The Queen's body was laid in state the morning after her death. Thousands joined in line to see her – a parade of despair that zigged and zagged through the major streets of the city. Nazland itself was still in a degree of unrest, with some hostages still unaccounted for, as well as many convicts still on the loose. The latter must have worried Wilhelm, and he ordered that all convicts on the run who did not intend to turn themselves in would be executed on sight. Celeste had retired to the royal guest bedroom with Byron, and had not been seen since the night before. Although Lysander certainly did not wish for his friend to sleep in the same room her sister was murdered in, he was also incredibly uneasy about her resting in the same room her murderer had slept months before. He stood dutifully outside her room, occasionally hearing sobs or screams. He could not tell whether they were coming from the late Queen's sister or her son.

Mid-morning Lysander was approached by Rich. He looked particularly well-dressed for his standards, wearing a silk-black overcoat as well as a rose carnation, which was given out to those who had seen the Queen. The Guardsman was not used to seeing Rich as one of the Regime's strategists, with just as much access to the Palace grounds as he had, and he didn't think he'd ever get used to such a picture. "Hey man," the Ringer Champion frowned. "How's Queen Celeste? Queen … Celeste … god, that sounds weird."

"That's because that's not her title," Lysander responded. "She a Grand Duchess now. The title of head of the family was transferred to Amelia's son, King Byron."

"So you're telling me a baby is ruling us?" Rich's eyes bulged in fright. "Phantus has the most feared sword master in the world, and we have a King who isn't even potty-trained? We're screwed!"

"Celeste will be making the, uh, 'executive' decisions before Byron comes of age," the Guardsman insisted. "That includes wrapping up this war. Speaking of which, everyone in the Palace and Citadel were talking about some new offensive you were planning."

"Yeah!" Rich's eyes brightened, excited that Lysander had heard his plan. "That's why I was here last night, to put the finishing touches on it. Of course, what happened kinda put a wrench into the plan, but Minister Kohl says that he's still coming down from the frontlines to approve of it. Being a professional athlete-slash-military tactician is hard work, man. So how about Celeste?"

"She locked me out," Lysander pointed towards the door. "I've got mages downstairs on standby to sense if she's gonna do anything rash. Right now, I guess we've gotta just let her grieve. I would like to talk to her, though…"

"Hey, isn't this Scar's old room?" the Ringer gave a strange smirk.

"Yeah, so?"

The Ringer looked at the door inquisitively before crouching down by the doorknob, fiddling with it. "Alright, it's open, you can walk in."

"What? How did you open it?" Lysander gasped in shock.

"Let's just say that it was a trick I learned back when I was with Scarlett," Rich said, winking.

Lysander shivered at the new implication his friend had suggested. "Just … be on standby, okay? I have a feeling we might need to use this plan of yours sooner rather than later." He gave a quick knock on the door and – without waiting for a response, stepped in. The room was dark. Lysander spotted Amelia, sitting alone on the bed, in a ghost-white nightgown. Her hair was in a mess and her eyes appeared to be red.

"Hey, Ly," she said, in a shallow voice. "You can come in."

"What are you looking at?" the Guardsman asked, softening his tone. With a shaky hand, Celeste handed Lysander Amelia's letter, the one she had found in her room. Lysander quickly read it over, "Your sister loved you very much, I hope you understand that."

Amelia gave a half-hearted nod, "I … can't believe it. I was watching the crowds going to visit her this morning. I knew some of the faces. Some of them said terribly things about her when she was alive, I'm pretty sure some wanted her to die. But now everyone's face looks the same. It's just … weird."

"Death has that power over people," Lysander said. "Honestly, I don't think I liked your sister very much most of the time she was alive. The thing about her, though, was she really didn't care what people thought. She just did her job, and tried to do her best."

"She tried to protect me," Celeste continued, walking over to Byron's crib. "She didn't want me to be a Duchess just as much as I didn't. Tried to bring me up the same way she was brought up, but with what was going on we both knew that that was impossible. Now it's my turn to try to protect someone. I don't know if I can, honestly."

"You can," Lysander insisted. "You're strong, I know you are. Frankly, you're stronger than I was after Lea died."

"Huh, thanks," the Duchess picked Byron, the new King of Nazland, up from his crib. "When he's old enough … I want it to be his choice. I don't want him to even feel pressured on to the throne. If I have to be his Mother, I certainly will, but I'd much rather watch over him as an Aunt."

"You really want to keep the throne?" Lysander asked. "Even after all your disdain for it?"

"My disdain is the exact reason why I'm keeping the job," Celeste gave a small smile. "This Régime needs to change. So, what about you?"

"Me?" the Guardsman and the Duchess grew close. For some reason, he now felt like blushing. "What about me?"

"What do you
want to be, now that the Queen's gone," the Duchess explained. "I know that becoming Advanced Guard wasn't your choice. If you want, if we ever get some peace, you can retire. Live the rest of your life without death or pain, or pesky monarchs."

"Oh, please," Lysander gave a small laugh, politely embracing Celeste. "You need all the support you can get now. Think of me as a protector."

"Protector," Celeste whispered. The two stared face to face for a brief moment. The Duchess leaned close, almost prepared to kiss her friend, but she instead decided to push away from his arms. "No, we can't do this, not now."

"What do you mean?" Lysander asked, puzzled.

Fresh tears arrived in Celeste's eyes. "Amelia wanted me to get close to you, like Lea was. She figured if you had someone to protect, the Blade of Bane would reach the strength it was the night you beat Xander. Ly … I like you a lot … but I just can't be with you like this. You can't protect me; I don't want you to protect me."

"Then what do you want me to do?" the Guardsman asked, deciding to stay strong with his voice.

"I'm going to get stronger, without wearing a mask," Celeste decided. "It's my job to protect all my citizens, the same way Amelia tried to protect me and how Rich saved you. I'm going to have Scarlett Hart and Xander at my feet, and I'm going to rule the country in peace. Then … then I'll think about who I want to freaking date."

"Fair enough," it was Lysander's turn to smirk.

Just then, Rich burst into the room, "Guys, guys! Wait … am I interrupting something?"

"No," Lysander and Celeste answered, simultaneously.

"Right," Rich produced a red envelope. "A militia guy told me to give this to you, Ly. It's about Galt."

"Have they found him?"

"No," the Ringer's face darkened. "And that's the problem."

…

Scarlett approached Xander in the courtyard of the House. The King was furious. "How dare you! This is disgraceful, even by your pathetic standards! What part of your sick mind concocted such a foolish plan, you little whore!"

"I love you too, Xanny!" Hart responded sweetly. "Why are you so mad? One of your worst enemies is dead, you should be happy."

"The Queen was vital to the plan!"

"What plan?"

"Your plan! Operation Nero brought Nazland to its knees, but the death of Amelia will send them over the edge. They won't leave us alone, now. We have no chance of peace with them."

"Peace?" the Oligarch cocked her head, curious. "There's no peace now. We passed the point of no return a long time ago, Xanny, longer than you think. Either Nazland is destroyed, or the House of Ander shall fall."

"One of them seems increasingly more likely than the other," Xander grimaced.

"I beg to differ," Hart beamed. "On my little adventure over there, I got a little souvenir. Something that will annihilate everything our enemies hold dear. All I need is some time, and your permission to use it, of course."

"Worse than Nero?"

Scarlett gave a dark smile and nodded.

The Master's face grew increasingly uneasy. "Scarlett, I wanted peace. I'm sick of this destruction. Frankly, I'd rather see my people happy than hear about another fire show in Nazland."

"Xanny, sweetie," Scarlett's voice, however pleasant, grew more agitated. "I can give you victory. Victory that will bring you your peace."

"At what cost is your victory, then?" the King shouted. "Another thousand lives? Ten thousand? A million?"

"If they're the enemy's what does it matter?" Scarlett shrugged. "You've killed enough people to know the difference between an ally's and an enemy's death. If you truly want this war to be over, have the strength to do what it takes."

"I'm sorry, Oligarch," Xander waved his hand dismissively. "I guess subordinates not following orders causes me to lose my bloodlust. Go to your room, and await further instructions."

"But Xanny!" Scarlett pouted.

"Go to your room!"

"Ugh, you suck," Hart rolled her eyes. She walked out of the courtyard. Once he was certain she was gone, Xander called for one of his chief agents.

"Keep an eye on her," he instructed. "She's definitely up to something."

…

A small crowd had gathered around the Mage Union Center. Some were mages that had come in their own free will, others were in line to see the Queen at the Palace. Puffs of white smoke still floated from the second floor, remnants of the previous night's fire. Lysander and a small investigative team carefully ascended, watching their step on the burned stairs. "The fire began in the Union Leader's office, during last night's riots," one member of the team said, debriefing Lysander.

"So, did Galt start the fire?" the Guardsman asked. He stepped into the burnt remains of the office. The pompous colored walls and propaganda now colored black. The roof had partially collapsed, letting beams of sunshine inside. It was surprisingly surreal.

"Perhaps, but it might have been an explosive device or spell, thrown at street level," the militiaman continued. "Er… watch your step, Guardsman. You're the first one in here since the damage was dealt."

Lysander made his way towards Galt's desk. They were his regular collection of books, now singed and desecrated by fire's unforgiving touch. His eye caught on a small slip of paper, tucked in the edge of one of the most badly burned books. Lysander pulled it out, realizing that it was a small picture, with the sides burned black. It was a picture of a family, drawn with lead: a father, mother, as well as a swaddled baby. The mother was at the center of the picture. She was one of the most gorgeous people he had ever laid eyes on, with brilliant eyes and a kind smile. Her smile looked very familiar to Lysander, and it took him a second to realize where he had seen it before. The father's face was partially burned out of the picture. He looked nothing like Gideon Galt.

Lysander was looking at the Recusatios, a family long broken, with all its members currently deceased. "Have you found anything, sir?" the militiaman asked.

"What? N-no," Lysander shook his head, stowing the small picture away in his sleeve. "I believe it's pretty evident what happened here. Rioters must have seen Galt up in his office and attacked hm with fire. In fear, he fled into the dangerous streets."

"Could he have left the city? Should we send out search parties."

Lysander shook his head, "I'm sure he knows exactly where he is. I know he'll turn up, eventually…"