The King with Six Friends

Whitstone Palace

I could never love you!

Then, like scissors cutting a taut thread, something snapped in Erik. His sight went perfectly clear and his mind was unsettlingly calm, but in his heart, all he felt was rage.

~ ~ ~

(Present)

Erik and Emir Hashim stood across the rotunda from each other. Hashim drew his sword first, then Erik. Hashim's blade curved in a stretched crescent shape, in stark contrast to Erik's rigid two-edged sword.

The Agrafistinian heir shifted his footing to advance on Erik, who approached slowly at an angle. Erik kept his shoulder to him to minimize striking area. Hashim struck for his chest, an attack which Erik effortlessly parried up and away from himself. Hashim tried to strike at his leg, but the blade was parried away once again.

Erik shuffled backward out of attack range. Hashim shifted his feet in sweeping motions to circle around the room to stay faced toward his opponent, holding his sword up at eye level. Erik tracked Hashim's steps. When Hashim rushed forward to strike, Erik turned and side-stepped while twisting the flat of his sword around Hashim's curve. The weapon clanged to the alabaster tile in defeat.

"Ya hommar," Hashim grumbled in his dense accent. He retrieved his sword and sheathed it at his belt. "That was unfair. You did not attack at all."

"I didn't have to." Erik sheathed his own sword and put his coat back on, rolling his sleeves back down to his wrists. "I was self-taught, but that hardly makes a difference in skill." He winced when he grazed the frostbitten skin on his arm. The burning cold from the blizzard had given him several frostbite scars. The most painful ones were on his face.

Hashim sank into a chair and kicked his boots on top of an ornate table. He was trying to save his bruised ego. "I never would have guessed. When I'm Sultan of the South Kingdom, I think I will keep you around as a sparring partner. For fun."

With his back to Hashim, Erik ground his teeth together irritably while he poured himself a drink from a servant's tray.

Hashim was the Sultan's eldest son, but he was still sixteen and as mature as a newborn. Maintaining the Snowvidian Marquis's protection meant Erik had to stay on friendly terms with the other monarchs, even if that meant he had to appeal to the Sultan's wishes to mentor his son. Hashim had challenged him to a private duel with the hopes of securing some leverage over Erik. The Emir's hubris matched his over-inflated head.

If Hashim's arrogance wasn't enough, hearing him rant about being his superior made Erik want to throw his sword at him.

"Wouldn't that be. . . an interesting experience," Erik muttered behind his glass. As much as he wanted to tell Hashim off, Erik had to play nice to stay safe at Whitstone Palace.

At the other end of the spacious room, the large oaken doors groaned open. A dark form silently drifted in and leaned against one of the pillars. His eyes shined under his hood.

"Nash," Erik acknowledged the newcomer. He glanced back at Hashim, who was occupied with recreating Erik's disarming move.

"Outside," Erik ordered. The hooded figure nodded and followed him out into the drafty hallway.

Once the doors were shut behind them and he confirmed no one else was in the hall, Erik conferred, "All went well, I assume?"

"Obviously," Nash said boredly, "I'll say the princess is no meager sight to behold." Erik shot a heated stare at him, which made him mutter an apology. "I gave her your gift and message. She didn't seem too happy to receive it, though."

"She gets what she deserves," Erik growled. He dumped the rest of his drink into an urn. Snowvidia had no idea how to brew a good drink. It wasn't strong enough.

"Another thing you might find interesting," Nash added. "The princess might not be a princess anymore." Nash tapped his left ring finger suggestively.

When he realized what the gesture meant, Erik's hard expression went slack for a half-moment. In all the time he knew her, Erik never thought that Kiera would actually marry someone. She was too sharp and prickly to any man around her. It didn't seem real to him. She had married the man who had stolen his future. She married a nobody on a whim.

"I could never love you!"

After that small moment of vulnerability, steeled, hostile anger flooded over him. He balled his fist so tightly, his fingernails broke the skin of his palm. "I'll kill him," Erik snarled, "I'll kill him. He's taken everything from me, and this is the last straw."

As he was about to storm away down the hall, Nash caught him by the arm. "There's still the small matter of payment for my services?"

Erik, still seething, shoved a small bag of coins into his face. While the Viscount stomped down the dark corridor, Nash bounced the bag of money in his hand.

"Your father used to pay more," he muttered under his breath.

Erik could feel a vessel throbbing in his temple. He threw the door open to his suite and chucked his sword onto the bed. He realized he still had the tumbler for his drink in his hand and smashed it into the fireplace. It shattered, tainting the fire blue with a roar.

Zar, Erik thought while he retrieved his fitted armor. He took my chance at glory. He took my homeland. He pulled metal gauntlets over his shaking hands. He just stole my hope of love. It was all supposed to be mine!

He fastened his sword's scabbard tightly at his hip and tucked his helmet under his arm. He stormed out of the room, not bothering to shut the doors.

Assassins weren't effective enough. He decided that the only way to deal vengeance properly was to kill Zar himself, face-to-face. He wanted to watch the life drain from his eyes. That way, he would be absolutely sure of his victory. All he had to do was kill the king and he would finally have what he was always supposed to.