A carriage bearing the Wimberly house crest stood proudly outside the Wentworth Estate. Four people, excluding the ever-so-important coachman, were prepared for the long journey ahead. Well, three of them were. Gene, the final member of the party, was blissfully unaware that a journey was even happening.
"...Remember, Crystal, you have been tasked with a royal duty by her highness... If anything happens to the prince..." Mrs. Evelyn's voice trailed off, probably because the sheer weight of what she was saying was too much to bear in the presence of such a lowly maid-turned-nanny.
"I understand, Mrs. Evelyn. I won't fail her highness. This is my chance to prove myself, and... will the wet nurse be joining us?" Crystal asked, brimming with the kind of enthusiasm that could only be rivaled by a dog being told it would be going for a walk.
"... I'm sure one will be provided at your destination." Mrs. Evelyn said, trying to sound reassuring, but only succeeding in sounding like someone giving bad news with a smile.
"Okay, thank you. It was an honor working with you. Don't worry, I'll be sure to take good care of the prince." Crystal nodded enthusiastically, her career trajectory doing a 180 in the span of a moment. From humble maid to royal nanny? A fairytale in the making.
"...Safe journey, Crystal." Mrs. Evelyn gave her a look that was half worried, half resigned, before turning to disappear into the ether that was the Wentworth Estate.
"Thank you, Mrs. Evelyn." Crystal beamed, completely oblivious to the chaos that was about to unfold.
With the prince cradled in her arms, a smile danced across her face as she boarded the carriage, the thought of her imminent rise to fame and glory filling her with warmth (and possibly making her forget she was technically still carrying a tiny, helpless baby).
Inside, she found herself in the company of two individuals who were supposed to be the prince's guardians—two seasoned "adventurers," one a bulky man with an axe and the other a slender woman clutching a stave. Crystal couldn't help but notice that the prince, a high-profile baby, was being provided with so little protection for such a... "audacious" journey. But hey, she thought, the princess must have other "devices" in place. After all, it was her firstborn son, and surely no one could be as foolish as to entrust his safety to a grinning ax-wielder and a quiet woman with a staff.
Settling into her seat, Crystal cradled the prince with all the care of someone who had just received a promotion and had completely forgotten about their previous, more humble life.
Crystal, who could charm a rock into a pleasant conversation, was flummoxed by her companions. The two adventurers were as talkative as stone statues. She tried everything—comments about the weather, the journey, how delightful it was to be a royal nanny now—but neither adventurer responded. Not even a hint of acknowledgment.
"They must be made of stone," she muttered to herself. But no matter how hard she tried, they remained as mute as a pair of enchanted mannequins.
Two days passed in silence, save for one word that managed to escape the man with the axe: "Adventurer." That was it. "Adventurer." Not a word more. It was like a magical incantation of awkwardness. Crystal, naturally, couldn't wrap her mind around it. Adventurers, after all, chose the life of monster-slaying for the glory and fortune that came with it. Why not join the knights, she wondered? They got fame, salaries, and, you know, actual purpose. But no, they decided to fight monsters in the wilderness. Odd bunch, adventurers.
And yet, there they were, trudging through the middle of nowhere, their services being put to use for a prince's journey to a magically deficient human hospice. Oh, the irony of it all. Crystal could hardly believe it.
As the moonlight bathed the camp in a soft, eerie glow, a chill breeze swirled around. Crystal wrapped the prince in extra layers, sacrificing her own warmth like a selfless saint. The fire crackled in the center of the camp, offering uneven warmth that did little to combat the cold. Nearby, the coachman stirred a pot of "wild stew," a dish that could only be described as "ambiguous at best."
Crystal stole a few glances at her companions. The man was busy sharpening his axe—methodically, almost lovingly. It was a whole ritual: scrape, inspect, grin like a man who'd just been told he could bathe in the blood of his enemies. The woman, on the other hand, was seated cross-legged, staring off into the distance with the intensity of someone who had just discovered the meaning of life... or had completely checked out of the conversation (and probably the universe itself).
The prince stirred restlessly in Crystal's arms, his tiny face scrunching in discomfort. Oh yes, of course, he was hungry. Babies. Always needing something. Crystal sighed. "I suppose we'll be eating the same stew again tomorrow," she quipped, half-hoping for some kind of response.
Nothing. The woman didn't even blink. The man didn't even grunt in acknowledgment. They must truly be made of stone, Crystal thought as she rocked the prince in her arms, contemplating how long she could make this silence last before the sheer awkwardness drove her mad.
Eventually, the fire died down, and the group settled in for the night. Crystal curled up with the prince, while the two adventurers discussed their watch rotation in low, serious tones, as if preparing for a battle with existential dread.
It was the dead of night when Crystal was jolted awake by the unmistakable sound of clashing metal. Her eyes snapped open, and the scene before her was nothing short of chaos. The axe-wielder and the mage were engaged in a battle against a group of bandits, who appeared to be much more numerous than two adventurers should be able to handle.
Crystal shot to her feet, clutching the prince protectively, and huddled behind the carriage, peeking through a crack like a paranoid rabbit. The fight was brutal—blood splattering, axes swinging, fireballs flying like the most chaotic game of dodgeball she'd ever witnessed.
The axe-wielder was unstoppable, shrugging off arrows like they were annoying gnats while grinning like a man who'd just been handed the key to the universe. The mage, meanwhile, was sending fireballs left and right with enough force to make Crystal question her entire existence. The bandits were quickly decimated, retreating in terror like they had suddenly remembered their afternoon tea plans.
"It's time to move," the mage said, voice full of urgency.
"I agree," the axe-wielder grunted. "We don't want those bastards regrouping."
The group packed up swiftly, fleeing the campsite before dawn. Crystal's opinion of her companions had shifted from skeptical to grudgingly impressed. But wait—hold on. Was this the work of adventurers? These two were too... well, good at what they did. This wasn't the typical adventurer fare, was it?
A thought bubbled in her mind, an idea that refused to leave her. Could they be part of the secret assassin network loyal to the princess? It was a rumor she'd heard at the Wentworth Estate. Assassins posing as ordinary citizens, blending into society while being the deadliest of killers. Hmm. The pieces didn't quite fit, but the more she thought about it, the more suspicious she became.
But she pushed the thought away—after all, she was on a mission, and that mission was escorting the prince to a hospice. The assassins could wait.
And speaking of which, she'd used her healing powers on her "adventurer" companions to ensure there would be no delays. It seemed only right to get them in top shape for whatever came next. Who knew when the next wave of bandits—or assassins—might arrive?