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

Chapter Five

The ghost led him beyond the castle walls. One moment he had been walking into the mist, next thing he knew, he was in a grove of trees just beyond the castle. It was strange to be outside without the rich scents of the castle gardens. Instead, the scent of wet foliage and oak trees filled his nose. The ghost watched him intently, cold eyes narrowed. For a moment, Con regretted coming alone. Con gazed anxiously around. The canopy of trees blocked out the bright moonlight and a greenish glow illuminated from the ghost, casting an eerie jade light around them. A crow squawked in the distance, a terrible omen. Conlaed stumbled back, skin prickling. I should not have come.

As he backed away the gloom surrounding him thickened. The ghost held out a ghoulish hand.

"Stay my Prince and listen to me."

The voice was weary and husky. Father's voice. The ghost hovered toward him, stern eyes full of desperation. Conlaed had never seen the expression upon his earthly father's face. King Maxum had always been strong as a stone pillar; unmovable. An anchor to the young prince. A lasso that reined him back to where he needed to be. Con's father was a symbol of the strength and patience of good. Maxum had never taken the easy path. He had the courage to take whatever road was best for Maidora, even if its people couldn't see it. He had taught his son to be unyielding in the face of the enemy and to show mercy to those lost in the dark. King Maxum had been a faithful husband, loving father and merciful king.

As Conlaed stared at the vision before him he struggled to see that goodness, that honour and courage. I am staring at nothing. Yet, I gaze upon everything. He could see the cold honour of his father, the icy strength. Con was not welcomed or stared at like a son, but an enemy. The King's eyes did not soften, nor was he embraced. The ghost only held out a glowing hand, eyes filled with cool anger. Con returned the gaze. He and his father had always been two sides of the same coin. They carried themselves the same way, thought the same way. All Con got from his mother was weakness. Weakness he had shoved down into the depths of his soul and locked up tight. He had no time for Tenna's feeble thoughts and worries.

He loathed the small portion of his heart that mirrored his mother. Queen Tenna was a coward. Not because she was a woman - Conlaed suspected most women had more sense than men - but because of her faithlessness and craven behaviour. Unlike Aglaesha, she had no sense of justice or selflessness. Unlike Zoysia, she had no spirit or individuality. Tenna was a sheep that would sell anyone out to save her own skin. Con doubted that she would protect him if Hanrick wished him dead. She may weep for him, yes. That was not doing what was right. All his life, Queen Tenna had read Conlaed stories of brave knights and gallant princesses who defeated cruel witches. He had believed his mother was one of those princesses. I was a damned fool.

Con's green eyes pierced the ghost with a cautious gaze as he took the beast's hand. The ghost smiled vaguely. "A courageous choice, my prince."

The ghost began to lead him forward into the dark trees. Conlaed's body trembled with fear as he stepped after the ghost, eyes straining to see into the darkness. His feet slipped on the slick ground, mist veiled the air and made it harder to breathe. A strong scent was heavy around the ghost, the smell of a storm. The scent made his heart race. The mist caressed his face and sent violent shivers down his spine. The ghoul's hand was ice cold and its nails dug into Con's skin, sending thin lines of scarlet across his hand. The blood burnt him. He realized his own hand was cold as death now. He wondered if his entire body would be frozen by the time the ghost released him.

"Where are you taking me?"

Conlaed's voice was laced with fear and regret. I should not have come, he thought again. He imagined Brilyn's presence would have been terribly comforting. Why am I such an asshole? He still felt guilty for leaving Bri. For weeks he had shut his friend out without so much as a nod in the castle halls. Was losing Bri truly worth following a possibly homicidal ghost? He very much doubted it. Brilyn is always right. Bloody hell, what was I thinking!