Honour or Reason - Book 1# in the Burning Prince Chronicles

Chapter Three

Conlaed was glad for his fur cloak. It draped over his shoulders, sealing in the warmth of his body. Brilyn had been right. Atop the wall was cold. It sank into his bones and stayed there, a wilful demon. The Winter winds were rising. Cold weather for cold times.
Conlaed had told no one of his venture to the castle wall. He could only hope that Bri had kept his mouth shut. Con couldn't risk Hanrick learning of the ghost. Con was certain Hanrick would attempt to destroy it; from a young age, his father had taught him that magic should never be tampered with. It was borne of Fey and treacherous around humans. It was something to respect, no matter how perilous. A deep seed in the rise of the realms themselves. Besides, he doubted Hanrick would even realise his nephew was gone. It seemed the new king had established a tradition of piggish drinking and whorish dancing into the dawn. Conlaed had no desire to be part of the shameful revelries. The king had died merely two months past. The castle should have still been bannered in black.

He sauntered to the rampart and gazed out. Userra stirred beyond; the tiled roofs of the city glimmered in the moonlight and the street lamps burned like tiny orange fireflies. He could see Diamond House, it's crystal roof sparkling with the reflection of the stars. He wondered if Aglaesha were down there in her robes. Perhaps she is practicing her flame. The thought brought a small grin to his lips. He had not spoken with his betrothed since his mother's wedding. Like a fucking coward. 

It wasn't that he was avoiding her. Well, he was. But it wasn't that simple. With everything that happened, seeing her...it made things worse. 

Aglaesha was always so put together. Her help turned out to be things like, you'll get through this, or I'm there for you. Things that couldn't offer solace. Things that just showed her misunderstanding. Things that Conlaed couldn't linger around. 

However at night his mind betrayed him. Aglaesha twirled around his mind, white gold curls swinging in the breeze. Eyes blue like ice sparkling as her lips pressed against his, as Conlaed scraped his teeth against her neck, laid her down on the ground. 

He wondered if those lips had touched another's while he'd been gone. Perhaps Yaslin has comforted her. Conlaed wouldn't blame her if she'd given up on him. They were up shit creek without a paddle, what was there to do? I left her without an explanation. No reassurance whatsoever. Where are we supposed to be, anyway? 

The truth was always grim.
Conlaed turned back. Bri was watching him intently, eyes reflecting worry. What are we supposed to be now? Friends? Am I even allowed to call him that? 

The prince's voice was soft as he inquired, "When should be move to the West tower?"
Brilyn glanced up for a moment. "The moon is high. We should begin the walk now. Barnado says that the ghost comes around midnight, from what I can remember."
"Great."
Con's voice was hollow. He was unsure of what to feel. Brilyn had told him all about the guards, what they had all witnessed. How was a son supposed to react to the news of his father's wandering ghost? Happy? Frightened? He didn't know what to expect. The idea of seeing his father once more terrified him. Who had magicked this apparition? Was it just some form of cruel trickery to lead Con into the hands of a Ruby city slaver? He prayed not; he did not wish to place Bri in danger, not after all Conlaed had done already.

He followed Brilyn across the wall, a grim silence between them. It was odd. Before the death of King Maxum, Bri had been his closest consul and friend. It had been like this since Brilyn was brought to the castle as the new Apprentice of Scrolls. They had both been so young then, only nine years old. Con had been far taller than Bri and terribly behaved. He had been running from one of his tutors when he scurried into the castle library. At the time he had detested even the sight of a book, so it was the perfect hiding place. He had been sprinting for the dark aisles at the back, when the great oak doors blew open and the Guardian swept through. Jarete had seemed a monster to Conlaed as a child. With his long billowing black robes, ivory skin, shoulder length black hair and full violet eyes, he was the embodiment of a beast in the eyes of a child. The Guardian appeared barely twenty-one years, although Queen Tenna said he seemed that young when she first married King Maxum. Jarete was possibly one of the oldest beings in all the realms. He was known to all as the Fox for his sly and intelligent nature. He had admitted being born of both a Maidore and Dardrian and earned the name Fey-Mage, although all else concerning his history was concealed. It was the deep gleam in his eyes that scared Con. Unfounded wisdom.