The flames on the torches sway hypnotically, like the fabled belly dancers of faraway lands, when the doors swing open and the Princess enters the room. Everyone seated at the banquet tables frantically scramble to their feet, loudly applauding her entrance. The Princess smiles beatifically at them and motions for them to be seated, embarrassment at their applause staining her cheeks a bright crimson. She walks to the throne with most of the dignity and grace of her mother, her eyes scanning the room to look across all of the loyal subjects in attendance, all of whom seem to be genuinely overjoyed with attending such a historic event. The Princess smiles again under her crimson cheeks as she stands in front of the smaller, less opulent chair sitting next to the throne, and waves a hand to the crowd of people intently watching her.

“My gratitude to you all for coming here on such short notice. My parents would have definitely wanted it to be so, though I confess I would much rather they were here, instead of me!” She pauses at this point to give another smile as the crowd laughs politely, and a few scattered individuals throughout the crowd clap their hands for an appropriately long period of time. “But please, you all must be famished. Eat! We can deal with the Coronation after, which will give me a few moments more to locate a replacement Queen to take my place on the throne.” Once again, her cheeks flush as the people cheer. She smiles and gracefully takes her seat, which is the cue for everyone gathered to do the same.

The Princess surveys the room, observing that the guards were triple their normal strength. If only there had been more guards a few nights back, then she would not be an orphan. This, at least, was the reasoning that the handsome, young Knights Commander gave her when he revealed that there would be so many guards, many of whom were to be taken from their usual patrol routes, explaining why she had not seen many of their faces before. He was a stern man, that Commander, but his eyes showed that it was only out of love and concern for his men. He loved them all as family, because they were the only true family he had ever had, and they knew that he would unflinchingly lay down his life for any of them, just as he knew that they would do the same.

The Princess was initially saddened that so many men would have to be gathered around, watching a feast on an empty stomach, that she looked as though she would cry. The Commander assured her that they would eat afterwards, but the Princess found that even more saddening. Such strong and brave men should not be forced to eat leftover scraps like some dog! They shall, instead, have their own private feast before the main one. And then they can relieve the currently posted guards, so that they may also enjoy the feast. It was only fair, and the matter was no longer up for debate.

As she observed the cheerful revelers, her mind drifted to when she received the news of her ascension. She had stayed behind because she wished to visit with the orphans and have a tea party with the young girls before they had their own grand feast that evening. The monthly party had gone off without a single problem, as it had done for just over a year, after the Princess had first come across an orphan that had been caught trying to steal bread and stepped in on her behalf to stay the punishment. The Princess had reached into her purse, bought out all of the remaining bread, and helped to deliver it to all of the orphans, starting what became an iconic tradition amongst the orphanage.

Halfway through this last feast, however, a wounded guard staggered through the doors of the orphanage, flanked by two fresh guards, and made his way towards the Princess. When he entered, she looked at him with initial confusion, which quickly gave way to the flash of comprehension, and she was already crying before the wounded guard leaned over to whisper the news into her ear. Her parents and siblings, on their way to a dinner with their closest allies, had been attacked and slain on the highway by a group of bandits. The guard had not been able to get a good count of the attackers, who fired from the trees, but he was able to personally attest to the fact that the entire royal family had been slain when the flaming arrows had forced them to leave the relative safety of the carriage only to be cut down by the same expertly-fired arrows that had killed most of the guards. Realizing that the battle had been lost, he called for a rally, but he was the only one that had been able to escape and bring word back to the kingdom. A team of their very best trackers and fighters had already taken to their horses and rushed off into the woods to find the assailants, so the Princess should rest assured that her parents would be avenged. She smiled her best smile, thanked the man, and excused herself from the dinner. She promised the orphans that she would be back the next week to make it up to them, but that they should enjoy the feast in her stead. Whispered reports from the Palace stated that she had locked herself into her tower for two days, not leaving her room, and turning away any offers of food.

She is snapped out of her reverie by the familiar scent of lemon and garlic-roasted boar, a childhood favorite of hers that the kitchen always took special care in preparing just for her. She turns and smiles at the young Commander, who is bringing her a plate from the kitchen. He had spent most of his afternoon ensuring that his golden armor was perfectly polished, that his face was clean-shaven, and that his entire appearance was as flawless as possible. He had never performed at a Coronation before, but he was committed to making sure that his involvement was nothing short of exemplary, just as he had ensured the rest of his career had been. He smiles back at her as he sets her plate on the small table set up for her, bows his head slightly, and backs away. He is happy to see her smiling again, even if her eyes still hinted at sadness. She has been through a lot, lately, and deserves at least a moment of happiness.

The Princess looks out at the crowd gathered, recognizing many of the faces of those in attendance. She had decided to continue the tradition that her parents had started by insisting that her advisors be seated amongst all of their other guests, and was pleased to see her Treasurer breaking bread with the Smith’s apprentice. Just as she lifts the fork to her mouth, the door across the hall flies open and five men wearing identical Harlequin outfits stride into the hall. Before anyone has a chance to fully comprehend what is going on, the five men move their arms in unison and ten daggers seem to materialize from their hands, spinning gracefully through the air before they find their homes in ten of the guards in the room. The two Harlequins on either side draw swords and dash in different directions to engage the guards as the fifth Harlequin draws his sword and sprints towards the Princess, who was only just scrambling to her feet.

The Princess runs for the back door, passing the Commander who had already drawn his own weapon. Once he sees the Princess through the door, he bars it tight and stands in front of it, ready to strike down anyone who wishes to get past. He glares at the incoming Harlequin, annoyed at the interruption, and intent on expressing his displeasure through the dance of swords that he has been mastering since his fifth year.

The Princess sprints through the back passageways of the hall, rushing out into the cool night. Without pausing to think, she heads into the woods to find her childhood playhouse, the agreed-upon hiding place when she spoke with the young Commander three days prior. In the event of an attack, head to the playhouse and stay quiet. He would be along as soon as possible once the fighting was over to escort her back home.

The Princess was in pretty good shape, but a lifetime of having assistants does not lend well to having to flee for your life. She runs through the forest, dodging trees, roots, and bushes, thankful that her shoes were made with special care. She would have to personally thank the Leatherworker when this whole ordeal was over for his exemplary care in making royal shoes that were practical as well as presentable. As the sounds of shouting and fighting begin to face out, she allows herself a smile for just a moment before she recognizes an orange glow playing about the trees ahead of her. She slows down and makes her way forward, her eyes struggling to make out the source of the glow. Her heart drops as she recognizes the source: her playhouse and designated safe haven was completely engulfed in flames.

She only has a moment to catch her breath and wonder to herself how anyone could have known about this place when she hears a twig snap behind her. She immediately dives to her right and sprints through the woods, frantically trying to think of any place that might be safe. She hears a loud thump and the splitting of wood as a dagger buries itself into a tree near her, followed by the soft curse of her would-be assailant. Pounding blood rushes through her throbbing temples, adding further distractions to her long list of concerns: shortness of breath, loud sobbing, screaming muscles, eyes darting back and forth amongst the trees, looking for any semblance of safety. She keeps running, despite all of these distractions, trying to gain as much ground as possible. The shadows caused by the moonlit branches only furthers the illusion of monsters around every corner, yet still she runs.

Suddenly, another Harlequin leaps out from behind a tree, causing her to shriek and try to dive out of the way. The man had anticipated this and easily caught her right arm, throwing her off-balance before he drops her to the ground in an undignified heap. She stares up at him with wide eyes as she tries to shuffle backwards, her hands scrambling over the rough ground to find better purchase, to pull her faster. As the man steps closer, his deformed face drawn into a hateful sneer, the woman hurls a handful of moist dirt and pebbles into his eyes, hurriedly pulls herself to her feet, and resumes her gasping, stumbling run through the forest. The momentary break did little to rest her, and now she can add sore ribs and back pain to her growing list of distractions on an otherwise peaceful, beautiful night.

The muscles in her legs are screaming, threatening to give out at any moment, but she pushes them as hard as she can, for her very life depends on it. She sees a torch in the distance, towards the highway, and finds renewed energy as she sprints towards it. Just as she is allowing herself to hope that she will find safety, and allows the slightest of a smile to cross her face, she is suddenly thrown off-balance when white-hot pain flashes through her right shoulder. She stumbles and lands face-down on the moist forest floor, her nostrils immediately filled with the damp, earthy smells, the sudden rough impact forcing the air out of her lungs in one swift motion. She lays on the ground, writhing in pain, trying fruitlessly to regain control over her body. She is faintly aware of twigs and branches being broken as someone confidently strolls towards her, but she is unable to make her body respond.

The Princess gasps in pain as the dagger is ripped free of her shoulder, and again when she is roughly grabbed by the same shoulder and she is rolled over onto her back. She gazes up at her attacker, eyes struggling to focus as her body scrambles to regain control. She stares up at the Harlequin mask, finally able to properly take in the features of it. It is a bone white full-face mask, with alternating red and black around the eyes. The mouth is drawn up into a hateful sneer, with the lips painted black. On the top of the mask is the traditional multi-pointed hat, with the points curved down, but the traditional bells appear to be regular balls. Out of the far corner of the left eye, there is a single teardrop, a cruel joke played by men who have caused many tears to be shed this night. He stares down at the Princess, his features unreadable, as he leans down and presses on her right shoulder.

“Are you still with me, Princess?”

“What… what do you want?”

“Oh, good. You’re alert. That will make this much more fun.” The Harlequin lifts his mask as he leans down to get his face close to the Princess, so she can get a good look at the taunting grin on his lips, and the look of cruel victory in his eyes. “Do you not recognize me, Princess? It has only been fifteen years since last we met, but I will never forget that week.”

The Princess, who had managed to control her breathing enough that she was no longer gasping, glances down at his hands as she slowly curls her left hand into a fist. The Harlequin doesn’t break eye contact with her as he swiftly buries his dagger into her left shoulder, cruelly pushing the shoulder to the ground. The Princess’s screams echo off of the surrounding trees as she attempts to remove the blade with her right arm, the movement slightly tearing the hole in her other shoulder. “How very rude, Princess. I don’t interrupt you when you’re talking, so I would appreciate the same courtesy. As I was saying, it was a very traumatic week, those fifteen years ago, when I had to endure the dual losses of both my sister and my beloved country. Hard to believe that a lad of six could be patriotic, but I had been raised to love this country, and the King and Queen for their fair ways. So imagine my surprise when I am playing in the woods one day and I witness their eldest daughter shove my sister to the ground, splitting her head upon a rock. It wasn’t an accident to save her from a wild animal, as we were all told, but I remember specifically hearing the young Princess say that she thought that my sister was more pretty than her, and that it wasn’t fair. That the Princess should be the fairest of the land, because those were just the rules, and that my sister would have to go to make that happen.”

The Princess begins sobbing at this point, staring up at the Harlequin as the memories come flooding back. Of the boy running to tell his parents, of his parents tentatively approaching the King and Queen, of her own stories contradicting that of the young Harlequin. Of the Handmaiden to the Princess admitting later that she had seen the young Harlequin and his sister playing roughly in the woods more than once, and that he might be blaming the Princess to cover his own terrible deed. The King and Queen took the Handmaiden’s testimony as truth, and set the boys execution for two days later. When his parents pleaded for mercy, the King decided that they had suffered the death of one child, and should not suffer the death of two, so he settled for exile. The boy was escorted home to gather a few belongings, and then loaded onto a carriage to be driven out of the country by the Knight’s Commander of that time.

“You see, after I was forced to leave the country, I came across other orphaned children in the deep woods, and we formed a band together. We built shelter and harvested nuts and berries to trade in a nearby village for tools and weapons. And we trained, and grew together, and became masters of the forest. We learned to move swiftly, silently, and with purpose. And I vowed that I would one day get my revenge on those who had wronged me.”

The Princess looks up at an approaching torch, hoping that her salvation was arriving, but realizes too late that the hooded figure is also wearing a bone-white Harlequin mask, and dragging a bound and gagged figure behind him. She recognizes the golden locks of her childhood Handmaiden almost immediately, and her heart falls. The Handmaiden is roughly shoved to the ground next to the Princess, her golden locks fluttering about her as she falls. The Princess, now softly sobbing, apologizes profusely to the former Handmaiden for her involvement in everything. The Handmaiden lets loose a muffled string of expletives, which is abruptly halted by the boot of the second Harlequin. In that moment, for the briefest of seconds, the Princess notices a glint of golden armor from under the cloak, her eyes widening for fear of her Knight’s Commander. “What did you do with my Knight’s Commander? You horrible monster!”

The first Harlequin grins at his compatriot, relishing every word that is about to spill from his lips. “Well, Kristof, it seems that the game is up. Not that she will be able to identify you later, after all. I had hoped to keep this gem a secret for awhile yet, but there’s no harm in revealing it now.”

The second Harlequin nods as he pulls back his hood, revealing the all-too-familiar chestnut locks of hair before he removes his own mask, revealing his true nature to the horrified gasp of the Princess. “I apologize, Princess. You see, I also lost my family in my youth to corrupted royals, which is why my brothers and I are cleaning up the mess that your kind have caused. Before long, all of the existing royal families will be cleaned out, leaving room for newer, less corrupted people to step in. And if they succumb to the corruption of leadership, we will deal with them in the same way. Eventually, the people in charge will learn to treat others as humans, and not commodities.”

The Princess, now grasping the crushing severity of her situation, begins to silently sob as she accepts her inevitable fate. The only one that she had held out hope for would not be coming to save her, and her situation was utterly hopeless. She closes her eyes and puts on her best, bravest face before she looks back up at her captors. The first Harlequin is studying her with a mocking smirk playing about his lips.

“So, Princess. Do you have any final words before you go to meet your family?”

“Please… at least let the Handmaiden go. I am the one that ruined your life.”

“That is true, dear Princess, but she was an instrument in that. However, more than that, her frequent late-night visits to your bedchamber imply that she is so much more to you than simply another hired hand. So, now I get to take away something that you dearly love, too.”

The Harlequin grins down at her as he pulls a wicked, serrated blade from up his sleeve, and leans down over the Handmaiden. The scene is darkened as a lone, dense cloud passes across the moon, and the Harlequin begins the long process of exorcising his own tortured demons.