The Tawny Princess sat primly in her seat chewing on roast turkey in the dim light of the electric lamps. She listened to the chorus of crickets outside; the orchestra of a Midwest summer evening played their steady fugue. In some place unknown to the Posse, and the rest of America, the Yellow Cult had set up a fine hideaway for her. Many cultists milled about in the compound, performing their daily duties and ritual prayer to the King. There were maids which waited on her hand and foot, ensuring she had a proper diet and great lodging. Then there were the teachers, dark witches banished by America’s Covens, who helped her cultivate this newfound power. She had yet to even begin her training, but the arrangements were made.

  All of this seemed so fast to Edel. The harshness of her youth, the pain and the trauma, it was all still fresh. Even now, in what could be considered luxurious trappings for the time, Edel still felt like a caged bird. She thought about her duty, to take part in the grand plan to destroy the Posse, and birth a true incarnation of the King. They had a husband picked out for her already. Edel hadn’t thought about men before. Now, curiosity hit her. She wondered what her husband-to-be might be doing in this moment.

  Her thoughts were shaken from her as the Prophet passed by, that huge Gunslinger in the vibrant cloak and hat. He seemed to be in a haze, talking to himself. Her curiosity now aimed his way, she listened in to his conversation.

  “Yes.” He told himself, “Me and you, you and me. We said that already.”

  The Prophet passed a chair, knocking the leg with his boot, “We will have our time, you and me. I know the King has plans for both of us.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Edel cleared her throat. “Mister D.” she addressed him as she had been instructed, “Are you alright?”

  “Hm?” He turned to her quickly, as if he had been waken from sleep. “Aw yeah, I’m fine.”

  D rubbed the black half mask, his hand tracing the contours lightly. “Yea, quit it, I’m trying to talk to the Princess.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Edel tilted her head, her voice soft.

  She found within herself a natural tendency for caretaking, and a sweetness of temperament. The Aspect of the Yellow King which she cultivated, a personality of her and His combined, had taken much of the love and willingness to nurture which was inherent to the Old One. The malice, the sadism, and the unknowable evils which came with it had thus far not manifested within her. She was a pure soul, a kind Yellow saint in a cult full of murderers. This was part of the plan, as mothering the King’s incarnation had been a primary purpose for her existence.

  “I’m talking to you, ain’t I?” D smirked.

  “I don’t think so…”

  The Prophet slapped at his half mask, beginning to snarl, “You’re pulling, you’re pulling! This was not our agreement. It’s Tuesday! Get down!”

  “Oh…” His voice dipped and his red eye turned a cloudy hazel, “Oh it’s not my fault. I haven’t felt true air in so long…”

  D slumped back over, hand slamming the table to prop himself up. Edel’s silverware clattered and she jumped a bit.

  “BACK OFF!” barked D, his eye a deep crimson once again. “You are frightening our Princess.”

  His words proved true as Edel shrank away in her seat. She hadn’t seen her knight in such a fit. She tried to breathe, hoping not to disturb him too much. Noting her distress, D turned to her with a sickly smile.

  “I’m having a rough evening, my lady. Please, please excuse me.”

  The Princess watched silently as he teetered off, out of the dining room and into the hall. The sounds of him muttering with himself faded into the call of the crickets outside.