His Majesty Prince Rogue Andante, though he preferred to be called simply Rouge, slept peacefully in his bed. His head was buried under the velvet covers, and he was wrapped like a mummy in a giant cocoon of blankets and pillows. Even through the thick bed curtains, the sun from the window shone mercifully in his eyes. The window of his bedchambers faced the east, so any attempt to try and sleep through the early to late morning was in vain. He finally submitted to the early morning sunlight and pulled open the deep scarlet curtains.

Yawning, he looked sleepily around his room. His room was like any other seventeen-year-old boy’s...except for the marble floors, a rather large private bathroom, and other royal luxuries, of course... Clothes laid heaped on chairs, and miscellaneous items littered his mahogany desk. He now felt slightly groggy, but awake. Unlike his brother Mason, in the bedroom across the hall, his family actually had witnessed Rogue awake by late afternoon.

Rogue headed for the shower, randomly grabbing some clothes off of his velvet-cushioned chair. A postcard caught his eye on a small table, just as he turned the knob to the almost ridiculously spacious bathroom. It showed a city at sunset, its blazing colors against the silhouetted city skyline of Arabic-styled buildings. Bright colors were splashed across the postcard in the colored lights and off-the-wall color designs of the buildings. An elegant, electric green script across the bottom read “Getzistan!”in Arabic calligraphy.

He smiled as he gingerly picked up the card. He remembered the exact moment he had bought this postcard. It was at the front desk of the lobby in the hotel he and Mason stayed at...the Oasis Hotel...looking for the Emerald Key. In retrospect, the events that occurred there were pretty hilarious. Rogue and Mason had disguised themselves as vagabond adventurers, and traveled to Getzistan to try and pull information about a magical artifact from the mobster that ran the hotel.

What was his name again? Rogue thought. Oh, yeah...Wesley Black.

To be blunt, Wesley Black had it made. He was a high position in the magic black market, and managed the most successful hotel in Getzistan. But he also happened to be the father of two children, who both were as strange as he was; Mozenrath, a crazed and bold sorcerer, and Ginger, a vivacious, slightly deranged teenage girl. Well, it was certainly the most interesting stay that he ever had at the Oasis...or any other hotel, for that matter. He curiously wondered how the strange Black family was doing these days; it had been a little over half a year since he and Mason had been there. In particular, he thought about Ginger. Sure, she was completely nuts, but Rogue found himself being a little fond of her. Still a bit lost in his memory, Rogue gently placed the postcard back on the desk.

Prince Rogue Andante never expected that day to be memorable. Neither did anybody else. But he'd learn that expectations, especially during the next two months, aren't really worth much.

*****Aisha glided into the desolate, shadowy laboratory, and groaned when she saw Mozenrath hunched over a wheel. Books and documents of all ages and sorts were left open, and scattered throughout the place. Magical oil lamps flickering blue flames gave off an eerie atmosphere.

“Mozenrath, what in hell’s name are you doing now? You've been up here all day,” snapped the catty, blue-haired sorceress. Folding her arms, she sneered, “Let me guess ... your crazy little schemes to conquer Agrabah. Mozenrath, you're actually becoming so predictable that--”

“Go ahead, Aisha. Laugh and sneer now. I've got my sights set on a much more....tantalizing prize,” Mozenrath replied in an obsessed stage whisper, his mouth spread wide in a disturbing grin. His sorceress girlfriend knew that voice. It was the type of voice Mozenrath spoke in whenever he was “up to his neck in some new inane little scheme”, as she liked to say. But Mozenrath never called it “inane”. He preferred to say “ambitious”.

The crazed sorcerer pounded his gloved fist onto the wheel, divided into seven sections, each portraying one of the seven deserts and kingdoms. It was one of his favorite possessions, used to decide at random about which kingdom to conquer. But now, the etches in the wood were hidden by a large, tattered map. Sketched in black ink, the intricate map showed a large island country.

“Agrabah.... Agrabah is puny and weak. But THIS! This is my little gem...and soon it will be ours, my dear. It’s so close, I can actually feel it... with all this power, we'll have the Seven Deserts in the palms of our hands -- !

Ignoring the sorcerer’s ranting, Aisha peered at the finely-crafted map spread across the wheel. Across the top of the map read in an elaborate calligraphy, “THE KINGDOM OF MASHERIA”.

“MASHERIA! Mozenrath, have you lost your mind!? Now if you wanted to conquer something normal like Agrabah or Getzistan or some other little city, I wouldn't be worrying --”

“Look at it, Aisha! Masheria has everything. Masheria has power, dignity, grace. Masheria IS power. I have the perfect plan. Everything I've ever dreamed of could be mine. Masheria is our --”

“Damnit, Masheria is a country! How many times have you tried taking a simple city like Agrabah as your own and failed? If that fool Ala-deen or whatever his name is found out you wanted to conquer an entire country, he'd laugh in your face and so would I! You're making a fool out of yourself.”

When Aisha first met Mozenrath, she admired his raw ambition, if you could call it that, for she also starved for power. But after a ridiculous amount of failed expeditions and crazy magical schemes, she began to doubt her lover’s credibility, and his sanity. She became quickly tired of constant failure. Sure, Aisha wanted power and authority, but was less zealous and more stable than Mozenrath when it came to conquering things. She made sure that every puzzle piece was in place before making her move, but while Mozenrath also planned carefully, he liked to rush in. His thirst for power was like a drug.

“How DARE you speak to me that way, woman! I put the Land of the Black Sands under my control, and I can easily do the same to you -- !”

“Ugh. Don't talk to me until you get over this, Mozenrath,” growled Aisha as she rolled her eyes, and walked out of the room in a huff. She doubted that Mozenrath had the ability to conquer Masheria.

“But if he did,” she thought to herself with a pang hope and raw ambition, “this could be rather interesting...”

******

Prince Mason Andante snuck into a faculty bathroom in the palace, a crinkled pack of cigarettes held like a vice in his fist. Eyes shifting around to see if any pesky servants were around, he shut the door and lit up. He just wasn't in the mood this morning for a sermon about the dangers of his nicotine craving. Yeah, they think it’s dangerous all right...Dangerous to the royal family’s flawless little image... he thought with disdain.

Mason jumped in surprise when the door swung open. The pathetic-looking carton dropped out of his hands and bounced dully on the green tile floor. His head spun around to steal a look at the intruder. When he realized who it was, Mason breathed a sigh of relief with hidden irritation, but at the situation rather than the intruder. Mason gave a genuine smirk of greeting to the young man next to him.The young man, about a year Mason’s junior. Kurt Stein wore a crisp, formal army uniform, since he was working an internship in the Masherian Ministry of Defense. Kurt had dark brown hair that was almost ebony, with brown eyes and a gorgeous smile that made the girls swoon. There was no denying that Kurt was a lady-killer, but it never seemed to go to his head, like it does to most boys of that status. Though he was a friendly, popular guy, he never seemed to be interested in the whole dating scene. Many just chalked it up to the fact that Kurt was an intern under the infamous Captain Arylech Burton himself. Captain Burton was the type of man who, if he had heard the casual “Hey, Mason, how’s it going” greeting pass Kurt’s lips in Prince Mason’s presence, have the intern’s head on a silver platter.

But Mason didn't mind at all, and simply offered Kurt a smoke.

The intern declined, but hid a snicker. Besides the Prince himself, Kurt knew the magnitude of the pesky servants’ fits when they caught him puffing away in some remote corner of the palace.

“Nah, I can't. I gotta be heading out soon. Captain Burton’s losing his mind. Someone’s made a threat about the Royal Ball coming up in a few days. So now security’s been bumped up, and he’s giving all these special orders to his men. Now all I hear when I'm in the office is him snarling at people on the phone and swearing in Polish --”

Mason laughed out loud. That was just like the young, but hostile, captain.

“-- and now the guy's giving me somethin’ to do. Already late to meet him, the way it is. I really should go. Before he bursts a blood vessel or something,” Kurt concluded with an irritated sigh. He had had some tough teachers in his military high school, but Captain Arylech Burton was much more strict than any of them. Arylech also had the worst temper of any of them, mainly because he took every threat and “odd letter” to the palace as the possible opening gun shots of war. It wasn't the kind of temper that screamed and threw things. Quite frankly, it was the quiet kind that came with power, that played mind games and scared the hell out of everyone. The word among his lieutenants was that his infamous “training” had did it to him. No one was really sure.

“Eh. He’s all right when he’s not having some military crisis or struggling with his inner angst, though,” Mason joked. “See ya around, Kurt.”

“Yeah... if I come out of his office alive...” the young soldier replied as he exited the faculty restrooms.

**********

So this is the first part of the second Masherian Night, people! More updates are coming very, very soon, so sit tight! Just gotta add the finishing touches on 'em....