Prince of Lies [COMPLETED]

Chapter 17

But fitted pants would have to wait.

Viscon informed Frederick the next eve that Arabella had left to attend to matters at the border. Gheorge and the rest of her court had gone with her, and though he liked Gheorge, it still irked him to know that her former lover-lovers-would be surrounding her for however long these "matters" took.

So he occupied his mind, spending his time learning from Viscon in any and every matter he could think of. Combat, language, ancient history. And when Viscon was busy, he discovered that Errand made an enthusiastic training partner.

Frederick threw objects at the wall until Errand deigned to engage him, and it used its diabolical powers to fight against him. It hurled books, ornaments, tables, sculptures, and candlesticks, allowing him to practice-striking, dodging, weaving, blocking-discovering that Staff could form excellent shields. Unlike Gheorge and Viscon, Errand had an undetectable presence, successfully landing a majority of its hits, resorting to illusions if it needed to best him.

Errand taught Frederick in its own brutal way, but he sensed that it was quite sorry for it all, especially for illusions that made his heart bleat with panic. When their sessions concluded, Errand would knock Frederick into an armchair and wrap him blankets, rewarding him with liquor that he didn't touch. He needed every sense on alert at all times to detect any threats or intruders. But his only visitor was dread and non-stop worry. There were only so many things he could do before his mind wandered back to Arabella.

For something was wrong.

He hadn't seen Arabella in days, and he visited the stable and sewing room constantly in hopes of finding her there. But she never appeared, the castle well and truly void of her presence when he cast his senses to find her. And when he used the Binding Stone to contact Thescan his father no longer answered his calls.

His mind ran rampant with possibilities.

Was Thescan in danger?

Was she in danger?

Could she already be dead?

Then in the dead of night, something disturbed his rest. It made no sound to rouse him. It never touched him or shook him from his sleep. But what he felt was undeniable, veining through his thoughts like lightning with no thunder.

The same tumultuous energy of war.

Wrong. Wrong. Something was wrong.

Viscon appeared in his room, his shoulders wound tighter than usual. "Good evening, Frederick. Do you require more books?" He cast his eyes about the floor. Shattered spines and torn pages filled the space, damage from Frederick's training with Errand. "Perhaps you've read all of these already."

"What's happening, Viscon?"

He shook his head and proceeded to bring his room to order. "Nothing is happening, Your Highness."

"Something feels different. Different in a serious way." Anxiety beat through his body. "What's happen-" His lungs squeezed tight.

Viscon halted. "Frederick?"

His hand shot to his chest, and he gripped the bed poster to stop from sliding. "V-Viscon?"

Viscon appeared by his side in an instant. "Sit down."

Frederick cried out and sank to his knees, his heart ramming inside him. Ringing ascended in his head, drowning Viscon's words.

Something is wrong

Something is wrong

Something is wrong.

Invisible claws gripped his neck, hysteria exploding in his mind. He couldn't get out-he couldn't get out. A second set of claws tore through his stomach, and it dawned on him-"A-Ara. Your middle."