I enter my mother's tent and am immediately met by six pairs of eyes, gazing expectantly at me. The faces of the five mountains of men, surrounding the queen, are emotionless, but I know that they are worried. Scarred, scorched complexion, leather clothes, uncovered muscular chests, frightening tattoos and deadly weapons are what makes them all look the same, differing only by the color and length of their hair or the presence or lack of such on their faces.
"He's sleeping. I gave him water and left him to rest. Tar is with him," I satisfy their impatience.
"Your men must be punished," Lord Bardal, second in command and sent by my father especially to breathe down my neck and snitch on me, barks.
His long, black beard trembles with anger, blue eyes glaring menacingly, thirsty for blood. I'm sure he hates me, probably knowing something that I don't. He can't bear being ordered by someone half his age. The king trusts him more than me, but I'm the prince, so I'm his superior.
"They are close to you. It makes them think everything is allowed. You spoiled them. One hundred whips each!" the mad beast grumbles. " Whoever survives will learn to obey orders. I specifically told them not to enter the camp. Tar is to be beheaded! I'll do it myself."
"You'll do nothing of the kind," I hiss and step towards him. "Did you forget who your commander is? You better not touch a hair on their heads or I'll skin you alive with my own hands."
I wrap my fingers round the handle of my black dagger, famous throughout this land for never leaving survivors. I don't care that he's father's favorite. He should be thankful if I only slit his throat.
"You're not the king," he retorts, his eyes red and stormy. "You, little puppies, still couldn't walk, when your father and I were winning battles, while your grandfather ruled."
The blade of my mother's short sword is pressed under his chin before I could blink.
"Apologize!" she whispers ominously. "Immediately!"
"He's not the King," the stubborn bear repeats. "They are all reckless. What does it matter that you'll dig your blade in my flesh? We will all die when the chosen wakes up? Even if I don't punish your son's heedless brood, he will."
"My son may not be a king yet, but I'm the Queen!" she sternly says. "Apologize!"
The tension is heavy. I'm ready to strike, if he doesn't obey.
"Forgive me My Lord!" Lord Bardal finally sighs in defeat, lowering his head.
"You're forgiven!" I nod, glaring at my mother, who reluctantly draws back her sword.
I smirk. She would gladly use the opportunity to get rid of her husband's spy. Father is far away, but still finds his ways to control us all. No one can deny that he knows how to rule.
"We need to send him back to his people," Lord Malderyn says, unfazed by the scene that has just unfolded. The commander of the horsemen has short, snow white hair and a beard of the same color. He has a fatherly look and warm brown eyes, but is no less vicious than the others. "We don't need the chosen here. The Dessert King will attack the second he finds out we've captured his son."
"The chosen will do as he pleases," I shrug my shoulders. "No one can tell him where to go."
"He's just a boy," Lord Bardal sneers, "a weak one at that, if he doesn't have the courage to use his powers for winning the war. Foolish youngsters, all of them, thinking that everything's black or white!"
"My power is not meant to harm," a clear, melodic voice comes from behind me.
I turn abruptly and gasp, enchanted by his presence. He's standing at the entrance. The man there has nothing to do with the fragile boy I carried to my tent. His head is held high. The pink glow of his eyes makes him mysterious and captivating. His hair is raised in a high bun, uncovering his perfect face, adorned by light blush. His lips are curled in a smile. He walks confidently like the prince he is, like a king, even like a god.
"I am Dai Stial," he says calmly. "You shall not doubt me."
His hand rises, pointing at the obnoxious lord, lifting his enormous body from a distance, only by a barely visible movement of a finger. He's left hanging in the air as a feather, blown by the wind, speechless and startled.
"Forgive us, Your Highness!" the queen kneels before the prince. "We never meant to insult or harm you! This all was a mistake. The war has driven us all to extremes."
"Raise, my Queen!" Dai Stial smiles warmly at her. "I do not deserve this honor. Neither am I offended, nor harmed. I'm thankful to your brave warriors for bringing me here."
He lowers his hand and Lord Bardal heavily flops on the floor. He gets up, panting, the arrogance erased from his face.
The prince directs his rose, judging gaze at me. It makes me shiver. He slightly nods and utters, "I came to summon the follower. I had to wait too long."
___________________________________
A/N
Hello at the end of chapter 4!
Thank you for reading and supporting my new story! ❤❤❤
Were you surprised that the chosen is not at all weak and fragile?
Any theories what he might mean by coming to summon the follower?
What do you expect to happen next?
I have a big surprise for you in the next chapter 😉
Share your thoughts, ask questions and criticize, if you think it's necessary.
And don't forget to vote, if you liked the story.
Love: Anny