he spoke loudly when Zero did not rouse, “Knock, knock, Damon.”

Zero stretched out as if awaking from a pleasant dream, eyeing Wyatt with passive irritation, “You know, most people call me Zero. I thought you knew that, Wyatt.”

Wyatt smirked, “Yeah, well, you know what I think of that name. Thought I might be a little nicer today.”

Zero sat up and eyed Wyatt suspiciously. He scoffed quietly at Wyatt’s dig, grumbling, “What do you want, Your Highness?”

Wyatt sighed, “Look, I’m going to cut to the chase. I need your help, and I’m willing to make your life a little easier if you’ll play along.”

Zero stood up and strolled over to the bars, and he leaned his face against the bars in a kind of perverse manner as he replied, “I’m listening.”

Wyatt expelled an irritated huff and explained in a business-like growl, “I need to get into Vizor’s lab, and I know you know the way. If you’ll lead me through the traps, I can get you out of your trip to the Black Hills.” Wyatt spoke through gritted teeth, hating that he was doing anything for Zero, but he needed help quickly, and couldn’t be discriminating.

Zero grinned, looking directly into Wyatt’s eyes, while he replied in an almost taunting tone, “Sure Wyatt, I’ll help, but I have to warn you, it’ll be dangerous.”

Wyatt’s eyes narrowed on the smiling man, and he asked suspiciously, “What’s with the easy compliance, Zero? I thought you’d rather see me rot than help me. Isn’t that what you told Adora when you put me in that iron suit?”

Zero stepped away from the bars and shrugged noncommittally. He seemed to consider his answer for a moment before he finally offered cryptically, “Let’s just say I’m helping myself more than I’m helping you. I doubt you’ll find very much inside that lab besides trouble. Might be entertaining to be a fly on the wall.”

Wyatt tried his best to ignore Zero’s suggestive answer and grimaced at him before turning to stride to the door. He rapped on the heavy door, waiting for the guard and stood aside in expectation of the guard’s return, all while attempting to ignore his former counterpart. Zero’s grinning face on the other end of the room was a little like being taunted by some kind of manic clown, and Wyatt’s best response was a stony expression, aimed directly at the man as he waited. Their eyes remained locked in a silent battle until Manzetti and two guards finally appeared. This arrival elicited a bored response from Zero, who ambled slowly away from the bars, looking almost expectant when the door swung open. As two guards, flanked in the front by Cain and in the rear by Manzetti, marched the prisoner through the building and outside, Zero continued to taunt them all. He walked with an air of superiority that had his captors seething under their breath, and onlookers glaring as if trying to find the target on his back. Once outside, the Tin Men gladly relinquished their custody of the man to the Royal Army officers waiting by the truck, and a few even spit on the curb in disgust as he walked past, arrogant as ever in his manner. 

Zero got into the back of the truck willingly, but not before waving sweetly to the men sneering at him on the curb. “Bye-bye boys, it’s been real!” Zero called out before the door slammed on his face.

As the truck rolled through the streets of Central City and headed out of town, Zero gazed contentedly out the window. In a pleasant, nonchalant voice, he called out to the driver, “Hey bud, make for the Realm, you get me?” The driver ignored Zero, continuing to mind the road instead. Zero sneered at the man and turned back to his quiet gaze of the landscape passing by. After a few minutes, a sly smile crept up on his face, and he turned to Wyatt, “So, Wyatt. How’s married life? When do I get to see the missus again?”

Wyatt moved at lightning speed, pinning Zero to the door of the truck with his forearm. His eyes were ice cold and blazing when he growled, “Let’s get one thing straight, Zero. You will not speak of DG or Adora in my presence again, or I will take you apart the way I should have back at the resistance camp.”

Zero’s eyes showed fear in that moment, and he gulped hard against Wyatt’s arm. As he squirmed to get free, he tried to ease Wyatt down, “Oh come on Cain, you wouldn’t torture me, would you? We used to be friends once upon a time, right?”

Wyatt relinquished his hold on Zero’s throat and sat back into his seat. Zero was too busy grasping his neck to notice the look of anger mingled with sadness on Wyatt’s face. He only looked at Wyatt again when Wyatt muttered just so he could hear, “We were friends until you betrayed the Tin Men. Until you betrayed me. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about your little side business Damon? That I wouldn’t turn you in?”

Zero scoffed in return, “No, I really didn’t Wyatt. I thought I could trust you. Seems I was wrong.”

“Yeah well, all of that pales in comparison with everything else you’ve done since then, doesn’t it?” Wyatt seethed, meeting Zero’s eyes again, daggers flying from his eyes.

Zero turned away and gritted his teeth, “We all have to choose which way to walk down the Old Road, don’t we?  I went one way, and you went the other, and here we are.” He then smiled and waved to their surroundings.

Wyatt nodded curtly and turned away, “Guess so. Let’s just get this over with, alright?”

Zero sniffed in return and nodded, turning silently back to his window.

The rest of the journey passed in relative silence. What had previously taken Wyatt over two days on horseback only took hours by truck, although they bumped along uncomfortably, until finally reaching the edge of the settlement just after sunset. From here, they traveled by foot to the hatch door in the pasture outside the settlement. Zero walked between two sets of guardsmen, followed closely by Wyatt, who kept his handgun out and trained on the man, who walked as if on a stroll. When they reached the hatch, three guardsmen when down first, followed by Zero, then the rest of the guards. Bringing up the rear was Wyatt, who dropped down from the ladder with a light thud.

“It’s this way,” Zero spoke in a low, serious tone, motioning for Wyatt and the others to follow.

Wyatt stayed close behind Zero as they turned down a little used alleyway. Suddenly, Zero stopped short, causing Wyatt to run into him, the tip of his gun poking Zero in the back. “Hey, watch what you’re doing with that thing,” Zero growled, turning back to Wyatt with a scowl.

Wyatt ignored Zero’s protest and peered over Zero’s shoulder, uncertain of why they had stopped. At first glance, it appeared that they had stopped at a wall, where boxes and random trash were piled high.

“What gives Zero?” Wyatt growled.

Zero held up his hands on either side of his face and smiled, “Easy there Tin Man, we’re here.” As he spoke, his hand came down on the wall, and the boxes sprung to the side, revealing an opening in the wall.

Wyatt almost stepped forward, but Zero stopped him. The expression on his face was one of utmost seriousness, and he glanced back at the other guardsmen as he spoke, “Look Wyatt,” he spoke in earnest, “we’re about to deal with some pretty hairy traps. I can get you through, but I can’t vouch for your men.”

Wyatt’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and Zero, recognizing Wyatt’s look of disbelief, turned around to face the opening with an exasperated sigh. He paused for a moment to pick up a piece of broken brick on the ground, and after a silent count, he tossed it down the hall. The result was surprising, as the walls snapped together, pummeling the brick into dust.

“Happy?” Zero asked sarcastically.

Wyatt sighed before turning back to his men and issuing orders, “Stay here. If he comes out without me, shoot him. Understood?”

Wyatt’s men nodded in affirmation and watched apprehensively as Wyatt followed Zero into the opening. Zero silently danced about the poorly lit hall, Wyatt following in his wake in quiet and careful mockery. Finally, Zero stopped in front of a large door, but before opening it, he turned to check on Wyatt, who had just reached the landing behind him and was breathing heavily.

As Zero waited, letting Wyatt catch his breath, he spoke in low tone, “You know, I might have put you in an Iron suit, but you betrayed me first Wyatt.” His eyes flickered on the man next to him, as if trying to find a glimmer of something still tying them together.

“What the hell are you on about,” Wyatt panted.

Zero’s brow furrowed and his jaw hardened at Wyatt’s response, and he scoffed derisively, “I lost everything twice because of you,” Zero seethed. Then, meeting Wyatt’s quiet gaze, he grunted. “Forget it Cain, I don’t expect you to understand.” Zero pushed the heavy door open with a shove of his shoulder and paused in the darkness ahead. Wyatt was starting to get nervous at the man’s sudden lack of communication, so he crept forward cautiously.

“Zero,” he hissed.

There was no sound ahead and the hairs on the back of Wyatt’s head were standing on end. He decided that he would have to take a chance, despite his apprehension, and stepped into the room. In an instant, the door slammed behind him, and Wyatt took a deep resigned breath, knowing that he had made the wrong choice. In the next instant, he felt something heavy strike him on the back of the head, and stars burst in front of his eyes as he lost consciousness.

Wyatt had no idea how much time had passed, but the next thing he knew, his foot was being kicked. Next, he felt cold steel poke him hard in the stomach.

 “Wakey Wakey, Your Highness,” Zero taunted him, prodding at Wyatt with the tip of the gun he had taken from him after knocking him out.

When Wyatt slowly came to, his head pounded, and he had trouble keeping the room from spinning.  He grunted as he pushed himself up on his elbows and winced when he attempted to scan the room around him once more. Wyatt quickly discovered that he’d landed on the floor of what appeared to be a large laboratory, judging by the instruments around the periphery of the room, and the cold tile under his hand that gleamed as if polished by hand. The air was damp as if they were deep underground, deeper than the Realm of the Unwanted even, and there was a faint chemical smell that tickled his nose and made his stomach turn when he inhaled too deeply.

An almost kindly voice sounded from somewhere in front of him when Wyatt’s eyes widened on the sight of the room, and Wyatt struggled to find the familiar source of the voice. “Oh dear, I’m sorry to have to wake you Sir Cain, but I wanted so much to thank you.”

Wyatt winced in the uneven light, trying to place the location of the voice. From out of the shadows crept the familiar form of Roquat, and in the bright light of the laboratory lamps, Wyatt was finally able to survey him sufficiently. In the firelight of the hut, he had appeared as an old, shriveled man with limp hair. Under this light, however, Wyatt realized that there was much more to his appearance than he’d originally noted, and he was oddly rapt in cataloguing it all. His grey skin was scaly and translucent, like it barely maintained its integrity in holding the man together. His body was crumpled, and hunched, and he walked with a visible limp as he surveyed his prey. His wizened eyes seemed to glow red under the lights when he studied Cain, and Wyatt could not help the cold dread that settled in his chest the longer the man smiled on him.  

“Hi Red,” Wyatt breathed out, “I thought I might see you again.”

Roquat crept forward a few steps and leaned down to peer at Wyatt with interest, “Yes, it seems that our business was unfinished before. I believe I made you a promise when I last saw you, that I am still intent on keeping.” There was no mistaking the malice in Roquat’s voice as he said this, and Wyatt felt a chill run down his back as he said it. Roquat continued on, however, “I wanted so much to thank you for delivering our friend here. Mr. Zero has told me quite a bit about your sordid history while you’ve been napping. Seems you have a bit of duplicitous nature, Your Highness. I had a great deal of trouble convincing him not to kill you right out.”

Wyatt raised his head in false confidence and glared at the old man, “So why didn’t you then? Have to play with your food first?”

Roquat laughed, and sneering down at Wyatt, “Oh, you’re much more important than that. Without you, how would I ever hope to meet your lovely wife, after all?”

“DG won’t come.” Wyatt scoffed, suddenly afraid for the thought of the slippers still in her possession.

Roquat squatted in front of Wyatt now and laughed low, “Dear boy, I’m not a fool, and neither are you.” Roquat stood back up now and looked down on his prey, speaking thoughtfully, “It seems that treachery runs deep in the Gale women. Your wife, sir, promised not to get in your way. She did not promise to not leave.”

Wyatt felt his stomach clench. “How would you know?” Wyatt seethed.

As Wyatt was challenging him, Roquat strolled over to a picture frame on an easel in the center of the room, almost expecting such a response. When Wyatt was done speaking, Roquat dragged the easel across the floor, causing Wyatt to wince in pain when its feet squealed angrily on the tile. Roquat brought the easel close enough so Wyatt could see it, and then turned to the frame, speaking in a commanding voice, “Show me Dorothy Gale.”

The picture swirled as if someone was stirring a paint can, and DG slowly came into view. DG was just emerging from her dressing room, pulling a smock over her naked body as she strode towards her own easel. As she sat down in front of the canvas, she hummed lightly, and the sound of her voice was faint and tinny.

“Your wife,” Roquat stated flatly, “has found a way to enchant her slippers, as you know, and they have enabled her to go anywhere. I’m not sure I know how, unless she got help from a very dead Queen, but it’s been rather entertaining watching her practice all the same, as I’m sure it has been for you as well.”

Roquat eyed Wyatt knowingly, and Wyatt’s stomach gave an unpleasant turn as he recalled the night before they had captured Vizor. He had though DG’s appearance in the Seeker’s hut had been a dream at first, and when his daze turned to waking, he had been riddled with fear of what could happen to her. That fear had only been a small twinge in his gut until that moment when Roquat stared straight into him, tearing apart every aspect of his private life, making him feel exposed. His exposure was nothing compared to DG’s, and his blood began to boil out of control as Roquat continued speaking.

Roquat tilted his head as he watched Wyatt’s wife and spoke thoughtfully as if he were appraising a piece of art, glancing at Wyatt all the while, “She’s really quite a vision, for a human that is. And, oh my, so flexible too. Tell me, don’t you feel so very – what’s the word – lucky?” Wyatt’s body clenched, and he fought the urge to tear Roquat apart. When Roquat began to refer to his wife as nothing more than property, Wyatt’s entire body clenched in fury. Wyatt had heard enough and started to jump up, but he was stopped by a firm set of hands, that held him down in his supplicant position. This seemed to amuse Roquat, and he cackled menacingly as he continued to stare down into the Tin Man’s furious eyes.

Roquat finally caught his breath from the laugh that issued from his lips and sighed, “No matter, she’ll be dead soon anyway. When you don’t reappear as expected, she’ll come looking for you, and find this lovely gift.” Roquat waved at the picture frame and then stepped forward to pluck the hat off Wyatt’s head.

“One question, Red,” Wyatt spoke haltingly, “If all you needed was the belt and you could travel anywhere, why not just pop by the palace and take care of it. Why all of this cloak and dagger business?”

Roquat paused and twirled Wyatt’s hat in his hand, replying simply, “Why go to all of that trouble and put a poor old man at risk when I knew you’d come and find me?” Roquat then turned to Zero and ordered, “Watch him, and don’t let him move a muscle”

Zero scoffed, “Oh, I think I can manage that.” With that, Zero turned the gun on Wyatt’s leg and pulled the trigger. Wyatt felt the bullet as it tore through muscle and bone as if it were a hot blade passing though butter. The heat as it tore through him was so searing that he could hardly keep his eyes open, and the warmth of blood gushing through the gash was oddly comforting, if not for the woozy feeling that accompanied the sudden loss.

As Wyatt cried out in agony, Roquat laughed maliciously, “Oh my friend, you truly are a heartless one,” Roquat mused with a smile in Zero’s direction, adding thoughtfully, “I think we’ll get along famously.” Then, turning to Wyatt, he placed his hands on his belt and offered brightly, “I’ll be right back, Sir Cain. Can’t keep your lovely wife waiting.”

He muttered something under his breath, and disappeared, picture frame and Wyatt’s hat in hand.

Chapter Text

Dorothy, it’s time. Wake up! An alarmed voice seemed to call DG in her sleep.

DG fought it though, not wanting to move from her slumber, and she shifted deeper into the plush comforter of her bed. An arm wrapped tightly around the pillow of her missing husband while she ignored the imploring voice that cried out in her mind, and she muttered her displeasure in incoherent, disjointed sentences while she continued to fight consciousness. Abruptly, though, DG’s eyes opened, and her stomach lurched violently as if some unseen force had ordained it when she hadn’t arisen with the former, more polite request.

“Oh,” DG groaned, clutching her stomach. She could feel a wave of sickness climbing up her body, and she rushed to the bathroom quickly, holding her hand over her mouth as she ran. She made it to the toilet just in time before she wretched over it, emptying her stomach of her dinner from a few hours before. DG hugged the cool porcelain for a few moments more, wanting to be sure that there wouldn’t have another wave of sickness.  When the churning subsided somewhat, DG pushed herself up and padded slowly to the door. She groaned as she pulled her robe down from the hook and wrapped it around her body. Before leaving the bathroom, DG washed her mouth out, eager to remove the taste of bile.

Now reasonably certain that she wouldn’t have a repeat of the episode that had her worshiping the toilet like an overdrunk college student, DG finally stepped out into her bedroom and surveyed the room. It was late, probably close to midnight, and the moonlight streamed into the room from the balcony door across the room. Wyatt had left that morning, and in such a haste that he hadn’t even had the time to say goodbye properly. Given the present circumstances, she could hardly be angry with him, but the sudden loss of his presence was painfully felt, and she wondered anxiously how long he might be gone. Gates had refused to leave his post after Wyatt had left, and Raw had quickly taken up an almost permanent post in front of her sitting room fireplace, with the excuse that it was the best place in the palace to meditate. Jeb and General Jinjur had joined the throng sometime in the night, just before DG had finally decided to lay down, and DG silently wondered if she might need to call for appetizers before too long given the ever-increasing company that gathered nearby. This had been Wyatt’s doing, she knew instinctively, and as much as the knowledge made her heart swell, she couldn’t help the unpleasant feeling still churning in her stomach. Deciding to listen to her gut, DG stepped into her slippers and walked quickly towards the doors of her bedroom, hoping that her forced company might be useful if they were going to insist on not going away.

The fire burned low in the adjoining room, and before it, a sleepy viewer lay curled up on the rug, with DG’s cat Tiger stowed snuggly in the curve of the man’s arms. Had it been any other time, DG might have paused here, and perhaps done a rough sketch, with the intention of painting it in earnest later. Tonight, however, she had a greater purpose, and swept quietly past this scene and that of her snoozing guard, to the outer doors where she knew Jeb and General Jinjur would be waiting just on the other side.

“Hey guys!” DG exclaimed brightly as she swung the door wide.

Apart from the guards that flanked her outer doors, Jeb and Jennifer Jinjur stood a few paces down the hall, conferring in rather informal stances. When DG appeared, they jumped apart a mere few inches, as if her presence alone was enough to make them appear guilty for some reason, and DG grinning delightedly that she had somehow flustered them with her sudden arrival on the scene.

Jeb stalked over to DG, with General Jinjur making up the distance behind him, and both wore concerned expressions on their faces when Jeb exclaimed in a hush, “Deeg, it’s late! Is there something wrong?”

DG waivered somewhat under Jeb’s watchful gaze, and she swallowed hard to maintain the guise of casual unimportance. “I’m fine, Jeb, really,” she paused to clear her throat, and her eyes glanced between her two guards, and she continued with false brightness, “I just wondered if I might interest you two in a cup of coffee or something. I’m feeling a bit restless, and I could do with a little company.”

Jeb’s eyes narrowed on DG, and for her part the Princess maintained a steady gaze back, having had practice with the young man’s father. He was a Cain, however, which meant that he could spot subterfuge in a heartbeat, and his lip twitched to hold back a smirk when he glanced back at his commanding officer for support. Jennifer shrugged warily, as if she too had been ready for some form of falsehood from the slipper princess. DG huffed – damn that Tin Man – she thought – we’re going to have to have a talk about giving away my secrets when he gets back. The princess let out a defeated sigh as she contemplated Wyatt’s apparent mutiny and stepped back to admit the pair inside.

 With the door now closed on the corridor, Jeb and Jennifer returned to their skeptical gawking at the princess, and were now joined by Gates and Raw, who’d both stirred the moment DG’s voice sounded. Raw stood at the edge of the carpet and worried with his hands while the cat made lazy circles around his legs, and Gates had risen from his chair by her chamber door, and now stood only steps from the others, his arms crossed in front of his chest in irritation and an unamused expression on his face. DG frowned at them all and swept past to the fireplace, where she paced between the couches and the mantle, feeling suddenly pensive for how to approach the next words that might issue forth from her mouth.

“DG,” Jeb chided her gently, “You want to tell us what’s on your mind now?”

Jeb had to know that his tone was very much like Wyatt’s and had the unfortunate effect of calming her almost instantly. It riled her to no end that Wyatt could scatter even her most burning anger to the wind with just a few strategically voiced words, and although she hated to admit it, it was also a trait among both Cain men that she dearly loved. She just about admitted it to Jeb in that moment with her eyes alone, and she almost smiled, except what was on her mind was so troubling that the smile quickly morphed, and her lip trembled when she spoke.

“Something is wrong. I can’t explain it, but I can feel it.” She answered emphatically, her voice rough from her struggle to maintain her composure.

Jennifer had learned since the last time she’d had this kind of conversation with DG, that the Princess’s gut intuitions were famously spot on, and her brow furrowed in concern. “Well, I haven’t had any word yet from the task force assigned to the General and Zero, but that’s not really that unusual given their destination.”

It was immediately clear to Jennifer that she’d said the one thing that could truly send the Princess into a panic. Even Jeb shut his eyes at the mention of Zero, sighing in silent defeat, and knowing that DG was just moments from a full meltdown.

DG’s eyes had grown twice as wide when Zero’s name had been uttered, and she began to hyperventilate somewhat as she exclaimed in a bluster, “Zero! No one ever said anything about him being involved! Where is Wyatt now? Don’t tell me you let them go alone, did you?” Her eyes darted to Jeb, and she stepped close to him, more as his stepmother now than as a Princess, and her voice was low and dangerous, “Jeb, you know how close Wyatt was to killing Zero the last time, and we both know what Zero would do to your father if he had the chance. Please, do you know where they might have gone?”

“DG,” Jeb sighed, “All I know is that Dad needed Zero to lead him to Vizor’s lab.” His eyes brightened with a sudden spark, and he added hopefully, “but I bet Dad would have sent him packing the second he was done with him.”

His eyes shifted to Jennifer, and she offered hopefully, “The Captain has a fair point. Why don’t I check with the Tin Men to see if Zero has been returned to Central Lockup yet.” She didn’t wait for the Princess’s approval, and made a hasty exit, whilst Jeb and the others remained behind.

DG resumed her pacing the moment Jennifer left, and she did not quit until the woman returned less than half an hour later, looking somewhat dejected and troubled. When DG greeted the woman with an expectant expression, Jennifer only shook her head and began apologetically, “I’m sorry, Princess, but the Tin Men don’t have Zero in their custody, and like us, they haven’t had any word yet.” DG began to open her mouth to protest, and Jennifer held up a hand to pause her, stating emphatically, “General Cain put in place a strict check-in policy, which he’s never strayed from. I have no reason to believe that he’ll deviate from it now. So, if we don’t hear from him by morning, we move. Okay DG?”

DG’s heart was pounding, and she wasn’t really listening anymore. Her pacing had resumed, and she chewed her lip, trying to apply logic against the worries growing at an alarming rate in her mind. She stopped suddenly and turned back to Jennifer and Jeb, asking pensively, “If Wyatt had any reason to stop for the night, where was he supposed to go?”

Jeb’s expression turned from concern to skepticism, and his hands went to his hips as he replied firmly, “DG, you’re not planning some harebrained scheme, are you?”

DG shook her head innocently and replied, “No, I promised Wyatt that I wouldn’t get in his way.”

Jeb and Jennifer shared a skeptical glance, and Jeb finally relented with a heavy sigh, “Dad would probably go to the Seeker’s hut for the night if he had to, happy?”

DG nodded and replied quietly, “Yes, thank you. I think I’ll go back to bed now.”

She glanced at Raw for a split second as she walked past him, trying her best to ignore the look of concerned disbelief in his eyes. Although she was thankful for Raw’s discretion, she couldn’t waste any more time to tell him so. She offered only a weak smile to him instead before she closed herself behind her bedroom door, and made a mad dash for the dressing room, now intent on locating Wyatt herself. After pulling on her Otherside jeans, t-shirt and jacket, she closed her eyes to imagine Wyatt. DG was panting now, and her mind raced, trying to determine where she should look for him first. She thought of the Realm of the Unwanted. That had been where they had found Vizor, and certainly Roquat would still be somewhere in the vicinity, since the Realm offered the best potential in the OZ for hiding from prying eyes. She didn’t really have to do more than imagine Wyatt’s eyes to get to him, but the thought of Zero or Roquat lurking nearby stilled her, and she considered that maybe she might try something a bit safer first.

Better to start in his office, maybe I’ll find some idea as to what to do next, DG considered silently, before she shut her eyes once more and clicked her heels.

It was a long shot, she knew, but she hoped that Wyatt had left some clue there before he’d left. Although it seemed frivolous to teleport just two rooms away, she quickly decided that she didn’t want to risk walking through the other room, where the others might see her fully dressed and ready to flee. The room swirled around her, and a cool wind whipped her hair around her face. The breath was knocked from her lungs, and she collapsed to her knees just as the room came back into focus, swallowing back a gasp all the while so as not to rouse the others in the adjoining room. She looked around. Her surroundings were dim, lit only by natural light from the balcony doors, and she had to wince because the moon that peaked through the window was like a spotlight, and it made it difficult for her to focus on anything else. When DG’s eyes finally adjusted, she smiled grimly, realizing that she had indeed made it to Wyatt’s office, but no clear indication of Wyatt’s intentions were to be seen. The only indication that something was different was the appearance of an ornate picture frame propped up on the leather settee before her. 

“I didn’t order that,” DG murmured as she crept forward to study the odd new addition, and her hands paused to rest on her husband’s fedora, which had been propped on the side of the frame, like some kind of calling card.

DG’s mouth screwed into a thoughtful frown at these items, so obviously placed for her benefit. Wyatt wouldn’t have done it, and he certainly wouldn’t have left the palace without his favorite hat. It was clear that she’d had a visitor at some point during Wyatt’s absence, and it chilled her to think that whoever it was had been close enough to Wyatt to remove his hat before bringing it here. Knowing that danger certainly loomed, DG did the only thing she knew to do. She crept closer to the frame that she now suspected had been returned to her from her adversary, identified by Wyatt as Roquat the Red, and studied it as she knew he’d wanted her to do. The picture itself was blank, as if waiting for a subject, and a note hung to the frame. Her hand paused on the note, and a voice warned again that someone had left this for her to find intentionally, and she remembered Ozma’s warning about unknown enchantments.

“I don’t have time for this,” DG grumbled, and tore the note off the frame so she could better read it.

In neat scroll, the note read simply, “Ask me to show you what you wish to see.”

DG closed her eyes for a moment, afraid to ask, but afraid to give up. When she opened them again, she crept closer to the frame and commanded, “Show me Wyatt Cain.”

For a moment, it seemed that nothing would happen, but when DG had just begun to give up any hope, the picture swirled into view. In front of DG’s eyes, she saw Wyatt crumpled on a cold tile floor. DG knelt in front of the frame while her breath came out in shaky pants, and she held the frame in both hands now, struggling to breathe as she pulled apart what she was seeing. Wyatt sat on the ground, and his eyes were shut. Blood dripped from his mouth, and he looked to have been shot in the leg, as deep red oozed from his thigh, and he clutched it in agony. DG didn’t see anything else, and she didn’t care to.  Despite Ozma’s warning, she had made up her mind. Ozma had given her the ability to enchant her slippers for a reason, and it wasn’t so she could escape danger, it was so she could save Wyatt from it. DG closed her eyes again and took a moment to slow her breathing, knowing that the trip would wind her.

When her frantic panting slowed, DG tapped her heels and murmured, “Take me to Wyatt Cain.”

Once again, the room swirled, and DG swayed on her feet as she tried desperately to keep her balance. She did this time, but once standing in front of Wyatt, it didn’t matter anymore. When she heard his pained groan, she dropped to her knees in front of Wyatt and grasped his shoulder to get his attention. Wyatt was dazed and in a great deal of pain, but not from the gunshot wound. There was an anguish in his eyes unlike anything she’d ever seen, as if he’d been forced to relive the torture he’d previously endured, and when DG had appeared, Wyatt’s clouded eyes shut tight and he shook his head furiously, as if not wanting to believe she was really there. It was excruciating for DG, to see Wyatt in such pain again, and she could no longer fight the tears that welled up in her.

“Wyatt, we have to go, get up.” DG plead quietly, her eyes scanning the dimly lit room intermittently while she tried in vain to move her delirious husband.

Wyatt shook his head emphatically, knowing that DG had found herself in a trap because of him and he sobbed. “Oh, DG, no. No. You can’t be here. Please go, go now.” Wyatt’s eyes were red with tears, the fear in his eyes chilled her to the bone, and she froze.

In that moment, there was a shrill laugh, and DG’s eyes shut in recognition of having allowed herself to walk straight into a dupe. She cursed herself for a moment, scoffing internally at her stupidity. He could have just written ‘It’s a trap,’ on that note, and I’d have still come, DG thought sarcastically, and she gently released Wyatt back to the floor and stood to face the source of the laugh, still shrouded in darkness.

Her chin was raised proudly when the shriveled form of Roquat limped from the outer shadow of the room, and her eyes burned with defiance when he drew near. “Oh, isn’t this just delicious,” he purred, pleased with himself as he peered into the young woman’s face, “I get to kill off the future of the Gale line and true love all in one day.”

Behind the small man, who barely reached DG’s height, Zero following in his wake, slithering and sneering at the Gale princess that intentionally averted her eyes from either Roquat or himself as they neared. There was an evil smirk on his face when his feet came within inches of the Tin Man’s face, noting that Princess’s eyes flicked on him in silent alarm. He flashed her a wide smile as he pulled a chair across the floor to rest just beside Wyatt’s struggling form and sat down behind him with a casual air. Roquat and Zero seemed to delight in continuing the torture, only increasing the Princess’ ire when Zero reached down to drag the man into a sitting position, which elicited another pained grunt from the man, and a gasp of protest from DG.

Roquat tsked warningly at the Princess, while Zero placed a gun between Wyatt’s shoulder blades, and he shook his head with a farcically shamefaced expression, as if daring her to utter the slightest objection to his actions. Roquat patted the air in Zero’s direction, speaking in a calming tone, “Now, now, Zero. Let the girl and I have a little chat before you dispatch with your ex-partner. I would like to ensure her compliance for just a little while longer.”

Zero gritted his teeth but shrugged in response, and he tightened his grip on the Tin Man’s shoulder to such a painful degree that Wyatt fought a growl and DG glared at him hotly.

“Now Your Highness, I’d like to introduce myself. I am Roquat the Red, King of the Gnomes.” The old man proclaimed, and he swept himself into a low bow, mocking the woman with his false gallantry and showmanship.

DG whipped around to face him once more, and she straightened considerably when she answered, “I wish I could say I was pleased to meet you, but you seem to be holding my husband prisoner.” DG spoke firmly and her eyes sharp and furious as she stepped slowly into the center of the room.

Roquat barked out a loud laugh and replied as he countered to match her, “Your husband has been quite instrumental in delivering both you and Mr. Zero to me, as I’d hope he would. I could not simply let him go without bestowing my undying gratitude on him.”

“Well I’m sorry, but it looks like you’ve managed that, now please let us leave.”  DG replied lamely, trying to buy time while she thought of a way out of their predicament.

This seemed to rile the Gnome King however, and when he spoke, his voice was dripping with derision, “I doubt very seriously that you are sorry at all. You’re a good deal like your predecessor, you know. Meddlesome and arrogant to the last.”

DG held her head high and spoke in an authoritative, threatening manner, “The last time I checked, no one seemed to mind me stepping in. You know, daughter of light and all. It seems to me that you’re the one meddling here. Why don’t you just go back to your own kingdom, and I won’t have to retaliate.”

Roquat’s eyes sparkled crimson in the low light and a wiry smile spread before he cackled menacingly, “Oh, Your Highness. I don’t think you understand. I intend to claim the Outer Zone as my own. Now that your sister is gone, all I have to do is remove you and your consort, and then, with the assistance of Mr. Zero and his longcoats, your dear mother’s army will topple like little toy soldiers.”

With Roquat’s last few words, he shot a flash of light in DG’s direction, and DG’s eyes widened in instant recognition. She hadn’t been afforded the time to dodge his volley, and so she braced against the blow, wincing when it bounced off the weak shield she’d managed to erect. The action did little more than wind her, and she turned to him in sardonic fury as she whipped her hair out of her face, “What, is that all you’ve got Red?”

Roquat howled in anger, sending another blast in DG’s direction, which DG deflected as well but not without feeling increasingly winded. Wyatt’s blood loss had subsided some time ago, and the pain washing though him had finally slowed enough that he finally clawed his way to full consciousness and watched in bewildered silence as DG and Roquat circled each other. Ordinarily, he would have been proud of her, for she managed to replay all their fighting lessons with perfect timing. When Roquat tried to strike her with physical force, she dodged him effortlessly, and her magical parries were equally astounding in demonstrating the expertise she’d attained in the past two annuals. Although DG’s skill was undeniable, Wyatt still looked on with a certain amount of fear. For any time Roquat showed any hope of actually striking the Princess, a bright white light emanated from her very being, pushing the enraged Gnome away. Wyatt would have normally been relieved that her light seemed to be protecting her, but as the fight wore on, and DG appeared gradually more and more winded, Raw’s warning hit him full force; if she became completely drained, she and the baby could die, he recalled with a heart-stopping grunt.

DG, meanwhile, was putting up a good fight, but was quickly losing her strength to fight off the Gnome King’s repeated attacks. DG tried desperately to not let her attacker see her weakness, and she laughed at him in an effort to deflect her fear. This only served to enrage him, and he blasted her now repeatedly, until she collapsed on the floor at Wyatt’s feet. DG struggled to breathe and panted heavily as she stared at the floor.

Wyatt’s voice cracked as he whispered encouragingly to her, intentionally ignoring their attackers while his eyes stared at DG’s prostrate form, “Dorothy, please, get up.”

Zero laughed, taking delight in Wyatt’s torture. Roquat too laughed at the scene, and taunted DG, “Oh dear, it doesn’t really matter to me who dies first, but my vengeful friend here seems very much to want your dear beloved to suffer, your Highness. I think we may let him watch you die, just to entertain my friend. I hope you won’t mind.”

Roquat spoke to DG as if afraid that he’d caused some minor inconvenience, and it sent Wyatt into a rage; a guttural cry escaped his lips, and his eyes were flaring in rage at the man who continued to laugh tauntingly, even after deciding his wife’s fate. DG pushed herself up and dared a glance at her husband. When she met his eyes, the rage turned into deep sadness, and he began to weep through his rage. DG tore her eyes from his as she swallowed her own emotions and froze when the distinct sound of metal on metal grated on her ears. It was a sound like something out of a samurai film, and although familiar to her only in that sense, she would have been right when she imagined the man behind her drawing a sword from within his cane, for that is exactly what he had done.

No, she thought as she focused on Wyatt’s eyes again. I’m not dying today.

DG focused on Wyatt, and she focused on the rage that she had seen in him only a scant number of times in the past. This allowed her mind to settle on one day that was like no other in the volume of raw rage that had emitted from him and awoke a deep sense of fear within her. It was the day that Zero had attacked Wyatt and his family and imprisoned Wyatt in an Iron suit, and Wyatt had screamed and fought then like he was now, like he was losing his family. Then the rage filled her too, and DG silently vowed that she would not let it happen again. As she let Wyatt’s rage fill her up, making her skin burn, DG shut her eyes to draw the focus away from him. Instead, she focused on the shrill voice behind her.

“Goodbye, Your Highness,” Roquat replied with finality, his arm raised and ready to strike the final blow.

Before he could strike however, DG pushed herself to her feet and raised a hand towards him, commanding simply in a voice that was husky and dark, “No.” 

She opened her eyes and faced him. Her eyes glowed like hot pokers on him, and her hair flowed around her as if caught in the air. An orange glow emanated from her very being, and her voice was commanding, vibrating from the very walls and sending shock waves into all present. Roquat seemed to cower somewhat when DG’s voice reverberated through him, and when his eyes shut momentarily, DG’s eyes moved from Roquat to the sword grasped in his hands. Roquat immediately fought to hold on to the blade, but it began to turn red and hiss, and he dropped it suddenly, having been burnt by it. He seemed to realize in an instant the DG had been the source of his injury, and he charged her in blinding fury.

DG raised her hands again and stopped him, her voice still booming. “You will not hurt me, or my family and you will certainly never hurt my people.”

Roquat screamed in agony, clutching himself as he began to glow from within. In an instant, he turned to ash, leaving only the magical belt in a pile of dust on the floor.

Wyatt had used the stand-off between DG and Roquat as a distraction, and quickly swung around, knocking the gun out of Zero’s hands with a well-placed elbow. While his right elbow sent the gun clattering to the floor, his left fist swung, making contact with Zero’s jaw. The force of the blows toppled Zero over, and he grunted as he hit the floor, eyes wide with shock. Wyatt stood over Zero, waiting for him to recover, and panting through his own boiling rage. The blood curdling cries of the Gnome King distracted him, however, and he turned only briefly to see the source of the cry. In that short moment, Zero reached for the gun. He was still winded from his injured jaw, however, and his position on the floor did not help his aim either, so although he aimed for Wyatt’s chest, he only managed to shoot him in the shoulder.

When Wyatt cried out, clutching his shoulder, DG turned her burning gaze Zero, her face unreadable and grave. The gun in Zero’s hand began to grow warm, until the skin of Zero’s hand hissed loudly. Zero dropped the weapon as he cried out, staring down at his hand in shock and anger for a moment before he turned back to DG. His eyes were wide as he looked on the Princess, who still glowed hot like a phoenix risen from the ashes, and even he could not help but be afraid. He continued to stare in utter shock and terror while he grasped his hand, until DG suddenly waivered, and crumpled to the floor.

DG had fixed Zero with such an intense stare, that it seemed she was every bit judge and jury. Her mind was a torrent, with only divine retribution and vengeance burning through her. Her strength was diminishing quickly though, and the glow in her eyes and skin faded away much too soon. She’d wanted to do the same to Zero that she’d done to Roquat, and a small voice in the back of her mind worried that if she quit now, he’d finally have his opportunity to dispatch with Wyatt. Had her vision not blurred, she would have known that he’d skittered away like a scared rodent, but in that same instant, DG felt the room sway dangerously, and she felt her body drop to meet the floor. Somewhere above her, she heard Wyatt’s voice. He’d clearly discarded any thought of going after Zero, and had somehow managed to stumble over to her, and he cried softly as he took her into his arms. The room was going in and out of focus, and DG fought hard to keep her eyes on Wyatt’s, and her hand, trembling and weak, reached up to his face and she whispered weakly to him.

Wyatt leaned down to hear her, in time to hear the words, “I love you,” escape her lips, followed by a painfully weak whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Wyatt had watched in both terror and awe as DG dispatched the Gnome King. She’d been a sight to behold, one to worship and fear, and he was breathless in her presence. In those moments, DG was judge and jury of the OZ, and it was within her rights as a daughter of light and his wife to protect their country and family from harm. He was proud of her, and scared. Then, when she collapsed in a heap in front of him afterwards, he was frantic. Raw had warned of DG performing ordinary magic, and he had no idea what this new form of magic would do to her. His panic only grew when he realized the extent of her drain, and he fought a terrified shudder which finally broke into full blown grief when she apologized.

“Oh DG, no. Don’t leave me. Please,” Wyatt begged, hugging her to him as the breath left his lungs.

DG was quickly losing her grasp now, and as her eyes fell closed, all she could hear was Wyatt’s pleading cry as she descended into inky darkness.

Chapter Text

DG’s eyes fluttered open to the muffled sounds of birds chirping outside, and she looked around, not knowing where she was. At first inspection, she was certain that she was lying in a bed just large enough for herself, and it sat among a row of other similar beds in a large, open room. The entire scene seemed to have been dropped from some World War Two period movie, except the entire room was awash in soft white light, and the entire place seemed to gleam like a gem in the light. The long, white room appeared to be a wing of a hospital, and she seemed to be the only patient, save a small child in the bed adjoining hers, and she turned to inspect the child passively, curious how they’d ended up there together. DG thought that the little girl couldn’t be any older than eight annuals old, and her curly golden hair was splayed out on the pillow as she breathed deeply.  Both she and DG were wearing white cotton gowns, but unlike hospital gowns, they felt soft and warm, like a favorite pair of pajamas.

The girl’s eyes opened as if she sensed herself being watched, and she sat up suddenly, looking around in a fashion similar to DG. When her crystalline blue eyes settled on DG’s, a wide, warm smile settled on her face, and she relaxed. DG could not help the smile that crept up on her own face, and she sensed that she had met the girl before. The girl slid out of her bed and tip toed over to DG’s and clambered up on the bed next to her as if they were old friends. DG pulled the light blanket over the girl’s lap instinctively, feeling strongly that she did not want the chill in the air around them to make her unduly cool.

The girl smiled contentedly at DG and introduced herself while sticking her hand out cordially, “Hi DG, I’m Elizabeth, but you can call me Lizzie.”

DG took the girl’s hand, and Lizzie shook DG’s in a serious manner that brought an amused smirk to the Princess’s face. DG marveled at the young girl, finding amusement in her manner while her curiosity continued to grow. The small girl seemed to know so much, and DG so little. She took a guess that Lizzie might be able to tell her something of use, so she asked tentatively, “Where are we? What are we doing here?”

Lizzie looked around the room in a passive manner and replied though a bored sigh, “Oh, I don’t know. I guess we’re just waiting.”

DG was growing uneasy, never really liking hospitals. The state of their surroundings made DG suspicious though – this wasn’t like any other hospital she had been in before.  DG’s stomach gave a sudden lurch when she remembered collapsing after her battle with Roquat and she squeaked out, “We’re not dead, are we?”

Lizzie giggled and shook her head emphatically, “No! You’re very much alive Dorothy, just dreaming.”

DG’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, and she eyed the little girl as she asked, “Hey, wait a minute. If I’m dreaming, what are you doing here?”

Lizzie chewed on her lip while she toyed with her hands, and looking up nervously, she answered, “The strain on our bodies when you fought Roquat was a lot to process, mother.”

DG’s eyes widened and she shook her head in disbelief as she lightly touched her abdomen, “No, I’m not. I can’t.”

Lizzie sat patiently as DG put everything together, a blush rising quickly on her face. Finally, DG stopped and studied the little girl again. Lizzie was chewing on her lip again, nervously waiting for DG, and DG quickly processed just how like herself the young girl suddenly seemed when she appeared nervous. DG’s chest swelled, and she whimpered as she pulled the little girl into her arms. Hot tears were streaming down her face, and she released Lizzie so she could wipe them away.

DG looked down on the girl, suddenly worried for her, “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

DG examined Lizzie, buzzing nervously about her wellbeing. Lizzie giggled when DG raised her arms, inadvertently tickling her. “I’m fine mom!” She whined as she stifled a belly laugh. When she caught her breath, she continued, “and before you ask, I won’t remember this after I’m born. You could call it a perk of being human. I may be magical, but I’m still limited by my body sort of. I’m just glad that I got to see you again before I forget everything again.”

Lizzie exhaled in relief and smiled at DG until she realized that she had given something important away. She clapped her hand to her head and huffed at herself.

“Hey, wait a minute, again?“ DG exclaimed, pointing at the girl, “Ozma!”

Lizzie nodded heavily and answered, “Yes, but I couldn’t tell you before. There was too great a chance that you wouldn’t do what needed to be done. That’s why I appeared to you the way I did. Once I’m born, I won’t be too much different from any other little girl, except that I’m me of course, and yours.”

Lizzie and DG smiled at each other, blushing at the personal nature of their conversation. DG toyed with her hands now, feeling the weight of motherhood pressing down on her. If this wasn’t bad enough, now she had to contend with the notion of not only being a mother but raising a reincarnated goddess as well. DG became lost in her worries and chewed on her lower lip anxiously.

Lizzie’s small hand slid into hers and she squeezed it gently. DG’s eyes settled on her daughter’s and Lizzie whispered, “You’re going to be a great mom. Don’t ever doubt yourself.” DG sighed, feeling the weight lift off her chest, and she hugged Lizzie tightly again. With a small kiss on the cheek, Lizzie muttered into her mother’s hair, “I love you mom.”

DG was crying in full force now and fought to keep the tears from obstructing her vision. She smiled weakly at her daughter and replied, “I love you too, Lizzie.” Suddenly though, DG’s heart dropped, and she exclaimed breathlessly, “Oh, Wyatt! Do you know what happened to him? I passed out before – “

Lizzie smiled and placed her small hands on DG’s shoulders as she replied assuredly, “He’s fine mom, but you should probably go to him now, he’s been very worried.” DG nodded and exhaled loudly as Lizzie began shaking her shoulders lightly. She commanded in a quiet voice, “It’s time to wake up now.”

DG agreed and shut her eyes. When she opened them again, she stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, inhaling slowly and deeply. Wyatt, who had been dozing off in the chair across the room tip toed forward and knelt by the bed, taking her delicate hand in his.  DG looked down at him and smiled weakly.

“Hey there Princess,” he whispered, smiling warmly at her and leaning down to kiss her knuckles.

DG leaned over and placed her other hand on his head, kissing it as she ran her fingers through the freshly cut blonde hair. “Wyatt,” she mumbled sleepily, “how long have I been asleep?”

Wyatt looked back up, happy tears were in his eyes, and a smile wavered on his face. He stood so that he could sit next to her, and with a shaky voice, he replied, “A few days now. I brought you here with this.”

Wyatt held out the belt, which he tossed heavily on the edge of the bed. DG only glanced at it before her eyes turned back to Wyatt’s. She could still see a small amount of fear there, and it made her ache.

“Oh Wyatt, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t let you face that alone. Please don’t be mad.” DG pleaded.

Wyatt’s eyes twinkled and his smile widened as he replied, “Deeg, I can’t be mad at you. I was just scared that I’d lose you, both of you.”

His hand rested gently on DG’s abdomen as he spoke, and he inhaled deeply when her own hands rested over his. DG blushed, and her eyes fixed him with a steady look as she spoke quietly, “Well, we’re fine now that you’re home. Don’t ever do that again.”

Wyatt let out a strangled cry as he fought the tears that threatened him while he touched his wife, imagining the child growing inside of her, and the danger they had endured to bring him home. He nodded as his eyes shut the tears out, finding surprise in the small hands that had grasped his face. Wyatt opened his eyes again to look into DG’s, finding that she had sat up, and held his face to hers, and once his eyes had opened, she pulled him into a gentle kiss.

The kiss turned into a deep hug, and Wyatt held her tightly, still afraid that she would somehow disappear. In that moment, he made a silent promise to never to put himself at risk like that again. He had another chance to raise his children, and a young wife to keep out of trouble. It was a different kind of adventure, and he smiled at the prospect of it, knowing that with DG, nothing would ever be dull. Wyatt was shaken out of his thoughts by a small knock on the door, and he separated from DG momentarily to address the sound.

Gates peaked into the room, and Wyatt and DG beckoned him forward, both grinning widely. Gates seemed almost relieved as he laid eyes on his mistress and spoke softly as he approached, “Milady, I’m relieved to see you awake.” A smile formed as he spoke, eliciting a bashful smile from DG in return. Then, withdrawing an envelope from his pocket, he handed it to Wyatt as he continued with a light cough, “This came for you Sir.”

Wyatt straightened his face and nodded at the captain, and replied in an oddly formal tone, “Thank you Gates.”

Gates turned and turned to go, gliding out of the room just as silently as he had entered, pulling the door closed discretely as he exited. Only when he’d left did Wyatt turn his attention back down to the envelope in his hands.  The envelope itself was of a nondescript nature, being plain and white, with no return address indicated anywhere to clue the recipient in on the nature of the sender. The address on the front of the envelope was neat and small, and addressed simply to “Sir Wyatt Ulysses Cain.”

DG’s inquisitiveness didn’t seem to be deterred by her grogginess, and she inched closer to Wyatt, leaning on his shoulder so she could get a better look at the envelope in his hand. “What is it?” She asked, peering over his shoulder.

Wyatt turned around so that DG would not have to climb his shoulder any longer and answered in a pensive mutter as he opened it, “I don’t know Deeg.”  When he pulled out what appeared to be a formal government missive, he became even more curious, not having received any since retiring as the Captain of the Guard, and never receiving one in his personal capacity as His Royal Highness. The letter appeared to be from the Royal Archives, and it read:

Your Royal Highness,

To those of us serving in the Royal Archives, we greatly appreciate your recent repatriations to the collection.  You do us a great honor by returning the Emerald of the Eclipse and the Compass to us, ensuring their safety for future generations.

In light of this and other recent events, the Curator of the Collection requests an early audience with Your Royal Highness and Princess Dorothy in one week’s time. If this is acceptable, please respond in the fashion previously established in our other communications.

With Warmest Regards,

Artemis Saul

Chief Curator

Wyatt handed the letter to DG and smirked, “Well, I guess we’ve been summoned.”

DG quickly read the letter, but without any point of reference, she frowned and asked, “Am I missing something Wyatt? Why wasn’t I invited to this repatriation?” Wyatt let out a loud breath through his teeth and stood from the bed, crossing quickly to the table in the sitting area, where a lamp had been placed while DG had been asleep. Wyatt moved to turn the lamp on, and then walked back to the bed. DG’s frown deepened and she continued quizzically, “and why do we need another light on? Isn’t it light enough in here?”

Wyatt could not help but smile on his wife and reply cryptically, “You’ll know soon enough Princess.”

DG’s mouth puckered with Wyatt’s unsatisfactory answer, but she remained silent, being more content to be safe and at home with Wyatt than know all of his secrets. Besides, she reasoned, he promised that she would have all of the answers soon enough. DG contented herself with this knowledge, and by the time the appointed audience drew close, she was positively beside herself for a riposte to the puzzle.

The Curator’s message had only requested an “early” audience, so without knowing the exact time of the appointed hour, DG bounded out of bed even earlier than Wyatt on the day of the meeting. Wyatt seemed to find humor in DG’s bustling, and positioned himself in one of the deep armchairs, coffee in hand, so he could watch the show. His reluctance to change out of his pajama pants and t-shirt coupled with his overall nonchalant manner incensed DG, and as she stood in the door of her dressing room still in her night gown, she fumed silently at him.

“What?” Wyatt laughed defensively.

DG threw her hands up in exasperation and scoffed, turning quickly to stomp back into her dressing room. After a moment, she reappeared, dressed in a brown suede pencil skirt and deep blue blouse. Before she finally gave Wyatt the response he was looking for, she deposited herself in his lap and scolded him, “Aren’t you going to get dressed? He could be here any time!”

Wyatt chuckled, but straightened his expression quickly, seeing that DG’s face wore a mask of seriousness that he could not wipe away with even his brightest smile, “Deeg, I’m sorry, but had it occurred to you to ask me about the Curator? I might have told you a thing or two.”

Wyatt leaned forward while gently pulling DG’s chin down to meet him and placed a gentle kiss on her pouted lips. DG’s stormy appearance seemed to melt away in the face of such tenderness, and a smile crept up on her face as she gave in to Wyatt’s kiss. She had just begun to settle into their quiet necking when there was a gentle knock on the door, pulling DG and Wyatt out of their affections.

DG looked up from her perch to see Gates peak through and, seeing the Princess and her Consort so personally engaged, averted his eyes. Although accustomed at this point to their frequent shows of affection, Gate was too much of a professional not to offer his lady her utmost privacy, and while he looked away, he coughed before announcing polietly, “Ma’am, Sir. Your visitor has arrived downstairs. Shall I have him shown into your sitting room, or would you like to speak with him elsewhere?”

“We’ll see him in our sitting room, Gates. Thank you,” Wyatt replied quickly, wanting to beat DG to the punch.

DG’s mouth hung open, as she had intended to ask Gates to show the Curator to the library or somewhere equally public. When Wyatt spoke for her, she was surprised by his choice of venue, and eyed him suspiciously.  When Gates disappeared behind the door, DG’s eyes narrowed and she returned to her previous grumbling, “I really hope you’re going to fill me in soon. I hate being in the dark.”

Wyatt chuckled again and pushed DG from his lap, rising as she stepped away. Wyatt ignored her continued attempts to gain his attention and walked leisurely across their sitting room to his office. DG was beyond exasperated now and turned instead to pouring herself a cup of coffee while Wyatt disappeared into his own dressing room. When he reappeared, he was suitably dressed, DG thought, in grey suit pants with a well-tailored dress shirt and vest, but had decided to forego wearing a tie, and the topmost buttons of his shirt were left open in a casual manner. DG could not help thinking that this curator, while important, must be someone familiar to Wyatt, but she could not understand his reluctance to divulge anything to her, and she continued to frown at him as he crossed to sit with her on the couch.

When Wyatt had settled onto the couch with her, DG realized that he’d brought the belt of Roquat with him, and he deposited it carelessly on the table in front of them when he sat, as if it was a nuisance, he was ready to be rid of. DG was just about to make a comment about the belt when Artemis Saul arrived, looking somewhat contrite in response to the pointed stare of the Tin Man beside her.

Wyatt rose quickly from his seat and strode forward with his hands outstretched. His eyebrow was arched almost skeptically as he neared the man, but the rouse faded immediately as they met, and Wyatt chuckled when he took the man’s hand in greeting. As he greeted the man with a friendly handshake, he beamed happily, “Artie, good to see you! Come in!”

“Good to see you too, Seeker. I heard you had quite an adventure after I saw you last,” Artie replied, giving Wyatt a knowing wink, and he added in a low voice for Wyatt’s benefit, “I apologize for leaving you, Wyatt. You understand.”

Wyatt nodded while a smile still brightly lit his face, and as he began to walk Artie back towards the sitting area, there attention quickly turned to the woman left standing lamely by. DG looked uncertain as to her position in this meeting, and she chewed on her lip whilst the two men spoke in near confidence. Artie recognized this uncertainty immediately and put DG at ease right away by addressing her now directly.

“Your Highness,” Artie spoke kindly as he stooped to kiss her hand politely, “Pictures of you do you no justice.  You remind me of a young Jackie-O, and I hear you’re quite the mechanic, like a certain British Monarch. Jane of all trades as it were.”

Wyatt did not know what Artie was referring to, but whoever he had compared DG to seemed to compliment her, and she blushed heavily at his praise. A warm smile flushed her features, and her tone was equally so when she replied, gesturing to the couch, “Oh, you’re just saying that, but please, sit.” Artie chuckled and gladly sat on the couch, being joined shortly by DG, who was quick to make the man comfortable, “Wyatt and I don’t stand too much on court traditions, so we don’t have any tea, but would you like some coffee?”

“Oh,” Artie rumbled, “that would be wonderful. I haven’t had a good cup of coffee for a long time.”

DG grinned and began to arrange a cup for the man, smiling happily all the while. When she placed the cup in front of Artie, he quickly claimed it and inhaled the aroma before taking a tempting sip. When a contented hum escaped him, DG giggled and replied, “My father had the beans brought over from the Otherside. I hope you like it.”

Artie was still rapt and replied deeply, “Oh, chicory. Nothing like it here. Thank you, Your Highness.”

Wyatt had sat in relative quiet across from DG and Artie during this interaction, legs crossed and face leaning against his hand, a smile on his face. He’d known that DG would enjoy meeting another person that had spent time on the Otherside, so he had stepped back to allow their meeting to take its own natural course. He knew, though, that DG would quickly dominate Artie’s attentions, so once Artie and DG had both delved into the drinks, Wyatt cleared his throat and sat up.

“So Artie,” Wyatt prompted the Curator, who sat his drink down in anticipation, “I assume that you’d like the belt back.”

When Wyatt spoke, he gestured to the belt sitting close by Artie’s drink, drawing the man’s attention. A look of recognition dawned on Artie’s face suddenly, and his carpet bag quickly appeared from his side. “Oh, yes. Thank you.” Artie exclaimed, placing the belt back in the bag, “Can’t have such a dangerous item floating about.”

DG’s curiosity had found its way back to the forefront, and she inquired sweetly, “Artie, what do the Archives do exactly?”

Artie pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and eyed the young woman as a hawk might eye a mouse, “We find, catalog, and protect magical artifacts as well as the history of the Royal Family of the OZ.”

Recognition was dawning on DG’s face, and she replied, “Oh, so it must have started with Ozma, right?”

Artie smiled with satisfaction and replied, “I see you’ve been doing your homework, Your Highness. Yes, the first curator was chosen by Ozma the Great, and she is responsible for the enchantments that keep the Archives hidden.”

“Oh,” DG replied, pensive frown on her face as she continued with a somewhat guilty expression, “So, what if I told you that I know where there are more artifacts?”

Artie seemed to be expecting this from the impish Princess and replied off-handedly, “Oh? More artifacts? Where?”

“Next door,” Wyatt responded in a low voice before DG could speak. The two exchanged a meaningful glance before Artie intruded, looking to them both over the top of his glasses.

“Well,” Artie sighed as he slapped his knees and stood up, “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” He crossed to Wyatt’s office and disappeared behind the door. After a brief pause, he reappeared with the picture frame in hand.

“Oh, this is very interesting,” Artie murmured, continuing, “Show me Finaqua.” The picture swirled and did as was asked, showing the pristine lakes, flanked by trees blowing pleasantly in the breeze. When the picture swirled back to black, Artie laughed and leaned back on the couch. When he had recovered from his giddy laughter, he sighed and spoke thoughtfully, “Ah, you two would make great field agents, you know that? I haven’t seen a pair with such a good retrieval rate since I was on the Otherside last.”

“Well I think we’re going to be a bit busy for a little while,” DG grinned, patting her stomach.

Artie’s mouth went into a silent “oh” and he replied, “Ah yes, well, let me know if you ever change your minds.”

When Artie spoke, he rose from his seat, intent on kissing DG’s hand again before leaving. Wyatt and DG also stood, sensing that the visit was quickly coming to an end, so before Artie could move another step, DG stopped him, a look of recognition dawning on her face, “Wait,” She exclaimed, “Don’t go anywhere yet.”

DG’s eyes met Wyatt’s for just a moment before she darted into the bedroom, and Wyatt suspected that she was up to something except for the look of tenderness she shot him before disappearing. When she reappeared, she held out the silver slippers to Artie, who took them with a look of puzzlement on his face. Without having to be asked, DG explained, “They’re enchanted.  If you tap them three times and tell them where you want to go, they’ll take you. I haven’t tested their limits, but it’s probably better I don’t. My adventures have a way of getting me and everyone else into trouble.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, where did they come from?” Artie inquired carefully.

DG sighed heavily and searched the ceiling before admitting, “They’re mine. I did it, and I promise that I won’t make it a habit.” When DG made the promise, it was aimed more at Wyatt than Artie, and she held his eyes with her last words. Wyatt felt a surge of pride in DG and he didn’t seem to care who was present to witness the result when he swept over to her, and pulled her into his arms, embracing her tightly.

DG laughed as Wyatt held her, only stopping when he pulled back just enough to kiss her tenderly. “I’m so proud of you DG,” he whispered in her ear, “I love you.”

DG met his eyes, her own sparkling before the smile formed on her lips, “It’s only fair. You trusted me with the slippers. Now it’s my turn.”

Artie cleared his throat, interrupting the private moment between Wyatt and DG. As they stepped apart to face Artie, Wyatt reached out and took Artie’s hand in a firm shake, “Never know when the Seeker might be needed again, right Artie?”

Artie chuckled while he shook Wyatt’s hand, replying, “Of course. You know how to reach me then.”

Wyatt nodded, smiling brightly in return. With that, Artie sighed an extracted the brass knob from his bag and struggled momentarily to juggle it and the picture frame. Wyatt took the picture frame from Artie momentarily, enabling Artie to plunge the doorknob into the wall with a swift plunge that surprised DG. Then Artie turned back to Wyatt and took the frame back, saluting the two before he stepped through the door.

Before he closed the door, he called out, “Until we meet again, Your Highnesses. Congratulations, by the way!”

Wyatt and DG watched as the door disappeared, arm in arm. The meeting with Artie had brought closure to both, and they leaned against each other in contentment, slowly moving to sit on the couch. Settled into the couch now, DG laid her legs over Wyatt’s and asked suggestively, “Field agents? Do you think we could?”

Wyatt eyed DG suspiciously and growled, “DG, don’t even think about it. You’re pregnant, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, but I won’t be forever. Could we at least think about it before you completely rule it out?” DG pleaded, grasping the lapels of his shirt as she spoke.

Wyatt searched her eyes for a moment before responding. As usual, he found that her beautiful, pained eyes wore him down, and he sighed, “Alright, I guess.”

DG was thrilled and squealed happily in return before planting a happy kiss on his lips, eliciting a laugh from him as he pulled her in closer. For now, he knew, the adventure was creating their daughter. He also knew that if DG had her way, they would have more adventures on the horizon, and he had finally accepted them as part of life with DG. 

Chapter Text

Storms had settled over the Central City Palace in the early days autumn, reminding Wyatt of the torrent that had descended on him his first night in Kansas an annual past, when he’d chased DG through a travel storm to admit that he couldn’t live without her. That time, he had only suspected that the rains were conjured by some unhappy spirit. Now, as he watched his wife fight a deep contraction, he had no doubt that DG was very much connected to her environment and summoned the dark clouds to her. Judging by the heavy drops pelting the windows, and the frequency of the thunder booming overhead, Wyatt figured that DG was in a great deal of pain, but other than the occasional grunts from her one wouldn’t have guessed just how painful her contractions really were. Wyatt watched her closely as they moved down the hall, standing close by in case she needed more than the occasional arm to steady her, but she persisted through the pain coursing through her muscles. It was late in the palace, and DG’s cries of anguish seemed to echo in the halls as they slowly moved towards the birthing suite. The thunder that burst overhead at the same moment masked DG’s cry though, so they were left in privacy for a few moments longer.

“Augh,” DG grunted through another sharp pang, “why can’t we have her in our apartment?”

Wyatt clenched his teeth as DG’s nails dug into his arm, and he reminded himself to breathe just like he’d been gently reminding her for the past few minutes. He knew better than to say anything, being full aware that anything he said would be misconstrued as a dig in her direction and would most likely result in more injury to his own body. So instead, Wyatt just breathed through the pain caused by DG’s vice-like grip on his arm, and he spoke quietly, “You’re doing great Dorothy, you’re almost there.”

DG groaned again, but attempted a small smile in Wyatt’s direction, in a weak attempt to ease the tension she saw in his face. She knew exactly why arrangements had been made for a birthing suite, having made the suggestion herself weeks prior when the doctor made a comment about both princesses being on track to deliver around the same time. DG still felt like it was the best idea, making it easier for the family and doctors alike to care for the babies and new mothers, but the pain that swept through DG in excruciating waves had removed her ability to think rationally, and all she wanted to do was to curl up in a ball in her own bed.

They had finally reached the suite though, so she temporarily relented in her tirade, and pushed through the door, crossing slowly to the bedroom to the right of the door, leaving Wyatt trailing behind her. Wyatt had only slowed to spy a similar sight approaching from the other end of the hall. Ambrose was jogging quietly after Azkadellia, who was almost power walking through her own pain, breathing hard like she was running a marathon. Wyatt stifled a laugh and covered his mouth, careful not to draw Azkadellia’s ire. As they approached the door, Wyatt stepped aside for his sister, who pushed straight through to the room on the left, and only offered Wyatt a cursory wave as she sped past. When both women had disappeared through their respective doors, Wyatt and Ambrose finally let go of the breath they had been holding and raised their eyebrows at each other expectantly.

“They really do everything together, don’t they?” Ambrose groaned, leaning over to breathe.

Wyatt patted Ambrose on the back and replied with a light chuckle, “Yup, and it sure looks like our daughters will too.”

Ambrose straightened back up and eyed Wyatt warily but didn’t have a chance to respond before Azkadellia and DG both cried out again. The men paused only momentarily to give each other a brief hug before they darted off in opposite directions at the continued bellowing of their wives. As Ambrose was shutting the door on his end of the wing, Wyatt crept into the adjoining room, finding DG leaning over the edge of the bed. Her eyes were snapped shut, and she was breathing deeply between the contractions that seemed to have started getting somewhat closer together.

Wyatt stepped up behind her and began to rub her shoulders tenderly, and his voice was a deep rumble when he spoke. “Do you want to sit down for a minute, I’ll keep rubbing your back if you want,” he whispered quietly to DG.

“Mm-hm,” DG hummed stridently, her jaw clenched while she slowly turned to sit.

Wyatt sat down next to her and continued to rub, carefully moving down her back. “I’m really proud of you Princess. You’re pretty amazing, you know,” he murmured softly, as he rubbed, easing back on the pressure as he felt her muscles lose some of their tension.

DG scoffed and turned to eye Wyatt, “I’m a mess,” she grumbled, “and I think I want to lay down for a minute.”

Wyatt moved out of DG’s way and helped ease her down onto the pillows. DG expelled a relieved sigh as she stretched out, only to jerk upwards once more when another contraction hit her hard, and she just about crushed Wyatt’s hand as her muscles squeezed down on her.

“I’m sorry Wyatt,” DG grunted through the pain as she released her grip on Wyatt’s hand and winced apologetically.

Wyatt didn’t let go of her though, and stayed close, whispering in a hoarse, coaxing voice, “It’s okay Dorothy, just breathe.”

DG nodded while focusing on Wyatt’s eyes, fighting hard to breathe through the blinding pain. She focused on the crystalline depths that held her in a steady, calm gaze, until the pain subsided, and she began to breathe more easily. With a sigh, she laid back down on the pillow and shut her eyes with a sigh, while Wyatt placed a cool towel on her head.

“The doctor will be here in just a few minutes, Dorothy. Why don’t you get a few minutes of rest, and I’ll go get you some ice, okay?”

DG was quickly drifting off and hummed her agreement as he crept out. She had already drifted into sleep when Wyatt came back with ice, after waving to Ambrose and letting a sympathetic smile pass between them. Her nap was only a momentary respite though, and the night passed slowly, with Wyatt and Ambrose playing second fiddle to DG and Azkadellia, who both labored like prized fighters in an even match. Wyatt was unbelievably proud of DG, amazed at how she powered through the long hours of pain. As night turned into dawn, DG began to bear down, and with one finally push, DG felt her daughter emerge. A shrill cry filled the air, and DG let out the air she’d been holding in, and with Wyatt’s gentle affirmation, she collapsed against the pillows in exhaustion.

“You did it, Dorothy,” Wyatt sighed with a smile, and he leaned down to kiss her brow with soft affection.

It took only a moment, but DG was impatient, and sat up with Wyatt’s help as the Doctor came back with their new daughter, cleaned and swaddled. When the doctor placed their daughter in DG’s arms and departed quietly, all of DG’s nervous anticipation melted away instantly, and she was quickly turned into an emotional puddle of goo for the child in her arms. She couldn’t have been more perfect, the pair thought as they gazed down on their daughter, in awe of her tiny, perfect form and pale blonde hair.

 Her eyes, which opened when DG greeted her quietly, were the color of a cloudless sky, and DG felt her heart melt a little more. “Hello Lizzie, I’m your mommy.” DG whispered, letting the small girl grasp her finger tightly.

“Lizzie?” Wyatt asked, feeling somewhat blindsided.

DG smiled up at Wyatt and nodded, “Elizabeth Ozma Cain Gale.”

Wyatt grinned brightly at his wife and then smiled down on his new daughter, swelling with love for the women that had blessed his life. “Hello Lizzie. I’m your daddy,” Wyatt murmured against her small crown. Lizzie cooed quietly and grunted against DG’s chest.

As if by second nature, DG slipped her nightgown down and let Lizzie begin to feed. It was early still, and DG had yet to really produce much milk, but that small detail did not seem to bother either of them. The mere action seemed to cement the mother and daughter to each other, and Wyatt watched them in quiet awe. When Lizzie had finally satiated her urge to nurse, DG slipped her nightgown back up her shoulder and sighed contentedly.  Her eyes were heavy though, and the relief she felt from holding her daughter finally gave way to fatigue. 

Wyatt stepped forward and gently pried Lizzie from her mother and whispered as he kissed her, “Why don’t I take her for a while, let you get some rest.”

DG smiled gratefully and nestled down into the bed carefully, “Thank you,” she muttered.

Before Wyatt crept out of the room with their daughter, DG stopped him, “I love you Wyatt,” she whispered.

Wyatt smiled back at his wife and purred, “I love you too Dorothy, more than anything.”

With that, DG smiled and closed her eyes, finally giving in to the extreme fatigue settling all over her body.  Wyatt swayed into the next room, humming to Lizzie as he moved. His dance moved him slowly to the large windows that looked out on the OZ, where the morning was breaking outside, and the clouds had parted, giving way to brilliant morning light. As the suns slowly rose, Wyatt smiled, seeing a double rainbow in the sky.

“Look at that Lizzie,” Wyatt murmured with a small smile.

In another moment, Wyatt was joined by Ambrose, who held his own bundle in his arms. The pair approached slowly, until he stood shoulder to shoulder with the Tin Man, and both men grinned at each other, eager to meet the newest princesses.

“Hey there Tin Man,” Ambrose whispered, “Meet Lavender Gale the second, but I think I’ll just call her Lav.”

Wyatt grinned and placed his free finger in Lav’s hand, which she grasped tightly while cooing happily. She had dark hair like Azkadellia, and but tight curls like her father. “Hey there Lav,” Wyatt chuckled lightly.

Lavender released Wyatt, allowing him to turn towards Ambrose a little more, and with a fond smile down on his own daughter, he quietly introduced Ambrose to her, “Ambrose, meet Elizabeth Ozma. Lizzie, meet your Uncle Ambrose.”

Ambrose smiled down on his new niece and chuckled when he saw her bright blonde hair, equal in brightness to her father’s. “Hello Lizzie,” Ambrose whispered, watching in amazement as their daughters’ hands found each other, causing a bright glow to emanate between them. Ambrose chuckled as he watched them, continuing, “I bet you two are going to be great friends.”

Wyatt gasped quietly and looked up at Ambrose with a surprised smile, “I think we’d better keep an eye on these two, I get a feeling that there are quite a few adventures on the horizon.”

Ambrose nodded in almost serious agreement, looking down on their daughters with paternal wariness. It was only momentary though, and his concern was nothing compared to the overwhelming sense of elation that seemed to burst out of him.

Elsewhere in in Central City, Darla DeMilo was doing her part to prepare the small shop for opening. The night had been dark, and the rain had battered the sidewalks outside, strewing litter about the avenue. Darla grumbled as she dragged a broom outside, convinced that no one would want to come near their shop with trash littering the doorstep. When she stepped outside in the morning light, she stopped, staring up at the sky in amazement. A double rainbow glittered in the morning light, brighter than any she had ever seen before. After a moment, Darla shook herself from her trance and picked up the broom she had dropped suddenly. When she reached down to pick up the broom, she stopped abruptly, finding a blue bird perched on the end of the stick.  The bird twittered pleasantly at Darla, as if greeting her. In an instant, the bird fluttered away, flying lazily in the sky above the shop, and Darla smiled to herself, remembering what Ozma had told her. Darla let go of a deep sigh, feeling relief wash over her, with the knowledge that the darkness of the past fifteen annuals had finally lifted, and the suns had finally returned to shine over the OZ.