The Vagrant King

Chapter 18

Julian's clothes were bloodied but he had no wounds. His sword was wet with someone else's blood. He white-knuckle gripped it as he sprinted down the corridor. Everything had gone wrong. Someone must have told the castle guards off about the attack. There were too many of them waiting in alcoves when the rebels flooded the castle's East entrance. The nobles' bedrooms were all startlingly empty, and no one could find the King to hang him. There had been a traitor amongst the rebels.

Julian heard a scream. A man's scream, loud and anguished. He stopped in the corridor and whipped around to see Maurin fighting with a guard. He held his side with one hand like he was already wounded. The guard's sank his sword into Maurin's stomach and dragged it up until Maurin fell to his knees. Julian was frozen in horror, and the world's noise faded away for a moment. Maurin's mouth was stretched open again, but Julian did not hear his scream this time.

Julian sprang forward.. The guard turned and Julian stabbed the guard through his side, where he knew the armor left a crack open.

The knight fell. Julian leaned down, withdrew a knife from his coat pocket, lifted the man's helmet, and slit his throat. Just to be sure.

Julian knelt beside Maurin, whose eyes were still open but unmoving. It was a stupid thing to do. Julian left his back open to the corridor as he bent over Maurin.

"Wake up, please, wake up." Julian begged, slipping his hand under Maurin's coat to hold his side. Julian could feel his friend's warm blood wet his hand and spill through his fingers.

"Maurin, Maurin, wake up, please—"

~

Julian's screaming woke himself up. He was shaking and his clothes clung to the cold sweat that covered his body. Where was he? In his mother's house? The dungeons? Disoriented, Julian's hands shoved back the layers of blankets as he sat up, about to spring out of bed. Where was Maurin?

"Julian, darling." A voice beside him whispered soothingly. A gentle hand rested on Julian's chest over his tunic. "You're alright. You're safe."

"Maurin?" Julin said hoarsely. It was too dark, he couldn't see, and his jaw ached from grinding his teeth during his sleep. He could only think of Maurin, his stomach split open like a fish, more blood than Julian had thought possible.

A pause of silence before the man beside him spoke. "It's Regulus."

Regulus. The High King. He was in the High Castle. Julian's chest heaved as he looked around the dark room, realizing that he was not in the middle of battle nor in the dungeons. He turned to look at Regulus. In the darkness, he could only see the man's outline.

"Julian, do you know where you are?" Regulus asked cautiously, his hand still resting on Julian's chest.

Julian ran his tongue along his teeth. He collapsed back onto the pillow and rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to calm the quick beating of his heart. "Aye," He muttered, and it was like speaking through a mouthful of cotton. He coughed into his elbow a few times. He longed for something to drink, but he was too tired to fetch it.

Regulus leaned towards his nightstand and lit a candle with flint and steel, dimly lighting the room. Julian shied away from the light and placed his arm over his face to hide it.

"Julian," Regulus began, and Julian knew that tone. He loathed that tone. It was Regulus' serious voice, the paternalistic voice that came out when he pitied Julian. Julian hated Regulus's pity.

"Put out the light." Julian groaned, pulling the covers over his head. He rolled to his side away from Regulus. Regulus sighed, blew out the light, and laid down next to him. Typically, Regulus fell asleep soon after his head hit the pillow, and Julian was left to toss and turn at night. By now, Julian knew the rise and fall of Regulus' breath to know when he was asleep and when he was awake. Julian was the first one to fall back asleep.