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Thwack. Alia watched as her ball sailed off into an overgrown wildflower meadow, that from personal experience, she already knew to be rather boggy.

“Terribly sorry, Lady Alia.”

Lord Enron Sensch, brother of Lady Parkour, might have been apologising, but the smug little smile clinging to the edges of his lips telegraphed that it had been no accident…again. Green eyes, exactly like those of his sister’s, flashing with cunning and arrogance.

Alia sent him a not so genuine smile of her own.

“The rules of quarry-hammer are not for the faint hearted or the weak of wrist, Lord Enron. Well, I’m off to claim my quarry ball.”

Striding away, Alia had never been more happy that she was wearing boots and trousers. Better still, she knew how to walk over boggy ground. The surest ground being where the flowers themselves grew. So, like an uncaring beast, she massacred hundreds of flowers as she searched for her bright blue ball. Ah, there.

Turning, Alia noted the rather charming scene before her. Colourful tents, strewn with bunting, were set up on the grass just before the wide marble staircase leading up to the massive east entrance of the Palace. The Dowager-Queen, her attendants, and most of the candidates Mamas and Papas lounged about, taking advantage of the shady tents, and the food and beverages that passing waiters were providing. A smaller contingent of siblings clustered together off to the side, their numbers not needed to round out this afternoon’s game of quarry-hammer.

Shifting her focus to the designated course, Alia couldn’t find fault with the quaint scene before her. The bridal candidates having all rushed off to change into garden appropriate pastel gowns appeared as if the wildflowers themselves had come to life. Daintily picking their way across the lush lawn. The ladies trying to look like they were having the time of their lives, though their minds were clearly not on the game itself. Their not so subtle gazes constantly tracking every move made by Prince Zariffe, currently in what was designated as the third section of the sextant course.

The brothers, who’d been roped in to fill out the male gamester numbers, more than made up for the pre-occupation of their sisters. Alia’s quarry ball wasn’t the only one travelling a rather scenic route today… though it did appear to be the most favoured for sending to the outer reaches. How many times had she trudged out to the meadow so far. Five? Six?

Damn, Alia was growing thirsty, and if the ladies didn’t start paying attention, this game would never end. But how to get them to take it seriously when very few of them could focus on anything but the Prince, and his every blink of the eyes and breath he took?

Hah, perhaps it was time to introduce a little competitive spirit into this event.

Quarry hammer rules were relatively simple. The course divided into six sections. An iron u-shaped goal populating each sextant that the players must hit their ball through. Whilst strategically placed black marble blocks, both singular and clustered together, created puzzling mazes often obstructing the way. The obstacle blocks present in various sizes, some only reached to your ankles, so could be hit over, whilst some came up to your knees and had to be manoeuvred around.

Each sextant was ringed by assorted sized marble stones acting as the boundary lines, with different mazes and setups of stones within each section. The five teams currently playing were each made up of two men and two women. Who could decide to pair up or play individually. Strategy was considered important, playing either offensively, working to block the other player’s balls, or defensively, plotting courses around the other player’s balls using the marble blocks as shields.

Hah, and what had Alia just said to snotty Enron, that the game wasn’t for the weak of wrist, and the one thing Alia had never been accused of was weakness. Lining up her quarry ball she swung her hammer mallet back and followed through like she was taking the head off a sunlion going for her throat.

“Quarry!”

She bellowed cheerfully in warning.

Screams, both male and female sounded as her ball sailed speedily through the air rather like a cannon ball. Heading for the third corner of the grid. Pulverising two outer rim boundary blocks on contact, it kept on travelling, knocking over two more rows of maze blocks, before coming to rest only five feet away from the goal the Prince was currently targeting.

Although groups were formed and made to start in different sections of the course, there was nothing in the rules that said you had to complete the goals in order.

Every bridal candidate froze in shock, staring at Alia, then looking to where her ball had landed… in the same section as that currently being played by the Prince.

Posing prettily and daintily flouncing about hadn’t gotten them any attention. Suddenly, languid poses were dropped, spine’s straightened and every bridal candidate began to plot trajectories, mapping the mazes like they were astrologers born to map the stars. The Prince the sun, their quarry balls asteroids.

Alia mentally patted herself on the back, returning to the playing grid, stepping over several small and artfully arranged clusters of blocks until she was standing beside her ball. The nearby players eyeing her with an array of emotion. Lady Evagene, now in a yellow waterfall of a gown looked distinctly put out, but was hiding it behind a small gritted smile. Whilst Miss Jacquene, who had swapped her earlier bridal white ensemble for a cream confection of lace that still shrieked – I’m bride material, look at me, pick me - couldn’t seem to decide whether to sulk or pout.

Brandth, leaning heavily on his mallet hammer, using it as a makeshift crutch, looked nothing but amused. And lastly, the Prince. Alia finally allowed her gaze to settle upon him, ignoring the sudden uptick in her heartbeat. Hastening to convince herself that he wasn’t startling magnetic, standing there with the sun turning his chestnut hair into burnished copper fire. His expression bland, with that alien edge of haughty as if emotions were illegal, and he was banned from displaying any. Except… that glimmer in his eyes that she’d come to know so familiarly. He was laughing as well, on the inside.

“Lady Alia, how wonderful you could join us.”

Brandth made a gesture with his hand, indicating that it must be her turn.

Oh, right, ninny. Remember your plan to speed things up? There was no time for a leisurely game, chit chat, or providing amusement for Talac. Talac? Yes, it was official, she couldn’t think of him as Prince Zariffe. Damn, she shouldn’t be thinking of him at all. She was on a mission. She needed this game over, only then would the servants open the doors of the Palace, inviting all the aristos to join the bridal candidate festivities.

Regal.

Regal might even now be up there watching the quarry hammer game from a window, trying to determine which bridal candidate, or one of her sisters, would make the most advantageous, beautiful, wealthy bride for his new found position as Baron Soutner.

With that in mind, Alia quickly moved into position and smashed her ball through two blocks, rather than go around, sending it hurtling through the goal and onwards into the next section. Yes. Hurrying after it. No time to waste.

Frustratingly, the players languidly loitering about at the next goal were on go-slow mode. Hoping the Prince would join their group any moment. Alia watching on, frustrated, as they fussed about, each taking an interminable time. Only to nudge their balls forward in tiny increments.

Except for Lord Nelton Rawn, the younger brother of Lady Cannon. Like his sister he was a fashion plate, layering a pale blue tunic over a dark blue one. His pale blonde hair sticking to his head in sweaty clumps. He hadn’t factored in the overhead sun when he’d planned his afternoon outfit, as he turned his attention to Alia’s ball. Damn it, not again.

Thankfully Lord Nelton’s hands were also sweaty, so his aim was a little off. Merely sending Alia’s ball spinning past the goal in this section, coming to rest unfortunately right up against a large block of black marble. Of course, Lord Nelton made insincere apologies whilst his sister and the rest of their group snickered behind their hands, unable to hide smug telling smiles.

The foursome sharing a confused look when Alia gifted Lord Nelton a cheerful smile of thanks before stepping over several clusters of obstacles to line up her ball. They had assumed she likewise wanted to loiter here, but they couldn’t be more wrong. Alia staring down at her ball, considering her options. There was no rule as to how the goal could be achieved, front or back. It was just with her ball snuggled up tightly against the large marble block, she had very limited choices to make.

Just about to take her turn, Lord Nelton’s voice sounded.

“Hold… incoming.”

Thwack. Followed by the sound of rocks breaking. Alia’s gaze lifting, watching as a red quarry ball slammed its way into this sextant. Whose? Oh. The Prince. Nearby bosoms heaving, lashes fluttering up a gale.

And here Talac came, striding over the maze blocks like a conquering hero, the barest of smiles tugging up one corner of his mouth. Alia remembered that slight smile from their sword challenge bout. Something stirring and heating low in her gut in response. Determinedly she pushed it aside. Perri. Levi. Regal. No time for games… except for the one she was actually playing.

Lining up her shot again, Alia smacked the block of marble as hard as she could, taking the top off it, her long hammer hitting her ball and sending it hurtling through the goal backwards, only stopping when it smacked loudly into a red ball. Sending that ball careening off to hit several maze blocks, before it came to rest directly behind one of them.

The ladies gasped. The lords snickered. Alia had just knocked the Prince’s ball into the nearest maze. The audacity. She should be apologising. At the very least declaring her hit a foul so the Prince could reset his ball to its original position. Never. Alia’s defiant smirk fleeting, but she was sure Talac caught it, before she turned her attention back to the game, hurrying along the players.

Talac managed to get out of the deepest part of the maze with his next shot but Alia barely acknowledged his progress. With her next turn she performed a scooping shot, sending her ball up and over into the next sextant. Not looking back, she hopped over the boundary blocks, joining the next group of players.

It took Alia three hits to get her ball lined up for the next goal. Mainly because she had to factor in the other players constantly interfering with her set ups. Using the maze of obstacles to her advantage, Alia was about to take her fourth hit when the instruction came to hold play. And once more a red ball rolled into view, this time stopping only inches away from her own ball.

“Mind your toes there. Lady Alia.”

“Your Highness.”

She couldn’t not acknowledge him. Turning away quickly to line up her ball again. No time for niceties. She had a game to win. Unfortunately, she’d failed to factor in one thing when she’d hatched her plan. How very competitive Talac could be.

She’d just pulled back her hammer mallet and was about to follow through when he whispered just for her ears.

“So, you think I’m a stallion?”

Whack. Her hammer only made the barest of contact with her ball. Sending it rolling off to the left of the goal. Damn. She turned to give the Prince a piece of her mind, but he was already taking his turn. His ball sailing through the goal.

Why that… that. Grrr. Alia’s toe tapped as she waited for her turn. Gifting one of the male players such a scowl when he lined up his ball to hit hers that he rethought his plan.

Catching up with Talac in the next section. More luck had her ball hitting his, sending it flying up and over the course boundary stones. Although it only came to rest a few feet away from the course, no need for Talac to trek through the boggy wildflower meadow. Two shots later though he was within hitting distance of the goal, but then so was Alia.

She watched Talac line up his shot. Just before he made contact with his ball she asked curiously.

“All those medals you wear. Was there some war that occurred that I failed to learn about in my history books?”

Miss Delish sucked in a shocked gasp, looking like she might faint. All the nearby players frozen in place, rivetted, watching Talac as he followed through. His aim ever so slightly skewed, his ball falling three feet short of the goal.

Talac lifting his gaze to Alia.

“They’re ceremonial. You should see my Father’s dress uniform. They had to train his horse not to spook when he rides, as they rattle so much.”

Biting her lip so as not to laugh, Alia made a shooing gesture. “Move.”

“The rules state I’m allowed to stand near my ball.”

“But not block the goal itself. Go on, move… that way.”

You could have heard a bee buzz. Every player holding their breath. Lady Alia Gloomenthrall had just instructed the Prince to move… and he did. Two feet over so she could take her next shot unobstructed. Her ball sailing through the goal and thumping up hard against the boundary of the next section of the course.

Alia more than a little peeved that with his next turn Talac achieved the goal. Not only that, his ball hit a clump of grass, jumping over the boundary stones into the next sextant, quickly rolling away out of view. Talac giving her a smug look as he followed after it.

“Do try and keep up, Lady Alia.”

Hah, she’d show him. Performing a perfect scoop shot, sending it up and over the boundary blocks easily. Annoyingly, her ball hit a solid block of knee high marble and was sent rebounding into a confusing grid of towering blocks. Damn.

Worse still, Talac’s ball was now in a prime position. With only two shots he’d probably take this goal. Except, a yellow ball came out of nowhere, and with a loud thwack shunted Talac’s ball sideways, ending with it stuck behind rows of blocks that looked like miniature grave stones.

Again, everyone on the course, except for Alia and Brandth, sucked in their breath, waiting. But all Talac did was huff a frustrated breath.

“Nicely played, Lady Niah.”

Acknowledging the dark skinned beauty, who was looking sadly washed out in a pale rose dress, matching gemstones designed to look like flowers studding her long dark plaited hair. Her expression shifting instantly from frozen horror to a cheeky smile.

“All is fair in love and quarry-hammer, Your Highness.”

The current arrangement left Alia with little choice when it came to achieving the goal, she had to hit Lady Niah’s ball hard enough through the goal so hers would follow the same trajectory.

“Finally. Thank you. My brother has been blocking me this entire time. Siblings. So long, Timothey.”

Lady Niah flounced away, heading for her ball.

Three more turns had Alia lining up to take a shot at the next goal. Only for a red ball to land right in front of hers, blocking it, barely two inches separating them.

“Oh, looks like you’re faced with a conundrum.”

Talac sauntered over to study their balls.

“Either we achieve the goal together, or-”

Thwack, their balls each spun off in different directions. Talac’s head snapping up to study the owner of the green ball, that haughty bland expression back on his face. All the blood instantly draining away from Lady Tolbeth’s face, her complexion paler than her white blonde hair suddenly.

“Very strategic, Lady Tolbeth.”

Alia commented, thinking that if the blonde had acted confidently and crowed about her achievement, like Niah, then Talac wouldn’t have brought the Prince mask slamming down. Alia all too familiar with being on the receiving end of that look of fear and dread on Lady Tolbeth’s face. That expression a constant reminder that Alia held power of life and death over the Lair inhabitants. The Beast. Or in Talac’s case – The Prince mantle. Meaning you were never allowed to forget the infinite number of burdens that came with your position. The responsibilities. The expectations. How isolating it could be… how alone she sometimes felt, even surrounded by a crowd of people.

Was that how Talac felt?

It was a little disconcerting to discover that the Beast and the Prince might have more in common than Alia could ever have imagined. Damn, she was getting distracted, she needed to focus, win this game, and get those Palace doors open so all the waiting aristos could join them.

Head down, Alia took three turns to get her ball back into position. Talac hot on her tail, and surprisingly, Lady Niah had picked up the gauntlet. Not far behind them.

The look on their faces as Alia scoop hit her ball completely over into the next section was priceless. She’d already taken the goal in this sextant earlier. In fact, Alia only had one goal left in order to win. Unfortunately, the Sensch siblings had reached this section also. And Lord Enron was already eyeing Alia’s ball with a view to sending her once more traipsing into the wildflower meadow. Not this time, she vowed.

Ignoring the goal, Alia turned her attention to Enron’s white ball. Time to see how well he navigated boggy ground. Hauling back her hammer, breathing out slowly, following through with speed and precision. The thwack the balls made when they hit sounded almost like a thunderclap. Enron’s ball hurtling through the air, finally falling to the ground on the far side of the wildflower meadow.

“Terribly sorry, Lord Enron.”

Alia quoted his favourite saying back at him, ensuring she had the most bland bored look on her face as possible.

Green eyes flashed her way in anger, promising future retribution, as Lord Enron stalked off to find his ball. His curses drifting back as he stepped into the meadow and began to pick his way clumsily across it. Annoyingly, whilst Alia had been dealing with Enron, she’d forgotten about his sister. Lady Parkour might not have the strength to hit Alia’s ball out of the playing field but her next shot certainly proved effective enough. Knocking Alia’s ball through a small gap into what was a circle of stones. By the time she’d gotten clear of them, Lady Niah had cleared the last goal and with a fierce competitive smile was aiming to move into Alia’s section. Whilst the Prince’s ball had come to rest immediately before the goal Alia needed.

If she wanted to win, she’d hit his ball off in another direction. But she wanted the game over, so taking a deep breath she hit his ball head on, sending it through the goal, hers following closely behind it. A servant immediately began to wave a red flag.

“Congratulations, Your Highness.”

She went to brush past him, intending to join Perri under the shade of the tents, but Talac swept his arm through hers, slowing her down.

“Here, let me escort you, Lady Alia. We… abnormally tall people should stick together, don’t you think?”

The doors to the Palace were being opened, aristos in their best afternoon garden party outfits surging out onto the balcony and streaming down the marble steps in a wave of silks, satins and velvets.

Alia’s gaze swept over the newcomers, searching.

“Are you looking for anyone in particular?”

Damn Talac’s observant ways.

“No, not at all.”

Forcing herself to look up and concentrate on him instead.

“Are you sure? It’s just you seemed intent on ensuring the quarry hammer game ended speedily. Thank you for that. But you appear to be uncaring whether you won or lost. So, I can only assume that whoever you came to the Palace intending to meet, will be joining our party before too long.”

The lie of denial froze on Alia’s lips, her hunter’s instinct flaring. Her attention flicking back to the arriving aristos. Regal had just stepped out of the massive double doors, pausing upon the upper most step for a moment, the sun framing him just right. An angel had descended from the heavens. The murmur of appreciation from the ladies, both young and old, surged almost to a momentary roar. Whispers that were far from discreet came to them on a wave. Who is that? Every woman present wanted to know.

“Him?”

Noting Alia’s response to the newcomer paused at the top of the marble staircase. Clearly posing. They were nearing the tents, Talac intentionally slowing their progress even more, so he could take the man’s measure. Drinking in every detail before shifting his gaze back to Alia. “Him?”

He asked again, but didn’t seem to actually expect an answer, searching Alia’s face for it instead. He’d suggested before that he could read her tells, so she desperately attempted to keep her expression as bland as possible.

Damn, watching as the corner of Talac’s mouth quirked up ever so slightly. He thought he knew something. Crud, he couldn’t have guessed merely looking at her, could he? No one was that good. And she was a master at hiding her feelings and intent. Still, Talac’s slight smile, as if he’d uncovered yet another of her secrets made Alia feel distinctly uncomfortable.

She needed some distance from Talac’s too observant gaze. And a better vantage point from which to observe Regal surreptitiously from a distance, take his stock, identify any obvious weaknesses. Perri was no doubt already doing the same right at his moment. Gathering information, plotting exactly how they should approach Regal, expose him… destroy him.

Where was Perri? The hunt had begun and her sister might already have instructions for Alia regarding what their first move should be.

If possible, Talac’s slight smile quirked upwards by a degree or two. Smug man. Alia wouldn’t fall for his tricks. He knew nothing of their plans.

“Your Highness.”

They had reached the tents, his escort duties were accomplished. Pulling her arm away from his, nodding her head in thanks.

Talac bowed slightly in response.

“Lady Alia.”

Leaning forward, dropping his voice to a mere whisper so only she would hear his next words.

“Let me know if you need help in disposing of the body.”