Wings of Destruction and Duty

26.2 || Orion

Orion sighed and scanned the gradually thinning crowd. It was strange; the numbers were shrinking, yet the sharp sounds of excited chatter seemed to grow by the minute. He swivelled on his toes, following the whispers until his eyes settled on a figure just beyond the other side of the fountain. He squinted, but the low sun glancing off the pale stones made it impossible to make out just who was causing the commotion. Curiosity gripped his mind, and hoping that Laurel might have a similar idea, Orion found himself slowly making his way over.

He tried to linger by the edge, but the people's excitement soon pushed him deep into the growing crowd. Jostled like a fish on a ship, Orion stepped hard on someone's foot, and a sharp retort flew past his ear. He turned to apologise, but the man was already gone. Laughter danced past his ears, and try as he might, Orion could not see exactly who the people were fawning over. And all tiptoeing provided him with was a mop of dark hair, neatly combed to the side.

Laurel's name died within the shouts, and seeing that she had yet to appear, Orion pushed further around the growing circle. With each shove, people shot him withering glances, but Orion swallowed his growing shame and focused on finding his elven keeper.

As he moved, Orion eyed the two men sitting atop dark horses. The animals snorted in the warm afternoon air, seemingly undisturbed by the clamour or the sun's glint off their masters' armor. Orion narrowed his eyes. The presence of two guards might not bode well in terms of staying undercover, but given that he didn't intend to start trouble, perhaps all would be well. But as the people closed in, desperation started to claw its way up Orion's throat. He stopped to cough, his eyes watering at the sour smell of sweat and iron. Then a shadow of a touch danced across his wrist, and when he spun around, a set of mottled green eyes leered back at him. The boy, no older than he was, stared at Orion with his lips curled in contempt. One quick glance down, and cold dread followed by relief flooded Orion's head.

It seemed the Dilid queen's bracelet had remembered how to bite.

Blood seeped slowly from the young man's closed fist, and when he opened his mouth to demand that Orion hand it over, he only shook his head. Orion glanced at the silver ring. Its eyes gleamed cruelly in the dying sun, and Orion felt a bitter laugh bubble up within his chest. If only it could be so easy to lose the cursed trinket.

The young man lunged, his hand flashing before Orion's vision once again, and Orion instantly drew his arm closer to his chest. But it seemed that the bracelet had other ideas as the silver snake unfurled and sank its teeth deep into the young man's palm. He stumbled back, eyes wide, and spat at Orion's face. Orion recoiled and jumped back, only to trip over the uneven cobbles and fall backwards towards the ground.

The crowd parted with an irritated gasp. He stumbled, crashed into someone, and found himself shoved out into the open. The orange sky, filtered with dying purple, rose to meet his vision as he scrambled to his feet. A glint of silver flashed through the air, then a chill settled on his wrist once again.

Orion had no time to catch his breath before a sharp voice broke through the disapproving titters. He turned, his face burning under the people's glares and murmurs, only to find himself facing a golden-eyed young man. Orion blanched and moved to help him up, only to have a gleaming blade thrust in his face by a man who seemed to have learned how to wear a scowl permanently.

"How dare you make an attempt to harm the prince?"

Orion blinked. "I beg your pardon. The prince?"

He slowly turned to look at the raven-haired man, who only smirked and brushed the dust off his crimson jacket. A hundred words crashed through Orion's head; none of them came in a logical order. Romril's threats cascaded through his thoughts, and a strange shame burned at the back of his mind. Like an idiot, he had found the worst way to stay unnoticed.