ARAWN
Bristly whiskers tickle my cheek, and I push the muzzle away. "Not now, Hector. Let me sleep."
Sleep?
With a start, my eyes fly open, and I push myself up. Desperately, I scan my surroundings for Kalista, but she is nowhere to be seen. I scramble to my feet and rub the sore muscles at the back of my neck.
What happened? I remember walking through the garden with Kalista and then she gave me the rose and kissed me and... That's all. After that, there is nothing.
"Why did she do this?" I look to Hector who is casually nibbling at the bark of a tree, but of course, he pays me no heed. He is saddled, and it appears as if the saddlebags have been filled with items.
I stride to the saddles bags and fling one of them open. It holds a flask of water, a few strips of dried deer meat, and a set of clean clothing. Irritatedly, I stalk to the other side. My sword and crossbow hang here as well, but before arming myself, I open the second saddlebag. I curse under my breath at its contents. It holds my violin, the enchanted rose that Kalista gave me, and the mirror. It is the last item that startles me most. Kalista would only give me the mirror if she no longer needed it, and there is only one reason why she would not need it.
Hastily, I untie Hector's reins and lift myself into the saddle. My eyes search the forest for the thickest part, but everything looks the same. I circle Hector about and mentally will the forest to open a path for me. Something is different. For a second time, I turn Hector about and this time, I can feel it. It is the magic. In the heart of the forest, it is like a thick fog that sweeps through the trees, but here, only wisps of it remain.
She brought me to the outskirts—as far away from the palace as possible.
Squeezing Hector's sides, I urge him into the trees. Only a short distance away from where I woke up, I notice a season—a real season rather than one of the four timeless seasons of the enchanted forest. It looks to be the first month of summer which means I have been away from home for at least two months. By now, they must be wondering where I am. But I cannot go back to them yet. This awful curse must be dealt with first.
We wander about for some time, but it is not long before I am sure we have returned to the place where we began. I growl in frustration and try again. This time, after a short while, I catch sight of a flash of colour between the green leaves. Cautiously, I approach, but before I am able to determine what it is, two men burst from the foliage. They hold crossbows and one of them shouts, "Halt. State your name and purpose."
At his impertinent tone, my spine instantly straightens, and my face pulls into a strict expression. "On whose authority do you demand this?" To my surprise, they wear Ventura uniforms. Did my father send them to find me? It seems strange that they are Ventura soldiers and do not recognize their own prince.
"By the authority of King Stefan," barks one of the soldiers.
At a slight touch of my heels, Hector prances menacingly and in response, the soldiers fidget. "And I am Arawn Stefan Braedor, Prince of Ventura, Duke of Kenton."
Both men become slack-jawed and their eyes grow wide, taking in my clothing, my expression, the sword positioned at my hip, and Hector's fiery demeanour. They see a prince because that is what I want them to see. It is strange how easy it was to recover this role. I thought perhaps it would take time to assume my status again, but I suppose there are things you never forget. And in this, I am starkly reminded of Kalista. Is this not what she does? She wears her robes of nobility when she has need of them as well, but that is not who she is.
"I...uh...Your Highness." The stout soldier holding the crossbow bows awkwardly, then slaps his companion's arm in order to indicate that he should follow suit.
The second is more hesitant, but he too inclines his head. When he straightens, he narrows his large brown eyes at me. "May I ask what you are doing here, Your Highness?"
I had anticipated this and reply with that sleekness that one only obtains from hours of etiquette lessons. "There is a palace within these woods where I have been residing as a guest. I was out riding this afternoon and seem to have lost my way."
"A guest? You mean you've been held as a prisoner," the first soldier says skeptically.
"You question your prince?" I snap and at my tone, Hector paws the ground impatiently.
"N-no. Your Highness," they stutter.
"Good, then show me to your superior."
They nod woodenly and turn to the direction they had come from. Occasionally they glance back, whether to ensure that I am following or out of nervousness I am not sure, but I am careful to keep my spine straight and my jaw clenched. We tromp through the underbrush till the trees thin and we come to a campsite nestled in the outer arms of the forest. Sentries send us wary glances, but no one stops us.
The two soldiers bring me to a canopy tent and one of them holds Hector while I dismount. As I do, I covertly slip a dagger into each of my boots. I hope that I will not have need of them, but in this camp of strangers, I cannot be sure who is my ally.
The second soldier steps beneath the tent and salutes the two figures within. Squinting in the dim light, I take in the two men. One is short and stout and wears a footman's livery. He stands beside a tall table, polishing an already gleaming sword. The second man languishes on a daybed that is draped with furs, and he wears the uniform of an officer. One hand holds a goblet of wine while the other absently toys with his black locks which are fastened behind his head with a silk ribbon. The officers I know demand respect merely by their presence, but this man does not at all garner a reaction of admiration. But perhaps I have not learned my lesson and I should not judge him based on his appearance.
"His Highness Prince A-Arawn," stammers the stout soldier.
The officer coolly glances over me, then lazily stands from his day bed. He is a tall man; at least three inches taller than I am. And his shoulders are as broad as those of a bear. He is not the first man I would ever wish to fall into a brawl with.
"Your Highness." The giant sweeps into a bow and perhaps it is the stress of the day, but I think that I sense an air of mocking in his gesture.
"And who might you be?" I ask with superiority.
"Sir Ivan Gregory."
"Have you served long? I don't believe we have met." My brows pull together, and I study his features once again. I am certain I have never met him before—I would remember someone of his stature.
"Barely two months."
"And an officer already?"
His chin tips upward. "Yes, well, I displayed exceptional behaviour."
Somehow, I do not entirely believe this response and it makes me glad of my hidden daggers. I served in the army for a long while so I know that the rank of an officer is not so easily obtained. What did Sir Ivan Gregory do to achieve this? Or better yet, who does he know? Have these men really been sent by my father?
My expression must have slipped because he frowns in annoyance. "You doubt my status, Your Highness?"
Forcing casualness to fit upon my features, I say, "Forgive me for me being cautious. But allow me one more question. What brings you to the forest?"
Gregory smiles, showing a row of straight white teeth. "To save the prince and kill the beast, of course."
My entire being bristles, but somehow, I maintain a composed façade. "Well, here I am, and I assure you, there is no need to hunt the beast."
A bushy black eyebrow rises in skepticism. "And why do you say that?"
"There is no beast. It is just a myth."
"Oh, no, your highness. There is most definitely a beast."
"I have travelled through much of this forest and am very well acquainted with its inhabitants. There is no beast."
Gregory rubs a hand along his square jaw. "Perhaps your opinion is skewed."
"I am under no spell."
"Ah, but perhaps you are and that is exactly it. You don't know that you are cursed."
"Sir, you are mistaken. And I forbid you from continuing into the forest." By now my voice has risen in volume and a few soldiers pause their tasks and stare questioningly at their leader.
Gregory folds his arms over his chest. "You forbid me?"
"Yes, and if you disobey, you will answer to the king," I snap, not caring that his soldiers can hear.
"The king?" Gregory scoffs. "I may wear his colours, but I do not answer to him." He then shouts, "Guards, arrest the prince. He has clearly been cursed and will not be free until we kill the beast."
With a swift motion, I draw my sword and leap toward Gregory, but he was expecting it and jumps back. He nearly stumbles; however, he quickly regains his balance and lunges for his sword. Steel meets steel with a sharp crash, and as he pushes back, I instantly know that conquering him through strength is not an option. This man is a rock.
With all his might, Gregory swings at me and in so doing, reveals his weakness. He is untrained and clumsy. He relies on his strength to win, but strength is only a small piece that makes up swordsmanship. So, I deftly dart to the side and slap his thigh with the flat of my sword.
This enrages the giant and he roars, "Stop dancing and fight, princeling." He spins and thrusts, but again, I avoid his attack.
"Who sent you?" I ask and touch my sword to the side of his tunic. It rips soundly, and his face turns a bright shade of red.
"How dare you?"
"Oh, I dare. Because you are not soldiers of Ventura. Queen Sophia sent you, didn't she?"
This takes him off guard and he sputters, "Th-that is none of your business."
Taking advantage of his hesitation and the awkward way he holds his sword, I deftly twist my weapon and his own goes flying to the side.
"Laroux," Gregory hollers before I have a chance to spring upon my opponent. The portly soldier who had been shining Gregory's weapons springs forward with a sword in hand and numerous soldiers who had been watching till now, do the same. I am copiously outnumbered.
Springing up onto the table, then landing again on the other side, I make a mad dash to where Hector is tied to a tree. Halfway there, a soldier leaps in front of me. I disarm him quickly, but then there are two more, and after that three more. Sweat breaks out upon my forehead and trickles over my temples. I cannot continue like this for long.
A few feet away, a cloak hangs upon the side of a cart and sidestepping, I reach for it. In one swift motion, I fling it toward my attackers. They become tangled in the cloth, and I use the distraction to sprint to where Hector is standing.
"After him, you idiots," Gregory shouts.
There is a scurrying of feet behind me, and just as I am reaching for Hector's reins, a body hurtles at me from the side. It crashes against me, and we tumble to the ground. The oxygen is knocked from my lungs and although I flail with my fists, succeeding in striking someone, a solid object slams against my skull. The faces of my assailants spin before my eyes, but then in another breath, there is darkness.
A fierce throbbing in my skull drags me from oblivion. It is as if tiny farriers are hammering away on their anvils with no care to the cacophony they are creating. Despite this, I resist the urge to move and force myself to rely on my senses of sound and touch. I am lying on a rough surface—it feels like wood—and the camp is eerily quiet. Where have the soldiers gone?
Cautiously, I open my eyes. I am lying in a wagon with a ceiling and walls all around and a heavy door that sports a lock.
So I am a prisoner then.
They wear the colours of my father, but it is not under him that I am a captive. I am sure that Queen Sophia is behind this all. She must be. Which means that Kalista is in imminent danger. I need to warn her.
Inhaling deeply, I push myself into a sitting position and run a hand over my face. This is the second time today I have been rendered unconscious and moved to another place against my will.
Great heavens above, they are connected. Kalista knew they were coming and tried to prevent a confrontation. She tried to protect me. But of course, I walked directly into the mouth of the lion. She may have seen them coming in the mirror, but I would wager that Tauren told her. She hasn't been the same since his visit.
I am not sure if I should be angry at her for not telling me or touched by the way she tried to protect me from witnessing her fate and quite possibly sharing it with her.
Releasing a breath of frustration, I hoist myself up to the barred window of the door. As I noticed when I woke, the camp is completely still. A dog is tied to a pole of the tent and paces restlessly. Perhaps he senses the otherworldliness of the forest.
Sitting by a fire, across from my wagon prison—likely meant for the beast in the event that the beast is taken alive—is one, lone soldier. I eye him carefully, taking in his stature and visage. He is a portly fellow, and by the way he absently picks at his nose, he does not strike me as the most intelligent individual.
Next, I study the lock and feel for the long daggers concealed in my boots. Good. They did not discover them.
But before I go, I need some information.
I whistle lowly, then call, "Hey there, soldier."
My guard looks up, narrows his eyes at me, but stands and saunters over.
"Where have they all gone?" I know the answer, but it is better to play ignorant.
He hooks a thumb on his belt and peers up through the bars at me. "They're off to slay the beast."
"At this time of day?" I glance to the falling sun, then back to the soldier and this time, I change my tone so that it nearly sounds like he is my companion and we are sitting in the corner of a tavern gossiping. "I've heard rumours that vicious wolves come out at night. And they can't be killed."
I have struck a note with my comradery because the man's eyes brighten and he smiles, showing a row of yellow teeth. "According to Gregory, those rumours are true." Gregory. Not Sir Gregory. So their leader used to be a peer rather than an officer.
The soldier continues. "That is why he had us wear these armbands." The soldier points to a strip of black cloth tied around his left bicep. "Apparently, or at least I've heard tell, that this will keep the wolves away. Gregory ordered, he commanded us, not to take em off. But if you ask me, it's a bunch of hocus pocus. Sure, this place don't feel right, but bewitched wolves? A beast? Maybe a very large bear, but nothing that's the size of a mountain and has claws the size of a man's forearm and teeth as sharp as swords." As the soldier spoke, his voice rose in volume and at the last word, the dog whines uncomfortably. "Oh, hush you mongrel," the man snaps, glaring at the dog.
"And what is your name, good man?" I ask when I have his attention again.
"Gilbert, sir," he replies, straightening himself as if just remembering who I am.
"Well, Gilbert, you seem like a goodly fellow. I am quite glad I have been placed into your hands."
"Thank you, sir. And really, I mean no disrespect by keeping you in there. I'm just following orders and Gregory said..."
"Yes, yes, of course. Between you and me, I was not myself when I arrived here. I have been lost in the forest all day and I was hungry and overtired."
Just as I hoped, he falls for my ploy. "Well I can't let you out, but I can fetch you something to eat."
"Gilbert, my man, that would be wonderful. And please, something to drink as well."
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." Gilbert scurries away and I immediately pull the daggers from my boots and insert them into the lock. It is a rusty thing, so it takes me a moment, but I hear a click and quietly unwind the chain from around the bars. Just as I have laid it upon the floor, Gilbert returns with a plate of bread and cheese and a flagon of ale. He comes to stand before the door and his eyes go wide. Before he can react, though, I thrust the door forward, knocking him to the ground. I vault out of the wagon and grab hold of Gilbert. He curses and flails his arms and legs. One fist strikes me in the jaw, and I go reeling backward. As I do, Gilbert reaches for his sword, but I am swifter. I dive forward with the spilled flagon and strike him on his head. My aim is true, and the hit renders him unconscious.
Staggering to my feet, I run a hand over my jaw where he struck me. It will certainly bruise, but I do not have time to worry about that now.
I drag Gilbert into the wagon, then remove his armband and tie it to my bicep. Just as I am closing the door, I hear the dog whining again—no doubt disturbed by our fight. If I leave him tied up like that, he will be a nice midnight snack for the wolves.
He is a friendly animal and attempts to lick my hands as I untie him. Once he is in the wagon with Gilbert and the door firmly shut, but not locked, I retrieve my weapons from Gregory's tent and hurry to where Hector is tethered to a tree. He tosses his head impatiently, no doubt jealous of the other horses who had left earlier.
"I agree. Let's go," I murmur, throwing the reins over his head and mounting. I then squeeze his sides and he leaps into a canter. Now to find my way back to the palace. Where is Kalista now? Have Gregory and his men already reached the palace?
*****
To be honest, I feel kinda bad for the guy. He is not having a good day!