The Prince's Suitor ManxMan

Chapter 15: Part 1

So, it's not a full chapter, but basically half of one. (Hence: Part 1) I though since you've all been waiting for so long I'd post my progress. I have not had much practice writing for a while so I apologise if it is not up to my usual standard. Watch out for part 2. :) 

X

Colourless stones blocked every corner of his vision, not free from dust nor nature, yet untouched by human wear. No one had been down here for a long time. The air was stuffy and stale, and although he took each gasp for air deep into his stomach, he felt his head fizz with dizziness.

They were deep down in the belly of the fort. In the small allowance of sunlight, cascading down from a small slit high on the tower's wall, familiar blond hair shone golden.

Clean now, and unbloodied, Raphion was head-to-toe in crisp white cotton. Wear that befitted a Prince of Aishion. Clasps of pure Gadarian gold glowed vertical, jewels which could only be from the forbidden Aztarc Region in the Gadarian mountains, fastened the cloth, no, work of art, together.

Well, Jaicous thought, amused, though his head cloggy, at least one of them had showered.

Something sharp jabbed him hard in the small of his back and he fell to his knees, smacking the cold stone floor, his arms stretched out to cushion his fall. He landed awkwardly, in a semblance of a deep bow. Although his arms and legs strained, he remained down. He forced his eyes towards the cracked ruby floor, which he quickly surmised had been hastily scrubbed of unidentified blood. He waited, though unsure exactly of what he waited for.

Perhaps something passed between the unusual scribe and the Prince, but Jaicous did not see what transpired. Legs aching and back straining, he waited for what seemed like a passing eternity, time which they did not have and could not afford to waste.

Eventually, the door slammed closed and the thick lock switched closed with a clank. A heavy silence hung between them. Jaicous moved not a muscle. He heard a heavy sigh, then, clear as day and not at all like Jaicous thought he'd sound, "...and since when do you bow to your Prince? What have they done to my men? Beaten the will out of you so soon?"

The insult woke a force within and a dormant fear struggled its way out from the confines of Jaicous' will. He surged upwards. "Who are they? What do they want? How did they find us? Where are we? Who is he?" Visions of the unsightly Personal pretender flooded his mind – the cheek of the man, and his blatant smugness. The thought of his face made Jaicous' stomach churn with strange emotion.

Raphion asked, "Do you have what I gave you?" He gestured with his arm. It had been re-bandaged and treated. Even in the dim light, Raphion's refreshed complexion gave Jaicous new hope. Dammed or not, hope made him feel like his world wasn't about to end, and for a brief few seconds, he felt the worry rush out of him.

He patted his pocket and felt the lining of the ring. Jaicous had never liked rings, or what they symbolised. In this case, he thought, what did it symbolise? "I do. What of it?" he asked, slowing his words.

Raphion paused, then, "I have a man in the castle loyal to Aishion. He knows a way through the moat. He will take you to the border. You must take the ring to the Valley of Gradia in the South and give it to their reining Grand Highness. Once he has it, I know he will see you home," he said, hushed in quick whispers.

"The Valley of Gradia?" Jaicous reiterated. "You've lost your mind if you think I'm leaving you here to go prancing in the Sand Seas of Gadara on some fool's errand."

"If it was a fool's errand, I wouldn't be sending my best soldier." Raphion's stoic expression, completely ignorant to what his words meant, made Jaicous' stomach flip.

Without deliberation, he said the words forming rapidly in his mind, "I won't do it," the words came out in a guttural growl. He immediately regretted so.

The Prince's face shut down as swift as it had been open, all remnants of understanding cast aside. "If you won't do this for me, then I cannot trust you." He stalked towards the small window and turned his back. "It seems I cannot trust anyone of your ilk."

"What does that mean?" Jaicous heard footsteps and a key forced into the lock. Before he could continue he watched the door swing open.

He took a step back against the wall and hung his head like one of Aishion's soldiers would have done in the presence of Prince Raphion. Suspicion was the last thing he needed.

"Your highness," a barefooted man with purple silks wrapped around his forearms greeted only the Prince. "It is time."

X

To call the hall a vision of grandeur was a severe and criminal understatement. The man in silks, he now knew as Sr. Gylon – the Keep's resident guardian of medicine, led them silently into blinding luminance. Unlike the crumbling castle walls and landscape barren of crops and meat, a feast for the eyes lay before them. Curling vines, the colour of the golden sun, wound around the interior walls, a blanket unlike anything Jaicous had seen before. Not even in Aishion, the capital of the world, had Jaicous witnessed such a sight and nor had he ever thought he would. A lowly servant such as himself should see no such wonders.

There were no windows, and only the door through which they had entered. Bold colours of yellow swam proudly on banners and emblems, but the feature of it all stole Jaicous's breath from his mouth. On the dais adjacent stood a hefty figure with lifeless eyes. Larger than any beast he'd ever seen and pure white from its head to its toes, Jaicous struggled with what he thought had been common mythology. It was a wolf. A stuffed wolf, lifeless, but he knew it was real. Wolves hadn't roamed Aishion for thousands of years, and yet here one stood. Dead, but very much visible. It represented fear, and that's exactly what he felt coiling within.

It was at this moment that Jaicous realised they had an audience, and quite an audience at that.

A long mahogany table ran down the middle of the room, filled with men of apparent different standing. But Jaicous' eyes were for one man only, and he found him at the head of the table, a smile on his face, eyes afire.

The man opened his arms wide. "My dear Raphion. How wonderful it is to have you dining with me this evening. I have had the cooks prepare a special dinner in time for your arrival. Please, do sit." Osiris gestured to the chair beside him. In it sat a rigid man, who scrambled immediately to vacate the chair.

Jaicous walked hesitantly forward. Raphion strode sure footed with absolute confidence and extended his arms, as if to greet the General amicably.

"Thieves, rapists and murderers," Raphion announced, casting a gaze across the room. "I should have known this is where I'd find you." If Raphion had had any supporters or unlikely friends at the table; he didn't now.

A dangerous flicker appeared on General Osiris's grin. He turned to the room, suddenly on his feet. "Our guest has had a long and tiring day. Forgive his words, he is not himself. This feast is in your honour, my friends. Wine and feast until the day has long been forgotten and tomorrow we shall set upon our plans!"

A roar of approval, and the hall became amass with the voices of many. Shouts and laughter, and the clinking of glasses preceded. Jaicous felt as if his stomach was about to empty. They were quite literally in the wolfs den.

General Osiris pulled the wooden chair out from the table and the Prince sat delicately. The General hovered above momentarily, close enough, Jaicous reckoned, for the Prince to feel his breath on the back of his neck. Osiris bowed his head and whispered something in Raphion's ear, and for a brief moment, Raphion lost his stoic composure and looked completely mortified. Jaicous did not like the look in the General's eyes, and he moved to the edge of the room as he was expected to do, straining against every part of him that told him to remain glued to Raphion's side.