“That’s super annoying, you know,” said Tamara.

“What is?” LC asked and continued tapping his umbrella impatiently on the ground.

Tamara briefly considered snatching the umbrella out of his hands and throwing it into the bushes, then thought better of it. She was feeling tense as well. They were huddled in the shadow of a ruined medieval gate at the end of a small bridge in the middle of a park, nervously waiting for Alfie, Hayley and the others to return from their separate missions. If they make it, Tamara thought and shuddered. She and LC had been standing in the snow for what felt like hours. Conversation, never exactly flowing between the two of them at the best of times, had dried up ages ago. Even Herne became bored and was now busying himself biting chunks of ice from the edges of the frozen stream below the bridge.

To the east, the ever-present dark snow clouds glowed with the faintest light of the rising sun. Tamara had just started to say, “Surely they’d be here by now…” when there was a startling WHOMP of air that made her ears pop and, with a flash, Qilin appeared in front them. He whipped off his robe and mask, and was followed a moment later by the thundering approach of Holgatroll, who bounded in and transformed back into Freya.

“I win! You owe me a tenner,” Tony said to Freya.

“What are you talking about, you simpleton? We never had a bet,” she replied.

Tony scratched his head. “Oh, yeah. Well, if we had, I’d totally have won.”

Freya shook her head with exasperation and turned to LC and Tamara. “Mission accomplished,” she said, straightening her clothes and checking her hair.

“Awesome!” Tamara exclaimed with relief. “Where’s Alfie?”

Tony pointed to the sky. “Joyriding.”

Above them Wyvern circled around low over the roofs of the surrounding town, then dived to ground level and galloped full pelt through the park, slaloming around trees, towards them on the bridge.

“INCOMING!” Tony shouted.

While everyone else braced for impact, LC stood firm. Wyvern slammed to a dead stop inches from his nose and gave him a friendly nibble.

“Good to see you again, old girl.” LC smiled as the horse disappeared with a happy whinny back into the spurs. “And you too, of course, Majesty. You look splendid.”

“Ellie!” Tamara gasped and rushed forward to take her unconscious daughter from Alfie’s arms.

“I think she’s in shock,” said Alfie, removing his armour.

“We need to get her somewhere safe,” said Tamara, looking to LC.

Hayley and Brian, exhausted and footsore, emerged from the shadows.

“Sunrise in five minutes,” said Brian. “London’s going to be crawling with angry Vikings searching for us. We need to hide.”

“If you’d all care to follow me. I thought Waltham Abbey the perfect rendezvous for one very special reason,” LC said.

Brian carried Ellie as LC led everyone through the ruined gate, across a graveyard dotted with faded headstones and towards an old but modest-looking church. But instead of leading them inside, he stopped at a plain stone marker that poked out of a snowdrift.

“Here we are,” said LC.

“We don’t have time for your theatrics, LC,” hissed Tamara.

Alfie knelt, wiped the snow away from the headstone and read the inscription carved on it.

“Harold, King of England. Obit 1066. I take it this is where he’s buried?” Alfie said.

“Indeed – after his defeat by the Norman invaders at the Battle of Hastings, killed by an arrow through his eye,” LC replied.

“Yyyeah, bit of a buzz-kill, to be honest, LC,” said Alfie, scanning every inch of the headstone. “So is there a button, or what? Lever? Secret password?”

“Merely place your hand on the stone, Majesty, if you will.”

Alfie did as he was told, and immediately his hand tingled as the stone glowed with familiar, blue-blood magic. Something ancient was waking up.

As they all gazed in wonder, the ghostly outlines of round columns, magnificent stone arches, stained-glass windows and a grand roof appeared out of thin air as the original abbey that once stood there was rebuilt around them. Soon the medieval building seemed to solidify, although, every once in a while, it would glitch and shimmer and they could glimpse the outside world through the walls. That wasn’t all; it felt warmer now, and there was the smell of incense in the air.

“We call it a ‘royal peculiar’. There are a number dotted around the country: sanctuaries for the Defender in times of trouble,” said LC as the others began to explore the magical hideout.

“Nice. So can anyone see us in here?” asked Hayley.

“No, no,” said LC, finding a bench to rest on. “We are quite safely hidden away, as long as you don’t venture outside the walls. Anyone out there would just see a field.” He turned to Alfie. “The magnificent abbey that now surrounds us is the place that King Harold came to pray before he defeated the Vikings at Stamford Bridge earlier in his reign.”

Alfie could only nod. An invisible abbey. He was lost for words.

“Pretty neat trick, LC,” Hayley said, gazing around in awe. “It’s beautiful.”

The mournful, haunting sound of plainsong echoed softly around the pillars and arcades of the ancient, ghostly building, but there was no sign of the monks singing it.

“Echoes of the past,” LC whispered and closed his eyes, listening. “Now, about Princess Eleanor…”

Brian laid her down gently. Her skin was grey and clammy, her breathing shallow. Alfie opened the regalia case and took out a sword with a blunt, square end.

“What does that one do?” asked Tony.

“You’ll see,” said LC. “It is the Sword of Mercy.”

Alfie pressed the flat edge of the sword against Ellie’s chest and she reacted at once, arching her back, gasping as colour flooded back into her cheeks. She opened her eyes, taking a moment to register the crowd of faces looking down at her, until she saw Tamara.

“MUM?!” she croaked.

Tamara stroked her face. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re safe now.”

Brian turned to the others. “Been a long day. Everyone, get some shut-eye,” he ordered, and then stretched out on a pew using a backpack as a pillow.

But sleep was the last thing on Alfie’s mind. He, Hayley, Freya and Tony moved away from everyone else to fill each other in on the details of the raid on the Tower. Freya and Tony argued about how many Vikings they’d each taken out. The current score was Freya: sixty-eight, Tony: fifty-two. Hayley listened patiently until they were finished then told them about the number of Vikings she outwitted at Crystal Palace. Even Freya seemed grudgingly impressed.

“Not bad, I suppose,” the queen sniffed.

“Not bad? Listen, death breath, I did it all without any magic powers. Just what’s in here. And here.” Hayley said, tapping her own head and flexing her bicep.

“Yes, that’s what I meant: not bad for a commoner,” Freya said.

“Commoner?!” Hayley bristled and was about to launch into another verbal assault before Alfie headed it off.

“So, Freya, has your family always had, you know…” he began.

“BO problems?” interrupted Hayley.

“Troll’s blood?” said Alfie rapidly.

“Yes, ever since ancient times,” replied Freya. “Our land was once ruled by pure trolls, a noble, intelligent race. But when the first Ice Age thawed and foreign invaders arrived, they were afraid of them and, in a great war, drove them to the edge of extinction. My family were the trolls’ only allies and soon our two tribes became one. We drove out the invaders and ruled in peace ever since. I got my troll powers when I was thirteen, so I had a little time to adjust before I took the throne.”

Alfie pointed at the sparking green necklace that Freya always wore. “And is that part of your powers?”

Freya smiled, caressing the jewel. “It is much more than that. It is called Brísingamen, forged from two rocks. One is an emerald – my human ancestors’ greatest treasure. The other is Troll’s Ice – the same for the troll side of my family. When I took the throne, I bonded with it for life. It will only be removed from my body when I die.”

Tony was watching her, doe-eyed. “Wow, we have so much in common it’s not even funny,” he said.

Freya looked at him askance. “You have troll’s blood?”

“Well, no, not that exactly,” said Tony. “But my ancestors were way into all that nature conservation stuff too. The legend goes that thousands of years ago my homeland was ruled by an evil and greedy king who starved his own people. So one day my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great—”

“We get the idea, Tony,” said Alfie.

“All right, well, lots-of-greats grandmother, who was still a young girl, was hunting in the forest to feed her orphaned brothers and sisters when she accidentally shot the last Qilin – the Chinese Unicorn – through the heart with an arrow. The young girl cradled the magical creature as it lay dying and wept tears of regret. The gods of the forest were so touched by her grief that they transferred the Qilin’s powers into her. She used them to get rid of the unjust king and took his place. Her descendants inherited her powers, all the way down to little old me.”

“Good story, Tony,” said Alfie.

“Sounds a little implausible if you ask me,” quipped Freya.

“Says Miss Half-Troll,” said Hayley.

As they laughed, Alfie noticed that Ellie was wandering around the abbey. He caught up with her near the altar as she gazed at the old stained-glass windows.

“How’s it going, sis?”

“Oh, you know, pretty typical day. Found out that my loser big brother isn’t dead like I thought and is actually a superhero and so are all his mates. Oh, and I forgot to mention, turns out my other brother is an evil monster who wants to destroy the world. So yeah, everything’s just fine.” Tears welled in Ellie’s eyes. She looked at Alfie with such a look of desperation that he hugged her and, amazingly, she didn’t even try to wriggle away.

“This feels really weird to say, but thanks for rescuing me from the Tower,” she said, then seemed to remember something else. “Oh yeah, and from the Dragon at the coronation, and when I fell off the bridge before that. I think I need to sit down.”

Alfie sat her down on a step.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about all this before. You wouldn’t believe all the rules LC makes me follow,” said Alfie.

“Yeah, I would,” she said, then pointed at the regalia case, which sat open nearby. “How does all this stuff work, then?”

“It’s complicated. Ancient blue blood, a mystical crown from the gods…”

“So magic, basically.”

“Basically, yeah.”

“So, do I have this magic in me, then?”

“Yep, afraid so. Although it follows the line of succession so it would only activate if Richard and me weren’t around.”

Ellie shook her head and laughed. “This is nuts.”

Their mother came over to join them. “Are we having a family meeting?” she asked.

“It’s a little overdue, wouldn’t you say?” said Ellie. “Just let me ask the questions and don’t stop answering unless I look like I’m going to faint again, yeah?”

And with that Ellie was off, like a determined detective on the trail of the answer to a long-buried mystery. The secret, magical history of the monarchy. The faked divorce between King Henry and Tamara. The disagreement with LC. What they knew about Lock and his diabolical plans. Alfie thought Ellie took it all in pretty well. Bit by bit, he could see her hostility to her mum ebbing away and, by the end, her main issue was that she was kept in the dark for so long.

“It’s just so typical; I’m the youngest so I’m the last to know.”

“I’m sorry, Ellie. Really,” Tamara said. “If I could go back, I’d do things differently.”

“Why don’t we make a promise?” said Ellie. “From now on there’s no more secrets between us.” She offered her hand to shake.

“Sorry, I’m more of hugger,” Tamara said.

“Take it or leave it,” Ellie said. “We’ll see about a hug later.” Alfie smiled at his sister’s no-nonsense way of dealing with the world.

“Just like your father. All right, have it your way.” Tamara laughed, conceding defeat. She took Ellie’s hand. “No more secrets.”

“Do you think there’s any hope?” Ellie said as she looked at a stained-glass window above them. In it, Saint George, depicted as a knight in armour, fought a green dragon that had wrapped its tail around his white horse, trying to drag it down. “For Rich, I mean?”

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Alfie said. “But I’ll try everything I can, I promise.”

“Chief? Think you’d better see this,” Brian called from the far end of the abbey, waving his mobile phone. “I was just checking that the shipping forecast was still playing when this came on. We’re not the only ones broadcasting something.”

Alfie watched the phone as Hayley and the others peered over his shoulder. The screen was broadcasting images of Lock standing on some kind of wooden platform and addressing the camera.

“People of Britain. This is your Lord Protector Cameron Lock speaking to you from Marble Arch in London.”

The camera panned around to show the silent, snow-shrouded city and the white stone of the famous London landmark.

“It has recently come to my attention that the so-called ‘Defender’ is once again at large. Rest assured, this trouble-making criminal and his gang will be found and punished.”

“Cool! We’re gangsters!” Tony said. Everybody shushed him as Lock went on.

“Once, they called this place I am standing on the Tyburn Tree. It is high time we raised it again to show how we deal with traitors. Anyone giving help or shelter to the Defender will pay the ultimate price.”

The camera angle suddenly widened to show a heavy wooden arch above Lock’s head.

“It’s a gibbet,” LC said darkly.

Alfie was just about to ask what that was when a rope, tied in a hangman’s noose, dropped down next to Lock. Everyone gasped.

“Bring the prisoner forward!” Lock ordered.

Two hulking great undead Vikings climbed the scaffold, dragging a Yeoman Warder in a tatty uniform with them. As they heaved him to his feet, he turned to face the camera and they could see the wizened, scruffy features of the Yeoman Jailor.

“It’s Sid!” gasped Ellie. “He helped me escape.”

Sid the Jailer stared defiantly at his captors as they looped the noose over his head.

“They’re going to kill him! Alfie, do something!” begged Ellie.

Alfie grabbed the Shroud Tunic from the regalia case and put it on, transforming into the Defender. “Spurs!” Alfie yelled. Wyvern appeared in an instant and reared up, ready for action.

“No, Majesty! You can’t go!” LC ordered. He was waving his hands in the air like a man flagging down a taxi. “Lock is trying to draw you into a trap!”

“They’re going to hang the poor guy!” Alfie protested. Wyvern stamped on the floor of the abbey as if agreeing with her master.

LC took the phone from Brian and turned it off. “Yes, sir. They will, and for that I am deeply sorry. But if you go now like this, in anger, without a plan, all you are doing is endangering the lives of millions more.”

Alfie steadied Wyvern and recalled her into his spurs. He kicked the wall in anger, then took off his armour and flung the Shroud Tunic back into the regalia case. “I should never have come home,” he said.

“I thought the same at first,” said LC. “That your presence would play into Lock’s hands. But perhaps I was wrong. Your return has also started something else. Defiance. Rebellion. Hope.”

The others looked to the floor. Tamara hugged Ellie as she wept.

“We can’t just let him get away with it,” said Alfie quietly.

“Oh, we won’t, Majesty. But joining battle before we are at our strongest, before we are truly ready? That’s not courage. That’s foolishness. If history tells us anything, it is that fighting evil comes at a price. The Yeoman Jailor knew that, and he made his choice. More will do the same before this is over.”

“Is it worth it?” asked Ellie, drying her tears.

“That depends on all of you. Monarch, soldier or ‘commoner’. It’s not your title, nor your powers that make you a hero. It’s what you do when all seems lost and the night is at its darkest.”